"If you look too close, you only see trees; but, if you broaden your horizons, you can see the whole forest."

This is an old proverb where I come from. It's supposed to show how looking at the bigger picture will be clearer. If you can see the whole truth, you can make the right decisions, which path to take and what move to make next. We spend most of our lives yearning to see this so-called 'forest', but I'm told most never get to see it. At least, not until it's too late.

I suppose you could say the forest is like the reason for life, or just about any other silly questions the human kind can't seem to find an answer to, but for some reason, this saying in particular has always bothered me. Life is tumultuous, there's no arguing that, but I think so much of life is spent wondering what comes next. Contrary to most, I've never felt this fear of what comes after. I've always seen a straight road ahead, leading me to the next day, the following week, and the trailing year. Everything's always been clear to me, and I think that annoys most people I know.

Of course, I can acknowledge not everything is black and white, but there certainly ways you can make it that way. Everyone has a silent code, a way they live and breathe and act each and everyday, and mine just happens to not include worrying. I see no point in fretting over whether to pick an apple or an orange. It's never been a strenuous task to pick the red or blue ribbon, and it's never occurred to me that some people have such a hard time with living their lives day to day.

That is, until I met Nell Bradley.

Nell, short for Penelope, came from France, like the rest of the settlers who live here. Since she's travelled most of her life, she's used to having so many different choices. I think coming to a place like Mackinac is kind of culture shock for her, we have about 3 choices to her usual 30. This makes her decision making hard, I suppose. She's been to almost every place I could think of.  She's been to South America where it's said they have the world's tallest waterfall, and to the Middle East where she says they have the most amazing Baklava, along with hundreds of other places I thought were just made up. Having the knowledge of all these amazing things must make it hard to live without them.

It's these stories that keep me busy most of my days. I couldn't tell you how many times she's told me about the time she stole four loaves of bread and a bag of apples from a South African Carriage or how many times she's hinted that she may have stolen a few jewels as well. Still, I don't interrupt her. This is, or more accurately, was, her life and she's mourning the end of it. Now, all she can do is sit in my small basket shop and watch me weave mediocre makak. Quite a large contrast.

Of course, a small child didn't travel alone; Nell's partner in adventure was her father, Jacque Bradley. Though I never got to meet him. He died just over a year ago. Some say he was killed, others say he caught the new plague, Red Fever, but Nell has never spoken about it to me. I think it makes her sad to think about him, so I try not to bring it up. She tends to cry a lot when she gets upset, and I'm not the best at wiping away tears.

Like any other day, Nell sits on the edge of the counter now, watching me weave another basket for Mrs. Pelletier who lives down the street, a large, rollicking woman that is married to one of the Councilman, Mr. Pelletier. Mrs. Pelletier is a regular customer, but lately, she's been quite curt with me and my coworkers. Basket making is an old tradition in my culture, and it's meant to take a while as we try to craft it with positive, strong feelings to enhance the object itself. Mrs. Pelletier doesn't seem to appreciate this, though. It feels like she breaks a basket once a week and complains about how long it takes to get a new one. I suppose I shouldn't be complaining, but it's not easy to break a makak, but somehow, she always finds a way.

I feel Nell's bright blue eyes watch me like a hawk as I take each  small step in preparing my last basket of the day. For once in the relatively short time I've known her, she doesn't make a peep. I can hear her legs sway back and forth, letting me know she's getting bored, but she still doesn't interrupt my work.She just watches as I write the note for Mrs. Pelletier before I finally set her basket aside, ready for the wrath of the trout herself.

As I finally let myself relax for the first time today,I hear Nell heave a sigh. I have to keep myself from rolling my eyes as I turn around to see her looking at me, waiting for something. Her large eyes search for answers in mine, but I doubt they find anything. She then fixes herself on my whole appearance, her eyes quickly focusing on one thing in particular.

"Who did your hair today?" She asked, immediately going back to chewing on her chapped lip. Her striking eyes follow me across the room as I sit down in my normal spot, waiting for an answer.

"I did," I answer. Sometimes she gets quite confusing. I just try to play along when she gets like this:detached. "Why?"

She shakes her head, looking like she's trying to rid her thoughts. She still stays quiet, legs kicking and swaying in front of the counter. She's deep in thought, and I'm not quite sure what to do. She seems different today.

Usually Nell comes by in the morning, wearing her pastel dresses and a bright smile that spreads across her rosy features. You can tell she's not originally from Mackinac because her cheeks always glow a shade of pink from the chill of the air. Today, she came no earlier than one'o'clock and her usual rubescent cheeks were replaced by pale,emotionless ones.

She usually wears a hat as well. She has a horde of elaborately decorated ones that she's collected over her fruitful years of adventures, but today she wears none. Her blonde hair just lays in a simple plait that took no longer than five minutes to finish before she walked out of the door. Somethings not quite right, and I have a feeling she'll tell me, as she always does, in just a few minutes.

"Hello, girls!" Mrs. Pelletier grins as she wobbles her way into the shop. She has on her usual pair of old sneakers and vintage jacket but instead of her vibrant, stretchy pants that usually complete the ensemble, she wears a nicer pair of khaki slacks. "I figured I'd come by earlier today, seeing the announcement this morning."

"What announcement?"

Mrs. Pelletier snaps her head back up to me with wide eyes. Her change jingles in her hand as she gawks at me for a moment, wondering how I could be so clueless.

"Why, the King is coming!" she gleefully responds, chubby cheeks pulled tight across her face with a smile. "You know he hasn't come to Mackinac in almost twenty years!"

I take the payment from Mrs. Pelletier's hand carefully as I set her basket onto the counter, dozens of questions running through my head. I've never been interested in the Royals of the Mainland, but the way Mrs. Pelletier phrases her stories make it hard not to listen and want to know more.

"Did you hear why?" I ask, trying to make conversation.

"Apparently his daughter,  Janelle De Tours, has been hiding here for years," Mrs. Pelletier whispers as she leans towards me, as if another prying ear was close by. She was always one for theatrics. "Can you believe we might have met the run-away Princess herself? How exciting it is!"

I hear Nell scoff beside me and I pray that Mrs. Pelletier hadn't. It wouldn't be the first time she had a problem with Nell, and it certainly won't be the last.

Mrs. Pelletier throws a nasty glance towards Nell, but thinks better of picking a fight today. After all, if what she says is true, she has much better things to do than chew out some hellion.

The old woman shuffles away, taking her basket with her. She doesn't say another word, just gives me a foreboding nod and makes her way home. I look back over at Nell to see her blank as a new sheet of paper. She's back in her own head again.

The more I look at her, the more I see the little details about her that I'm used to missing. Her flawless skin is replaced with dark circles under her eyes and a few creases littered around her face. It's clear she hasn't slept. She is the worrier between us, but I've never known her for sleepless nights.

"I guess we should close up early, hmm?" I hum, starting to put the random tools and samples away. It's a quick job, but it still takes longer than it should. Usually Nell lends a hand.

She looks up at me once I finish but refuses to make her worries known. It's like her mouth is stitched shut.  Something else is in her eyes, and I can't place it. Her watery orbs are usually warm, despite their chilling color. Today, they reflect Mother Superior during a winter storm. Tossing and turning, making you wish you could just freeze like an icicle and get  it all over with. The waves behind her eyes rise and fall with anger; if she were a real lake effect storm, it wouldn't be long for the passengers on board to be welcomed into the forest of life.

I've never seen Penelope Bradley this way before, but for once she looks scared. Like a caged animal, ready to fight for its life.

Little did I know that I too, would be fighting soon enough.