On Teapots and Glue
They were all incredibly focused and busy getting prepared for the four-day journey, each intense on making sure that the time they would spend in their chosen locations would maximize their interests without totally boring everyone else coming along for the ride. They had decided to leave mid-afternoon in time to reach their destination and give them time to settle in the night before their first stop. Then they would have a full day to spend exploring and archiving every moment of their time before they would set off for a late drive to the next stop. Then they would repeat the pattern the next day, arriving back at the cottage late on the final day of the trip. This was all communicated to Lin in a rambling patter of communication that somehow made sense as it spilled forth from Fiona, Ian and Sean in bits and pieces as they pointed to places on the map and told her about the places they had found for them to stay.
Lin made her way to the stove, happy yet thrilled to distrance herself from the cacophony of planning to make a cup of tea. When the kettle whistled, she poured a discrete measure of whiskey into her cup before adding the tea and a bit of milk. She put on her wrap and slipped outside. "Heaven," she thought. It really was just so perfect to have her family here wrapped up in being here, being where she so loved to be, she could not and would not ask for anything more.
The sudden noise of breaking crockery brought her out of her reverie and sent her racing back into the cottage. There was poor Sean, trying to clean up the mess of a shattered tea pot. "Honey, it's okay, we'll just sweep it up and get another," she said. He looked at her with tragedy in his eyes.
"No, Ma, it's not okay. It never is. You told us before about teapots. If you break the spout, you can glue it back, but they never truly pour right again. If you break the handle, you can put that back on - but it never really holds its weight again. And if you shatter it, like this one, it can be glued up, but it never, ever, is a tea pot again. All you can do is set it on a shelf and remember what it once was." He looked at her with his big serious chocolate eyes. "I just turned this teapot into something that can never be more than looked at, Ma. I would be an idiot not to know that isn't fair."
"Sean, it is an old teapot, perhaps its time has come to sit on a shelf and be admired for all that it has done and the comfort it has brought to others," replied Lin. I promise we will glue it back together and give it that much for its service. Okay?"
He smiled his half-grin, "K', Ma. We can do that. Can we do that tonight? I want this grand lady back together before we leave."
And so, the evening planned out, Fiona took the boys to the village for dinner supplies and glue while Lin went down to take care of the birds.
Her mind completely absorbed with Sean and his over-attachment to the teapot and the teapot story, Lin absentmindly made her way to the cavern. She went through all the motions, slipping into the cavern without even thinking of the rocks under her hands. She had just set down her pack and was reaching for the ball-retriever when she noticed movement from the corner of her eye. She looked up just in time to see Roary moving toward the injured bird. He was moving way too fast. She started to say something, but was too late. Roary extended his hand and the bird's graceful neck came up in one fluid sweep, ending in a very loud snap.
"Damn and thunder!" snarled Roary as he pulled his fingers back automatically, moving to put them in his mouth. Lin was there before he could do so, pullling the hand down to look at the damage.
"You stupid Irish fool," she said. "What on earth are you doing here alone?"
She examined the damage the snapping bird had done. It was not too bad, just a nip really, but it had torn the flesh of his index finger just above the base of the thumb. "Come with me," she said, tugging lightly on him. She moved him back into the cavern so they could sit on the ledge.
He started to talk, but she held a finger to his lips and just tended the wound. After she had bathed and bandaged it, she poured him a bit of whisky. She had brought a nip with her to help take the edge off the cold and the day. "Here," she said, " take your medicine."
He stared at her, trying to understand what was happening. When he was satisfied that he was not going to get any answers from the visual feed, he took the cap and drank. "Good stuff. Dew, is it?"
"Of course, I may be American, but I do have taste buds," she laughed.
He twirled a strand of her hair in his good hand. "So, perhaps ye should be showin' me how this is done?" he inquired.
"Yes, or you will need quite a few bandages to get through four days," she smiled.
He leaned in, placed a kiss on her hair, took a deep breath to steady himself, and said, "Well, thanks for savin' me finger and let's get on with it."
She patted her hair where his breath had been, stood and busied herself with putting things away. When she turned, he was right there. He was so easily and simply right there. She could have done what she wanted to do and tasted the whisky on his lips. Instead, she bent down and picked up the ball-retriever, reminding herself that fairytales were for children, and mostly to scare them from doing stupid things, at that.
Roary could still feel the silk of her hair on his lips. Was he totally crazy? The woman could barely stand being around him, or could she? Everything about her was so fluid. He reached out to turn her by the shoulders, but she slipped forward and disappeared around the corner of the ledge. He followed, only to find his heart leaping out of his chest when he saw her balanced like the ledendary Una, one hand barely touching the rock overhead, the rest bent gracefully over the sea apparently harvesting seaweed for the bird. She curled herself back in with a wide smile and, turning, met his eyes. Triumphant and glowing was the only way to describe the look on her face. She glowed with the energy of fighting the sea and winning. It made him glow as well, he realized, just watching her happiness begin to flow. She made it back into the cave and then set about the ritual. She took out the supplies and then gestured for him to follow.
She began to hum. When he did not get the tune quite right, she put his hand on her throat and hummed again. He closed his eyes and let the vibration lead him. Opening them, he could see from the smile lighting hers he had gotten it right. He hummed behind her as they approached the bird. She fed the swan, then invited him to do the same. And so it followed that he helped her change the bandages and inspect the damage. This time it was possible to bandage the wound less tightly; the bird was getting better. They smiled at each other. The bird let them each stroke his neck in turn. It was a perfect moment. They noticed the other swans, wings interlaced, necks intwined, gliding on the water. It seemed they too were happy with this outcome. She turned to thank him as he turned to thank her. Their lips slipped over each others in those words, ever so slightly and certainly without any intention.
Lin drew herself back so quickly that had he not had his arm behind her she most likely would have cracked her head on a rock. The swan lifted his elegant head in alarm. Roary sat, totally still. Then she laughed, "Well, I guess all the thank you's are out of the way," she said.
Carefully, as if she were afraid of anymore shocks to her system, she stood, gathered her things. "Perhaps you should spend a bit more time getting to know him. I know the way out." Then she was gone, leaving Roary with a finger on his lips, wondering if he had just imagined the last few moments.
Its Cold Out Here....but Beautiful....
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
Participles and Portents (17)
Odds and Ends
She absolutely hated being cornered. It made her feel caged. She was so tired of being trapped by circumstance. Yet she had to admit that the only logical choice was Roary. He at least knew the bird was there. It would be far too hard to explain how she had found the bird, let alone why she felt it necessary to care for it on her own to any other of the locals. It certainly did not help that the boys were so set on asking the man. How he could possibly have made such an impression on them in the time they had spent at the book shop she could not even begin to fathom. Despite her uncertainties where Roary James was concerned, her normally clearheaded young men were absolutely certain he could practically walk on water. Just how it had been decided that she would be the one to ask was also something she could not quite figure out. At least she had won the slight victory of being able to do so in private. She would not have to deal with what she presumed would be his rejection of the request in front of the boys. Glumly, she reflected that, if he did turn the request down, the boys would probably assume she had asked the question wrong. It did not appear that "Mr. James" could do anything wrong.
There was no use just pacing around the village working up her courage, she might as well just get the ordeal over with. She made her way to the shop on tentative feet, her steps far more measured than her usual confident stride. She could feel her muscles tense as the bells tinkled to announce her arrival. "Lovely," she thought,"I am so on edge, that I will be grinding out this request. He is going to think I am inviting him to be beaten." Doing her best to pull it together and let her misgivings go, she turned to face him. Finding the shop desk empty, she felt the tension flow from her. With a deep breath, she let herself smile. Iif he wasn't here, then her problem was solved. Turning to leave, she hit a solid wall of muscle and sinew. Slowly tilting her head up, she caught the merry glint in those blue eyes, "Can I be of service to ye, Miss?" he practically laughed as he asked. Too stunned to do anything else, she broke out into a laugh herself. "Yes, I am thinking that you most certainly can."
It took a few moments for either of them to realize that it might be a good idea to step back. They just stood there in their shared humor. Finally, Lin placed a hand on his chest and gave a little push. "So this is how you keep the patrons in the shop on slow days?"
"No, usually I just lock the door. But now it seems I've found a new and quite successful method. I might just have a few more goes at it, to see which works best. What do ye think?"
"I think you have enough in the shop to keep their interest and you might well end up with the guarda here if you try too much of that," she replied with a smirk.
He gave her a measured glance. The humor was fast losing its edge, best to see what she had come about, he thought. "So, what can I do for ye, then?"
She turned and paced away from him, buying some time. Without looking at him, she said, "I've come about the swan. I need some help tending him. Will you do it?"
"I can't hear ye when ye talk to ye'self," he said.
"What?" she said as she turned to him, surprised at this rebuke.
"I don't mean to offend, but when ye talk so low and down to the floor, I really can't hear what ye are saying," he offered with a softer edge.
"Its just that we need to take a family trip, and I don't want to leave the bird alone, its not being healed and all, and I don't know where else to go, and the boys," she rattled on.
"Whoa, I think I have the idea, and ye might need a breath or two before ye turn blue from talkin a streak," he chided with a smile.
"Hmm?"
"I said, I will take care of the bird. But I think ye may have to introduce us and show me how it's done. How long will ye be gone?"
"What?" she asked in total surprise.
"I said," he replied quite slowly and deliberately this time, " I will do it, but ye will have to give me proper instructions and an introduction."
"Oh, well, then I guess that is settled. We can go this afternoon to tend him," she replied. Then she turned and walked out the door rather bemused by the whole encounter.
Roary looked after her. Women, he thought, are a very odd lot, and this one was decidedly odder than most. Smiling, he returned to the stacks where he had been selecting volumes for repair. "Yes, very odd, indeed," he smiled to himself.
She absolutely hated being cornered. It made her feel caged. She was so tired of being trapped by circumstance. Yet she had to admit that the only logical choice was Roary. He at least knew the bird was there. It would be far too hard to explain how she had found the bird, let alone why she felt it necessary to care for it on her own to any other of the locals. It certainly did not help that the boys were so set on asking the man. How he could possibly have made such an impression on them in the time they had spent at the book shop she could not even begin to fathom. Despite her uncertainties where Roary James was concerned, her normally clearheaded young men were absolutely certain he could practically walk on water. Just how it had been decided that she would be the one to ask was also something she could not quite figure out. At least she had won the slight victory of being able to do so in private. She would not have to deal with what she presumed would be his rejection of the request in front of the boys. Glumly, she reflected that, if he did turn the request down, the boys would probably assume she had asked the question wrong. It did not appear that "Mr. James" could do anything wrong.
There was no use just pacing around the village working up her courage, she might as well just get the ordeal over with. She made her way to the shop on tentative feet, her steps far more measured than her usual confident stride. She could feel her muscles tense as the bells tinkled to announce her arrival. "Lovely," she thought,"I am so on edge, that I will be grinding out this request. He is going to think I am inviting him to be beaten." Doing her best to pull it together and let her misgivings go, she turned to face him. Finding the shop desk empty, she felt the tension flow from her. With a deep breath, she let herself smile. Iif he wasn't here, then her problem was solved. Turning to leave, she hit a solid wall of muscle and sinew. Slowly tilting her head up, she caught the merry glint in those blue eyes, "Can I be of service to ye, Miss?" he practically laughed as he asked. Too stunned to do anything else, she broke out into a laugh herself. "Yes, I am thinking that you most certainly can."
It took a few moments for either of them to realize that it might be a good idea to step back. They just stood there in their shared humor. Finally, Lin placed a hand on his chest and gave a little push. "So this is how you keep the patrons in the shop on slow days?"
"No, usually I just lock the door. But now it seems I've found a new and quite successful method. I might just have a few more goes at it, to see which works best. What do ye think?"
"I think you have enough in the shop to keep their interest and you might well end up with the guarda here if you try too much of that," she replied with a smirk.
He gave her a measured glance. The humor was fast losing its edge, best to see what she had come about, he thought. "So, what can I do for ye, then?"
She turned and paced away from him, buying some time. Without looking at him, she said, "I've come about the swan. I need some help tending him. Will you do it?"
"I can't hear ye when ye talk to ye'self," he said.
"What?" she said as she turned to him, surprised at this rebuke.
"I don't mean to offend, but when ye talk so low and down to the floor, I really can't hear what ye are saying," he offered with a softer edge.
"Its just that we need to take a family trip, and I don't want to leave the bird alone, its not being healed and all, and I don't know where else to go, and the boys," she rattled on.
"Whoa, I think I have the idea, and ye might need a breath or two before ye turn blue from talkin a streak," he chided with a smile.
"Hmm?"
"I said, I will take care of the bird. But I think ye may have to introduce us and show me how it's done. How long will ye be gone?"
"What?" she asked in total surprise.
"I said," he replied quite slowly and deliberately this time, " I will do it, but ye will have to give me proper instructions and an introduction."
"Oh, well, then I guess that is settled. We can go this afternoon to tend him," she replied. Then she turned and walked out the door rather bemused by the whole encounter.
Roary looked after her. Women, he thought, are a very odd lot, and this one was decidedly odder than most. Smiling, he returned to the stacks where he had been selecting volumes for repair. "Yes, very odd, indeed," he smiled to himself.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Participles and Portents (16)
Aches and Pains
Breakfast was far too noisy as far as Lin was concerned. Perhaps the entire bottle of wine had not been such a good idea after all, or perhaps staying up so long afterwards re-running the day's events was the root cause of her headache. Whatever the driver, listening to the eager conversation at the table was proving more than she was up to. She gathered the dishes and announced that she would be back shortly. Without pausing to answer any of the questions aimed at her back, she grabbed her pack and scuttled out the door.
The fresh breeze on her face was very welcome. While it did little to ease her throbbing temples, it did help mellow the pounding irritation of her racing mind. She set off to visit the swan and made her way with relative ease through the now familiar trek, climb and twisted passage to his haunt. Once there she went through the task of retrieving food with what appeared to be professional skill. Pleased that she no longer feared that particular task, she gathered what she needed and, humming, approached the bird. He seemed more awake than the last time, yet was not moving any easier. As usual, he simply stared down his languid neck with that lone black eye, taking her measure as she approached. She cleaned and rebandaged the wound, taking a mental measurement of the changes in its opening. It seemed to be healing, she thought. She took the liberty of stroking the bird's back while resting beside it. Surprisingly, when she lifted her hand to his neck, he curled his head into the cup of her palm and stared up at her. She turned her attention straight to him. Locking gazes, the two creatures held on to each other, suspended for several moments. Then the bird shifted and the connection was spent. Lin rose, gathered her things, spread what was left of the feast she had harvested and then struck out for home. It was not until she reached the strand that she noticed that her headache was gone. "Strange," she thought, "perhaps all I needed was some time alone by the sea."
Entering the cottage she was not surprised to find the kitchen table covered with maps and a heated discussion taking place between the boys and their Nana. Sean, it seemed, had discovered a passion for visiting the islands not too distant from where they were staying. Ian wanted to investigate the dolmens, also relatively nearby, and Nana needed to get out to both Lady Gregory's Estate and Yeat's Tower if Fiona Blake's latest article was to be published on time. Planning for a three- or four-day excursion was in full swing. The biggest point of contention was where they would go first. It appeared that the three had agreed to manage all but Yeat's tower on this first trip. Lin was smiling to herself as she watched them plotting, planning and measuring distances. Until she realized there was one very major flaw in the plans, the swan. She simply could not leave the poor bird alone to fend for itself until the wing had healed sufficiently for it to at least feed on its own, let alone fly.
She interrupted the little gathering to ask if there wasn't any way that they could plan excursions to each site as day trips. Everyone chimed in in unison that this would be far too wasteful of their time. They would need to get out to the first site, spend the evening, explore it the next day, then travel to the next site, and continue in the same flow. It was, apparently, completely useless not to have a full day at each planned destination. Then she told them she could not go, she simply had a responsibility to tend the bird. They looked at her, and then at each other as if someone, or perhaps all of them, had grown horns. "Well, of course the bird has to be taken care of," they said. How they managed to keep talking as one unit befuddled her. "But there has to be someone you know who can cover while you are gone," said her Mother.
"I know the perfect person," said Ian. "I met him yesterday, I am certain he would do it if I asked."
Feeling a sense of doom settling over her, Lin asked him who he was thinking of.
"Mr. James," he replied. "He is really very interesting and he said if I needed anything I should call."
"Well, I am not sure he was counting on an imposition quite as large as this," said Lin.
"I am sure he will do it," said Sean with absolute conviction. "He would love to." Something in his face was inscrutable, but he did, in fact, look completely certain.
"What if the swan is not quite so certain about having his help?" she asked.
"Ma, you really don't have any idea about anything, do you?" said Sean. "Ian and I can ask, all you have to do is show Ro, I mean, Mr. James what to do. It will be really fine."
With that, the boys rolled up the maps and went off to their rooms. It appeared that the whole matter was settled whether she liked it or not. And she was pretty sure she most certainly did not like it.
Breakfast was far too noisy as far as Lin was concerned. Perhaps the entire bottle of wine had not been such a good idea after all, or perhaps staying up so long afterwards re-running the day's events was the root cause of her headache. Whatever the driver, listening to the eager conversation at the table was proving more than she was up to. She gathered the dishes and announced that she would be back shortly. Without pausing to answer any of the questions aimed at her back, she grabbed her pack and scuttled out the door.
The fresh breeze on her face was very welcome. While it did little to ease her throbbing temples, it did help mellow the pounding irritation of her racing mind. She set off to visit the swan and made her way with relative ease through the now familiar trek, climb and twisted passage to his haunt. Once there she went through the task of retrieving food with what appeared to be professional skill. Pleased that she no longer feared that particular task, she gathered what she needed and, humming, approached the bird. He seemed more awake than the last time, yet was not moving any easier. As usual, he simply stared down his languid neck with that lone black eye, taking her measure as she approached. She cleaned and rebandaged the wound, taking a mental measurement of the changes in its opening. It seemed to be healing, she thought. She took the liberty of stroking the bird's back while resting beside it. Surprisingly, when she lifted her hand to his neck, he curled his head into the cup of her palm and stared up at her. She turned her attention straight to him. Locking gazes, the two creatures held on to each other, suspended for several moments. Then the bird shifted and the connection was spent. Lin rose, gathered her things, spread what was left of the feast she had harvested and then struck out for home. It was not until she reached the strand that she noticed that her headache was gone. "Strange," she thought, "perhaps all I needed was some time alone by the sea."
Entering the cottage she was not surprised to find the kitchen table covered with maps and a heated discussion taking place between the boys and their Nana. Sean, it seemed, had discovered a passion for visiting the islands not too distant from where they were staying. Ian wanted to investigate the dolmens, also relatively nearby, and Nana needed to get out to both Lady Gregory's Estate and Yeat's Tower if Fiona Blake's latest article was to be published on time. Planning for a three- or four-day excursion was in full swing. The biggest point of contention was where they would go first. It appeared that the three had agreed to manage all but Yeat's tower on this first trip. Lin was smiling to herself as she watched them plotting, planning and measuring distances. Until she realized there was one very major flaw in the plans, the swan. She simply could not leave the poor bird alone to fend for itself until the wing had healed sufficiently for it to at least feed on its own, let alone fly.
She interrupted the little gathering to ask if there wasn't any way that they could plan excursions to each site as day trips. Everyone chimed in in unison that this would be far too wasteful of their time. They would need to get out to the first site, spend the evening, explore it the next day, then travel to the next site, and continue in the same flow. It was, apparently, completely useless not to have a full day at each planned destination. Then she told them she could not go, she simply had a responsibility to tend the bird. They looked at her, and then at each other as if someone, or perhaps all of them, had grown horns. "Well, of course the bird has to be taken care of," they said. How they managed to keep talking as one unit befuddled her. "But there has to be someone you know who can cover while you are gone," said her Mother.
"I know the perfect person," said Ian. "I met him yesterday, I am certain he would do it if I asked."
Feeling a sense of doom settling over her, Lin asked him who he was thinking of.
"Mr. James," he replied. "He is really very interesting and he said if I needed anything I should call."
"Well, I am not sure he was counting on an imposition quite as large as this," said Lin.
"I am sure he will do it," said Sean with absolute conviction. "He would love to." Something in his face was inscrutable, but he did, in fact, look completely certain.
"What if the swan is not quite so certain about having his help?" she asked.
"Ma, you really don't have any idea about anything, do you?" said Sean. "Ian and I can ask, all you have to do is show Ro, I mean, Mr. James what to do. It will be really fine."
With that, the boys rolled up the maps and went off to their rooms. It appeared that the whole matter was settled whether she liked it or not. And she was pretty sure she most certainly did not like it.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Participles and Portents (15)
Veiled Moon
Roary had copied a page from Lin's notebook the night before he stole back into her cottage to return it. He read it again now as he drank from a liberal pour of the smooth whiskey. Why he had copied it out he really couldn't say, but somehow the words resonated with him and he knew he wanted to know them better. Hell, he wanted to know the woman who wrote them better.
The Long Dark Veil
In the distance I can sense the light
I can taste the salt spray of the sea
I can hear its tumbling roar on the rocks
Its clarion call, beckoning me, only me
I have wandered too often
The wild, broad, windswept moors
Relishing the scents of heather and peat, the earthy richness
Yet never feeling at one with its haunting majesty.
I have traversed the small villages
Engaged charming voices, open faces at the pubs
The wide eager grins of children near the shore
How I long to believe they see me, but I am as ephemeral as the wind.
In the city, I walk crowded streets, hard paneled board rooms
Engage in corporate battles
Wind-mill tilting at its best
And even here, though my voice is heard, I remain invisible.
I am detached, unseen, un-connected
I long to be someone that someone can see
Long for the salt spray to touch me
The villagers to embrace my smile as I embrace theirs
Long to be whole in the eyes of the world I slip so easily through
Unseen, unknown, yet not unscathed
Perhaps I am safe here in my hollow shell
But I feel this empty shell and it weighs heavy on me
My long dark veil.
It was a dark and haunting piece, yet truly lovely in its own way, he thought. He folded the page and put it in his pocket as he closed up the shop, briefly glancing at the moon before he turned to make his way home. He wondered if she knew just how easily she was seen? Or if she understood how dangerous being seen could be? That last thought sobered him somewhat, enough to but a grim look on his face and a hard set to the line of his shoulders as he made his way to home and hearth.
At the cottage things were relatively peaceful, which was surprising given the day the family had experienced. Quite a lot of action was packed into that small space of time, so Lin could not help but hope that the rest of the visit would be a bit calmer. The boys had been fairly quick to pack off into their room for the night once they had returned. She suspected they were eager to read the books they had procured at Roary's shop. She probably should have asked Sean about what he was hiding, but as it had so obviously been a book and since she did not feel up to another scrap with him, she had let him think she did not see it. What harm could a book from an antique store do? She hardly thought he could read anything more shocking in one of those books than what you could see in a quick five minutes on the television these days. No, it was better to let the day end on an even keel. She had opened a bottle of wine and made up a fire for herself and her mother. It would be good to have some time for just the two of them.
They sat sharing the fire's warmth for several minutes without saying a word. It was just so comfortable to be there together. Her Mom patted her on the hand and smiled. Lin grinned back and then pulled the blanket down, and they spread it out over the two of them.
"Ian and Sean would no doubt make a remark about cold-blooded females if they were out here," said her mother.
"Better that than all sweaty," replied Lin.
"Now Lin, how many times do I have to tell you," replied her mom in a long Southern drawl, "women do not sweat, they perspire."
Then they both broke out giggling. They hugged each other and brought the noise level down as neither wanted to encourage the boys to come out and join them just then. Her mom's face took on a more serious look, "So, how have you been?" she asked.
"I've been okay," Lin replied. "Coming here has been good for me. I really needed to breathe different air. I know that still sounds strange, Mom, but with Sean at the school, there was really no reason to stay rooted in fouled soil."
"You do have a dramatic turn of the tongue, don't you," replied her Mom.
"I do have a writer for a mother," smiled Lin.
"I wish I could have been more for you when you needed it," whispered her Mom.
"No one could have been more than you were and you know it. There are some things you have to learn to brave through. I don't know what I would have done without you there to listen. I still don't understand why he did the things he did, or how he could just chose to disappear like that. It was just so hard for the boys and me to cope with the aftermath, the press and all. I guess I know why he ran, but the absence is hard for the boys. No matter what, he is still their father. I may not have to like it, but that is the truth. He made very bad choices and they hurt all of us tremendously. Now, we have to live in the vacuum he created." She paused, looking at her mom searchingly. "I know my coming here doesn't make sense to you or anyone else. But please try to understand that everything I knew has been blown apart. Everything I believed in, except for you and the boys, just wiped out."
"Honey, that was two years ago. We would have understood it better if you had gone then," said her Mother softly.
"I have learned a few other lessons about believing in fairy tales since that time. I think I just need you to accept that I need this time to get rid of any vestige of that childish gullability so that I know I will move forward safely when I get back."
"You are choosing a dull life road, little girl."
"I am choosing to be an adult. Finally. Now, tell me about your trip to Oxford." Lin's tone made it clear the subject was over and she wanted to move on to lighter subjects. Her Mom eyed her warily, but complied. They talked about their mutual travels and the latest piece her mother was writing for the "Traverler's Guide to Literature on the Road." Apparently, she was going to write about Yeats and Gregory when she returned, so they would need to plan to fit in two specific trips out to the Tower and Lady Gregory's estate for her research while they were here.
"Its a good thing that I haven't planned anything ahead of time," laughed Lin. Then she paused, "Though I do hope the swan will be healed up soon. I really don't want to leave the poor thing there with no help to go gallivanting about. And I definitely don't want to spend this trip sitting here while you do all the gallivanting."
"There must be someone who can step in if you need to go," said her mom complacently.
"Well, there is one other person who knows about him, but I am not too sure the bird will let that beast of a man anywhere near him." And with that comment she filled her Mom in on Roary James, all the way up to finding Sean hidden away in the office of the shop. By the time she was done, they were rolling in laughter again. "I guess saying it to you makes him seem much more harmless, but I am telling you, Mom, there is something about that man that just sets my teeth on edge."
"We can't like everyone we meet," said her Mom with a yawn. "I am off to bed, you've had me up way too late. And look at that, you forced me to finish the whole bottle of wine with you. What in the world will I tell my Grandsons tomorrow? Got it. I'll tell them you drank it!" And with that little flourish, she gave her daughter a quick hug and made her getaway to her room, chuckling all the way.
Lin smiled. Her mother always found a way to laugh when times were tough. And she only laughed more if you added a bit of wine to the mix. She put the bottle in the trash and washed up the glasses. On an impulse she grabbed her jacket and stepped outside to glance up at the moon. "Who else is looking at this very same moon tonight?" she wondered.
Roary had copied a page from Lin's notebook the night before he stole back into her cottage to return it. He read it again now as he drank from a liberal pour of the smooth whiskey. Why he had copied it out he really couldn't say, but somehow the words resonated with him and he knew he wanted to know them better. Hell, he wanted to know the woman who wrote them better.
The Long Dark Veil
In the distance I can sense the light
I can taste the salt spray of the sea
I can hear its tumbling roar on the rocks
Its clarion call, beckoning me, only me
I have wandered too often
The wild, broad, windswept moors
Relishing the scents of heather and peat, the earthy richness
Yet never feeling at one with its haunting majesty.
I have traversed the small villages
Engaged charming voices, open faces at the pubs
The wide eager grins of children near the shore
How I long to believe they see me, but I am as ephemeral as the wind.
In the city, I walk crowded streets, hard paneled board rooms
Engage in corporate battles
Wind-mill tilting at its best
And even here, though my voice is heard, I remain invisible.
I am detached, unseen, un-connected
I long to be someone that someone can see
Long for the salt spray to touch me
The villagers to embrace my smile as I embrace theirs
Long to be whole in the eyes of the world I slip so easily through
Unseen, unknown, yet not unscathed
Perhaps I am safe here in my hollow shell
But I feel this empty shell and it weighs heavy on me
My long dark veil.
It was a dark and haunting piece, yet truly lovely in its own way, he thought. He folded the page and put it in his pocket as he closed up the shop, briefly glancing at the moon before he turned to make his way home. He wondered if she knew just how easily she was seen? Or if she understood how dangerous being seen could be? That last thought sobered him somewhat, enough to but a grim look on his face and a hard set to the line of his shoulders as he made his way to home and hearth.
At the cottage things were relatively peaceful, which was surprising given the day the family had experienced. Quite a lot of action was packed into that small space of time, so Lin could not help but hope that the rest of the visit would be a bit calmer. The boys had been fairly quick to pack off into their room for the night once they had returned. She suspected they were eager to read the books they had procured at Roary's shop. She probably should have asked Sean about what he was hiding, but as it had so obviously been a book and since she did not feel up to another scrap with him, she had let him think she did not see it. What harm could a book from an antique store do? She hardly thought he could read anything more shocking in one of those books than what you could see in a quick five minutes on the television these days. No, it was better to let the day end on an even keel. She had opened a bottle of wine and made up a fire for herself and her mother. It would be good to have some time for just the two of them.
They sat sharing the fire's warmth for several minutes without saying a word. It was just so comfortable to be there together. Her Mom patted her on the hand and smiled. Lin grinned back and then pulled the blanket down, and they spread it out over the two of them.
"Ian and Sean would no doubt make a remark about cold-blooded females if they were out here," said her mother.
"Better that than all sweaty," replied Lin.
"Now Lin, how many times do I have to tell you," replied her mom in a long Southern drawl, "women do not sweat, they perspire."
Then they both broke out giggling. They hugged each other and brought the noise level down as neither wanted to encourage the boys to come out and join them just then. Her mom's face took on a more serious look, "So, how have you been?" she asked.
"I've been okay," Lin replied. "Coming here has been good for me. I really needed to breathe different air. I know that still sounds strange, Mom, but with Sean at the school, there was really no reason to stay rooted in fouled soil."
"You do have a dramatic turn of the tongue, don't you," replied her Mom.
"I do have a writer for a mother," smiled Lin.
"I wish I could have been more for you when you needed it," whispered her Mom.
"No one could have been more than you were and you know it. There are some things you have to learn to brave through. I don't know what I would have done without you there to listen. I still don't understand why he did the things he did, or how he could just chose to disappear like that. It was just so hard for the boys and me to cope with the aftermath, the press and all. I guess I know why he ran, but the absence is hard for the boys. No matter what, he is still their father. I may not have to like it, but that is the truth. He made very bad choices and they hurt all of us tremendously. Now, we have to live in the vacuum he created." She paused, looking at her mom searchingly. "I know my coming here doesn't make sense to you or anyone else. But please try to understand that everything I knew has been blown apart. Everything I believed in, except for you and the boys, just wiped out."
"Honey, that was two years ago. We would have understood it better if you had gone then," said her Mother softly.
"I have learned a few other lessons about believing in fairy tales since that time. I think I just need you to accept that I need this time to get rid of any vestige of that childish gullability so that I know I will move forward safely when I get back."
"You are choosing a dull life road, little girl."
"I am choosing to be an adult. Finally. Now, tell me about your trip to Oxford." Lin's tone made it clear the subject was over and she wanted to move on to lighter subjects. Her Mom eyed her warily, but complied. They talked about their mutual travels and the latest piece her mother was writing for the "Traverler's Guide to Literature on the Road." Apparently, she was going to write about Yeats and Gregory when she returned, so they would need to plan to fit in two specific trips out to the Tower and Lady Gregory's estate for her research while they were here.
"Its a good thing that I haven't planned anything ahead of time," laughed Lin. Then she paused, "Though I do hope the swan will be healed up soon. I really don't want to leave the poor thing there with no help to go gallivanting about. And I definitely don't want to spend this trip sitting here while you do all the gallivanting."
"There must be someone who can step in if you need to go," said her mom complacently.
"Well, there is one other person who knows about him, but I am not too sure the bird will let that beast of a man anywhere near him." And with that comment she filled her Mom in on Roary James, all the way up to finding Sean hidden away in the office of the shop. By the time she was done, they were rolling in laughter again. "I guess saying it to you makes him seem much more harmless, but I am telling you, Mom, there is something about that man that just sets my teeth on edge."
"We can't like everyone we meet," said her Mom with a yawn. "I am off to bed, you've had me up way too late. And look at that, you forced me to finish the whole bottle of wine with you. What in the world will I tell my Grandsons tomorrow? Got it. I'll tell them you drank it!" And with that little flourish, she gave her daughter a quick hug and made her getaway to her room, chuckling all the way.
Lin smiled. Her mother always found a way to laugh when times were tough. And she only laughed more if you added a bit of wine to the mix. She put the bottle in the trash and washed up the glasses. On an impulse she grabbed her jacket and stepped outside to glance up at the moon. "Who else is looking at this very same moon tonight?" she wondered.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Participles and Portents (14)
A Time for Dew
Roary watched the door close behind the boy. He let out an expectant sigh and ran his fingers through his shock of mangy hair. What a charming and amazing fellow. Who would have ever imagined she would have a son like that? He was so quick of wit, ready to have a semantic battle and so very interested in all things ancient and celtic. What fun he was to ramble about the shop with, though it was a bit odd that he had absolutely no interest in the Faery section of the store. He seemed far too interested in the makings of man for that type of goings on. He walked toward the back of the shop, thinking about closing up, when he heard a rattle that was distinctly out of place. Backtracking through the aisles he was very, very surprised to find a rather long lanky looking dark-haired boy, with a curly head of hair curled up on the floor obliviously reading in the far corner of the ancient legends section. He cleared his throat softly to gain the boy's attention. When this did not work, he tried a rather more loud cough. Still, the boy did not glance up. Finally, he inquired, "Good readin', is it?"
That startled the boy so much that he scrambled about, dropping the book in an effort to stand up. He had been right about long that was for sure. The boy was tall and definitely on the lean side, with liquid brown eyes. This one was definitely his mother's son. Absolutely had to be with those eyes looking right through him. "Ye've dropped the book," he said.
Sean leaned down and gathered it up, wiping down the spine with the side of his sleeve. He smiled up at him, clearly chagrined. "I'm very sorry. How much is it? I mean in dollars? I think I would like to get it, if I have the funds with me," he added.
Roary smiled crookedly. This one was a charmer. "Well now, I'll have to have a look at it, won't I," he said. He took the book from him and rolled it over in his hands, the worn leather binding smooth to the touch. The boy liked the old books and had an eye for quality, that was clear. "This one might be a bit out of your range, lad. It's a vera' old volume and there are not a lot like it to be found. Was there a particular story you were interested in?" asked Roary.
Sean looked completely broken-hearted about the book. Roary felt rather like a cad for not pricing it down, but it was an expensive item and he did have to make a living after all. The boy looked at him for a long while. He was appraising him. "I heard you talking with my brother earlier. He seemed to think you were okay," he paused. The look on his face seemed to say that he was trying to decide if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Roary wondered, was it good for young Ian to like him? Did he want the lad to? Of course he did. You always wanted people to like you. Why did it seem more important then that these boys like him? Was it his strange evening out by the sea? Or was it something entirely different, something to do with their mother? On second thought, he really did not want to know. He would just settle for thinking it was human. When he glanced back up, the boy was staring at him like he had grown horns.
"I said, do you have a name, sir?" repeated Sean. "Mine is Sean Carroll."
"Oh, sorry, drifted for a bit, vera' glad to meet you. Ye may call me Roary, Roary James."
"I am not sure my Ma would approve of my calling you by your first name, but as long as it's just you and me," he said, "I think I will."
He back-stepped into the corner as far as he could go, then waved to Roary to follow. "I have something I am going to show you, but it has to be just between us."
Intrigued, Roary followed the boy further into the stack. Sean reached into his pocket and pulled out a broach. Holding his palm open he showed it to him. "I found this all covered in sand and salt by the sea just after I got here today. I'm lucky I held onto it, what with it being almost all the way out on the edge of the rock and all. And you would not believe what I saw, well never mind that, the point is I really need that book," he managed to get out in one breath.
Roary was dazed. He could not believe what he was seeing. There it was, the prize he had been searching for, sitting right in the palm of this strange boy's hand. Sitting there all clean and glistening and beautiful, even more beautiful than he had imagined. Why had it never occurred to him to search the shore? He was so caught up in this thought that it took a long while for it to come to him. When it did, he could hear her voice so loud in his head, he expected Sean to hear it too.
"God bless, I've already failed," he wandered away from Sean finding his way to the back office and sinking into his one comfortable chair. He did not realize he had spoken aloud, or that the boy had followed him until he heard a scraping sound and the thunk of another chair being settled next to him.
"Failed at what?" said Sean.
"Well, perhaps not failed," Roary smiled weakly at the boy. "No one has disappeared or anything so that is a good sign." Thinking it would be a good idea to change the subject, he asked, "Why this book?"
Sean pulled the book from his hand, stuffing the pin back into his pocket. He opened it as if he knew the exact page to go to without looking and pointed to a sketch on the page. 'There," he said, "That's why."
On the page, was a tidy sketch of the broach that now sat tucked in the boy's pocket. Roary had forgotten it was in this particular tome. It was a fine drawing, all in pen and ink, a bit weathered from age but clearly of the very same piece of jewelry. He flipped to the front of the book. It was dated some 120 years prior, one of the reasons the book was so expensive. He read the inscription below the sketch, certain the boy had not been able to make that out.
"I think it says the pin comes from the time of King Lir, some 180 years before that book was done up," said Sean.
"How the blazes did ye know that?" asked Roary.
"I like languages, and my Ma was always going on about learning Gaelic, so I took a couple of night classes with her. I don't think she remembers much but a bit stuck with me, I guess," he said with a shrug. "I'm studying Latin now," he added with a puff of his chest.
"Well, it happens that ye are right, which makes that wee bit of metal ye have in your pocket about 300 years or more old," he said. "I would tell ye I would trade ye the book for the broach, but we both know that would not be a fair trade," said Roary. He smiled and flipped the page, "Och, look here now, it's the old tale of the Children of Lir. I guess that makes sense with the design and all."
"What's that?" asked Sean.
"Well," said Roary, "let me give ye a brief overview of how it goes."
Lin found them with their heads together, talking softly and obviously enjoying themselves, not too much after the tale had begun to get interesting. She heard them before she found them, flipping back the curtain to catch them so engrossed they did not even notice her grim entrance.
She had finally managed to get Ian to tell her where he thought he might have abandoned his brother. It had been so lovely when he had arrived, late though he was, bearing the beautiful amber silk like a prize. He looked so proud. She just could not stay mad at him. So they had ordered dinner, and ordered for Sean too, expecting he would barrel in at any moment. But he had not come. He simply had not shown up at all. Finally, her patience completely exhausted, hope turned into panic as she began to flash back to his incredible good fortune by the sea and all of the other amazing moments of good fortune he had been graced with over his young life (the boy had more lives than a cat); she simply threw her purse to her Mom, grabbed Ian by the collar and ran for the door. He had led her directly here, mumbling all the way.
Here of all places, to Roary James' blasted shop. She should have known they would both end up here somehow. But tucked up in the office with him? That was just too much. "What in blazes are you doing in here, young man?" she demanded in her absolute most severe tone.
Sean's head snapped up so fast Roary thought it might snip off if it had not been so well attached. "I, um, well, I was just talking to Ro, I mean, Mr. James, Ma," he said rather guiltily.
"And it did not occur to you that you were missing your dinner?" she asked looking pointedly at him.
Then she swung her gaze to Roary. "I don't suppose a grown man might have wondered what a 14-year-old boy was doing out and about on his own? You did not think to remind him that he should probably be getting back to his family, did you?" she said with every bit of sarcasm she could lace into her voice. Which was actually quite a bit, as Roary winced listening to her.
"Get up," she said to Sean. "Your Nana is tired. On top of a full day of travel she has had to deal with all of your shenanigans today." Lin gave Roary one last disgusted look, flipped the amber silk over her shoulder and slammed out of the shop.
"I'm thinking ye had best follow," Roary said. "Take the book for now, but mind that ye take good care of it unless ye have 300 of your dollars to be paying me for it. I'll be expectin' it back when ye are done wit' the story." He shoved the book into Sean's hands and pushed him toward the door.
"Thank you, I will take good care of it. And thanks, well, for everything," said Sean on his way out the door. He ran to catch up with his family, tucking the book under his coat. He had a strange feeling his Ma would not be happy he had it with him.
Roary watched from the window as they walked away. He had completely failed if his job had been to keep the boy from finding that broach. Yet nothing bad had appeared to happen to him yet. So, perhaps he had time to talk with Lin. Perhaps there was a way yet to get her to understand that she really could not be taking the boys down to the sea. And should not be taking them anywhere near those swans. He rubbed his hand where he had injured it.
Then it hit him like a cold wave. A very large wave of cold dread. What the hell had he done? How stupid could he have been?
This time when he walked back to the shop, he did not get a cup of tea. He poured himself a nice long shot of Tullamore Dew, and he did not take a long time to put it down his throat.
Roary watched the door close behind the boy. He let out an expectant sigh and ran his fingers through his shock of mangy hair. What a charming and amazing fellow. Who would have ever imagined she would have a son like that? He was so quick of wit, ready to have a semantic battle and so very interested in all things ancient and celtic. What fun he was to ramble about the shop with, though it was a bit odd that he had absolutely no interest in the Faery section of the store. He seemed far too interested in the makings of man for that type of goings on. He walked toward the back of the shop, thinking about closing up, when he heard a rattle that was distinctly out of place. Backtracking through the aisles he was very, very surprised to find a rather long lanky looking dark-haired boy, with a curly head of hair curled up on the floor obliviously reading in the far corner of the ancient legends section. He cleared his throat softly to gain the boy's attention. When this did not work, he tried a rather more loud cough. Still, the boy did not glance up. Finally, he inquired, "Good readin', is it?"
That startled the boy so much that he scrambled about, dropping the book in an effort to stand up. He had been right about long that was for sure. The boy was tall and definitely on the lean side, with liquid brown eyes. This one was definitely his mother's son. Absolutely had to be with those eyes looking right through him. "Ye've dropped the book," he said.
Sean leaned down and gathered it up, wiping down the spine with the side of his sleeve. He smiled up at him, clearly chagrined. "I'm very sorry. How much is it? I mean in dollars? I think I would like to get it, if I have the funds with me," he added.
Roary smiled crookedly. This one was a charmer. "Well now, I'll have to have a look at it, won't I," he said. He took the book from him and rolled it over in his hands, the worn leather binding smooth to the touch. The boy liked the old books and had an eye for quality, that was clear. "This one might be a bit out of your range, lad. It's a vera' old volume and there are not a lot like it to be found. Was there a particular story you were interested in?" asked Roary.
Sean looked completely broken-hearted about the book. Roary felt rather like a cad for not pricing it down, but it was an expensive item and he did have to make a living after all. The boy looked at him for a long while. He was appraising him. "I heard you talking with my brother earlier. He seemed to think you were okay," he paused. The look on his face seemed to say that he was trying to decide if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Roary wondered, was it good for young Ian to like him? Did he want the lad to? Of course he did. You always wanted people to like you. Why did it seem more important then that these boys like him? Was it his strange evening out by the sea? Or was it something entirely different, something to do with their mother? On second thought, he really did not want to know. He would just settle for thinking it was human. When he glanced back up, the boy was staring at him like he had grown horns.
"I said, do you have a name, sir?" repeated Sean. "Mine is Sean Carroll."
"Oh, sorry, drifted for a bit, vera' glad to meet you. Ye may call me Roary, Roary James."
"I am not sure my Ma would approve of my calling you by your first name, but as long as it's just you and me," he said, "I think I will."
He back-stepped into the corner as far as he could go, then waved to Roary to follow. "I have something I am going to show you, but it has to be just between us."
Intrigued, Roary followed the boy further into the stack. Sean reached into his pocket and pulled out a broach. Holding his palm open he showed it to him. "I found this all covered in sand and salt by the sea just after I got here today. I'm lucky I held onto it, what with it being almost all the way out on the edge of the rock and all. And you would not believe what I saw, well never mind that, the point is I really need that book," he managed to get out in one breath.
Roary was dazed. He could not believe what he was seeing. There it was, the prize he had been searching for, sitting right in the palm of this strange boy's hand. Sitting there all clean and glistening and beautiful, even more beautiful than he had imagined. Why had it never occurred to him to search the shore? He was so caught up in this thought that it took a long while for it to come to him. When it did, he could hear her voice so loud in his head, he expected Sean to hear it too.
"God bless, I've already failed," he wandered away from Sean finding his way to the back office and sinking into his one comfortable chair. He did not realize he had spoken aloud, or that the boy had followed him until he heard a scraping sound and the thunk of another chair being settled next to him.
"Failed at what?" said Sean.
"Well, perhaps not failed," Roary smiled weakly at the boy. "No one has disappeared or anything so that is a good sign." Thinking it would be a good idea to change the subject, he asked, "Why this book?"
Sean pulled the book from his hand, stuffing the pin back into his pocket. He opened it as if he knew the exact page to go to without looking and pointed to a sketch on the page. 'There," he said, "That's why."
On the page, was a tidy sketch of the broach that now sat tucked in the boy's pocket. Roary had forgotten it was in this particular tome. It was a fine drawing, all in pen and ink, a bit weathered from age but clearly of the very same piece of jewelry. He flipped to the front of the book. It was dated some 120 years prior, one of the reasons the book was so expensive. He read the inscription below the sketch, certain the boy had not been able to make that out.
"I think it says the pin comes from the time of King Lir, some 180 years before that book was done up," said Sean.
"How the blazes did ye know that?" asked Roary.
"I like languages, and my Ma was always going on about learning Gaelic, so I took a couple of night classes with her. I don't think she remembers much but a bit stuck with me, I guess," he said with a shrug. "I'm studying Latin now," he added with a puff of his chest.
"Well, it happens that ye are right, which makes that wee bit of metal ye have in your pocket about 300 years or more old," he said. "I would tell ye I would trade ye the book for the broach, but we both know that would not be a fair trade," said Roary. He smiled and flipped the page, "Och, look here now, it's the old tale of the Children of Lir. I guess that makes sense with the design and all."
"What's that?" asked Sean.
"Well," said Roary, "let me give ye a brief overview of how it goes."
Lin found them with their heads together, talking softly and obviously enjoying themselves, not too much after the tale had begun to get interesting. She heard them before she found them, flipping back the curtain to catch them so engrossed they did not even notice her grim entrance.
She had finally managed to get Ian to tell her where he thought he might have abandoned his brother. It had been so lovely when he had arrived, late though he was, bearing the beautiful amber silk like a prize. He looked so proud. She just could not stay mad at him. So they had ordered dinner, and ordered for Sean too, expecting he would barrel in at any moment. But he had not come. He simply had not shown up at all. Finally, her patience completely exhausted, hope turned into panic as she began to flash back to his incredible good fortune by the sea and all of the other amazing moments of good fortune he had been graced with over his young life (the boy had more lives than a cat); she simply threw her purse to her Mom, grabbed Ian by the collar and ran for the door. He had led her directly here, mumbling all the way.
Here of all places, to Roary James' blasted shop. She should have known they would both end up here somehow. But tucked up in the office with him? That was just too much. "What in blazes are you doing in here, young man?" she demanded in her absolute most severe tone.
Sean's head snapped up so fast Roary thought it might snip off if it had not been so well attached. "I, um, well, I was just talking to Ro, I mean, Mr. James, Ma," he said rather guiltily.
"And it did not occur to you that you were missing your dinner?" she asked looking pointedly at him.
Then she swung her gaze to Roary. "I don't suppose a grown man might have wondered what a 14-year-old boy was doing out and about on his own? You did not think to remind him that he should probably be getting back to his family, did you?" she said with every bit of sarcasm she could lace into her voice. Which was actually quite a bit, as Roary winced listening to her.
"Get up," she said to Sean. "Your Nana is tired. On top of a full day of travel she has had to deal with all of your shenanigans today." Lin gave Roary one last disgusted look, flipped the amber silk over her shoulder and slammed out of the shop.
"I'm thinking ye had best follow," Roary said. "Take the book for now, but mind that ye take good care of it unless ye have 300 of your dollars to be paying me for it. I'll be expectin' it back when ye are done wit' the story." He shoved the book into Sean's hands and pushed him toward the door.
"Thank you, I will take good care of it. And thanks, well, for everything," said Sean on his way out the door. He ran to catch up with his family, tucking the book under his coat. He had a strange feeling his Ma would not be happy he had it with him.
Roary watched from the window as they walked away. He had completely failed if his job had been to keep the boy from finding that broach. Yet nothing bad had appeared to happen to him yet. So, perhaps he had time to talk with Lin. Perhaps there was a way yet to get her to understand that she really could not be taking the boys down to the sea. And should not be taking them anywhere near those swans. He rubbed his hand where he had injured it.
Then it hit him like a cold wave. A very large wave of cold dread. What the hell had he done? How stupid could he have been?
This time when he walked back to the shop, he did not get a cup of tea. He poured himself a nice long shot of Tullamore Dew, and he did not take a long time to put it down his throat.
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