Leaves and Shadows
The day had passed quickly. The sunlight had given way to grey and then to wet, the silence broken only by the patter of rain as they made their way along the winding roads which led them ever onward toward a destination known yet truly not known. Roary drove with total concentration. His blue eyes were seemingly concerned only with the road and the steady stream of water which washed across the windshield. The arms of the wipers acted almost as a hypnotically parallel rhythm to the rain's insistent beat. Fiona sat in the front, head bent over her journal, writing occasionally but mostly just staring at the page. They had long since turned off the music as the rain ran counter to the melody, making such a contrast that it was easier just to let it lull them along. It was odd that the drive seemed to pass so swiftly given the circumstances. In normal circumstances a long rainy drive with no conversation would seem like an eternity, yet this one, with each person so trapped in their own thoughts, seemed to slip by in minutes rather than hours.
They found themselves at the edge of the Wicklow Mountains just as the sun was dipping low. This had not been their original destination. They had actually planned on heading into County Meath, so they lacked a reservation for the evening. As they neared town they began to discuss options for how they would locate a reasonably priced place to stay. Fiona retrieved a bed and breakfast guide from her pack and began to page through it looking for places that were near their current location. She provided numbers to Roary and he in turn began calling to see if any vacancies were available. In this round-about fashion they found themselves with rooms in the village of Rathconan. This was a place of legend, if you followed the tales of the rebels of Ireland. So many of the O'Byrnes who had once owned or ruled as Chieftains over this part of Ireland were from Rathconan that it had become a place frequented by tourists who liked to step in the shoes of those who had fought, however failingly, to free Ireland from British rule. Lin let these little snips of historic whimsy fleet through her mind as they wound their way to the B&B that would provide their shelter for the evening, not bothering to dwell on the continued question of why they had come to the Wicklows in the first place. Some odd note in Ian's journal had convinced Roary that they needed to be here, and here they had come. She felt so lost in this whole journey, she did not have the strength to argue. She had just come along for the ride. Perhaps he had a better feel for this than she did, she did not know, though she did not think they had come anywhere near where they truly needed to be.
They were greeted warmly by the lady of the house and shown to their rooms. She offered them a light supper which they readily agreed to. It appeared that no one wanted to face the car again that evening. They ate in silence, only speaking long enough to comment on the quality of the meal, which was outstanding, and to make plans on the time they would meet in the morning. After clearing their plates, they made their way to their rooms. Fiona settled quickly with a book. Lin could not find a peaceful center that would enable her to lay still. Rather than keep Fiona up with her restlessness she picked up the key and let herself out.
Standing outside in the moonlight she gazed up at the rising mountain. It loomed over her with its ranging trees, their leaves softly blowing in the wind. The rain had left a soft scent in the air that reminded her suddenly of home. Home. She remembered the year when they had planted the landscaping around the house. In the years before that the house had only had two trees in the front and a few lillies that were the start of the ring that would eventually line the back of the house. She smiled into the wind. Those lillies had been culled out of her mother's garden. Her Ma and Da had worked side by side digging them up, separating them, replanting and then sending the culled lillies to her to start her garden with. She truly loved her lillies. Every year she waited for them to spill forth the mass of greenery and then burst into color and every year they brought her those gifts and more. They brought her Ma and Da to her in every blade of green and every petal. It was like magic. Wrapping her arms around herself she wandered a bit farther down the walkway. Yes, she remembered planting the rest of the landscaping. They had chosen everything with so much care, but the stand of birch had been the most symbolic. They had wandered the nursery looking at all of them, finally choosing one that had four trunks. They had come home smiling, happy with their choice as it embodied family, a trunk for each member. She remembered digging out the burrow for its planting before it was delivered, each family member taking turns, except for him, except for the father who remained absent. Who would be absent. And then a year later, as if to remark on this clear and total absence, the stand had withered and only three healthy trunks remained and then prospered.
She could see the birch stand now, its leaves rustling like the leaves of the trees on the mountain, in the summer wind, branches entwined. This was the symbol that remained and sustained. She needed her boys and they in turn needed her. Perhaps they should have planted a stand of five, for surely Fiona should be in the stand. That was the center. It did not matter what had happened since. It did not matter that she had recklessly placed her trust in another man. It should not matter that she had placed her heart where it was not valued. The stand mattered. She should have known that. She should not be here and her boys should not be at risk.
She chewed on her lower lip. And what of Roary? Who was he anyway? How had he breached her well-wrought defenses? Why did she want to trust him, to lean on him? She tugged her jacket closer and turned back up the drive, leaving the shadows and the memories behind her. The stand was all that mattered, she had to stay focused. If she had learned nothing else, she had learned that much. At the center was her family, she was never letting go of that truth again. There was too much risk in doing so. As she lifted her face to the wind one last time, she was slapped in the face by a wet leaf. It clung to her cheek, leech-like, abruptly interrupting her reverie. She pulled it off and was about to throw it away when the light of the moon hit it. She was holding a perfectly formed birch leaf. She turned, trying to make out the shapes of the trees in the dark. Was there a birch stand near her? There must be. Still, she found herself slipping the leaf carefully into her pocket and gazing at the moon. Lin breathed deeply and turned to place the key in the lock. There would be time enough to dwell on all the madness in the morning; tonight perhaps she would just get some sleep.
She was startled by his presence in the dark. A soft peat fire blooming in the anteroom behind him, he stood in the foyer, arms crossed as if waiting for her return. "Did ye find it then?" he asked softly. She nodded, not quite finding her voice and certainly not knowing how to respond. Had she found it, she wondered? Perhaps she had found her center, but if she had it certainly felt a bit more shifted at this moment. "I couldna' sleep, so I managed to find a bottle of wine in the cupboards. I don't think the lady o' the house will mind as long as I pay for it in the mornin'," he grinned. "Ye'll join me for a dram or two?" He turned and made his way into the anteroom, and she followed. They found purchase on the hard little settee that faced the fire. It smelled good, warm and earthy and just a bit sweet. She took the glass he offered in silence. He leaned back, seemingly able to find the hard space comfortable. She stayed perched, her elbows on her knees, watching the flames.
"When do ye' think ye'll start?" he inquired. It was an odd question. She stared at the fire as if it would give her an idea of where he was headed with his line of questioning. "I'm just of a wonder as to when you plan to let yerself believe." He left that comment hang in the peaty air, not shifting from his almost lounging pose on the too-hard settee.
"Believe in what? In nightmares and creeping old legends that snap up my boys and send them off to become wild beasts?," Lin asked coldly without deigning to look at him.
"Well, there is that, but I was thinking more of believing that there is something bigger, something more than that lump that ye carry around with ye everywhere. And that perhaps it is in that more that yer boys and the rest of the magic in the world can be found. It's na' as far fetched as it seems really. Not when ye think of all that ye know has happened already."
She turned to him her eyes glistening and cheeks damp. "I don't think you have even the slightest idea what you are asking. My 'lump" as you call it, is my boys and Fiona, too. There is nothing bigger than that."
"I'm not talking about yer love for yer family, Lin. I am talking about yer lack of faith in everythin' else. I've a feelin' there was a time when ye' took believin' for granted it was so easy for ye' and now it's just the opposite. It's as if everythin' has come unraveled inside ye' and ye' don't quite have a clue where to find yer knittin needles."
She started to cry then, not loud racking sobs, just soft weary tears. He leaned forward and put down their glasses and gathered her up, rocking them backward into that lounging position he had held before. He held her there and just let her cry. She had been through so much and other than the racking response to the dream had not really let herself feel it. He smoothed her hair, letting the dark silk fall through is fingers. The scent of peat wafted around them and eventually she grew still.
"I've gone and made your shirt all damp."
"It will dry."
She pressed her hands against his chest and sat up, wiping her cheeks with her sleeves. "I best be finding some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow, whatever it is we are doing, I'm sure." She stood and turned to leave, then picked up her glass. She offered him a small toast, "Thank you then and good night, Roary,"
He sat with his glass by the fire as it slowly ebbed to ember. He was in a fine mess and he wasna' sure at all that he wanted to find a way out.
Its Cold Out Here....but Beautiful....
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Participles and Portents: (50)
Porridge and Potatoes:
The crackle of rashers of bacon over the fire split the air like miniature firecrackers, giving the little cottage a festive air in the early hours just past dawn. Mairy twisted and turned efficiently in the little kitchen preparing the breakfast for herself and Thom, Conn weaving around her legs as if they had been performing the morning dance for ages. She hummed to herself, bubbling over with a joy that was just a bit brighter than it had been the day before. She really could not say if it was because her man was home or because she had found a great comfort in the large blonde beasty that eased beside her in the small space. She supposed it did not matter much as they were much one and the same, coming together as they had. That other hound, the grey, was more of a puzzle. He was no complaint, that she would give him. He had lain quietly enough the night before at the hearth's edge, but come dawn's light he had paced at the door until she had finally let him out. It was odd to have a hound press to get out of the house like that, unless he had business to attend to. Most of the hounds knew well enough what a fine measure it was to be given a seat at the master's table, yet the grey simply did not seem to care. He just wanted to be out and he had not wandered back to the door, no, he most certainly had not. When she had gone to look for him, she had found him with his muzzle pressed up against the pen, nose to nose with Cait. If she didna' know better, she would have sworn the young hound was swooning over the she-hound. In the end she had let him into the pen, and there he still was, side-by-side with Cait, and seeming quite happy about it. She stirred the oats and flipped the bacon, patting Conn on the head absentmindedly as she did so. This blonde was much more a comfort. She would have to ask Thom if she might keep him with her until the next hunt. She knew he didna' care for the hounds to be singled out, but the company was good for her.
She sliced the tomatoes and grilled them lightly in the grease from the rashers, then fried up the eggs quickly and plated the breakfast. It was good timing, too, as Thom came through the door to clean up just as the plates slid to the table. That was her Thom, he always did manage to slide in just in time for the meal. She slid her hands down her apron and smiled. It was a good if solitary life she had. She looked at Conn and gave him a quick hard ruffle on the ears, a very good life indeed. They ate in relative silence, only the pace of the fork and the spoon on plate and bowl letting her know the food was appreciated and enjoyed. When he had finished, Thom collected the plates and took them into the kitchen. It was one of the small things he did for Mairy that he knew she truly appreciated. He scraped off the bits that were left into a small bowl and set them down for Conn. "Seems like ye've gotten yer'self an admirer, Conn," smiled Thom. "Guess ye'll be getting the leavin's from here on out." The hound sat back on its haunches and looked at the man, waiting for permission to approach the bowl. "Here now, it's yours, come and get it," and with that Conn moved over with smooth agility to quickly consume the snack. Thom took the opportunity to run his calloused hand along the hound's back, feeling the rough hair that made up the darker ridge along its spine. "He's a fine hound, Mairy."
"Aye, that he is. Will ye be okay with his stayin in with me then?"
"I wasna' sure ye would be givin me a choice in the matter," he replied with a crooked grin. "Ye know it's better when they all stay together, but this one here is a mite special. Ye might want to check on the grey now and again, but keep him with ye if you will. 'Tis only a couple of days til we'll be off for the hunt. We don't have nearly enough laid in yet." He turned then and, lifting his jacket off the hook, slipped out the door.
Conn glanced up as the door closed and moved his gaze to Mairy, his eyes a brooding mix of inquiry and support. She gave a quick laugh, "Don't go fretting, Master Conn, ye have yer place by the fire, at least til the hunt." She moved to the dishes and quickly had them sorted out. She thought about setting the bread to rise, but decided on a cup of tea and a bit of reading first. Settling in the chair near the hearth she put her book in her lap and held her cup thoughtfully. She was very surprised to find Conn with his large head looming just near her shoulder, looking for all the world as if he were reading the page along with her. She shook her head clear of the fantasy and pushed his head away from her shoulder. The hound walked around and nudged the book with its nose toward her. She looked at him askance. He continued to lift it with his nose just a bit as if encouraging her to read. Finally, she lifted the book and began to read aloud. Conn circled around several times and settled with his head over his outstretched paws, eyes fixed on her face. It was unnerving at the beginning. It truly was, but then it was rather thrilling to have another being there with her, enjoying the story with her. She loved Gulliver's Travels; she could only begin to imagine what Conn was hearing, perhaps he just liked the lilt of her voice.
She read on far longer than she had intended, realizing far too late that she had missed the time and would have to make do with day-old biscuits for the noon supper. She set about putting the food together, mumbling under her breath the items she would need for this and for that. It was as she was getting the stew set that she realized she had not brought up enough potatoes for the pot she was making. She set to cutting the carrots and grumbled about the lack of body the stew would have without the extra starch. When she felt Conn pressing into her leg, she was out of sorts and almost gave him a good whack with the back of her hand. In fact, she had her hand up and had turned to take aim when she saw what he had in his maw and she dropped her knife right on the floor. The hound had gone down to the root-cellar and had three potatoes carefully balanced in its mouth, clearly making an effort not to press its sharp teeth into their tender flesh. The whoop of surprise that came out of her and the sound of the knife hitting the floor were so sudden and sharp she more than half expected Thom to come blasting through the door. She kneeled down and looked the hound straight in the eyes.
"There is a lot more to you then meets the eye, isn't there, Conn? I bet if ye could ye would share with Mairy what gives yer eyes that liquid lost look. I'd be after helping ye' if I had a clue, but seeing as I don't, I'll just thank ye for your kind service and promise ye some stew of yer own." Mairy let the hound drop the potatoes into her hands one by one, then she picked up her knife and cleaned them all as if everyday a person such as herself had her potatoes delivered by a hound.
With the stew on a slow fire, she went out for a walk-about with Conn. They strolled the area around the cottage, such as it was, and eventually made it over to the pen. She let out the hounds for a bit of a run. Coll and Conn rolled a bit together, obviously enjoying each other. There was definitely a connection there, that was certain. When Cait tried to join in the fray, the grey pulled back, delicately nipping and playfully coaxing but not rough-housing as he had with Conn. Conn himself simply withdrew and sat there watching as if he were the guardian of the pair. It dawned on her then that they were that, a pair, Cait and Coll had become, somehow, a pair. It was like a tale from the old-times, a yarn that her grandmother would have spun out over the fire. Two young and handsome creatures bound to each other with human emotions. She shook her head. She really was having a fanciful day, reading books aloud to hounds, getting potatoes delivered to her and now dreaming up a hound-romance. She had better get back to her stew and her day- old biscuits or she might just forget that she lived in the back of an old forest in a tiny cottage with only her man and a handful of hounds for company. With a wistful smile, she whistled the hounds into the pen and headed back to the house, happy to note that Conn remained at her heel.
The crackle of rashers of bacon over the fire split the air like miniature firecrackers, giving the little cottage a festive air in the early hours just past dawn. Mairy twisted and turned efficiently in the little kitchen preparing the breakfast for herself and Thom, Conn weaving around her legs as if they had been performing the morning dance for ages. She hummed to herself, bubbling over with a joy that was just a bit brighter than it had been the day before. She really could not say if it was because her man was home or because she had found a great comfort in the large blonde beasty that eased beside her in the small space. She supposed it did not matter much as they were much one and the same, coming together as they had. That other hound, the grey, was more of a puzzle. He was no complaint, that she would give him. He had lain quietly enough the night before at the hearth's edge, but come dawn's light he had paced at the door until she had finally let him out. It was odd to have a hound press to get out of the house like that, unless he had business to attend to. Most of the hounds knew well enough what a fine measure it was to be given a seat at the master's table, yet the grey simply did not seem to care. He just wanted to be out and he had not wandered back to the door, no, he most certainly had not. When she had gone to look for him, she had found him with his muzzle pressed up against the pen, nose to nose with Cait. If she didna' know better, she would have sworn the young hound was swooning over the she-hound. In the end she had let him into the pen, and there he still was, side-by-side with Cait, and seeming quite happy about it. She stirred the oats and flipped the bacon, patting Conn on the head absentmindedly as she did so. This blonde was much more a comfort. She would have to ask Thom if she might keep him with her until the next hunt. She knew he didna' care for the hounds to be singled out, but the company was good for her.
She sliced the tomatoes and grilled them lightly in the grease from the rashers, then fried up the eggs quickly and plated the breakfast. It was good timing, too, as Thom came through the door to clean up just as the plates slid to the table. That was her Thom, he always did manage to slide in just in time for the meal. She slid her hands down her apron and smiled. It was a good if solitary life she had. She looked at Conn and gave him a quick hard ruffle on the ears, a very good life indeed. They ate in relative silence, only the pace of the fork and the spoon on plate and bowl letting her know the food was appreciated and enjoyed. When he had finished, Thom collected the plates and took them into the kitchen. It was one of the small things he did for Mairy that he knew she truly appreciated. He scraped off the bits that were left into a small bowl and set them down for Conn. "Seems like ye've gotten yer'self an admirer, Conn," smiled Thom. "Guess ye'll be getting the leavin's from here on out." The hound sat back on its haunches and looked at the man, waiting for permission to approach the bowl. "Here now, it's yours, come and get it," and with that Conn moved over with smooth agility to quickly consume the snack. Thom took the opportunity to run his calloused hand along the hound's back, feeling the rough hair that made up the darker ridge along its spine. "He's a fine hound, Mairy."
"Aye, that he is. Will ye be okay with his stayin in with me then?"
"I wasna' sure ye would be givin me a choice in the matter," he replied with a crooked grin. "Ye know it's better when they all stay together, but this one here is a mite special. Ye might want to check on the grey now and again, but keep him with ye if you will. 'Tis only a couple of days til we'll be off for the hunt. We don't have nearly enough laid in yet." He turned then and, lifting his jacket off the hook, slipped out the door.
Conn glanced up as the door closed and moved his gaze to Mairy, his eyes a brooding mix of inquiry and support. She gave a quick laugh, "Don't go fretting, Master Conn, ye have yer place by the fire, at least til the hunt." She moved to the dishes and quickly had them sorted out. She thought about setting the bread to rise, but decided on a cup of tea and a bit of reading first. Settling in the chair near the hearth she put her book in her lap and held her cup thoughtfully. She was very surprised to find Conn with his large head looming just near her shoulder, looking for all the world as if he were reading the page along with her. She shook her head clear of the fantasy and pushed his head away from her shoulder. The hound walked around and nudged the book with its nose toward her. She looked at him askance. He continued to lift it with his nose just a bit as if encouraging her to read. Finally, she lifted the book and began to read aloud. Conn circled around several times and settled with his head over his outstretched paws, eyes fixed on her face. It was unnerving at the beginning. It truly was, but then it was rather thrilling to have another being there with her, enjoying the story with her. She loved Gulliver's Travels; she could only begin to imagine what Conn was hearing, perhaps he just liked the lilt of her voice.
She read on far longer than she had intended, realizing far too late that she had missed the time and would have to make do with day-old biscuits for the noon supper. She set about putting the food together, mumbling under her breath the items she would need for this and for that. It was as she was getting the stew set that she realized she had not brought up enough potatoes for the pot she was making. She set to cutting the carrots and grumbled about the lack of body the stew would have without the extra starch. When she felt Conn pressing into her leg, she was out of sorts and almost gave him a good whack with the back of her hand. In fact, she had her hand up and had turned to take aim when she saw what he had in his maw and she dropped her knife right on the floor. The hound had gone down to the root-cellar and had three potatoes carefully balanced in its mouth, clearly making an effort not to press its sharp teeth into their tender flesh. The whoop of surprise that came out of her and the sound of the knife hitting the floor were so sudden and sharp she more than half expected Thom to come blasting through the door. She kneeled down and looked the hound straight in the eyes.
"There is a lot more to you then meets the eye, isn't there, Conn? I bet if ye could ye would share with Mairy what gives yer eyes that liquid lost look. I'd be after helping ye' if I had a clue, but seeing as I don't, I'll just thank ye for your kind service and promise ye some stew of yer own." Mairy let the hound drop the potatoes into her hands one by one, then she picked up her knife and cleaned them all as if everyday a person such as herself had her potatoes delivered by a hound.
With the stew on a slow fire, she went out for a walk-about with Conn. They strolled the area around the cottage, such as it was, and eventually made it over to the pen. She let out the hounds for a bit of a run. Coll and Conn rolled a bit together, obviously enjoying each other. There was definitely a connection there, that was certain. When Cait tried to join in the fray, the grey pulled back, delicately nipping and playfully coaxing but not rough-housing as he had with Conn. Conn himself simply withdrew and sat there watching as if he were the guardian of the pair. It dawned on her then that they were that, a pair, Cait and Coll had become, somehow, a pair. It was like a tale from the old-times, a yarn that her grandmother would have spun out over the fire. Two young and handsome creatures bound to each other with human emotions. She shook her head. She really was having a fanciful day, reading books aloud to hounds, getting potatoes delivered to her and now dreaming up a hound-romance. She had better get back to her stew and her day- old biscuits or she might just forget that she lived in the back of an old forest in a tiny cottage with only her man and a handful of hounds for company. With a wistful smile, she whistled the hounds into the pen and headed back to the house, happy to note that Conn remained at her heel.
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