Paving Stones
The passengers ahead of the family deplaned, tugging their carry-ons from the overhead bins. Sean stood and pulled the luggage down for himself, Ian and Fiona. He passed Fiona her bag and hooked his bag over his shoulder. Ian put out a hand for his bag. Sean looked at the bandage wrapped around his brother's knuckles and held onto the luggage. Ian stared at him and then extended the other hand. They exchanged a long look before Sean passed the bag to him. The aisle cleared enough for the threesome to begin making their way toward the door, with Lin just three rows behind.
Emerging into the airport, they walked along together absorbing the feeling of being on home ground. It felt so different. This urban setting sprawling around them carried with it a completely different feeling. The smells and sights were definitively American. Gone was the bone deep feeling of aged, molded character. Here there was a younger tone, one that almost shouted of its many faceted cultural flavors. Odd that they had never really thought of melting pool of home as being so blatantly displayed.
Lin was conscious of a tinge of anxiety. Emma was very likely waiting for them. She had not called or tried in anyway to prepare her for the change in Ian. She knew that Emma was important to her son. She could only hope that Emma would be able to deal with the changes until Ian found himself again. She prayed that would be soon. Lin picked up her step, perhaps she might see her first. As she strode with purpose toward the exit to baggage claim, her pace suddenly slackened. There was nothing she could say. There was certainly nothing she could say in the short amount of time she might carve by rushing to be the first to see the girl. The boys passed her as she slowed. Fiona took up Lin's pace, reaching out to give her a squeeze on the arm. The spark of homecoming had fast changed to apprehension between the two of them.
The escalator delivered them onto the main floor with Ian and Sean on the step in front and Lin and Fiona just behind. Lin had seen Emma from the top. A slim young woman with deep auburn hair that ran down her back. She had just been able to pick out the smile that hovered on her face as she waited for Ian to reach the main level.
Emma ran to Ian as he stepped off the escalator, launching herself into his arms as he cleared through the path of travelers. Lin moved off to the side, standing with Sean and Fiona, hardly realizing that she was holding her breath. Ian was hugging Emma back, that much was good. Then he pulled away and put his hand to her cheek.
"Oh Ian, what did you do to your hand?" asked Emma.
Ian, looked at his hand, then he looked at Emma. His response was short, and had nothing whatsoever to do with her question. All he said was a deeply sighed, "Emma."
Lin let her breath go, tears flowing down her face freely. Sean and Fiona turned to her and hugged her.
"Let's go find the bags," Fiona smiled.
"And then some food, I'm starving," laughed Sean.
Its Cold Out Here....but Beautiful....
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Participles and Portents (85)
Confined Space
The trip to the airport was quiet. The sounds of the rushing wheels on the pavement broken only by the turning of pages from the backseat as Ian thumbed through his journal. They returned the rental and made their way via shuttle to the airport, managing to stay together through the press of people. It was so different, the urban presence almost overwhelming in comparison to the village. The boys stayed close together the entire time, even as the browsed the small shops prior to boarding in order to pick up the little treasures they would need to take back to those who waited for them.
On board the plane Lin was disappointed, though not surprised, to find that her seat was not with the others. She was further back in the plane and on the left side of the aisle. From her window seat she could see her family, Sean at the aisle, then Ian, then Fiona - they were all seated in the middle row of the plane. She wished she had splurged for business class when she had first booked the flight. She had tried to upgrade them all, but the seats were not available on this flight, and she did not want to delay their departure. She needed to leave and thought the boys would want to as well. Lin watched as the boys picked out an in-flight movie together and Fiona settled in with a blanket and pillow. She had never been good at sleeping on planes and envied her mother's ability to do so.
She pulled out her notebook and thumbed through the entries since she had left for Ireland. The early entries were contemplative and mostly about the scenery or the past. She winced when she realized that she had virtally stopped writing after Aiofe had come into their lives. She found one of her last entries and read it. It was about him, about Roary.
Tossed on the Tide
Floating, no, rushing at high tide
Tumbling on the sand
Spilling and shifting
Then gathering her skirts and
Running back to sea
The salt spray in his hair
grit on his skin
it stayed with him on the shore
Him - barefoot and laughing with
the tumbling girl in the waves
She wasn’t sure he knew the source
of the taste of the water
But he did not drown in it
That was in his favor
And he was there
Towel in hand
at the next rising of the tide
to gather her up, froth and foam and weed
ply her with wine and laughter
And set her free when the tug came
back to the sea
Somehow what she remembered
As the waves whipped her hair
Was the towel in his hand
and the smile on his face.
She closed the book softly, almost with reverance. What had she been thinking? She missed the man that ths was about. Lin sat there, her head against the window frame and let the emptiness swell. She closed her eyes and floated through the images she had of him. She remembered meeting him in his shop that first time, the way he had caught her so unprepared to feel anything. She let the images run through her mind. It was as she replayed their last moments on the strand that her thoughts were interrupted by the attendant wanting to know if she would like something to drink. She asked for tea and as she waited firmly set the memories from her mind. It would not do her any good to dwell on a man that did not really exist. He was not what he had seemed.
She took the tea, setting it carefully on her tray. How satirically appropriate that what was real in the trip would prove to be the most fantastic experiences. That reality would be events no one would ever believe seemed somehow appropriate juxtaposed to the reality of Roary James. All a part of the place she mused, or perhaps it just proved that fairy tales were never real, though apparently faery tales could be. She turned on the in-flight entertainment screen and selected a movie. It was a high-powered action adventure, something that moved fast and hard so that she could get caught in its explosions instead of her own.
Fiona could hear Sean and Ian next to her. To be more precise, she could hear Sean talking to Ian, with lapses in between. Surprisingly, it sounded much like a conversation overheard with someone on the phone. Whatever it was, Sean and Ian seemed to be conversing in someway, and that gave her hope. She pulled the blanket up a bit higher and tried to settle into sleep. Eventually the rumble of the noise on the airplane became a calming drone and she drifted off.
She was in her kitchen, the scent of rasberry cookies filling the air. She stood at the window washing the dishes and looking out over her garden. It was in full bloom. She sighed, a deep sense of belonging filled her. She finished the last cup and set it on the drying board. She dried her hands and pulled the cookies from the oven. She checked the clock and smiled. The cookies were done, now all she had to do was dress before they arrived.
She made her way to the bedroom, enjoying the feel of the carpet runner under her barefeet. The changes she had made to the house were good. She liked the fresh open feel of the hardwood floors and fresh white paint. In her room, she turned to the closet. This was the hardest part, opening the closet and finding only her things there. But it was getting better as the years progressed. She was finding parts of herself that were well worth knowing and there were times when she was truly happy. She looked at the clock again. She had time for a shower. She gathered her things and went to her bath. When the water was steamy she climbed in. She used her lavendar soap and soon the room was filled with a thick heady lavendar scented steam. She relaxed under the spray and scrubbed her hair. The beads of water pulsed into her muscles and relaxed her. It felt wonderful. She rinsed her hair and eased back into the spray, her eyes closed with the pleasure of the heat and the scent. The brush of warmth at her neck, the slick feel of hands rubbing her waist and sliding up her back to knead at the small knots from daily living. The brush of lips against her own. She expelled a long held breath and opened her eyes. The room was thick with steam and dark as if she had spent hours instead of minutes in the spray. She turned off the water and stepped out to dry. As she patted the towel on her legs and drew it up to her back she felt as if an extra set of hands was helping her. Their warmth bled through the towel to her flesh in a sensual massage. Still masked in the steam, Fiona found herself reaching for the door more by memory than by use of her senses. Which was just as well, since her senses were bombarded by the sense of warmth and touch from the shower. In her room, she made her way to the bed and sank down on it, pulses still racing. She put her head in her hands and concentrated on breathing. She felt the warm breath against her neck again and a hand pressed to one of her own. The hand, large and familiar pulled her up and brought her round, then settled her on the bed. She laid there, awake and spiked with electicity. She felt the bed sway with added weight and an arm come around her pulling her close. The breath at her nape was calming and so achingly familiar. She pressed back into the heat and felt a heartbeat that was not her own. As much as she knew he could not be here, she knew that for this space in time he was. He was here and they would share this moment, however brieft together. She let her breathing slow to match his, let her hand move to cup his where he held her. She turned toward him and he pulled her to him. Their hands were tighly clasped together, fingers wound so that where one hand ended the other began. She fell asleep in that embrace, held perfectly.
Fiona woke to the sound of the couple next to her changing places. It took her awhile to figure out exactly where she was. She turned in her chair, feeling oddly complete. She reached into her pocket and rubbed her stone. It was radiating heat. She smiled softly and gripped the stone, enjoying its unusual heat.
Lin grumbled, she had watched three movies and was still restless. Her view of the boys had at least provided her with some hope when it came to Ian. He seemed to be interacting pretty well with Sean. She could not tell from her viewing angle, but it seemed as if they might even be talking occasionally. Perhaps they might come out of the entire experience with the ability to think of it as an extraordinary vacation n time. In fact, in time they might even be able to convince themselves that it had never really happened at all. They might be able to resolve not to speak of it and in that way each of them could treat it as a moment of fantasy rather than real life experience. It might prove difficult, but as there was no one they could talk to about it other than each other, it might actually be the easiest path. Sometimes just forgetting is the healthiest thing a person can do.
The announcement that they were about to land brought her out of her reverie. She hurried from her seat to use the on-board facilities, knowing that they had at least another twenty minutes of circling before they would actually land. She slipped on her jacket before she buckled herself in and then checked around for any belongings that would need to be put back into her back. She pulled her notebook from the pocket in front of her. She rubbed the outside binding. Then she remembered. She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the scrunched up piece of paper. She read the last lines of her poem.
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.
The plane began to descend. Lin pressed the page flat with her hand. and opened the notebook. She flipped through the pages, looking for the section it was pulled from. The plane lurched onto the tarmac and the poem slipped from her hands. She stretched out to retrieve it from the floor, the seatbelt pressing uncomfortably into her with the added bulk of her jacket. Sitting back up with the paper in her hand she noticed the handwriting on the page. It was not her own. It was Roary's, it was clearly his distintive script. She read the oddly broken yet somehow fluid script with a sense of moving both backward and forward in time simultaneously.
When There is Here
Here on this beautiful strange planet, habitable but cold,
is it distance or radiation that I feel - that softens my eyes,
this thinness of the atmosphere, high and fine - but blue?
And gold! It's tinged with gold at the edge, a bright blue bubble
This time of a rushing tide that should have come but once
and now returns as if it can't be held.
And back to the questions of distance and time,
and is it infinite or finite, and why?
And all the while it radiates and flows, across this gulf,
there to connect, radiate and flow.
Suddenly the goals evolve, the There is Here,
and standing on my crossed toes I can just see the beginning,
As it should have been.
Ah, the luxury of space and the longing of time,
and the promise of an expression to be shared
When had he written this? What did it mean? The people around her were moving. She folded the paper and put it inside the notebook, stuffing the notebook into her pack. It was time to get off the plane. It was time to get on with her life and assure that her family would be unscathed, or as close as possible, now that they were home.
The trip to the airport was quiet. The sounds of the rushing wheels on the pavement broken only by the turning of pages from the backseat as Ian thumbed through his journal. They returned the rental and made their way via shuttle to the airport, managing to stay together through the press of people. It was so different, the urban presence almost overwhelming in comparison to the village. The boys stayed close together the entire time, even as the browsed the small shops prior to boarding in order to pick up the little treasures they would need to take back to those who waited for them.
On board the plane Lin was disappointed, though not surprised, to find that her seat was not with the others. She was further back in the plane and on the left side of the aisle. From her window seat she could see her family, Sean at the aisle, then Ian, then Fiona - they were all seated in the middle row of the plane. She wished she had splurged for business class when she had first booked the flight. She had tried to upgrade them all, but the seats were not available on this flight, and she did not want to delay their departure. She needed to leave and thought the boys would want to as well. Lin watched as the boys picked out an in-flight movie together and Fiona settled in with a blanket and pillow. She had never been good at sleeping on planes and envied her mother's ability to do so.
She pulled out her notebook and thumbed through the entries since she had left for Ireland. The early entries were contemplative and mostly about the scenery or the past. She winced when she realized that she had virtally stopped writing after Aiofe had come into their lives. She found one of her last entries and read it. It was about him, about Roary.
Tossed on the Tide
Floating, no, rushing at high tide
Tumbling on the sand
Spilling and shifting
Then gathering her skirts and
Running back to sea
The salt spray in his hair
grit on his skin
it stayed with him on the shore
Him - barefoot and laughing with
the tumbling girl in the waves
She wasn’t sure he knew the source
of the taste of the water
But he did not drown in it
That was in his favor
And he was there
Towel in hand
at the next rising of the tide
to gather her up, froth and foam and weed
ply her with wine and laughter
And set her free when the tug came
back to the sea
Somehow what she remembered
As the waves whipped her hair
Was the towel in his hand
and the smile on his face.
She closed the book softly, almost with reverance. What had she been thinking? She missed the man that ths was about. Lin sat there, her head against the window frame and let the emptiness swell. She closed her eyes and floated through the images she had of him. She remembered meeting him in his shop that first time, the way he had caught her so unprepared to feel anything. She let the images run through her mind. It was as she replayed their last moments on the strand that her thoughts were interrupted by the attendant wanting to know if she would like something to drink. She asked for tea and as she waited firmly set the memories from her mind. It would not do her any good to dwell on a man that did not really exist. He was not what he had seemed.
She took the tea, setting it carefully on her tray. How satirically appropriate that what was real in the trip would prove to be the most fantastic experiences. That reality would be events no one would ever believe seemed somehow appropriate juxtaposed to the reality of Roary James. All a part of the place she mused, or perhaps it just proved that fairy tales were never real, though apparently faery tales could be. She turned on the in-flight entertainment screen and selected a movie. It was a high-powered action adventure, something that moved fast and hard so that she could get caught in its explosions instead of her own.
Fiona could hear Sean and Ian next to her. To be more precise, she could hear Sean talking to Ian, with lapses in between. Surprisingly, it sounded much like a conversation overheard with someone on the phone. Whatever it was, Sean and Ian seemed to be conversing in someway, and that gave her hope. She pulled the blanket up a bit higher and tried to settle into sleep. Eventually the rumble of the noise on the airplane became a calming drone and she drifted off.
She was in her kitchen, the scent of rasberry cookies filling the air. She stood at the window washing the dishes and looking out over her garden. It was in full bloom. She sighed, a deep sense of belonging filled her. She finished the last cup and set it on the drying board. She dried her hands and pulled the cookies from the oven. She checked the clock and smiled. The cookies were done, now all she had to do was dress before they arrived.
She made her way to the bedroom, enjoying the feel of the carpet runner under her barefeet. The changes she had made to the house were good. She liked the fresh open feel of the hardwood floors and fresh white paint. In her room, she turned to the closet. This was the hardest part, opening the closet and finding only her things there. But it was getting better as the years progressed. She was finding parts of herself that were well worth knowing and there were times when she was truly happy. She looked at the clock again. She had time for a shower. She gathered her things and went to her bath. When the water was steamy she climbed in. She used her lavendar soap and soon the room was filled with a thick heady lavendar scented steam. She relaxed under the spray and scrubbed her hair. The beads of water pulsed into her muscles and relaxed her. It felt wonderful. She rinsed her hair and eased back into the spray, her eyes closed with the pleasure of the heat and the scent. The brush of warmth at her neck, the slick feel of hands rubbing her waist and sliding up her back to knead at the small knots from daily living. The brush of lips against her own. She expelled a long held breath and opened her eyes. The room was thick with steam and dark as if she had spent hours instead of minutes in the spray. She turned off the water and stepped out to dry. As she patted the towel on her legs and drew it up to her back she felt as if an extra set of hands was helping her. Their warmth bled through the towel to her flesh in a sensual massage. Still masked in the steam, Fiona found herself reaching for the door more by memory than by use of her senses. Which was just as well, since her senses were bombarded by the sense of warmth and touch from the shower. In her room, she made her way to the bed and sank down on it, pulses still racing. She put her head in her hands and concentrated on breathing. She felt the warm breath against her neck again and a hand pressed to one of her own. The hand, large and familiar pulled her up and brought her round, then settled her on the bed. She laid there, awake and spiked with electicity. She felt the bed sway with added weight and an arm come around her pulling her close. The breath at her nape was calming and so achingly familiar. She pressed back into the heat and felt a heartbeat that was not her own. As much as she knew he could not be here, she knew that for this space in time he was. He was here and they would share this moment, however brieft together. She let her breathing slow to match his, let her hand move to cup his where he held her. She turned toward him and he pulled her to him. Their hands were tighly clasped together, fingers wound so that where one hand ended the other began. She fell asleep in that embrace, held perfectly.
Fiona woke to the sound of the couple next to her changing places. It took her awhile to figure out exactly where she was. She turned in her chair, feeling oddly complete. She reached into her pocket and rubbed her stone. It was radiating heat. She smiled softly and gripped the stone, enjoying its unusual heat.
Lin grumbled, she had watched three movies and was still restless. Her view of the boys had at least provided her with some hope when it came to Ian. He seemed to be interacting pretty well with Sean. She could not tell from her viewing angle, but it seemed as if they might even be talking occasionally. Perhaps they might come out of the entire experience with the ability to think of it as an extraordinary vacation n time. In fact, in time they might even be able to convince themselves that it had never really happened at all. They might be able to resolve not to speak of it and in that way each of them could treat it as a moment of fantasy rather than real life experience. It might prove difficult, but as there was no one they could talk to about it other than each other, it might actually be the easiest path. Sometimes just forgetting is the healthiest thing a person can do.
The announcement that they were about to land brought her out of her reverie. She hurried from her seat to use the on-board facilities, knowing that they had at least another twenty minutes of circling before they would actually land. She slipped on her jacket before she buckled herself in and then checked around for any belongings that would need to be put back into her back. She pulled her notebook from the pocket in front of her. She rubbed the outside binding. Then she remembered. She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the scrunched up piece of paper. She read the last lines of her poem.
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.
The plane began to descend. Lin pressed the page flat with her hand. and opened the notebook. She flipped through the pages, looking for the section it was pulled from. The plane lurched onto the tarmac and the poem slipped from her hands. She stretched out to retrieve it from the floor, the seatbelt pressing uncomfortably into her with the added bulk of her jacket. Sitting back up with the paper in her hand she noticed the handwriting on the page. It was not her own. It was Roary's, it was clearly his distintive script. She read the oddly broken yet somehow fluid script with a sense of moving both backward and forward in time simultaneously.
When There is Here
Here on this beautiful strange planet, habitable but cold,
is it distance or radiation that I feel - that softens my eyes,
this thinness of the atmosphere, high and fine - but blue?
And gold! It's tinged with gold at the edge, a bright blue bubble
This time of a rushing tide that should have come but once
and now returns as if it can't be held.
And back to the questions of distance and time,
and is it infinite or finite, and why?
And all the while it radiates and flows, across this gulf,
there to connect, radiate and flow.
Suddenly the goals evolve, the There is Here,
and standing on my crossed toes I can just see the beginning,
As it should have been.
Ah, the luxury of space and the longing of time,
and the promise of an expression to be shared
When had he written this? What did it mean? The people around her were moving. She folded the paper and put it inside the notebook, stuffing the notebook into her pack. It was time to get off the plane. It was time to get on with her life and assure that her family would be unscathed, or as close as possible, now that they were home.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Participles and Portents (83)
Barren Burdens
Roary sagged against the door, leaning heavily on the wood as he locked it behind the retreating figures of the two young men. He closed his eyes, the piercing hunger of Ian's gaze looked up at him and was swallowed by the yearning, raw need exposed in Sean's young face. He turned the sign to closed and made his way back to the shop's small office. There he pulled out his bottle of Tullamore Dew and poured a good measure into his empty tea cup. He set the bottle back thoughtfully and then moved to his chair. With a heavy sign he lowered himself into the chair and sat holding the cup in both hands and staring vacantly ahead.
What Sean had been through was so harsh. He found it hard to reconcile himself to the idea that the young boy had accepted the role of being a father while in his hound form. Yet, from the way he spoke about Cait and the pups, it certainly seemed as if he had formed a real bond, a lasting relationship. He took a long draw from the cup and swallowed, setting the cup down. Standing he ran his hands through his hair and then pummeled the wall with the flat of his hand. No boy should have to bear a burden of this nature, it was too harsh for anyone so young. Hell, it was too harsh for anyone, to find a love and create life and then be torn from it. Sean would never know what happened to that family, and it was clear he thought of Cait and the pups as family. Perhaps in time he would be able to convince himself that it was a time that never really happened. Perhaps they would all convince themselves that this time never really occurred and they would manage to push all of it away. He stalked over to his cup and tossed back the rest of his pour, almost choking on the heat of the whiskey. It would take a long time for him to convince himself that this was just a dream. He supposed for the others it would be more about putting to bed a nightmare. He gave the wall another solid slam, then turned out the lights and made his way to bed.
Morning found him staring at the ceiling waiting for a sleep that clearly was not going to come. He showered and dressed. He stood over the tea kettle trying to decide what to do. He wanted to see Lin before she left. He knew she should know what Sean had told him, but it was not really his tale to tell. He sat with his tea and picked at the toast he had made. Breakfast was not really something he could focus on right now. He got his jacket and coat and went down to the office. He found the book easily enough, wrapped it and then left. He wasn't quite sure what he planned to do, but perhaps it would come to him by the time he arrived at the cottage.
The wind, crisp and bracing, felt good on his face. He let himself concentrate on just his senses, trying to keep his mind from tracing back through either Sean's tale or the issues with Lin. As he crested the curve, he could see them packing the car. Ian and Sean were bringing out the baggage. He stopped where he was, looked about and found himself moving to a place where he could watch from cover. A place where he would not be seen. He looked down at the book in his hands, rubbing it through its wrappings, then stared at the progress being made in packing the car. Fiona had come out and was talking to the boys. They pulled out a few smaller bags and went into the cottage. A few minues later they emerged with a larger bag, which once loaded became a base upon which they replaced the smaller bags. The boot was closed then and they returned to the cottage. He had yet to see her. He moved a bit so that he could get a view into the window.
Fiona and the boys were there, but still he did not see Lin. His patience was exhausting itself. He stood, prepared to go to the door, when it opened and all four of them came out. The boys piled into the back seat. Fiona and Lin stood for a moment in front of the cottage. Roary watched for a few moments more, then finally began to move out of his hiding place. As he walked toward them, the two women turned to the car. He watched as Fiona got in first. He picked up the pace, starting to run, as Lin took her seat. He reached the drive as the car pulled away and left him standing there, with everything he had wanted to say still caught in his throat.
The wind nipped at his hair as he stood there in his silence. She was gone. It was as simple as that. He started a slow trudge down the drive. His mind clicking through moments, capturing images he would be better off forgetting. He found himself thinking of reasons to call her. In the end, he knew he could not. He still had nothing to tell her that would make what he had done less and what he knew of Sean's experience had been told in confidence. His hands and his heart were tied. He found a rock facing the sea and sat. If he could only go back in time, he would change the moment he took the notebook. No, he would have told Lin more about the legend and saved her family the pain it had gone through. The book fell from his hands as he realized that nothing he could have done would have prevented things from happening as they did. Once Lin had made her choice to care for the wounded bird, it seemed nothing could have stopped the muddle. He picked up the book, brushed the sand and debris from the wrapper. With an absentminded effort he ripped open the package.
Thumbing through the book he turned to the passages that he had read with Sean that first night. The legend of the Children of Lir was a fine old tale, well known to most natives of Ireland. He read through the passages of Aiofe's jealousy, her terrible betrayal of the King as she turned his children into swans with the awful curse. He read on, read the King's lament, his deep pain over his children. Then he read a passage he did not remember. The King and Aiofe were on the shore where she had transformed the children. He was torn with grief. Aiofe was crying, begging for forgiveness. She gave him a brooch, one that matched the drawing in the book, the one that Sean had found. She held out the three silks to him. The King took the brooch and turned in grief to the sea, yet as he walked into the sea he was surrounded by the beauty of his children's voices. The three swans came out of the sky and landed in the water, floating on the waves and surrounding their father. Aiofe fought through the swells to them, going down under the waves, and coming up almost blue. She continued on and wove the fabric around the swans in a looping pattern. Lir turned the pin in his palm. He took Aiofe's hand and crushed it in a strong grip and then reached out to pin the silks together. The story unfolded with colors and light and the transformation of the children, who though older than when they had been bound into their avian forms, did not drift into dust as they did in all the other versions of the tale. They walked from the sea hand in hand with each other and with their father. A family united.
Roary closed the book, his eyes glazed with tears. So it seemed the tale had been re-written. Or at least it had in this book. Could it be that all of their efforts had caused this change? Was it actually possible that Lir's legend was not so much fiction after all, and that somehow they had changed its outcome? He closed the book and ran his hands over the worn leather. Gazing out at the rough pummel of the sea on the rock, he found a small glow inside himself. He knew happy endings were hard to find in Irish tales. It was good to read one at last. Perhaps the family that just left would find some of their own. It seemed the best he could hope for.
He stood resignedly and began to walk the path that would lead him back to his shop. He had a great deal of sorting to do of his own if he had any hopes of finding at least a modicum of peace in his days ahead.
Roary sagged against the door, leaning heavily on the wood as he locked it behind the retreating figures of the two young men. He closed his eyes, the piercing hunger of Ian's gaze looked up at him and was swallowed by the yearning, raw need exposed in Sean's young face. He turned the sign to closed and made his way back to the shop's small office. There he pulled out his bottle of Tullamore Dew and poured a good measure into his empty tea cup. He set the bottle back thoughtfully and then moved to his chair. With a heavy sign he lowered himself into the chair and sat holding the cup in both hands and staring vacantly ahead.
What Sean had been through was so harsh. He found it hard to reconcile himself to the idea that the young boy had accepted the role of being a father while in his hound form. Yet, from the way he spoke about Cait and the pups, it certainly seemed as if he had formed a real bond, a lasting relationship. He took a long draw from the cup and swallowed, setting the cup down. Standing he ran his hands through his hair and then pummeled the wall with the flat of his hand. No boy should have to bear a burden of this nature, it was too harsh for anyone so young. Hell, it was too harsh for anyone, to find a love and create life and then be torn from it. Sean would never know what happened to that family, and it was clear he thought of Cait and the pups as family. Perhaps in time he would be able to convince himself that it was a time that never really happened. Perhaps they would all convince themselves that this time never really occurred and they would manage to push all of it away. He stalked over to his cup and tossed back the rest of his pour, almost choking on the heat of the whiskey. It would take a long time for him to convince himself that this was just a dream. He supposed for the others it would be more about putting to bed a nightmare. He gave the wall another solid slam, then turned out the lights and made his way to bed.
Morning found him staring at the ceiling waiting for a sleep that clearly was not going to come. He showered and dressed. He stood over the tea kettle trying to decide what to do. He wanted to see Lin before she left. He knew she should know what Sean had told him, but it was not really his tale to tell. He sat with his tea and picked at the toast he had made. Breakfast was not really something he could focus on right now. He got his jacket and coat and went down to the office. He found the book easily enough, wrapped it and then left. He wasn't quite sure what he planned to do, but perhaps it would come to him by the time he arrived at the cottage.
The wind, crisp and bracing, felt good on his face. He let himself concentrate on just his senses, trying to keep his mind from tracing back through either Sean's tale or the issues with Lin. As he crested the curve, he could see them packing the car. Ian and Sean were bringing out the baggage. He stopped where he was, looked about and found himself moving to a place where he could watch from cover. A place where he would not be seen. He looked down at the book in his hands, rubbing it through its wrappings, then stared at the progress being made in packing the car. Fiona had come out and was talking to the boys. They pulled out a few smaller bags and went into the cottage. A few minues later they emerged with a larger bag, which once loaded became a base upon which they replaced the smaller bags. The boot was closed then and they returned to the cottage. He had yet to see her. He moved a bit so that he could get a view into the window.
Fiona and the boys were there, but still he did not see Lin. His patience was exhausting itself. He stood, prepared to go to the door, when it opened and all four of them came out. The boys piled into the back seat. Fiona and Lin stood for a moment in front of the cottage. Roary watched for a few moments more, then finally began to move out of his hiding place. As he walked toward them, the two women turned to the car. He watched as Fiona got in first. He picked up the pace, starting to run, as Lin took her seat. He reached the drive as the car pulled away and left him standing there, with everything he had wanted to say still caught in his throat.
The wind nipped at his hair as he stood there in his silence. She was gone. It was as simple as that. He started a slow trudge down the drive. His mind clicking through moments, capturing images he would be better off forgetting. He found himself thinking of reasons to call her. In the end, he knew he could not. He still had nothing to tell her that would make what he had done less and what he knew of Sean's experience had been told in confidence. His hands and his heart were tied. He found a rock facing the sea and sat. If he could only go back in time, he would change the moment he took the notebook. No, he would have told Lin more about the legend and saved her family the pain it had gone through. The book fell from his hands as he realized that nothing he could have done would have prevented things from happening as they did. Once Lin had made her choice to care for the wounded bird, it seemed nothing could have stopped the muddle. He picked up the book, brushed the sand and debris from the wrapper. With an absentminded effort he ripped open the package.
Thumbing through the book he turned to the passages that he had read with Sean that first night. The legend of the Children of Lir was a fine old tale, well known to most natives of Ireland. He read through the passages of Aiofe's jealousy, her terrible betrayal of the King as she turned his children into swans with the awful curse. He read on, read the King's lament, his deep pain over his children. Then he read a passage he did not remember. The King and Aiofe were on the shore where she had transformed the children. He was torn with grief. Aiofe was crying, begging for forgiveness. She gave him a brooch, one that matched the drawing in the book, the one that Sean had found. She held out the three silks to him. The King took the brooch and turned in grief to the sea, yet as he walked into the sea he was surrounded by the beauty of his children's voices. The three swans came out of the sky and landed in the water, floating on the waves and surrounding their father. Aiofe fought through the swells to them, going down under the waves, and coming up almost blue. She continued on and wove the fabric around the swans in a looping pattern. Lir turned the pin in his palm. He took Aiofe's hand and crushed it in a strong grip and then reached out to pin the silks together. The story unfolded with colors and light and the transformation of the children, who though older than when they had been bound into their avian forms, did not drift into dust as they did in all the other versions of the tale. They walked from the sea hand in hand with each other and with their father. A family united.
Roary closed the book, his eyes glazed with tears. So it seemed the tale had been re-written. Or at least it had in this book. Could it be that all of their efforts had caused this change? Was it actually possible that Lir's legend was not so much fiction after all, and that somehow they had changed its outcome? He closed the book and ran his hands over the worn leather. Gazing out at the rough pummel of the sea on the rock, he found a small glow inside himself. He knew happy endings were hard to find in Irish tales. It was good to read one at last. Perhaps the family that just left would find some of their own. It seemed the best he could hope for.
He stood resignedly and began to walk the path that would lead him back to his shop. He had a great deal of sorting to do of his own if he had any hopes of finding at least a modicum of peace in his days ahead.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Participles and Portents (82)
Dust and Drizzle
The morning when it came matched her mood perfectly. It was overcast and wet, just enough wet to be considered a drizzle, not even enough vigor to be a real rain. She practically yanked the curtain back over the window as she turned to dress for the day. Their last day at the cottage. The last day in the village, in Ireland, at least for her. She had never thought it possible that she would not want to be in Ireland. It was one place where she had always felt more alive, but now, after everything, she just wanted to leave. Insane things did not tend to happen in the States, perhaps the country just did not have the temperament for it. Well, that was not precisely true, she mused as she pulled on her jeans. Insane things did happen, but they were predictable by most standards. Some psycho would decide it was time to end his life and that would not be enough, so a gun would burst out on a campus or in a fast food restaurant, even a church. That was definitely insane. But it was leagues away from what her family had experienced. Who would ever believe her boys if they told them that they had spent most of their holiday in Ireland cast in the form of Irish wolfhounds? What if she even tried to explain what had happened to her when she and Roary had gone off alone to the fort? She shook her head; she did not want to remember that or anything else that came along with that name attached. Picking up her pace, she pulled on her sweater, ran a brush through her hair and went to wash her face and brush her teeth before starting the breakfast. Their last here at the cottage. "Ugh, I have to stop it with this last stuff, or I'll drive myself mad," she thought. "Someone would think I don't want to get out of this place." She ran the cold tap and splashed it on her face, gasping when it hit her.
In the kitchen she cooked up the rest of the eggs, a full rasher of bacon, the couple of bangers they still had and grilled some tomatoes. Fiona wandered in and set the kettle on for tea, turning to slice the brown bread without a word, knowing that the quiet was as much a good morning as needed between them. Eventually the smell of the food brought Sean out of the room, followed shortly by Ian.
"Try not to cook the bacon too crisp for Ian," said Sean.
Lin turned with a raised brow, but pulled several pieces out and set them aside for Ian. "Ian, have you thought about what you plan to take home to Emma? I know you haven't really spoken with her as you planned, so you might need to upgrade whatever you had planned," Lin tossed casually over her shoulder, praying silently that Ian would answer. There were a few beats of silence though and no answer. She let her shoulders drop as she removed the rest of the food from the fire.
She almost jumped out of her skin when she felt the hand on her shoulder. Spinning with the spatula still in her hand and almost hitting the side of Ian's head as she did so. He just looked at her a moment, took the kitchen implement and set it aside and then hugged her. A long full hug that somehow she took to mean that he had heard her even if he wasn't answering. Then he stepped around her and picked up the platters, one with the meat, the other with the eggs, potatoes and tomatoes and took them to the table. Sean followed with a stack of plates and a glass full of silverware. Fiona was right behind him, one hand with a platter of slathered brown bread, the other carrying the teapot, its scent of breakfast tea adding to the parade in a fine wisp of smoke. Lin picked up the cups for the tea and followed them a bit more at ease with the day.
It was a good breakfast and everyone helped with cleaning up. Lin took down the last unopened bottle of wine and wrapped a ribbon on it with a note for the landlord to thank him for the space. It may not have been the trip they had planned. But they had survived and they were together, and it was hardly the landlord's fault for the the troubles they experienced.
She asked the boys to lay out the travel clothes for the morning and put together their packs and went to do her own. She was not sure what they would do with the rest of their day. Perhaps they could drive a bit and see something that did not involve swans, silks or the Sidhe. Fiona came in and sat on the edge of the bed.
"I was wondering what you planned to do with the day today?"
"I thought we might drive a bit, see what there is to see that does not have anything to do with our travails of late."
"Oh, I had thought you might want to take the boys into town again. They should probably stop and see Roary, thank him for all he's done."
"I think they covered that the first night. There is no need to beat a path to Mr. James's door."
"It's Mr. James now?"
"Yes, I suppose it is. Well, I think I have this well in hand. How about you?"
"Change in topic? I guess I should check just to make sure I have what I want for the plane, then I will be ready to go," Fiona gave her daughter a long look as she left the room. She was not at all comfortable with the rigidity of Lin's stance. She had seen that before and had not liked it then either.
Lin finished and made her way to the boys' room. She placed a hand on the door and spun in with a determined smile on her face. Sean and Ian were sitting on a bed together, heads bent.
"Am I interrupting something?"
They jumped away from each other as if a snake had been dropped on them. Which was actually saying quite a bit given how much Sean disliked snakes. Sean turned and started to push something into his suitcase as Ian moved to stand in front of him.
"Don't think I can't see that you are trying to put something in that case that you don't want me to see. Pull it out, Sean, and hand it over."
Ian turned and looked at his brother. Sean nodded to him. It seemed that whatever it was, Sean was telling Ian it was okay that Lin had asked for it. This silence thing was actually pretty creepy at times, thought Lin. Sean turned back to the suitcase and pulled out a pillowcase-wrapped object, handing it to his mother.
Lin took it, her hand starting to quiver as she felt the heft and shape of it. She knew what it was immediately. "Bloody damn hell," she fired under her breath. "Sean, you and Ian are going to have to take this back to the book shop. It is far too expensive a book for you to keep and I am certain it was a loan."
"No, Ma, Roar..., Mr. James said the other night, after everything that happened, I could keep it," Sean replied, a question in his words.
"It's not right for you to keep something like this and you know that. You have to take this back. Your Nana and I are planning to go for a bit of a tour today, so don't spend much time. Just go and thank him for his offer and get back, is that clear?"
"Yes, but it was a gift. Isn't it rude to give a gift back?"
"Not when the gift was given in the heat of the moment. I am sure that the man has come to his senses by now and realizes that he gave you far too expensive an item. If he offers you a reasonable gift, that's fine, but I expect you to know the difference."
The boys put on their jackets and shoes, tucked the book in a bag rather than the pillowcase and set off to the village. Lin and Fiona watched them from the cottage.
"I can't believe you are letting them go on their own," remarked Fiona.
"They have to know I trust them. Otherwise how will they leave the whole experience behind them?
"I guess so, but if it were me, I don't think I would start trusting until we were well away from this village and perhaps even off this island all together."
At the shop the bell rang with a hollow sound. Roary was not up front as one might have expected and the shop felt eerily empty. Ian seemed caught up in the new scent of dust and age that the shop offered and went off into the stacks, while Sean ventured forward toward the office. He found Roary clutching a tea cup and staring at its now empty bottom.
"Excuse me, Mr. James?"
"Sean?"
"I think so," Sean smiled.
"I thought ye and yer family would be leaving today."
"Our flight is late enough tomorrow that we can drive to the airport then. Nana doesn't want to stay in a hotel."
"Och, well then, what can I do for ye."
"Well, I think that might be a bit complicated. I don't have a lot of time, but I need to ask you something. If you will help me," Sean looked at him, his chocolate eyes pleading.
"Well, I'll be needin to know what ye want first."
Then Sean sat and with the book cradled in his arms, he told him. He told him everything, about fighting the old hound and mating with Cait; coming to be truly mated. He spent time detailing how he felt about watching his pups grow in her. Then he told Roary about needing to run with his brother and about knowing that she had birthed two pups just before he had been forced back into this world. He was crying by then, not loud sobs, just silent tears that streaked down his cheeks. Roary handed him a handkerchief, struck by how much the boy had been through. He was so young to be carrying the burdens of a full grown man.
"I just want to know if you will look out for them. I mean, I know they are not likely to be here, but maybe they might be in one of your books someday. I have a feeling they might be worthy of a book; they are special, I think, part human, part wolfhound. I may never get to be the father I wanted to be, but I can't help wanting to know what happens to them and to her."
Roary ran his hand through the boy's hair. "Ye are so young. Aye, I'll read all I can on the subject to see what I can find."
Sean smiled up at him, thrusting his parcel into Roary's hand. "My mom said I couldn't keep something so valuable. I am very glad you let me read it though. I slipped my address and phone numbers at home and at school inside. If you find anything, will you promise to get in touch with me?"
Roary pulled out the book and slipped out the page with Sean's tight script on it. "I wish ye could keep the book, but I ken what your mother is sayin. Aye, I'll contact ye if I find anything. But don't go gettin all disappointed if it takes awhile. There's quite a bit of research to get through."
"I'll try not to, but you could write, or call, just to do it, too. If you want to," Sean and Roary rose when Ian stepped in, somehow covered in dust.
"What the devil did ye get yerself into, lad?" laughed Roary.
Ian just shook himself vigorously as if somehow that would clean him fully. Instead it sent a fine spray into the air. When the dust settled, all three occupants of the little room looked like they had been standing still in time, just letting the dust have its way.
The morning when it came matched her mood perfectly. It was overcast and wet, just enough wet to be considered a drizzle, not even enough vigor to be a real rain. She practically yanked the curtain back over the window as she turned to dress for the day. Their last day at the cottage. The last day in the village, in Ireland, at least for her. She had never thought it possible that she would not want to be in Ireland. It was one place where she had always felt more alive, but now, after everything, she just wanted to leave. Insane things did not tend to happen in the States, perhaps the country just did not have the temperament for it. Well, that was not precisely true, she mused as she pulled on her jeans. Insane things did happen, but they were predictable by most standards. Some psycho would decide it was time to end his life and that would not be enough, so a gun would burst out on a campus or in a fast food restaurant, even a church. That was definitely insane. But it was leagues away from what her family had experienced. Who would ever believe her boys if they told them that they had spent most of their holiday in Ireland cast in the form of Irish wolfhounds? What if she even tried to explain what had happened to her when she and Roary had gone off alone to the fort? She shook her head; she did not want to remember that or anything else that came along with that name attached. Picking up her pace, she pulled on her sweater, ran a brush through her hair and went to wash her face and brush her teeth before starting the breakfast. Their last here at the cottage. "Ugh, I have to stop it with this last stuff, or I'll drive myself mad," she thought. "Someone would think I don't want to get out of this place." She ran the cold tap and splashed it on her face, gasping when it hit her.
In the kitchen she cooked up the rest of the eggs, a full rasher of bacon, the couple of bangers they still had and grilled some tomatoes. Fiona wandered in and set the kettle on for tea, turning to slice the brown bread without a word, knowing that the quiet was as much a good morning as needed between them. Eventually the smell of the food brought Sean out of the room, followed shortly by Ian.
"Try not to cook the bacon too crisp for Ian," said Sean.
Lin turned with a raised brow, but pulled several pieces out and set them aside for Ian. "Ian, have you thought about what you plan to take home to Emma? I know you haven't really spoken with her as you planned, so you might need to upgrade whatever you had planned," Lin tossed casually over her shoulder, praying silently that Ian would answer. There were a few beats of silence though and no answer. She let her shoulders drop as she removed the rest of the food from the fire.
She almost jumped out of her skin when she felt the hand on her shoulder. Spinning with the spatula still in her hand and almost hitting the side of Ian's head as she did so. He just looked at her a moment, took the kitchen implement and set it aside and then hugged her. A long full hug that somehow she took to mean that he had heard her even if he wasn't answering. Then he stepped around her and picked up the platters, one with the meat, the other with the eggs, potatoes and tomatoes and took them to the table. Sean followed with a stack of plates and a glass full of silverware. Fiona was right behind him, one hand with a platter of slathered brown bread, the other carrying the teapot, its scent of breakfast tea adding to the parade in a fine wisp of smoke. Lin picked up the cups for the tea and followed them a bit more at ease with the day.
It was a good breakfast and everyone helped with cleaning up. Lin took down the last unopened bottle of wine and wrapped a ribbon on it with a note for the landlord to thank him for the space. It may not have been the trip they had planned. But they had survived and they were together, and it was hardly the landlord's fault for the the troubles they experienced.
She asked the boys to lay out the travel clothes for the morning and put together their packs and went to do her own. She was not sure what they would do with the rest of their day. Perhaps they could drive a bit and see something that did not involve swans, silks or the Sidhe. Fiona came in and sat on the edge of the bed.
"I was wondering what you planned to do with the day today?"
"I thought we might drive a bit, see what there is to see that does not have anything to do with our travails of late."
"Oh, I had thought you might want to take the boys into town again. They should probably stop and see Roary, thank him for all he's done."
"I think they covered that the first night. There is no need to beat a path to Mr. James's door."
"It's Mr. James now?"
"Yes, I suppose it is. Well, I think I have this well in hand. How about you?"
"Change in topic? I guess I should check just to make sure I have what I want for the plane, then I will be ready to go," Fiona gave her daughter a long look as she left the room. She was not at all comfortable with the rigidity of Lin's stance. She had seen that before and had not liked it then either.
Lin finished and made her way to the boys' room. She placed a hand on the door and spun in with a determined smile on her face. Sean and Ian were sitting on a bed together, heads bent.
"Am I interrupting something?"
They jumped away from each other as if a snake had been dropped on them. Which was actually saying quite a bit given how much Sean disliked snakes. Sean turned and started to push something into his suitcase as Ian moved to stand in front of him.
"Don't think I can't see that you are trying to put something in that case that you don't want me to see. Pull it out, Sean, and hand it over."
Ian turned and looked at his brother. Sean nodded to him. It seemed that whatever it was, Sean was telling Ian it was okay that Lin had asked for it. This silence thing was actually pretty creepy at times, thought Lin. Sean turned back to the suitcase and pulled out a pillowcase-wrapped object, handing it to his mother.
Lin took it, her hand starting to quiver as she felt the heft and shape of it. She knew what it was immediately. "Bloody damn hell," she fired under her breath. "Sean, you and Ian are going to have to take this back to the book shop. It is far too expensive a book for you to keep and I am certain it was a loan."
"No, Ma, Roar..., Mr. James said the other night, after everything that happened, I could keep it," Sean replied, a question in his words.
"It's not right for you to keep something like this and you know that. You have to take this back. Your Nana and I are planning to go for a bit of a tour today, so don't spend much time. Just go and thank him for his offer and get back, is that clear?"
"Yes, but it was a gift. Isn't it rude to give a gift back?"
"Not when the gift was given in the heat of the moment. I am sure that the man has come to his senses by now and realizes that he gave you far too expensive an item. If he offers you a reasonable gift, that's fine, but I expect you to know the difference."
The boys put on their jackets and shoes, tucked the book in a bag rather than the pillowcase and set off to the village. Lin and Fiona watched them from the cottage.
"I can't believe you are letting them go on their own," remarked Fiona.
"They have to know I trust them. Otherwise how will they leave the whole experience behind them?
"I guess so, but if it were me, I don't think I would start trusting until we were well away from this village and perhaps even off this island all together."
At the shop the bell rang with a hollow sound. Roary was not up front as one might have expected and the shop felt eerily empty. Ian seemed caught up in the new scent of dust and age that the shop offered and went off into the stacks, while Sean ventured forward toward the office. He found Roary clutching a tea cup and staring at its now empty bottom.
"Excuse me, Mr. James?"
"Sean?"
"I think so," Sean smiled.
"I thought ye and yer family would be leaving today."
"Our flight is late enough tomorrow that we can drive to the airport then. Nana doesn't want to stay in a hotel."
"Och, well then, what can I do for ye."
"Well, I think that might be a bit complicated. I don't have a lot of time, but I need to ask you something. If you will help me," Sean looked at him, his chocolate eyes pleading.
"Well, I'll be needin to know what ye want first."
Then Sean sat and with the book cradled in his arms, he told him. He told him everything, about fighting the old hound and mating with Cait; coming to be truly mated. He spent time detailing how he felt about watching his pups grow in her. Then he told Roary about needing to run with his brother and about knowing that she had birthed two pups just before he had been forced back into this world. He was crying by then, not loud sobs, just silent tears that streaked down his cheeks. Roary handed him a handkerchief, struck by how much the boy had been through. He was so young to be carrying the burdens of a full grown man.
"I just want to know if you will look out for them. I mean, I know they are not likely to be here, but maybe they might be in one of your books someday. I have a feeling they might be worthy of a book; they are special, I think, part human, part wolfhound. I may never get to be the father I wanted to be, but I can't help wanting to know what happens to them and to her."
Roary ran his hand through the boy's hair. "Ye are so young. Aye, I'll read all I can on the subject to see what I can find."
Sean smiled up at him, thrusting his parcel into Roary's hand. "My mom said I couldn't keep something so valuable. I am very glad you let me read it though. I slipped my address and phone numbers at home and at school inside. If you find anything, will you promise to get in touch with me?"
Roary pulled out the book and slipped out the page with Sean's tight script on it. "I wish ye could keep the book, but I ken what your mother is sayin. Aye, I'll contact ye if I find anything. But don't go gettin all disappointed if it takes awhile. There's quite a bit of research to get through."
"I'll try not to, but you could write, or call, just to do it, too. If you want to," Sean and Roary rose when Ian stepped in, somehow covered in dust.
"What the devil did ye get yerself into, lad?" laughed Roary.
Ian just shook himself vigorously as if somehow that would clean him fully. Instead it sent a fine spray into the air. When the dust settled, all three occupants of the little room looked like they had been standing still in time, just letting the dust have its way.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Participles and Portents (81)
All's Quiet, Whether You Like it or Not
They had taken their time with the packing and scrubbing. Fiona had even managed to recruit the boys to help clean up the grounds a bit. It wasn't precisely necessary, but she felt like having her hands in the soil and they seemed more comfortably with the outside tasks. Ian had managed to get his I-pod attached to some speakers and, with this musical accompaniment, they spent the better part of the afternoon making the cottage grounds a far sight better than they had been when Lin had arrived. It had occurred to Lin to mention this, but she did not have the heart to once she saw them all working together. The boys might not be much in the way of conversation, but they were communicating in their own way and it seemed to be getting better bit by bit.
Lin contented herself with scrubbing down the interior. If her mind started to drift too close to the events of the prior evening or her hand strayed to her pocket where the offending scrap of paper lay in the folds, she just scrubbed harder. The end result was a far cleaner interior than the landlord was likely to have ever seen on a turnover before. She studied the results with a tired eye and sore hands as she gripped her tea cup. It was definitely ready. She ran through the mental list of things they needed to do. There was not much. They would need to say good bye to a few people in the village. Ian needed to find something for Emma. Lin had never taken any of the poor girl's calls and was in fact still putting them off, either by turning off the ringer or sending her vague texts. Still, she expected Emma would meet them at the airport and it would not do for Ian to show up empty handed, particularly after all the silence during the vacation. She supposed there were gifts that Sean needed to take back. She had no idea what Fiona might need to bring back, though there were a few people she would like to bring items to herself. She had just thought she would have more time. Oh well, if worst came, they could pick items up at the airport. It was not really the same experience, but the receivers would not know the difference. All they would know for sure was that they had indeed been remembered, and that was a large part of the point. She rinsed out her cup and put it on the sideboard.
It was just about time for everyone to clean up if they were going to make it in to the pub for dinner. She waved to Fiona. Wiping her brow, Fiona waved back, then began collecting the tools. She supervised the completion of a few minor tasks and then worked with the boys to arrange the tools properly. They came in, where she announced them proper messes and set them to cleaning up.
"Did they speak much to you?" Lin asked
"Sean seems to be finding his voice. But, Ian, no. He gestures quite a bit. I can't say that I recall him speaking a word as yet. Though truth be told, I am not sure he really has had to. Sean always seems to have the words ready for him. It is kind of uncanny in a way."
"I guess we just wait. Perhaps Ian just needs more time. But I am really starting to worry. I got a good look at the gash on his hand this morning. I know it was deep and it should have had stitches, yet it was healing well enough to just need a new dressing this morning."
Fiona put her arms around Lin. "If we have learned anything at all in the last few weeks, it's that there are many things we simply can't explain. When something is, sometimes it is better to just let it be. Why don't we just take the healing for a good thing and leave it at that?"
"I guess you're right. If we pick at it, it might fester - that is what you are saying, right?"
Fiona smiled a bit, "In a less medically colorful way, yes. I'm glad we have a bit of time before dinner. I wouldn't want to eat with that visual at the plate."
By the time the two women had cleaned up and dressed, the boys had scrubbed, dressed and relaxed on their beds, looking as if they would be content to stay right there. They were rousted out with dire threats of moonlight gardening and the foursome set off in a light mood.
The walk to the village was almost fun. Ian and Sean spent much of it rough-housing. It felt almost normal and that in itself was a huge relief. The pub had just started to get busy when they arrived. Lin was a bit surprised to see the auburn-haired girl behind the bar. She had never seen anyone but Padraig back there before. She shrugged. Perhaps she worked a shift now and then. Still, she had always thought the barkeep rather possessive of the space.
Padraig came around himself to seat them. He seemed genuinely pleased to see them and insisted on purchasing their first round on the house. He brought out a glass of a mellow red wine for Fiona. a pint of Guiness for both Lin and Ian, and a dark soda mixed with cherry juice for Sean. He beamed at them all, holding his own pint up for a toast to start their dinner. He was certainly in a fine mood, that much was clear, thought Lin. She didn't even question his choice of beverages for Ian. She watched as her elder son spun the glass in his hands as if he were deciding if he should drink it. Finally he put it to his lips and took a long draft. He face took on a pleased expression at first but ended in a bit of a grimace as the bite of the stout finished its flavor on the back of his palate. It seemed the beer had a fifty-fifty chance of being accepted depending on whether the opening flavor was worth the end note.
They talked over the menu. Or to be clear, Fiona, Lin and Sean with intermittent comments discussed the menu. The special was a salmon with a cream-dill sauce over rice served with a side of seasonal vegetables. There was, of course, Irish stew and seafood chowder (both served with brown bread), and Padraig had put shepherd's pie on the menu for the night as well. There was steak, if one was willing to pay the price for it as well. It did not seem that Ian had much interest in anything, so when the time came to order, Lin asked for one of the specials with the sauce on the side. Ian was practically a chef in his own right, so it was usually best to get any sauces to the side, just in case they needed a bit of something to meet his taste test - or least they fail altogether. Though she did not expect anything like that coming out of Padraig's kitchen. As they ate their salads and waited for their meals, they passed the time alternating between broken conversation and watching the crowd grow. Everytime Lin caught a glimpse of a tall curly-headed man slipping through the doors, she felt herself stiffen. It was as if she was waiting for Roary to walk in.
When the plates arrived, they looked and smelled fantastic. Padraig had surely outdone himself. There were three specials, for Lin, Ian and Fiona, and a shepherd's pie for Sean. A fresh basket of warm brown bread and soft butter had been laid on the table and another round of drinks was brought out. Padraig had resumed his place behind the bar and the lovely auburn-haired girl was now serving the tables. She asked if they needed anything further and, when they did not, went on her way. Lin started her meal. It only took a few moments though for her to realize that something was not right. Ian had held the plate up to his nose and smelled it all the way round, then he had set it down. Now all he was doing was taking the occasional small sip of his Guiness and playing with his silverware.
"Is everything all right?" Fiona asked.
Ian just looked at her, his big blue eyes signaling distress. Then he pushed his plate toward her.
"I don't think he is going to eat this, Lin."
Sean pulled the plate out from under his pie dish and scooped some of the steaming potatoes, beef and vegetable concoction on to it. The first cut into the dish made the dish well up with aromatic gravy. It smelled fabulous. He passed the dish to Ian. Ian took the dish and gave it an appraising sniff, then he passed it back to his brother.
"I don't think he likes my pie either."
As Roary stood in the window watching this odd little scene play out, it occurred to him that Ian might just need some very rare beef if what he suspected was happening was the issue. He started to go in and then froze. He could see the look of distress on Lin's face. His presence would only make it worse. He worked his way round to the rear door, the one used for kitchen deliveries. He knocked. When Padraig answered he seemed geniunely confused, but he let Roary into the kitchen.
"I dinna believe ye have ever ventured here before. What can I do for ye?"
"I'd like to ask ye to send a very rare steak out to young Ian, my compliments. An' I'll take a special to go when ye have time," Roary added.
"I just made young Ian one of me specials," countered Padraig.
"It's a jest between the boy and me, so just do it for me. It's not like I'm asking ye to do it fer free, I'm willing to pay full price."
"Well, if a fool wants ta be parted with his money, I'm not going to stop him in me pub," smiled Padraig.
He put the meat on, and as he was searing it very rare, it was ready to go in moments. He added just a few of the seasonal vegetables and a baked potato, then took it out. "Compliments of a friend, young Ian."
Ian gave the dish a quick sniff and barely remembered to use fork and knife before be tucked in. He didn't even look up again until the last bit of meat was gone from the plate and the potato had been tucked away.
Fiona and Lin had not even started to eat, they were too busy watching Ian devour his dinner. Lin had never seen him eat a steak that rare before or with that much visceral intent. Clearly his tastes had changed. She wondered just what else had changed as well. She exchanged a long look with Fiona. Fiona turned to Sean to urge him to finish. But he was already done. Apparently Ian's appetite had not fazed him at all. Padraig stopped by to ask after their meals. He wasn't quite sure what Lin mumbled, but the gist seemed to be something about getting the check and something to take the leavings with. Surprised that the specials had not been touched, he waved Megan over to take care of the table and rushed back to the kitchen to check the salmon dish himself. He didna want to be serving poor food to his customers.
He made it back out in time to make the change for Lin and thank her for coming in. As she was assuring him that nothing was wrong with the meal, she lost track of her sentence. She thought she had seen Roary through the window. She pulled herself back to the conversation, thanking Padraig for his help with the swan and noting what a beautiful girl had been behind the bar earlier. "Aye, I'd have to agree with ye there, Miss Lin," winked Padraig. "And as for the wee bird, we got on fine after a bit. I think I might even come to miss the bird after a bit, so perhaps 'tis I should be thankin' ye for the opportunity to make a new if a bit odd of a friend. Ye and yer family travel well an try not to ferget us."
"We'll not forget any of you soon," smiled Fiona as she patted Padraig on the hand and ushered the boys out for the short walk home.
They moved down the lane, passing the bookshop, where Lin's eyes lingered as they passed, her hand reflexively trailing over her pocket where the scrap of paper lay. She scrunched it hard under her hand and steeled herself a bit harder, quickening her step.
They had taken their time with the packing and scrubbing. Fiona had even managed to recruit the boys to help clean up the grounds a bit. It wasn't precisely necessary, but she felt like having her hands in the soil and they seemed more comfortably with the outside tasks. Ian had managed to get his I-pod attached to some speakers and, with this musical accompaniment, they spent the better part of the afternoon making the cottage grounds a far sight better than they had been when Lin had arrived. It had occurred to Lin to mention this, but she did not have the heart to once she saw them all working together. The boys might not be much in the way of conversation, but they were communicating in their own way and it seemed to be getting better bit by bit.
Lin contented herself with scrubbing down the interior. If her mind started to drift too close to the events of the prior evening or her hand strayed to her pocket where the offending scrap of paper lay in the folds, she just scrubbed harder. The end result was a far cleaner interior than the landlord was likely to have ever seen on a turnover before. She studied the results with a tired eye and sore hands as she gripped her tea cup. It was definitely ready. She ran through the mental list of things they needed to do. There was not much. They would need to say good bye to a few people in the village. Ian needed to find something for Emma. Lin had never taken any of the poor girl's calls and was in fact still putting them off, either by turning off the ringer or sending her vague texts. Still, she expected Emma would meet them at the airport and it would not do for Ian to show up empty handed, particularly after all the silence during the vacation. She supposed there were gifts that Sean needed to take back. She had no idea what Fiona might need to bring back, though there were a few people she would like to bring items to herself. She had just thought she would have more time. Oh well, if worst came, they could pick items up at the airport. It was not really the same experience, but the receivers would not know the difference. All they would know for sure was that they had indeed been remembered, and that was a large part of the point. She rinsed out her cup and put it on the sideboard.
It was just about time for everyone to clean up if they were going to make it in to the pub for dinner. She waved to Fiona. Wiping her brow, Fiona waved back, then began collecting the tools. She supervised the completion of a few minor tasks and then worked with the boys to arrange the tools properly. They came in, where she announced them proper messes and set them to cleaning up.
"Did they speak much to you?" Lin asked
"Sean seems to be finding his voice. But, Ian, no. He gestures quite a bit. I can't say that I recall him speaking a word as yet. Though truth be told, I am not sure he really has had to. Sean always seems to have the words ready for him. It is kind of uncanny in a way."
"I guess we just wait. Perhaps Ian just needs more time. But I am really starting to worry. I got a good look at the gash on his hand this morning. I know it was deep and it should have had stitches, yet it was healing well enough to just need a new dressing this morning."
Fiona put her arms around Lin. "If we have learned anything at all in the last few weeks, it's that there are many things we simply can't explain. When something is, sometimes it is better to just let it be. Why don't we just take the healing for a good thing and leave it at that?"
"I guess you're right. If we pick at it, it might fester - that is what you are saying, right?"
Fiona smiled a bit, "In a less medically colorful way, yes. I'm glad we have a bit of time before dinner. I wouldn't want to eat with that visual at the plate."
By the time the two women had cleaned up and dressed, the boys had scrubbed, dressed and relaxed on their beds, looking as if they would be content to stay right there. They were rousted out with dire threats of moonlight gardening and the foursome set off in a light mood.
The walk to the village was almost fun. Ian and Sean spent much of it rough-housing. It felt almost normal and that in itself was a huge relief. The pub had just started to get busy when they arrived. Lin was a bit surprised to see the auburn-haired girl behind the bar. She had never seen anyone but Padraig back there before. She shrugged. Perhaps she worked a shift now and then. Still, she had always thought the barkeep rather possessive of the space.
Padraig came around himself to seat them. He seemed genuinely pleased to see them and insisted on purchasing their first round on the house. He brought out a glass of a mellow red wine for Fiona. a pint of Guiness for both Lin and Ian, and a dark soda mixed with cherry juice for Sean. He beamed at them all, holding his own pint up for a toast to start their dinner. He was certainly in a fine mood, that much was clear, thought Lin. She didn't even question his choice of beverages for Ian. She watched as her elder son spun the glass in his hands as if he were deciding if he should drink it. Finally he put it to his lips and took a long draft. He face took on a pleased expression at first but ended in a bit of a grimace as the bite of the stout finished its flavor on the back of his palate. It seemed the beer had a fifty-fifty chance of being accepted depending on whether the opening flavor was worth the end note.
They talked over the menu. Or to be clear, Fiona, Lin and Sean with intermittent comments discussed the menu. The special was a salmon with a cream-dill sauce over rice served with a side of seasonal vegetables. There was, of course, Irish stew and seafood chowder (both served with brown bread), and Padraig had put shepherd's pie on the menu for the night as well. There was steak, if one was willing to pay the price for it as well. It did not seem that Ian had much interest in anything, so when the time came to order, Lin asked for one of the specials with the sauce on the side. Ian was practically a chef in his own right, so it was usually best to get any sauces to the side, just in case they needed a bit of something to meet his taste test - or least they fail altogether. Though she did not expect anything like that coming out of Padraig's kitchen. As they ate their salads and waited for their meals, they passed the time alternating between broken conversation and watching the crowd grow. Everytime Lin caught a glimpse of a tall curly-headed man slipping through the doors, she felt herself stiffen. It was as if she was waiting for Roary to walk in.
When the plates arrived, they looked and smelled fantastic. Padraig had surely outdone himself. There were three specials, for Lin, Ian and Fiona, and a shepherd's pie for Sean. A fresh basket of warm brown bread and soft butter had been laid on the table and another round of drinks was brought out. Padraig had resumed his place behind the bar and the lovely auburn-haired girl was now serving the tables. She asked if they needed anything further and, when they did not, went on her way. Lin started her meal. It only took a few moments though for her to realize that something was not right. Ian had held the plate up to his nose and smelled it all the way round, then he had set it down. Now all he was doing was taking the occasional small sip of his Guiness and playing with his silverware.
"Is everything all right?" Fiona asked.
Ian just looked at her, his big blue eyes signaling distress. Then he pushed his plate toward her.
"I don't think he is going to eat this, Lin."
Sean pulled the plate out from under his pie dish and scooped some of the steaming potatoes, beef and vegetable concoction on to it. The first cut into the dish made the dish well up with aromatic gravy. It smelled fabulous. He passed the dish to Ian. Ian took the dish and gave it an appraising sniff, then he passed it back to his brother.
"I don't think he likes my pie either."
As Roary stood in the window watching this odd little scene play out, it occurred to him that Ian might just need some very rare beef if what he suspected was happening was the issue. He started to go in and then froze. He could see the look of distress on Lin's face. His presence would only make it worse. He worked his way round to the rear door, the one used for kitchen deliveries. He knocked. When Padraig answered he seemed geniunely confused, but he let Roary into the kitchen.
"I dinna believe ye have ever ventured here before. What can I do for ye?"
"I'd like to ask ye to send a very rare steak out to young Ian, my compliments. An' I'll take a special to go when ye have time," Roary added.
"I just made young Ian one of me specials," countered Padraig.
"It's a jest between the boy and me, so just do it for me. It's not like I'm asking ye to do it fer free, I'm willing to pay full price."
"Well, if a fool wants ta be parted with his money, I'm not going to stop him in me pub," smiled Padraig.
He put the meat on, and as he was searing it very rare, it was ready to go in moments. He added just a few of the seasonal vegetables and a baked potato, then took it out. "Compliments of a friend, young Ian."
Ian gave the dish a quick sniff and barely remembered to use fork and knife before be tucked in. He didn't even look up again until the last bit of meat was gone from the plate and the potato had been tucked away.
Fiona and Lin had not even started to eat, they were too busy watching Ian devour his dinner. Lin had never seen him eat a steak that rare before or with that much visceral intent. Clearly his tastes had changed. She wondered just what else had changed as well. She exchanged a long look with Fiona. Fiona turned to Sean to urge him to finish. But he was already done. Apparently Ian's appetite had not fazed him at all. Padraig stopped by to ask after their meals. He wasn't quite sure what Lin mumbled, but the gist seemed to be something about getting the check and something to take the leavings with. Surprised that the specials had not been touched, he waved Megan over to take care of the table and rushed back to the kitchen to check the salmon dish himself. He didna want to be serving poor food to his customers.
He made it back out in time to make the change for Lin and thank her for coming in. As she was assuring him that nothing was wrong with the meal, she lost track of her sentence. She thought she had seen Roary through the window. She pulled herself back to the conversation, thanking Padraig for his help with the swan and noting what a beautiful girl had been behind the bar earlier. "Aye, I'd have to agree with ye there, Miss Lin," winked Padraig. "And as for the wee bird, we got on fine after a bit. I think I might even come to miss the bird after a bit, so perhaps 'tis I should be thankin' ye for the opportunity to make a new if a bit odd of a friend. Ye and yer family travel well an try not to ferget us."
"We'll not forget any of you soon," smiled Fiona as she patted Padraig on the hand and ushered the boys out for the short walk home.
They moved down the lane, passing the bookshop, where Lin's eyes lingered as they passed, her hand reflexively trailing over her pocket where the scrap of paper lay. She scrunched it hard under her hand and steeled herself a bit harder, quickening her step.
Participles and Portents (80):
Dusty Friends
Roary spent a great deal of time dusting the bric-a-brac on his shelves. He even went so far as to check the catalogue order of the books on the shelves and run a duster over the shelves and the spines of the books, flicking at the nooks and crannies as if the tiniest speck might be what was causing the grit that seemed stuck in his eye. He rooted around, a bear with a splinter that could not be plucked, nudging everything and accomplishing next to nothing. He did not turn the sign to open. He wasna ready for visitors just yet, though he had apparently forgotten to lock the door behind him when he had stepped out to get a loaf and some steaming coffee from the shop down the way early that morning. He knew this by the sharp ring of the bells announcing his most unwelcome visitor. He emerged from the back row where he had first found Sean curled around the ancient Celtic tales ready to heave a bit of fire on the helpless victim who had wandered in without reading his sign. His spew caught in his throat as he found himself looking into Padraig's wide grin. Not that this would normally have stopped him, but a wide grin on Padraig's face before the lunch crowd had run through the Pub was not a typical sight. In fact, the blank almost grim look that the man normally wore until his till was full for the first round of the day was something you could definitely count on. Seeing the smiling visage was definitely an affront to nature as Roary knew it, and that was what gave him, and his wayward tongue, pause.
"I saw ye were in, though the sign said ye weren't open. I figured that wouldna stand between us though, since I'm not here to shop, and you'd no be expectin' me to. It's a brau day, Roary, a fine brau day. Surely ye do not mean to be stayin here with yer books, flickin' yer feather poker about rather than showin' the fine folk yer back and exchangin' a few pleasantries?"
Roary looked at the barkeep, one bushy brow raised in mock alarm. "So, it's ye that is comin to suggest I keep my civil head about me, abandon me shop and take a tour to let the town see me now as I am back? Now that has some cheek in it. I didna think you ken a fash what the neighbors thought about anything 'til after they made their decision about what to purchase for supper or dinner at the pub."
"What's turned yer hide so hard? 'Twas a day ye would have been all too pleased to see me participatin' or at least thinkin about participatin' in the morning stroll about town, giddy ol' ladies and all."
"Aye, but only for the sheer wonder on the ladies' faces, mind ye." Roary relaxed into a smile. "Get ye some tea?"
"I've not the time for a cup. On my way to visit me charge down at the strand. I know he doesna need my help so much anymore, but I like to find time to stop by just in case there comes a need."
Roary looked up at him from under his brows. "I'm sorry to have to tell ye, Padraig, but the swans, they're gone."
"Gone?"
"Aye, happened yesterday when we got back in. They were all three of them together and it seems they finally decided it was time to take flight. We would have come for ye, but it all happened so fast. 'Twas no time once they decided to go to summon anyone."
"Och, well, I've no doubt that crazy bird will remember me. He's likely got a piece or two floating through his system with all the nips he took out of me," laughed Padraig. His eyes were a bit misted though, thought Roary. Odd, but as much as he had known he could trust Padraig to take good care of the bird, it had never occurred to him that the man would become attached. The old softy, he was going to miss his charge.
"Aye, well, mayhap ye should be thinking about getting a pet of yer own then?"
Padraig's smile shifted a bit to the side, more to a rakish, almost boyish grin. "Aye a pet might be just the thing. Well, I best be getting along. I'm sure there are things to tend to off at the pub. See ye there for dinner tonight?"
"Always a possibility," laughed Roary as he let Padraig out and dimmed the lights. He had spent enough time out front. He made his way to the back of the shop for a cup of tea and a quiet dose of melancholy.
Roary spent a great deal of time dusting the bric-a-brac on his shelves. He even went so far as to check the catalogue order of the books on the shelves and run a duster over the shelves and the spines of the books, flicking at the nooks and crannies as if the tiniest speck might be what was causing the grit that seemed stuck in his eye. He rooted around, a bear with a splinter that could not be plucked, nudging everything and accomplishing next to nothing. He did not turn the sign to open. He wasna ready for visitors just yet, though he had apparently forgotten to lock the door behind him when he had stepped out to get a loaf and some steaming coffee from the shop down the way early that morning. He knew this by the sharp ring of the bells announcing his most unwelcome visitor. He emerged from the back row where he had first found Sean curled around the ancient Celtic tales ready to heave a bit of fire on the helpless victim who had wandered in without reading his sign. His spew caught in his throat as he found himself looking into Padraig's wide grin. Not that this would normally have stopped him, but a wide grin on Padraig's face before the lunch crowd had run through the Pub was not a typical sight. In fact, the blank almost grim look that the man normally wore until his till was full for the first round of the day was something you could definitely count on. Seeing the smiling visage was definitely an affront to nature as Roary knew it, and that was what gave him, and his wayward tongue, pause.
"I saw ye were in, though the sign said ye weren't open. I figured that wouldna stand between us though, since I'm not here to shop, and you'd no be expectin' me to. It's a brau day, Roary, a fine brau day. Surely ye do not mean to be stayin here with yer books, flickin' yer feather poker about rather than showin' the fine folk yer back and exchangin' a few pleasantries?"
Roary looked at the barkeep, one bushy brow raised in mock alarm. "So, it's ye that is comin to suggest I keep my civil head about me, abandon me shop and take a tour to let the town see me now as I am back? Now that has some cheek in it. I didna think you ken a fash what the neighbors thought about anything 'til after they made their decision about what to purchase for supper or dinner at the pub."
"What's turned yer hide so hard? 'Twas a day ye would have been all too pleased to see me participatin' or at least thinkin about participatin' in the morning stroll about town, giddy ol' ladies and all."
"Aye, but only for the sheer wonder on the ladies' faces, mind ye." Roary relaxed into a smile. "Get ye some tea?"
"I've not the time for a cup. On my way to visit me charge down at the strand. I know he doesna need my help so much anymore, but I like to find time to stop by just in case there comes a need."
Roary looked up at him from under his brows. "I'm sorry to have to tell ye, Padraig, but the swans, they're gone."
"Gone?"
"Aye, happened yesterday when we got back in. They were all three of them together and it seems they finally decided it was time to take flight. We would have come for ye, but it all happened so fast. 'Twas no time once they decided to go to summon anyone."
"Och, well, I've no doubt that crazy bird will remember me. He's likely got a piece or two floating through his system with all the nips he took out of me," laughed Padraig. His eyes were a bit misted though, thought Roary. Odd, but as much as he had known he could trust Padraig to take good care of the bird, it had never occurred to him that the man would become attached. The old softy, he was going to miss his charge.
"Aye, well, mayhap ye should be thinking about getting a pet of yer own then?"
Padraig's smile shifted a bit to the side, more to a rakish, almost boyish grin. "Aye a pet might be just the thing. Well, I best be getting along. I'm sure there are things to tend to off at the pub. See ye there for dinner tonight?"
"Always a possibility," laughed Roary as he let Padraig out and dimmed the lights. He had spent enough time out front. He made his way to the back of the shop for a cup of tea and a quiet dose of melancholy.
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