Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580
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Posts posted by Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580
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Linn Keller 11-27-13
The Sheriff leaned on his gold-headed cane and listened, smiling a little.
He was in the Mercantile, half hidden behind one of the displays, and two of the town's women were discussing as women will: one asked, "Did you go to the Llewellyn's reception?"
"Oh yes!" the other gushed. "That young Sarah Llewellyn has a house fit for a Vanderbilt!"
The other sniffed. "Vanderbilt! No such thing, I'm afraid. No self respecting Vanderbilt would live in such a desolate and remote place!"
"Mrs. Llewellyn looked very composed," the first offered.
"Oh, I don't doubt that," the other waspish soul buzzed, ruffling her feathers and looking indignant: "the poor soul was probably worn out and too sore to take a step!"
"Oh, so you didn't stay for the dancing?"
"Is that what they call it now?"
"I do declare, Christina, you are positively vitriolic this morning!"
"Hmph!" the wasp sniffed, tossing her head, and the Sheriff looked around the draped cloth display at the disapproving expression: "I had to start my married life in a dirt floor cabin, and she has a stone house and a maid, and lace curtains! And she not but a child!"
"She is older than you were when you married," was the gentle rejoinder.
"I can see where your loyalties lie!" Christina snapped, shaking a black-gloved finger at her neighbor: "Mark my word, a child who begins with luxury will come to ruin!"
The Sheriff debated whether to run his cane between her legs as she stormed out, and had the momentary mental image of the old bat face first on the floor, a-sprawl and awash in humility: he stifled the urge, reminding himself that women were an entirely different breed of cat, and where a woman may sound like she was ripping the hide off another's back, she might simply be venting her own admiration and disguising it as jealousy ... unless, of course, she was actually ripping the hide off the other's back.
He waited, silent, watching, listening, something he did well; the Sheriff had the gift of invisibility ... not actual invisibility, but he could blend in and seem so inconspicuous that people not looking for him would not generally see him.
He waited until the soft spoken neighbor paid for her purchase and departed, string-wrapped parcel under her arm, and the door closed with the cheerful dingle-ding of the door's bell.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that, Sheriff," a gentle voice said just behind his left shoulder, and the Sheriff jumped a little, for he honestly had no idea anyone was in that quarter.
He turned and the proprietor's blind wife smiled and laid a gentle hand on his chest, patting him like an affectionate grandmother might her tall son.
He shifted his cane to the other hand and reached out, grasped her elbow gently, gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"Water off a duck's back," he murmured.
"Bushwah," the proprietor's wife smiled. "When it's your child it's like darts to your heart."
The Sheriff sighed and nodded.
"I'll bet you'd like to have taken a switch to the old girl."
The Sheriff laughed quietly. "Yes ma'am, but I'd have to lift her skirts to apply it and that would not be a gentlemanly thing to do!"
The blind woman laughed, her milky eyes half-closed; she was a good looking woman with a little scarring around the eyes, legacy of whatever tragedy took her eyesight. "Gentlemanly ... no, perhaps not, but she was certainly no lady."
"Yes, ma'am," the Sheriff nodded, releasing her elbow. "You know, few people can slip up on me like that. You are silent when you move!"
"I'm wearing felt soled slippers, Sheriff. I often do here in the store."
"I see."
"I could feel you here, just standing, and I was curious what you were doing. When I smelled you ..."
The Sheriff's expression fell and the blind woman laughed, reaching up a gentle hand, finding his lapel, his collar, his mustache: she explored his face with her fingertips, nodding.
"Please don't look so shocked," she said finally. "I can tell from the look on your face." She tilted her face up as if she were actually looking at him -- a move, he knew, she did to reassure the sighted world who might be uncomfortable with what they saw as a disability, a cripple, a tragedy.
"You have a unique scent, Sheriff. You smell of leather and of horses and of the soap you use -- two soaps." She tilted her head, smiling a little. "I do like the new shaving soap you use. It smells better on you."
"And you could tell this from ... arm's length and more?"
"Just over arm's length. When I came abreast of the red flannel."
The Sheriff looked helplessly over at the one-armed proprietor, who was grinning at the exchange. "Don't look at me," he laughed. "She sees more than I do, and I have good eyes!"
The Sheriff caught the woman's hand in mid-air, raised her knuckles and kissed them gently, and she giggled like a schoolgirl as his iron-grey mustache tickled the backs of her fingers.
"Sheriff," she smiled, "you and my husband are the only two men who are gentleman enough to do that."
The Sheriff nodded. "Your pardon, my Lady," he murmured, releasing her hand: he went over to the counter; there was a short conversation, the exchange of money -- good gold coin, the Sheriff's preferred medium of exchange -- then his courteous, "Good do to you, ma'am," his retreating footsteps and then the door, opening, and closing with the ding-a-ling of the spring-mounted bell.
She approached her husband, laid gentle fingertips on the counter.
"What did he say, my dear?" she asked gently.
"Beyond squaring up his account?"
"He does that every Monday."
"He told me ..."
She felt the one-armed man's hand settle, warm and reassuring, on her hand, on the brand-new display case, in the newly-rebuilt Mercantile, and she delighted in the touch: "He told me to cherish my wife, for I'd found a good one."
Her hand tightened under his.
"That poor man," she whispered.
Daffyd and Sarah returned to Firelands life a few days later; they'd taken a week to themselves, a week away from everyone else and everything else, a week the didn't talk about: when asked, Sarah would look around as if about to confide a great secret, then she would admit only that the man snored and stole her covers, which the other ladies suspected was a polite lie; the menfolk, especially his raucous brethren of the Brigade, were likewise prying and as ribald as the ladies, just more open about it: to this, though, Daffyd Llewellyn motioned them closer, and with the Brigade forming a ring much like a football huddle, Daffyd looked around and said quietly, "She's such a wee thing, but I'll say this about the lass."
He winked and looked at eager faces round about, and grinned, "She's a fine cook!" -- to which the others groaned, and laughed, and threw boots at him, calling him a scoundrel and a Lothario and anything else they could think of. -
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Linn Keller 11-25-13
Daffyd Llewellyn woke to sweat-matted, auburn hair spilled over his chest, and something warm, soft and feminine laying across him, and a big, contented smile on his face.
Sarah woke when he did, and she moved a little, glorying in the feeling of strong, protective arms around her, and a manly chest furry under her, and she wiggled, slowly, gently, and felt his response.
Daffyd reached up and stroked her hair, gently, slowly, blinking like a sleepy cat, like a well-sated tomcat, and were any to see, his sleepy smile was that of someone utterly contented with this moment in his life.
Sarah hummed a little, a quiet note of feminine contentment, she took a long breath and sighed it out, and he felt her breath warm on his flesh and his smile grew a little more.
"Mr. Llewellyn?" she whispered.
"Yes, Mrs. Llewellyn?" he replied, rubbing the softness of her back, exploring the curve of her spine with his fingertips.
"Mr. Llewellyn, I believe I like waking up with you."
Daffyd curved his fingers and scratched her back, slowly, gently, and Sarah arched and twisted a little. "Purrrrr," she hummed, smiling sleepily, her ear flat on Daffyd's manly chest. "Oh that feels good," she whispered.
Daffyd closed his eyes in pleasure, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of soft femininity twisting slowly as she lay across him.
Sarah giggled, raised her head, her expression somewhere between raw lust and a mischevious child.
"Mr. Llewellyn, have you been misleading me?" she said, and he saw the merriment in her eyes.
"Mrs. Llewellyn, why would you say that?" he inquired.
"Mr. Llewellyn, recent developments lead me to think you less a fireman and more an oil driller, for you've raised your mast to sink a shaft, or perhaps you're a sailor, for your mainmast seems prominent."
"Nay, lass," he chuckled, and Sarah heard the deep echoes of his voice rumbling through his chest wall. "I am a fireman an' a guid one."
"Not today." Sarah raised her head, smiling through a veil of fallen-forward hair, which Daffyd very gently brushed back so he could see her lovely eyes.
"Today, sir, you are my husband, and I want very much to know you better."
Daffyd marveled at his wife's planning and organization.
Upon their return to the fine stone house -- minus any interfering or interrupting celebrants that might've shown up the night before -- the maid had their bed turned down and waiting, she had a huge tub of steaming-hot water ready, pressed cakes of soap and plenty of hot water and fluffy clean towels, she had their clothes laid out and ready: Daffyd discovered this as he carried his smiling bride over their threshold, then he carried her through every room in the house, turning so she could admire and exclaim in delight and survey from his arms, that which had been made to her specification.
They explored each room thusly, with Sarah in her proud husband's arms, and not until they'd been in every last room in the entire house did Daffyd set her down.
Sarah held both his hands and looked up at her husband with shining eyes.
God Above, Daffyd thought, I have never seen a woman happier!
Sarah jumped a little and seized her husband around the neck, hugging him with a fierce joy, and Daffyd seized his wife in a crushing embrace and picked her up off the floor, and the world shrunk to the dimension of each other's arms, and neither in their entire lives could remember being quite as happy as they were in that moment. -
Linn Keller 11-24-13
"You know the Shivaree."
Daffyd looked blankly at his bride.
Sarah put her finger to her husband's lips.
They stood beside a boulder, Snowflake behind them, hidden: Joel, their hired man, met them as instructed and traded their fine carriage for the big black Frisian.
"My dear," Sarah whispered, "you will carry me across our threshold, but not tonight."
Daffyd's eyebrows puzzled together, but with Sarah's finger to his lips, he remained silent.
"Trust me," Sarah whispered, and Daffyd nodded.
"There is a barbaric local practice," Sarah whispered again, "it's called a shivaree and it dates back to pioneer days. The young couple would be carried to their wedding bower and put into bed and then they'd come back and check on them to make sure the union was consummated."
Daffyd drew back his head a little, kissing Sarah's finger as he did, and Sarah closed her eyes and hummed with pleasure, her arm around her husband, pulling him tight and close.
"And tonight they intend to raid our house and interrupt us," she whispered, her finger tracing slowly across his lower lip, "and I do not wish to be interrupted with tin pans and whistles and yells."
Daffyd licked his lips, slowly, and Sarah felt his breathing change, and she knew her husband ... desired her.
"Trust me," she whispered again, then made a kissing sound, looking beyond him: Snowflake paced up to her and Sarah turned the great black horse, hiked her emerald gown scandalously high, thrust her foot into the stirrup and looked over her shoulder.
"I'll need a boost," she said, and Daffyd, grinning slowly, grinning wickedly, put both his hands on his wife's firm backside and squeezed.
"Hey, sailor," Sarah said, her voice low and musical, "none of that now! Boost me up!"
Daffyd shoved and Sarah swung her leg over and she was in the saddle.
"Now step up on that rock and climb up here behind me."
"But what about our house?"
"The maid has the fires lit and the bed turned down," Sarah explained, "the carriage is put away and I had her light one lamp in the upper bedroom, where it'll be seen. The world will think we're in the house."
Daffyd straddled Snowflake's broad back, a sensation much like trying to straddle a kitchen table, and the huge black horse floated up the rocky trail, following its tortured, narrow path as sure footed as any goat.
They rode in the increasing darkness, Daffyd marveling that the horse could see where he could not: his arms were around his wife, and he delighted in holding her, holding her closer and longer and more fully than he ever had, feeling her shifting her weight, her musculature changing as the big Frisian walked, and scrambled, and trotted at times, and he felt Sarah's hands, warm and caressing on his ... her fingertips drawing glowing lines of anticipation across the backs of his own hands.
Daffyd looked up, up beside the granite monolith on his left, looked at the milky spill of diamond-dust overhead, he bent a little to lay his cheek in her hair ... he smelled her hair, her cologne, the soap she used ... his fingers twitched and he realized he did not want the moment to end, ever.
It did, of course: he saw the squared shadow of a bunkhouse, in a high, hidden meadow: he heard cattle, he heard horses, he saw sky and stars and he looked around as Snowflake stopped beside the bunkhouse.
"Slide off," Sarah said softly, and Daffyd did, falling at least a hundred feet off that tall horse: it was only a couple feet to the ground but in the full dark he didn't know exactly where the ground was, but to his credit he didn't land on his backside.
Sarah's dismount was less awkward, and he heard her busy with something: Daffyd was not a rider, and he was not familiar with saddling or unsaddling a horse, but he figured out what was happening when the near stirrup flipped up and missed his right ear by a finger's width.
Daffyd waited, blind in the darkness; he heard Sarah's footsteps retreat, and in a few moments, return; quiet, almost inaudible hoof-falls as Snowflake walked slowly her own way, then Sarah's hand grasping his: "Come on," she whispered, and Daffyd, stumbling a little, followed.
"Put out your hand," Sarah whispered as they stopped: she let go of his left hand, grasped his right wrist, pulled it another inch forward and he felt wood, a finished angle: a door frame, he realized.
The woody sound of a latch opening, a little creak of an opening door, and Sarah's hand on his again, drawing him inside.
The door closed, shutting out even the faint milkiness of the stars.
Sarah's hands were upon him now, unbuttoning his coat: she ran her hands along his ribs, around his back, drawing him closer.
Daffyd needed no further invitation.
His mouth found hers and they explored one another, eagerly, thoroughly: Sarah's fingers curled with pleasure as they broke, momentarily, coming up for air, and then dove into their lake of mutual afffection, still standing just inside the door.
Sarah drew a hand back, patted her husband's chest.
"Mr. Llewellyn?" she said softly.
"Yes, Mrs. Llewellyn?"
"Mr. Llewellyn, if I were blind, I would describe you as all mouth and hands." She giggled, then drew him forward a step. "I have something for you."
She disappeared from his touch; he waited, mouth open, his lust-fires stoked and his desire rising like a hill-country flood.
A match scratched into life, flared into a blinding sulfurous flame: Sarah touched match to the kerosene lamp, turned the wick down so it didn't smoke, replaced the chimney.
The table was laid, a meal awaited, cold beef and bread and good homemade pie, and a bottle of wine with delicate, long-stemmed glasses of the finest crystal, a gift from Charlie and Fannie.
"Mr. Llewellyn," Sarah said, and Daffyd saw something in his wife's eyes he'd never seen before, something that fired his strong young heart.
He saw an unbridled desire, and he echoed that desire in his own expression.
"Mr. Llewellyn," Sarah said, her hands on the back of a chair, "my mother tells me that a man's expression is the same when he is lustful, as when he is hungry.
"I offer to sate your appetite."
She ran her tongue slowly across her bottom lip.
"I give you your choice, sir."
Sarah straightened, waving a delicate, graceful hand to indicate the well-laid table.
"I can satisfy your appetite for food and drink," she said, her voice low and inviting, "or we can satisfy ... another appetite, as you wish.
"If you would eat, sir, we shall need the lamp, but if you wish to satisfy a fleshly appetite" -- her hand, palm-up, fingers curled a little, indicated the room beyond -- "then we shall not need the lamp."
Daffyd Llewellyn swallowed, and he looked at his bride, young and beautiful, her cheeks glowing with life and good health, her young body shaped like a woman's should be; he saw the light in her eyes, and he cupped his hand around the lamp's chimney-top, and he puffed his breath hard down the chimney and blew out the flame.
If Snowflake were fluent in the language of the two-legs, she might think agriculture was the topic of what very little discussion followed that night, for the only words uttered, the very few words that were spoken, mentioned a fertile field, and a good seed, planted deep. -
Linn Keller 11-23-13
"Pa?"
Jacob blinked and realized he'd been woolgathering.
"Yes, Joseph?"
Joseph was still in his getting-too-small-for-him suit and he frowned as he puzzled over how to frame his question.
"Pa, what's it like to die?"
Jacob held very, very still, and he frowned a little, and Joseph shrank back a little, for he could feel the change in his Pa.
Finally Jacob motioned his son closer, put a hand on his shoulder, and the two went out into the kitchen.
Annette turned away from them, for she didn't want them to see her wiping her eyes; neither of her men paid attention to her quick move.
Jacob gestured to Joseph's chair, and Joseph seated himself at the kitchen table, and Jacob went to the pie safe and pulled out what was left of a dried-apple pie.
Normally he would not have taken such liberties here in his wife's desmense but there are times when pie is the proper medium of discussion and this night was one such.
Jacob sliced the remaineder in two, slabbed the halves onto two plates and fetched the discussion medium and a couple forks over to the table.
Annette appeared with a cold glass of buttermilk from their nearby springhouse, the glass beading with sweat, and Jacob poured himself a shot of coffee.
The two set at the corner, Jacob at the end of the table and Joseph on his right, and Annette sat at the opposite end, sipping good cold well water and listening and doing her best to remain invisible.
Jacob considered for several moments while the two took a couple bites of the pie, then Jacob put his fork down and so did Joseph and the two crossed their arms in front of them and Jacob began to talk.
Annette smiled to see the resemblance between father and son.
Had Joseph's question not been so solemn she might have laughed to see father and son, each with the same slouch, each leaning both forearms flat on the table, crossed at mid-forearm, Joseph looking seriously at his Pa, and his Pa looking with a kindly expression at his firstborn.
"It's often times a surprise," Jacob admitted. "It feels kind of like falling off a cliff into a pool of deep, cold water."
Joseph blinked, imagining the sensation, and his father continued.
"Hitting that cold water is a shock but it ... it doesn't feel like the smack! of hitting water in a dive." Jacob brought his hands up, slapped the back of one into the palm of the other to illustrate the smack! -- "and then you're weightless, floating, turning, you look up and it's light above you and you swim toward that Light without moving. You choose to go, and you do."
Jacob hung his head a little, his eyes closed.
"You don't want to come back," he whispered. "You carry the weight of all the worlds on your shoulders while you're alive. Every word you say here has an importance in this world and in a world unseen, Joseph" -- he looked sharply at his son -- "which is why we are taught to be curcimspect in our language.
"Do you know what circumspection is?"
Joseph, big-eyed, shook his head solemnly.
"It's made of two words: circum, meaning circle, or around, and spect, like inspect."
Joseph nodded his understanding.
"To be circumspect is to consider everything surrounding something. If I'm going to burn off a brush pile I have to be circumspect -- I have to look around and consider the wind, is there other trash around that will fire and spread, can I burn the brush pile without burning off a wheat field or burning down the barn. Things like that."
Joseph nodded again.
"We must be circumspect in our language, Joseph, for what we say has an effect in a world unseen." Jacob picked up his coffee, took a sip, waited a long moment before he swallowed. "I don't pretend to understand what I just told you, son, I only know it is so."
Joseph nodded again.
"What's it like to die?" Joseph repeated slowly. "It's a surprise. It's like that dive into a deep, cold mountain lake. It's like shedding this body like an old worn cloak and having a brand new one that's absolutely weightless."
"Is that what happened to Grandma?"
Jacob swallowed and nodded.
"Sometimes it takes a while to shed out of this earthly body," Jacob said slowly, "and sometimes the body we're in here on this earth is hurt or sick or troubled and it takes a while to shed out of it, but when we do it feels so much better, and that's a danger." He looked sharply at his son, his eyes pale.
"Remember this, Joseph. We can never go because we are just tired of being here or bored with being here. We're put here for a purpose, we're here for a reason, it's very important that each and every one of us is here. We are assigned a task before we're born and we have to stay until it's done."
Joseph did not quite understand what his Pa was saying, but he knew what his Pa said was fact, because his Pa was always right, and besides the boy had his Dear Old Dad on a pedestal high enough to cause the man nosebleed.
Father and son finished their pie in silence.
As Jacob tucked his son in for the night, Joseph rolled over and looked at his Pa.
"Pa?"
"Yes, Joseph?"
"Pa, will Grandma still see us?"
"I reckon she will, yes."
Joseph frowned, considering this, then:
"Pa?"
"Yes, Joseph?"
"Will we see her?"
"Like as not we won't, Joseph. If we do, it will be ... something secret ... that only we recognize, and nobody else will."
Joseph nodded.
Jacob's hand was warm and Daddy-strong as he gripped his son's shoulder through the quilt.
"Night, son."
"Night, Pa."
Later that night, as Jacob undressed for bed, Annette came to him and took him by the shoulders.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Jacob slipped his hands gently around her the way he always did -- for a tall and strong man, he was unfailingly gentle when he touched her -- and he grinned, "For what, Sunshine?"
Annette wet her lips, dropped her eyes, clearly troubled.
"I don't think I could have ... answered ... Joseph when he asked ... that."
Jacob nodded.
Annette's fingers traced over a puckered scar high on his chest.
"When you told him what it's like to die ..."
Jacob waited.
"You did, didn't you?"
Jacob took a long breath.
"More times than one," he admitted. "Father and I both."
Annette seized him, fearfully clutching him to her.
"Please don't die," she whispered. "I don't want you to go."
"I," he mumbled into her hair as he squeezed her hard, "don't plan to!"
Joseph was restless.
He slid silently out of his bunk and wandered into the front parlor, looked out the window.
His eyes got big and he remembered what his Pa told him:
It will be something secret, that only we recognize.
A white wolf sat not ten feet from the window, looking at him, blinking sleepily ... then it dissolved, and was gone.
Joseph's eyes were big and his mouth was open and round with surprise and he looked on the windowsill just outside the hand-blown glass.
Jacob heard the front door open, heard his son's sharp intake of breath.
Jacob rolled out of the bunk, snatched up the double gun, wiped the hammers back to full cock and reached for his bedroom door with his off hand.
He heard Joseph's bare feet running up the stairs and the door thrust open, hard.
"Pa," Joseph exclaimed, his eyes shining with delight.
Jacob stared at the bright-red rose in his son's extended hand. -
Linn Keller 11-22-13
Esther leaned forward and patted Edi's neck the way she used to.
They looked down into the Jewel, hovering at ceiling height, smiling as the couples took the floor and the waltz took the moment.
"She dances well," a voice said, and Esther jumped a little and gave a little squeak of surprise, and her niece Duzy smiled at her.
Esther's mouth fell open and she turned without dismounting -- she didn't stop to wonder how she did it -- but she blinked and seized Duzy's hands and looked her up and looked her down and then she abandoned all propriety and hugged her, hugged her tight, and Duzy was solid and real and warm and laughing, just the way Esther remembered her.
"How," Esther squeaked, and Duzy's eyes smiled: she leaned back and looked approvingly at Esther.
"I love that gown," she murmured. "Turn around, let me see --"
Esther's eyes widened, her hands went to her mouth.
"I, oh dear, oh, no," she murmured.
Don't worry, Edi commented dryly.
Duzi laughed, took Esther's hand.
"Step over to the mirror," she smiled, and Esther followed her over to a large, multi-panel mirror, the kind a woman will use when she wants to see herself in the back as well as the front.
Esther's mouth fell open and her eyes grew large and round.
Duzi laughed.
"They're called wings," she giggled. "Go on. See how they look!"
You used mine often enough, Edi grunted. It's time you tried your own.
Esther spread her wings.
They were twice as wide as she was tall, gracefully curved, and a bright, shining, rainbow-tinged, emerald.
Angela looked up, her eyes widening: she'd been sitting for a little bit after being danced by Nelson Bell, and she sat with Polly and Opal against the side wall, under the stage where the fiddler was playing the dancers with his fiddle.
Angela looked up at her Mommy, her face shining with delight as her Mommy put her finger to her lips, and folded her great, shining-green wings.
You must not tell, not yet, Angela heard whispered in her mind, and she nodded her understanding.
Edi looked at Angela, and spread her wings as well, and Angela laughed and Edi heard her exclaim "I was right!" and Angela felt Edi's approval.
We women keep many secrets, Angela heard her Mommy's whisper as Esther descended into the room: Angela felt her Mommy-touch, feather-light, on her cheek.
Remember what the Parson said last week, Angela heard. We are surrounded by a great cloud of believers.
Angela looked around, wondering why nobody paid any attention to her Mommy, and the beautiful woman with her, the one with sunset-pink wings.
Or the horsie with big white wings.
They can't see us.
"Oh," Angela said aloud, as if that satisfied everything.
Sarah looked up, and smiled, and opened her mouth as if to say something, then she closed her mouth and gave a little wave, as if she was shyly saying hello to someone without wanting to appear conspicuous.
Angela felt a surge of delight.
Sarah saw her too! she thought, and hugged herself with delight.
Jacob danced with his sister, and with his wife, and he arranged the minor distraction as Sarah and Daffyd slipped out: the party was in full gear, food was being eaten and drink was being consumed, pretty girls were being danced, and Jacob slipped away as well.
Angela was starting to droop so I slipped out as well, and my little girl with me, and I picked her up and carried her home.
It wasn't that far and I needed the walk.
I stopped and looked toward the cemetery hill and I recognized Jacob in the moonlight and I knew he was going to his mother's grave.
We went in the house and I carried Angela to the kitchen.
I sat her in her chair and I heard the maid approach and I selected a knife that satisfied me.
The maid baked a cake earlier and iced it and decorated it and I was not going to let it go to waste.
"Angela," I said, "this is your Mommy's Happy Birthday cake."
Angela nodded solemnly.
I sliced into the cake.
"Happy Birthday, dear heart," I whispered.
Later that night I sat on the side of the bed.
Our bed.
The bed we'd shared since we were married.
The bed where she birthed our newest child.
The bed where she died.
I groaned and lowered my head into my hands.
I'd gotten Angela in her flannel nightgown and got her tucked in and kissed her forehead, then I came over here and hung up my coat and my vest and pulled off my boots and that's all the strength I had.
I sat there and listened to the silence.
The bedroom was empty ... utterly, completely empty.
"How will I manage?" I whispered.
"I don't know how to raise a little girl."
I looked at the closed door.
"Our son needs you ... hell, I need you!"
I swallowed, took a long breath, and the door opened.
Angela came in, rubbing her eyes, her rag doll locked in her elbow.
"Daddy," she mumbled, "I can't sleep."
"I can't either," I admitted.
Angela climbed up on the bed beside me and leaned over against me.
I laid down, still clothed, and Angela laid down with me.
She rolled over and cuddled up against me and I ran my arm around her and pulled her in close.
Alfdis would have the baby, I knew, but for now ... I knew I needed my rest, and so did Angela.
"Happy Birthday, dear heart," I whispered. -
Linn Keller 11-22-13
Strong but gentle hands steered me here, steered me there.
I was in a carriage, out of a carriage, I went here, I went there.
I was numb.
I set down and stared at nothing.
It took a little for things to soak in but I finally realized I was in the Silver Jewel, and it was decorated, and there was music, and a voice in my ear murmured something about dancing with the bride.
I woke up.
This I could do.
I knew how to dance.
Sarah stood before me and she was beautiful.
Her face glowed, she smiled at me half-shyly, the way a grown-up little girl will, and she dipped her knees and bent in a proper, ladylike curtsy, and I took her hand and bowed gravely.
A stentorian voice boomed something about the first dance with the Father of the Bride, and Sarah spun lightly on her toes, her gloved hand above her head, and I twirled her and pulled her into my arms the way I did Esther, the first time we danced there at the Jewel.
My arm went naturally around behind her shoulder blades and hers went properly to my back; we knew the music and we knew the dance and we cleared the floor, the two of us -- or would have, were there any other dancers about.
There should have been a great arc light shining from high rafters, showing the world Sarah and her beauty and her grace, for though I'd danced with her many times, and many's the time she showed how well and how light and how smooth she danced, I never in my life recall that she danced so well.
We knew the music; it spun off the Daine fiddle, an old and well loved tune, and I knew that halfway through there was a pause, a few bars where the music slowed, and that's where I would stop, and surrender my little girl forever to her husband, for though she was my little girl she was now another man's wife, and this was the public surrender, the final time she would leave my arms for another's, and I did not want it to end.
My throat seemed full and I harrumphed quietly and swallowed hard and had to do it again and finally I was able to whisper a little, and when the music slowed, we stopped, and I looked down into those amazing pale eyes and I saw into a young eternity, and I whispered, "I am very proud of you," and then Daffyd came up and I put my hand on Sarah's shoulder and my other on his, and I drew them together, and stepped back.
I took two steps back and I watched them fall into each other's eyes, and I watched them dance, and my face felt odd.
It took me a bit to place what I felt.
I was smiling.
Angela went skipping up to the table where Nelson Bell sat.
She looked at the man sitting to his right and said "My daddy has a Drag-Boom," nodding and bouncing her curls, and the men laughed and the one she was addressing gave her an appraising look and said, "What can you tell me about the drag-boom?"
"Daddy feeds it grains," she said, "and nickles."
They laughed again and the Ranger opened his coat and drew out his big Dragoon revolver.
Holding it low, so as not to alarm the assembled, he said "Now little lady, I'm kind of confused, just what are you talkin' about?"
"Here," Angela said impatiently. "I show you."
She pulled his coat back, reached in and thrust her hand into the leather pouch at his belt: withdrawing the powder flask, she carefully pressed the gate, tapped the spout delicately against the tablecloth and spilled a few grains of FF: nodding, she turned the flask spout-up, pressed the cutoff again to drop any powder back into the flask, replaced it.
She reached in again, frowning, trying one leather pocket and another, until she triumphantly brought out a gleaming silvery-lead bullet between thumb and forefinger.
She placed this base-down on the table beside the tiny pinch of powder, then with a third exploration, came out with a round ball.
"Now," Angela said, as if lecturing a classmate, "Daddy puts sixty grains in his Drag-Boom." She brushed the powder, separating the shiny black grainules with a little pink finger, and she frowned.
"He puts sixty of 'em in his Drag-Boom but he doesn't even use tweezers. That looks hard."
Her expression was so studious, her expression so serious, that the Rangers hid their smiles.
Angela put a finger on the ball.
"That," she said, "is a pistol ball."
The Rangers nodded in solemn agreement.
She put her finger on the pointed projectile beside it.
"And that," she said triumphantly, "is the nickle!"
"Conical," Nelson Bell as he realized what she meant.
"That's what I meant," Angela declared, planting her knuckles on her hips. "A nickle!"
Nelson Bell threw back his head and laughed, and his Rangers laughed with him.
"Young lady," Nelson Bell declared, "I always did like educated women! May I have this dance?"
Angela laughed with delight as Nelson Bell stood up: one big forearm under her backside, his other hand held hers out to her arm's length, and Angela scattered delighted giggles all over the dance floor as this big, strong Texas Ranger spun her in dizzying circles.
As if a dam crumbled, the floor filled quickly, and grief flowed away through the floorboards and was replaced with celebration. -
Charlie MacNeil 11-21-13
Charlie stood close by, offering comfort with his presence, knowing that words would go unheard until his friend had time to come to terms with his grief. Instead, his voice joined with that of Ranger and cavalryman, lifting on the breeze, doing their part to send a beloved friend to heaven on the wings of their song. Scripture enjoins us to make a joyful noise unto the Lord, and though the song was one of farewell it was also a paean of joyous love for the departed.
The song drew to a close, one last refrain echoing from hill and dale. All heads bowed as Parson Belding spoke again, his baritone felt by all and sundry. "We bid farewell to one who was a pillar of our community. But more than that, so much more than that, Esther Keller was the bedrock upon which was built so many lives. She led us, she cajoled us, she disciplined us, she set an example that all of us have ingrained in our very souls. She will be missed, yet she lives on in all whose lives she touched.
"Jacob said that there is no prohibition against mourning in the Bible. He is right. We are allowed to mourn, but we should do our mourning with an eye not to the past, and what we are losing, but to the present and what we have gained by the presence of Esther in this place at this time. The power, the purity, of her love continues. We partook of her strength that we may be able to go on. And go on we must, though we feel as if our world has ceased to turn on its axis. Life, love, family, all go on, and we must go on with them. She would want it so. Esther Keller was never one to look back over her shoulder; instead, she was constantly looking to the future.
"This day is a day of joy, a day of the joining of two souls in the bonds of love. Esther would want that celebration to continue. Sarah has invited you all to the Jewel to feast and to remember. Remember the best and put the worst behind us. That is my admonition to you this day: remember the best. Remember the love, the guidance and the strength of Esther Keller." The Parson folded his hands over his Bible and looked around at the solemn faces of the mourners then bowed his head. "Let us pray."
"Heavenly Father, we commend to you this day Esther Keller, beloved wife and mother. We ask your blessings of peace, comfort and strength on those of us who were left behind, and thank you for your presence in our lives this day. In the name of Jesus we pray. Amen." -
Linn Keller 11-21-13
I watched Sarah and Daffyd.
Each one had eyes only for the other and I think they heard the parson only from a distance.
I know that moment.
I remembered when Esther and I jumped the broom.
The world shrunk to just us, and I was King of the World, and Esther, my Queen, and in that moment, nothing could be better.
It felt good.
I wished Esther was a-settin' beside me, but I sat with family anyway: Jacob and his young, at least one of 'em: Joseph stood with the men up front and I dandled his youngest on my leg, and Annette smiled at us from the piano bench.
I haven't been this happy for a very long time.
About then I felt something ... something wasn't right and I eased the young'un over on Jacob's lap and turned.
Jeremy was coming up the aisle, trying to be quiet, and I did not like the look on his face.
He saw me and stopped so I stood, shoving hard on the cane, worked my way careful-like through the forest of legs and into the aisle.
I bent my head to hear what he had to say and that's when the bottom dropped out of my world.
I don't recall much of the rest of the day.
I looked down at Esther, laying dead and still in our bed, but it wasn't Esther.
It was a cold and dead thing that only incidentally looked like my wife.
My wife was warm and real and moving and laughing and her eyes were shining and her hands were kind and this dead clay was what she used to occupy.
I remember going downstairs and setting in the swivel chair in front of my desk and just ... setting there.
About a year later -- it could have been ten minutes or ten hours, I didn't know and didn't much care -- I looked at something I'd been staring at.
An envelope.
I blinked and realized it was addressed in Esther's handwriting, and it was addressed to me.
I reached for it, or I tried to, but the hand that I saw move into view wasn't mine.
It was a palsied claw that belonged to an old man.
I picked up the envelope and cracked the seal, I drew out the page and I read the words.
I swallowed hard and closed my eyes and I felt a breath of air, something gentle brushed my cheek, like the stroke of a feather, and I heard ...
I heard what sounded like ...
I opened my eyes and looked around.
I'd heard that before.
I one time surprised a golden eagle and it took out and on the first hard stroke I heard its wings in the air and that's what I heard, but there was no bird in the room.
The door opened, cautiously, slowly, and Angela looked in: she saw me and she made a scampering beeline for me and I reached down and picked her up and set her on my lap and Angela leaned into me, rubbing her eyes and wiggling until she got comfortable.
I don't reckon either of us said a word.
Sometimes what's said between a Daddy and his little girl is said best with what we had, with her on my lap and my arms around her.
Jacob directed the removal; his mother's coffin was stored below and needed only a dusting-off to be ready.
His father was a planning man and he'd purchased his box and hers long years before, and stored them away against the fell day when they would be needed.
Jacob led the slow march upstairs, and he led the slow march back down.
Bonnie and Fannie and the women tended the body and got it ready, and Jacob knew Bonnie was crying over her opened Bible and a letter she held: he held his own grief in check, though he knew his grief would emerge later, whether he wished it or not: he did not wish it yet, he would grieve in his own time and in his own way.
His mother wished to be buried before sunset, after the Jewish custom, on the day of her death: he sent word to Digger, and he knew the man would have the hole ready by the time he got there, for it would take some time to get his mother prepared.
The parlor was cleared of most of its furniture, sawhorses set up and draped, and the coffin set on them: as was custom, the box was closed.
The yellow roses, in a vase, were on the polished cherry-wood coffin lid.
Jacob knew when they removed Esther's pillow, a jewel-handled dagger lay crosswise beneath her pillow, and he knew his mother had it placed there, for a blade under the pillow cuts the pain of birth-labor.
He asked the women, when they prepared Esther for this last time, that they fold her hands and place the hilt of the dagger in them, with the blade down, and they did: he knew the dagger, it was a gift from his father, a fighting-knife which Esther could use with an efficient beauty that was a marvel to see.
Bonnie folded the emerald material from Esther's wedding dress.
She'd cut the back from the skirt, as Esther instructed in the letter she'd put in the front cover of her Bible: the material would become a christening gown for her newborn daughter.
Sarah was among the women, preparing one of their own for this final honor: she bathed this woman she'd come to know and to love, she put her in the emerald gown she'd worn on the happiest day of her life, she fixed her hair, she folded Esther's hands for the last time and helped lift her into the coffin: it was Sarah who closed the coffin's lid, and it was Sarah who turned the screws in the lid, securing it in place.
It was Sarah who held her tears until Esther was in the box, and it was Sarah who asked the ladies to step back, and it was Sarah who pressed a hidden stud and opened a slender cabinet.
Sarah took a Schlager-bladed sword in each hand and struck their tips together, three times, before advancing on the still figure in the polished cherry-wood box.
"Stay back," she cautioned, raising each blade before her, then snapping them down in a sword-fighter's salute.
Sarah closed her eyes and raised the blades slowly, at arm's length, toward the high ceiling, then she began to spin them, weaving them in a deadly silver web: Damascus steel whispered a deadly promise as Sarah stepped to the side, a light, dancer's step, circling the coffin, steel gleaming half-seen and shining beside the box and above the box: Sarah circled the box sunwise, stopping where she began: she froze, blades crossed over the coffin, then she drew them slowly, rasping against one another, until the tips separated.
Sarah stepped back, raised them in salute, forearms crossed, and bowed, deeply, from the waist.
Someone steered me out the door.
I think it was Jacob.
I climbed into the carriage.
I was numb.
We rode in silence, we rode in slow procession, Digger's black hearse and Esther's coffin inside, my son with reins in hand and Angela and the twins in the seat behind me.
I don't know how I knew this.
I didn't look back.
I didn't look around.
I looked at that hand rubbed cherry wood box.
I looked at my life and everything I ever loved and I looked at what had been and I sat there numb.
We drew up at the grave and Jacob was here and Jacob was there and Jacob spoke quietly, arranging, directing; part of me saw this and approved but the rest of me stared at that polished cherry coffin.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, I felt words against my ear.
I recognized Charlie's voice.
I recognized his hand.
Another hand, on my other shoulder: Jackson Cooper, wordless, but his squeeze said what his throat could not.
The Parson stepped up with his book in hand and he spoke the service.
It was brief and his words were fine and well polished, of that I am sure, but I did not hear a one of them.
Finally they hoisted the ropes and pulled out the boards and lowered my heart into that hole in the ground, that hole beside our first child, in front of the stone that already bore our names.
Jacob stood on the other side of the hole and he held a paper in his hands and I recognized it.
I'd written it.
I'd written years before, in a solemn moment, what I wanted to say when this dark day arrived, words I now had no voice to frame.
I swallowed and I stared at the smooth squared sides of that deep, cold hole and I heard Jacob speak my words.
Jacob looked around, holding the paper by its top and by its bottom, as if he held a Medieval scroll.
No voice spoke; there was wind in high, barren branches, the distant sound of far-off industry, but here, save a cough or a sniff as a mourner tried not to interrupt the solemn moment, there was nothing.
"My father," Jacob began, then stopped and cleared his throat, turning his head a little to grip his feelings in an iron claw of utter control, "my father wished to speak these words.
"I speak them for him."
He looked at the paper and swallowed, and he read his father's careful, regular script.
"And Solomon, King of Israel, was an old man and full of years: he went into the Sanctum as was his habit at high twelve, to offer up his devotions to the Ever Living God.
"And Solomon, in his grief, prayed that he not grieve over what was no more, but that he may rejoice at all that had been, and that he remember these things instead.' "
Jacob lowered the paper and looked at his father.
He'd never seen the man look so utterly lost in all his life.
"Mother," he said, "did not want a preachy funeral and she surely didn't get one, but there is one Scripture that bears mention."
His father raised his head, curiosity in his expression; Sarah, still in her emerald wedding dress beneath her black cloak, held onto her husband's arm and looked sharply at her brother, intrigued.
"We read in the Book that we are not to grieve as do the heathen," Jacob said, his voice clear, distinct in the high mountain air: "we are not to mourn as those who have no hope."
He paused and looked around.
"Nowhere in Scripture does it say, 'Don't Mourn.' "
He paused to let this sink in, then continued.
"We grieve because we have loved, and we grieve hard because we've loved deeply."
He looked around, took a long breath of cold air.
"It rained last night, and so will I."
Nobody there missed his meaning with that phrase.
He looked at the paper and swallowed hard.
"We feast this day," he declared firmly. "My mother was full of life and she loved to laugh. We miss her and wish she was among us yet, and so we celebrate the memory of all she was and all she did."
Sarah raised her chin and spoke.
"On behalf of our family, we invite you all to the Silver Jewel, where a feast is laid and ready. There will be music and there will be dance, and we will celebrate that which was, and that which is, and that which has yet to be, for life is short and we rejoice whenever we can."
Angela stepped forward and looked into the hole.
She dropped her three yellow roses into the hole and looked around, suddenly uncertain, then she blurted uncertainly, "My Mommy loved rosies an' yellow rosies mean friendship an' my Daddy gave her yellow rosies 'cause he said he married his bestest friend!"
Nelson Bell, standing behind the Sheriff, watched as Bonnie's daughters stepped up and dropped their yellow roses into the hole as well.
Nelson Bell, Texas Ranger, looked to the fellow Rangers on his left and on his right, and he nodded, once, and they began to sing: men's voices, united in song, is a powerful thing, and these men gave their fellow lawman the only thing they could, and that was a salute to a woman they knew and respected.
"There's a yellow rose in Texas
That I am goin' to see,
Nobody else could miss her,
Not half as much as me!"
Jacob smiled a little as he saw Mick signal his cavalrymen, and another rank of men's voices joined the first rank:
She cried so when I left her,
It like to broke my heart,
And if I ever find her,
We never more shall part!"
Men's voices boomed out over the cold landscape, voices united in open rebellion over the misery of grief, voices who sang of love lost and love to be regained and of the greatest love of a man's heart.
As the last stanza faded, Jacob whispered, "Goodbye, Mother," and Sarah saw the first silvery-wet streak run down his reddening cheek as he turned from the grave. -
Linn Keller 11-21-13
Daffyd marched down the aisle, centered in the red-shirted Brigade: he alone wore a suit, somber black in the middle of spirited crimson, and he remarked later he felt like a man being taken to his execution ... but never did a man face a hangman's noose with such bright eyes and such a broad grin.
Angela took careful, mincing steps, daintily sprinkling rose-petals as she went: Joseph, beside her, pretended to an air of disdain, carrying the green-satin pillow with its two rings as if he were carrying an infant, or delicate china.
Fannie's arm gripped Charlie's; they were seated, near to the front, and Charlie grinned at the memory of Sarah whispering in his ear that she wished most sincerely that he, too, could walk her down the aisle, but -- and he chuckled silently at how her face reddened, and then she laughed -- but they'd have to saw the church down the middle and widen it out some, for with two big men escorting her, the aisle was far too narrow, and besides, with two such warriors coming down the aisle, what groom would not be intimidated?
Fannie looked over at Charlie: they shared a look, and a look was all that was needed, for the pair were so well matched that communication was efficiently done without words, more times than either kept track of.
The infant nursed with a good appetite, wiggling and grunting a little, and Alfdis nodded her approval.
"A good strong child," she said briskly, covering mother and daughter both: "good lungs, she feeds well, her color is good. You've delivered the afterbirth and it looks complete, you're cleaned up and you've a fresh gown."
Esther looked up at Alfdis, her eyes glitter-bright.
"She's beautiful," she whispered.
"Have you a name?"
"Her name," Esther murmured, looking down at the child, "is Dana."
Daffyd gasped, a quick loss of breath as if wind were sucked from his lungs, and his knees went weak for a moment.
The Sheriff stood, tall and severe, driving the ebony cane into the floor, three distinct blows to alarm all present that the Bride had arrived.
And what a bride she was!
He'd seen Sarah many times and in many ways, he'd seen her as a trousered horsewoman, as a gowned maiden, he'd seen her prim and he'd seen her proper and he'd seen her with her feathers hackled up, but never -- never! -- had he seen her so ... so ...
"She's gorgeous," he heard a voice whisper, and blinked, for the voice was his own.
Sean laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezed.
"Aye, lad, she is," he half-whispered. "She is indeed!"
Daffyd noted the glowing white oval at her throat, then looked at her smile, and the world faded and retreated and he saw only his bride, his wife, this beautiful, unearthly creature, coming slowly down the aisle, to be formally given, gifted, to him.
Daffyd swallowed hard, took a deep breath, let it out slow.
This, he thought, is a gift such as no man has ever had.
God let me do her justice!
Alfdis chattered happily as she tucked the covers in, the freshly-bathed infant across her Mama's bosom.
Alfdis was a wet-nurse and she was still with milk; it was normal in those days for a household to maintain at least one servant-maid, and generally two, and a wet-nurse was an added bonus.
"Alfdis," Esther whispered, her face shining, "do not let me forget."
"Yes?" Alfdis looked up. "I've bathed the wee one, she has your silver dollar on the cord and the belly-binder wrapped nice and snug, she's clean and she is perfect! Ten fingers and ten toes --"
"The letter," Esther whispered. "For my husband. It's on his desk. Do not let me forget."
"I will help you remember," Alfdis soothed.
Esther relaxed.
"Please be seated." The Parson spread his arms, palms up, the smile on his face like sunrise itself.
"Friends, kindred and brethren," Parson Belden began, "we are gathered here for the happiest reason we can come together as family and friends, and that is to join a man and a woman as husband and wife."
Daffyd looked at Sarah, looked almost shyly; he swallowed again, afraid to move, and he noticed the oval at her throat was not a featureless white, as he'd originally thought.
There was a scarlet tracery of some kind -- faint, as if a drawing that was but sketched by a beginning artist.
Dear God, he thought, I am the happiest I have ever been, and what a journey we begin today!
Dear God, Esther thought, I am the happiest I have ever been, and what a journey I begin today!
She smiled at the child nursing at her breast, and she looked up, puzzled, for she distinctly heard hoofbeats.
Hoofbeats?
"You stand on the right," Parson Belden addressed Daffyd, "as the strong right hand of the marriage. Yours is traditionally the role of protector and provider, the strong sword-arm of the union. And you" -- he turned with a gentle smile to Sarah -- "as you stand on the left, you symbolize that which is gentle and kind, for as the heart is in the left of the breast, so is the wife on the left, that seat of the tender emotions."
Daffyd heard the man's words but they seemed to come from a very long way off.
Esther heard Alfdis, but from a very long way off.
She sat up and looked, puzzled, at Edi.
Edi, she thought, what are you doing here? -- then, Why is a horse in my bedroom?
"Every facet of the wedding service is symbolic and has an overt or a hidden meaning.
"We meet thus together before friends and family, that none may say 'They were ashamed' or 'They sought to remain hidden' -- and in like wise, we wear the visible ring, that outward and evident symbol of our lawfully wedded state."
"And she has a yellow rise in her bouquet," Angela added, her voice clear, carefully pronounced, and high-pitched as a little girl's voice is.
Parson Belden always was quick on his feet; fortunately, he paused for a moment, for Angela continued, still speaking in a high and clear voice, "My Daddy got yellow roses for Mommy 'cause he married his bestest fwiend an' that's why Sarah has a yellow rosie in her bouquet 'cause she's marrying her bestest friend."
Angela's emphatic nod, the pressing together of her lips, signaled her emphasis of what was an evident truth to this little girl.
Parson Belden never missed a beat.
"The Sheriff did indeed marry his best friend," he said, "and his union is strong and unshakable. This proves the man is smarter than he looks."
The chuckles that were politely muted when Angela made her extemporaneous declaration, were released at the Parson's pronouncement: the Sheriff raised and eyebrow at his little girl, but she could see the smile in his eyes, and she knew she wasn't in too much trouble.
Do you remember when you rode me into town, when you heard someone shot the man you were to marry?
Esther heard Edi's voice inside her head, as clearly as if spoken, but richer, fuller, and she raised a hand -- a tentative hand -- she stroked Edi's nose and her eyes widened: "It is you!" she breathed.
Of course it is me, Edi replied. Do you remember that ride?
"Of course I remember. You fairly flew across --"
Do you remember we cut across the field and beside the bridge but not over it?
Esther blinked.
She'd forgotten ...
The bridge was after a curve in the road and Edi surged to the left, left the roadway, gathered herself and sailed across a broad chasm, one far too wide for a horse to jump: Esther's thoughts were ahead, on the man she knew she was to marry, and in the moment she simply accepted that they crossed, and they continued, and they arrived, and in all that followed, she'd honestly forgotten that one glorious moment of impossible flight.
Did you ever wonder how that was possible?
"No," Esther whispered.
There was a sudden booming sound, the sound of wind coming into canvas gone suddenly taut: wings, snowy wings, wings wider than the bedroom, snapped open, and Esther felt the air of their opening.
It is time you learned.
Daffyd looked at the jade oval at his bride's throat.
The lines were clearer now, distinct, blood-red ... they joined, flowed, formed a rose, a lifelike rose, gleaming, fresh, with drops of morning's dew gleaming on their petals.
"Now look at one another, don't look at me," the Parson said gently. "You're marrying her, not me, and besides, she's better looking."
Daffyd chuckled nervously and there were several appreciative grins from the congregation.
"Daffyd Llewellyn, do you --"
"I do!" he blurted nervously, and there was general laughter, to which he turned a scarlet that would do credit to the scrimshaw rose at his wife's throat.
"Read the contract before you sign it," the Parson counseled, at which the entire Irish brigade laughed, Daffyd included.
"Do you take this woman whose face you see before you and whose hands you now hold, as your lawful wedded wife: to have, and to hold, to love, honor and cherish ..."
Mount.
It is time.
Esther looked back at the bed.
Her little girl slept, fed, peaceful; she saw her body, looking tired, but contented, and she realized that she was no longer in her body.
She turned, stroked Edi's velvety nose, rested her forehead against Duzi's horse's forehead, caressed the engraved silver roses on her bridle.
"I'm ready," she whispered.
The ring slid on Sarah's finger, and the Grandam's diamond after it: Daffyd barely heard the Parson's intonation as with raised palm he pronounced them man and wife.
All he knew was that this woman, this amazing creature, this glorious gem of Creation, was now bonded to his soul.
Carefully, delicately, he leaned forward: taking her in his arms, he placed his lips on hers.
Neither bride nor groom heard the shouts of approval, the applause, the whistles: theirs was a moment separated from the world, best described with the heartfelt "Yahoo!" generally invoked when a swimmer leaped from a high dive and experienced a glorious, if momentary, sensation of flight.
Edi gathered herself and launched through the bedroom wall, wings snapping out and stroking strongly against the mountain updraft, and Esther saw the world fall away from her, and she, too, gave voice to the glorious sensation of freedom, of relief from the world and all of its cares, and she too screamed, "Yahoo!"
Alfdis came into the room.
She looked at the still figure on the bed, the sleeping child lying across it: carefully, slowly, she bundled the child and brought it to her own breast, then drew the covers reverently over the still, darkening face.
Jeremy grinned at the golden stallion colt, grunting and just struggling up on spindly legs: he laughed and toweled it off with burlap, rubbing it and letting Cannonball sniff it and lick it and get acquainted with it, and like any male newly arrived in a strange place, the stallion colt got its pins under it and began looking for a good meal.
Only then did he hear the nursemaid's summoning voice from the porch. -
Charlie MacNeil 11-21-13
The congregation stood, and all eyes were on the belle of the ball. Sarah floated, or so it seemed, the length of the aisle, her fingers resting lightly on her Papa's sleeve, her every step and gesture that of a gueen accepting the homage of her subjects. She nodded regally at those nearest the aisle, with special smiles for those several who were most dear to her heart. As she passed Uncle Charlie and Aunt Fannie in their places in the front row she smiled, white teeth flashing, eyes of deepest blue sparkling behind her veil. Her lips moved as she whispered, "Thank you!" to the couple then faced front once more.
As the Wedding March ended Sarah and the Sheriff came to a gliding halt before the Parson. Daffyd Llewellen stepped forward; Linn relinquished his little girl's hand to her man and took one long step back. With a twinkle in his eye Parson Belding addressed the room in a rich baritone that carried beyond the farthest spectator in the rear ranks. "Who gives this woman to be married to this man?"
"Her mother, her family and I do!" Linn boomed in reply, his face set in an expression of mixed joy and sadness. Then, more softly, "Her mother, her family and I do." With military precision he about-faced and strode, ramrod straight, to his seat in the front pew next to Charlie, who nodded and winked as his friend and blood brother lowered himself to the cushion. -
Charlie MacNeil 11-21-13
The congregation stood, and all eyes were on the belle of the ball. Sarah floated, or so it seemed, the length of the aisle, her fingers resting lightly on her Papa's sleeve, her every step and gesture that of a gueen accepting the homage of her subjects. She nodded regally at those nearest the aisle, with special smiles for those several who were most dear to her heart. As she passed Uncle Charlie and Aunt Fannie in their places in the front row she smiled, white teeth flashing, eyes of deepest blue sparkling behind her veil. Her lips moved as she whispered, "Thank you!" to the couple then faced front once more.
As the Wedding March ended Sarah and the Sheriff came to a gliding halt before the Parson. Daffyd Llewellen stepped forward; Linn relinquished his little girl's hand to her man and took one long step back. With a twinkle in his eye Parson Belding addressed the room in a rich baritone that carried beyond the farthest spectator in the rear ranks. "Who gives this woman to be married to this man?"
"Her mother, her family and I do!" Linn boomed in reply, his face set in an expression of mixed joy and sadness. Then, more softly, "Her mother, her family and I do." With military precision he about-faced and strode, ramrod straight, to his seat in the front pew next to Charlie, who nodded and winked as his friend and blood brother lowered himself to the cushion. -
Linn Keller 11-21-13
Sean was everywhere.
The big Irishman in the red-wool bib-front shirt was grinning, laughing, shaking hands, slapping backs, for all the world like a politician on campaign: he came over to me and dealt me a blow to my back that like to knocked the teeth out of my mouth, and had it not been for the quick reflexes of one of the bystanders, my hat would have surely hit the dirt, so brisk was his blow.
Little Joseph grinned up at me and declared, "Grampa, Pa tied me a Windsor knot!" and so I squatted down, a move I immediately regretted, but I did not even try to rise until I'd looked at Little Joseph, and me down to his level.
I tilted my head and nodded at his necktie, neatly tied in a Windsor knot -- I'd shown Jacob how to tie that one, I always did like it -- and he'd puffed the tie out a little underneath, again a trick I showed him -- then I frowned at how much skinny wrist stuck out from Joseph's coat sleeves, and I looked at how much boot top was showing, and I realized the lad must've grown a good shot the night before, for that suit fit him fine the Sunday before.
"A good hand blacked your boots," I observed. "That is a fine job."
I suspected it had been Jacob blacking his own boots and I was right, the lad's chest swelled until I feared a button would fly off his coat like a swan shot.
I set my teeth and put more weight on my cane than I wanted but I stood up and under my own power, and I leaned against it for a long moment: Sean rested a huge hand on my shoulder and raised an arm and his voice: "Way there! Make way f'r the second most important man here!"
Alfdis chattered constantly, keeping up an encouraging commentary: Esther's water broke, she was laboring, she was working with the contractions: she laughed a little and said, "I'm an old hand at this now," and Alfdis laughed with her as she worked a clean sheet under Esther's backside.
Sarah's entourage were given the Parson's parlor for the final details that are always needed before a wedding.
Sarah stood like a beautiful statue, motionless, staring straight ahead, as her swarm of supplicants tucked, tugged, brushed, adjusted, assessed, tilted, patted, arranged and finally drew back in adoration at this vision of beauty among them.
Angela, too, stood for her share of attention, as did the twins; Angela managed to thrust a single yellow rose into the middle of Sarah's bouquet, and nobody plucked it out, and Angela drew back with the twins, and accepted her own single flower: only one of the twins would have the rose petals, and she would walk with Little Joseph, who would carry the rings.
Angela frowned and looked at Polly, then at Opal.
Polly leaned over and whispered, "She was pretty when she got here," and Opal added, "She doesn't look any different," and Angela tilted her head and considered her Aunt Sarah and said "She looks very nice."
The three children nodded their heads, once, in unison, affirming the veracity of their several observations.
Esther's hands closed into fists; she closed her eyes, bore down.
"You're doing fine, we have bulging, a little show, you're doing fine, keep it up ..."
Daciana and the violinists waited.
Parson Belden sidled into the packed church, nodding, smiling, speaking, shaking hands; he paused and spoke to the Sheriff, to the red-shirted Irishman, to the big Irish sergeant of cavalry: he looked around the packed church: every pew was filled, there were folk standing along the walls on either side: if the little whitewashed building hadn't been made of seasoned lumber, it would surely have bulged from the crowding of humanity it contained.
Parson Belden walked briskly down the aisle, his tread quick, silent, and at his passage, the murmuring dropped to a whisper.
Parson Belden smiled as he assumed his place at the head of the aisle, before the altar.
Of all the official duties of the sky pilot, he loved weddings the most.
Three violins spun their magic in unison, their pure notes spinning the familiar melody of "Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring," further stilling the crowd.
Bonnie, peeking through the cracked-open door, looked into the church sanctuary.
She swallowed a dry throat and turned, her eyes big, and she nodded, once.
"Showtime," Sean murmured, his hand warm on my shoulder, and I nodded.
I drew my spine straight, raised the cane, drove its black-steel ferrule into the floor ... thump, thump, thump, three spaced blows.
We paced off on the left, marched down the aisle: the Lawman, the Chieftain, and the entire Irish Brigade.
We men flowed to our side, turned.
I crossed my palms casually on the cane's gold head and waited, looking at the door: Bonnie opened it a little and nodded.
I turned and shook Sean's hand, then I raised the cane.
Three times I drove its tip into the floor, then, alone, I marched back down the aisle, back to the rear rank, where the Cavalry stood, tall, proud, military-neat.
I stopped and raised the cane like I would a rifle, saluting Mick, and he snapped me a salute that would've done his father proud.
The back door opened, to my left, and it's a good thing I had that cane to lean on.
My little girl stood in the doorway, and she was beautiful.
In that moment I saw her as she'd been the first time I'd seen her, an underfed waif in a patched dress, holding her Mama's hand one dark night in front of the Silver Jewel.
I saw her as a child, laughing and running, and I saw her laughing and leaning over a horse's neck, driving across a mountain meadow faster than could be done without wings, and I saw her now, a beautiful young woman in a shimmering emerald dress and had I not that cane to lean on, why, like as not I would have fallen over from ... well, from realizing ... she was grown, and a woman.
Sarah bore a box, and she opened the box, and I withdrew the white-jade oval and I put it gently about her neck, making the clasp fast at the back.
I came around and stood beside her and Sarah laid a gentle, gloved hand on my arm, and I felt my legs quiver some and I wondered, How in the hell did this happen so fast?
Sarah looked over at me and whispered, "Papa, I love you," and I looked at her and smiled a little and I whispered, "I don't believe we've been properly introduced, my beautiful young lady. I am the Sheriff, and I am looking for a little girl named Sarah. She's about waist high on me."
Sarah laughed, and the violins spun out to their final note, holding it for a long moment; there was an extended silence that ran for about a year, or three heartbeats, whichever it was.
Daciana, at the piano, began the opening notes of the Wedding March.
Sarah and I turned our faces to the altar, raised our chins.
I drove the black-steel ferrule into the floor three times.
I walked on wooden legs, walked my little girl down the aisle.
The child came with surprising speed.
Alfdis's breasts ached as the baby squeaked its first breath: she turned it, cleaned it, drained its little airway and the dusky, wiggling little girl-baby took a breath, took another, began to cry.
Alfdis began to cry too.
"It's a girl," she laughed, and Esther gasped, "Oh, let me see!" -
Linn Keller 11-20-13
Daisy commanded her small army with the efficiency of a field-marshal overseeing a major campaign.
Kettles bubbles, frying pans sizzled, stoves threw out waves of heat; cooks stirred, spiced, chopped, tasted, frowned, nodded and did all the things master cooks do when preparing a superb feast for a large number of people.
The Jewel was scrubbed, gleaming, set up for diners; Mr. Baxter wore a fine new apron, his hair slicked down; he would soon hang up the apron and leave the Jewel under Daisy's watchful eye, or one of her deputies: he did not intend to miss this wedding, and he was willing to bet Daisy would be there as well.
The cavalry was in town, they'd slaked their thirst and enthusiastically sampled Daisy's wares, collaborating in an effort to perfect a few experimental dishes: they were surprisingly well behaved, for all had been threatened with worse than two terribles if they stepped out of line.
The troop took pains top clean up after their ride, their horses were carefully attended -- just as a knight's speed and power comes from his mount, a cavalryman's speed and power comes from his own steed -- and they took the time to ensure that not only was Daisy's provender fine feed indeed, they also personally tested the quality of Mr. Baxter's beer, and pronounced it equally palatable.
Sarah took a deep breath, a steadying breath; Bonnie, in a moment of intuition, turned a little and looked back.
"Mama," Sarah said in a low voice, "did you bring your Bible?"
Bonnie blinked, her lovely eyes widening: "Oh dear, no," she groaned. "Will I really need it?"
Sarah hesitated, then said carefully, "Mama, you must look inside its front cover when you return home tonight."
Fannie looked sharply at Sarah.
"Mama," Sarah repeated, her voice urgent, "remember your Bible, without fail!"
"You," Lightning said sincerely, "look good!"
Daciana smiled, her face reddening a little; she delighted in looking good for her long, tall, skinny husband, but she delighted when her long, tall, skinny husband took pains to tell her so.
"So do you," she said shyly.
Lightning stuck out his elbow and Daciana took his arm.
"You'll be standing up with Sarah," Lightning said -- a statement, not a question.
"Yes."
They crossed the porch, he helped her into the buggy, climbed in on his side. -
-
-
-
Linn Keller 11-20-13
Esther’s expression was ecstatic.
She took a quick breath, her hands going to her belly, and she looked down at this maternal mound, then up at the watching midwife.
Esther’s eyes turned and she smoothed her expression and Alfdis knew she was thinking of her husband, who would soon be dressing for the wedding.
She shot a look at Alfdis, then blinked and shook her head.
Alfdis nodded once, solemnly.
The Sheriff rubbed Cannonball’s neck.
The mare was beginning to labor, he knew, and she was not happy he was near her.
“Don’t wall those eyes at me, lady,” he muttered, then looked over at Jeremy.
“I’ll birth her fine, Boss,” Jeremy grinned. “You go on and get that girl of yours married off!”
The Sheriff nodded; he grasped Jeremy’s hand, grunting a little as the younger man hauled him upright.
“Damn leg,” he muttered from between clenched teeth.
Charlie grinned at him from the doorway.
“Ready to run that foot race, old man?” he challenged, and the Sheriff leaned on his cane and glared in good-natured reply.
“Yeah, God loves you too,” he grumbled.
“Hadn’t you better get dressed?”
“Yeah.” He turned and looked at the laboring Cannonball.
“She’ll be fine,” Charlie grinned. “Come on, you’re short on time.”
Sarah looked at the stranger in the mirror.
The stranger's hair was a shining crown, the stranger's face glowed with good health, there was just a hint of color on the stranger's lips: Sarah was grown into a beautiful womanhood, for all her tender years, and she was honestly a beautiful young woman: cosmetics were almost gilding the lily, even if her Mama did insist on painting her face when she modeled the fine dresses in Denver when the McKenna Dress Works held its periodic fashion shows.
She leaned a little closer, as if to see deeper, further.
The image in the glass stared back, blinked when she did, drew away when she did.
There was a discreet knock at her bedroom door, then her Mama’s voice.
“Sarah? I have your dress.”
Jacob carefully knotted Joseph’s tie, frowning studiously as he turned the knot into a symmetrical Windsor, puffing the tie out under it.
“I polished my boots, Pa,” Joseph offered proudly.
“You did a fine job of it, too,” Jacob said quietly, his eyes smiling a bit as he drew the shoulders up on Joseph’s coat.
“Annette?” he asked. “Did this coat shrink up some, or did our son grow another foot overnight?”
Daciana closed her eyes, stilling her unrest the way she did before a performance.
She lay a hand against her side, willing the pain to go away: it did, finally, though she knew the relief was but temporary.
Perhaps, she thought, if I lace my corset a bit tighter.
“No,” Sarah said quickly.
Bonnie blinked, looked at the white-jade oval on the golden chain.
Polly stood back, solemn, her dress a miniature of Sarah’s: Jade, beside her, attired in like manner, waited with dark and impassive eyes, holding her woven withie basket daintily before her. The odor of rose-petals rose from its gleaming crimson cargo.
“I made a promise,” Sarah said with a catch in her voice.
“Oh?” Bonnie’s response sounded almost like a suspicious, I-wonder-what-you’re-trying-to-pull mother’s voice.
Sarah squared her shoulders, drew her chin up a little.
“I promised her my Papa would put it on me, and not until we were at the church.”
Bonnie looked at the flawless, polished oval, replaced it in its small box.
“I like this color,” Sarah smiled, looking into the mirror and turning a little. “I’ve never worn such a rich emerald before.”
“You look fine,” Esther said finally, fussing with her husband’s necktie, then patting him affectionately on the chest.
“I feel like a stuffed animal.”
Esther gave her husband a patient look.
The Sheriff looked disappointed.
“You’re not going,” he said – a statement, not a question.
“I’m too close,” she whispered. “I don’t want to run the risk –“
The Sheriff’s face reddened and he nodded.
“We wouldn’t,” he said slowly, “want to take away from Sarah’s day.”
“No, dear,” Esther smiled, leaning against her husband: Linn put his arms protectively around her.
“You handsome man,” Esther whispered, hugging him with a sudden, desperate squeeze, then leaning back from him and looking up into his light-blue eyes. “Now scoot! You don’t want to be late, for heaven’s sake!”
Angela marched purposefully up beside Charlie.
Her ever-present rag doll wore an emerald dress, just as she did; her hair was immaculately curled, framing her pink-cheeked face, and she reached fearlessly for Charlie’s browned, callused hand.
“I’d listen to the lady was I you,” Charlie drawled, and Esther laughed at the smile in his voice. She took a few careful steps and hugged him as well, laughing as she did.
“You have always been such a wonderful friend,” she choked, and Charlie shot an alarmed look at the Sheriff.
“You must forgive me,” Esther said, dabbing at her eyes with a lacy-edged kerchief. “We women get rather sentimental when we’re pregnant.”
The wolf pup watched from the alley beside the Sheriff’s office.
The wolf pup’s father, The Bear Killer, patiently submitted to a ribbon and two little girls tying it around his neck.
Sarah settled into the carriage, not hearing her mother’s nervous chatter: she felt the calm that shimmered inside Fannie, like a pool of quicksilver: steady it was, and Sarah had need of that steadiness.
The carriage rocked as The Bear Killer vaulted into its back seat, squarely between the twins.
Daffyd Llewellyn cocked a fist and roared, “THE NEXT ONE O’ YE LAYS A HAND ON ME I’LL KNOCK INT’ TH’ MIDDLE ‘A’ NEXT WEEK!”
“Wednesday or Thursday?” the English Irishman sneered.
Sean caught Daffyd’s arm as he fired the punch, then Sean seized the English Irishman’s necktie and jerked him up short.
“Don’t,” he rumbled.
Daffyd stepped back as the red-headed Chieftain released his arm.
Sean looked around, meeting every eye.
“Lads,” he said quietly, “harness up.”
Esther sagged as Alfdis took her arm.
“Help me to bed,” Esther whispered, “and bring towels and hot water.”
“It’s time?”
“It’s time.”
Alfdis looked at the door.
“Do you want me to catch your husband?”
“No.” Esther shook her head, paused, leaned against the wall, her eyes closed.
“No. He must see his daughter married. Just give me a moment.”
Mick gave the cavalrymen a hard-eyed assessment, glaring and glowering the way he did when he could find nothing wrong, nothing to snarl about, nothing over which to raise a disapproving voice.
Finally, wordlessly, he nodded, strode to his horse, swung into the saddle.
Turning the chestnut gelding, he drew a great chestful of Irish and bellowed, "MOUNT!"
The fort's small band struck up the "Garryowen" as Mick led his double colunn of trooopers through the heavy gates; they set a course for Firelands, for there was a wedding, and a wedding meant drink, and dancing, and the ladies, not necessarily in that order, and of course there would be a better grade of rations than were usually available at the fort.
Angela clutched three yellow roses from the bouquet her Daddy gave her Mommy, the bouquet over which her Mommy shed unexpected tears, explaining in a squeaky voice that Mommies sometimes cry when they're very happy, to which Angela replied with a curious tilt of her head, "Mommy, am I supposed to cry too?" -- which resulted in Esther laughing, with tears streaking her cheeks, and hugging her curly-headed little girl.
Angela rode in the back seat of the buggy.
Her Daddy and her Uncle Charlie sat in the front seat.
Angela wished she had a big warm furry Dawg to ride with her like Sarah's little sisters generally did.
That's okay, Angela thought.
The Bear Killer will be there, and Aunt Fannie will be there, and I can sit with Opal and Polly. They have Mommy-green dresses like mine. Maybe everyone will think we're sisters!
I wish I had a sister.
A little brother is okay but he's noisy and he smells funny.
If I had a baby sister I could play with her and read to her and teach her stuff.
Angela smiled, bent her head to sniff the triplet of yellow roses she held, then she raised her head and looked around, content to be with her big, strong Daddy and her big, strong Uncle Charlie. -
Linn Keller 11-19-13
Sarah convulsed, once, coming off her bed like a scalded cat.
She landed on her feet, blade in one hand and reaching down for the shotgun's checkered grip: she froze, pupils dilated to the point that her eyes were black, with no trace of her usual pale blue.
Nostrils flared, mouth open, eyes searching the darkness, she smelled the hot sand, the dust, she knew there were warriors at battle, she knew there was a desperate fight, a fight to the very death ...
Gone.
"What in two hells just happened?" she whispered, and then her already-wide eyes widened further as the knowledge came upon her.
"Oh dear God," she whispered, more a prayer than an exclamation.
Sarah saw the fight.
Sarah lived the fight.
Sarah felt every stroke of a tempered blade, she felt hard-knuckled hands gripped about wire-wound handles, she felt callused palms gripping the lance, she felt hackles rise and her teeth bare as the ranks of Darkness formed up against the few, and she felt four hearts sing with a savage joy, the joy known only to the warrior who faces an almost certain death, death in the face of surely insurmountable odds.
Sarah missed the shotgun's grip and closed around something slender, smooth ...
She did not have to strike a light to know the shaft and fletching were black.
Esther lay a gentle hand on her belly and regarded Sarah with a knowing expression.
"You've seen something," she said.
Sarah nodded, then quirked her eyebrows as the question came to mind: "Did you see it?"
"No, dear," Esther said gently. "I'm sight-blind now." She looked down at her belly. "So is Dana here." She looked up at Sarah and smiled sadly.
"That's why they never came after me."
"Excuse me?" Sarah's surprise was genuine, and it showed.
Esther laughed politely.
"You carry the Sight," she explained, "and it will pass through your blood. Your children --"
Sarah nodded.
"I know."
Esther felt the weight on Sarah's heart.
"The Sight is a heavy gift."
Sarah looked up at the older woman, grief in her eyes.
"I'm ... learning that."
"You've seen what Daciana carries."
Sarah nodded miserably.
"You can't tell her."
"I know."
"You've seen forward in your own life."
Sarah nodded again.
"The Sight ... is not easy."
"I'm ... finding that out."
Sarah blinked.
"You're Sight-blind?"
Esther smiled again, a sad little smile as she patted Sarah's hand reassuringly.
"I gave it to you, dear."
Sarah blinked, digesting this new realization: she knew this, somehow, but she'd not really ... realized it.
"You will be married in six days," Esther continued, "and you will wear my white-jade necklace."
Sarah nodded, tears stinging her eyes.
Esther raised a finger. "None of that, dear," she murmured. "We both know what will be and we both know you need to wear something ... old ..."
Sarah looked down at her hand, at the ancient ring on her hand, the ring Daffyd gave her.
"Something borrowed," Esther continued.
Sarah nodded, her bottom lip trembling.
"Off you go, now," Esther said in a kindly voice, "and see your husband. You need to have him tell you about using the Welsh longbow."
"But don't shoot one with him."
"He must never know you are the Warrior."
"Our son will be a bowman," Sarah whispered fiercely, not trusting her voice, and Esther smiled.
"I remember." -
Charlie MacNeil 11-18-13
"Home". How sweet rang that single syllable, that one word. Though much time had passed in the battle, yet they had returned home mere moments after their departure. Though it had carried him to the site of the combat, the buckskin mare stood hipshot, dozing in the moonlight, patiently waiting for its rider to return. Charlie slipped the reins from about the animal's neck and turned toward the barn. "Come on, horse. Let's us get you unsaddled and turned out." Fannie, the pack mules and the sorrel followed.
"Good fight," Cat Running commented as if speaking about the weather or something else equally as mundane. Charlie turned his head to look at the old man.
"You've been there before, ain'tcha?"
"Yep. Many time. Kill lotsa monsters."
"Why didn't you say somethin' before now?"
"You di'n't need ta know. Woman knew." The old man chuckled drily. "You fight better dumb."
Charlie just shook his head tiredly and trudged wordlessly on toward the barn. He was too beat to try to decipher the cryptic words. Maybe after twelve hours sleep and a gallon of coffee, but not now. Methodically he and the others went through the necessary motions to unpack and unsaddle the livestock, feed them and turn them out to water. Then husband and wife headed for the house as Cat Running returned to his robes, Dawg to his spot in the hay.
Inside the house the couple left a trail of discarded boots, coats, hats and weapons from the mud room toward the bedroom, where both warriors collapsed on the bed still essentially fully dressed. They were asleep instantly... -
Charlie MacNeil 11-17-13
The combatants were drained, physically and spiritually, yet they fought on, for the stakes were too high for anything else. The enemies still came, though their ranks had thinned appreciably. Beyond reach of sword and lance, the evil masses gathered for one last great effort to overwhelm the four who still stood and shouted their defiance. The roiling mass boiled and fumed, gathering strength for that one overwhelming attack that should overrun the mortals before them...
"Here they come," the warrior growled, his voice rasping deep in his parched throat. "This is it. We defeat them here and now, or we go down fighting. We've fought the good fight. No one could ask more." He pulled the archer princess close and their lips met in a kiss, a sort of farewell that might or might not come to fruition in the coming minutes. She returned his kiss then stepped away to gather the arrows she had managed to retrieve while their foes were gathering for their final onslaught. He turned to the old man.
"Old man, there's no one I would rather have than you, here, now," he said.
"It ain't over yet," the old man replied, his obsidian eyes glinting in the orange light that was beginning to present itself from beyond the horizon, lips curled in a humorless smile. "The spirits have yet to make themselves known to those," he hitched his chin in the direction of the gathered enemy. "They don't know what they did by coming to us the way they did."
"I hope your spirits show up pretty quick," the warrior answered. "'Cause here they come!" He hefted his sword. "Whether we're ready or not!"
As the tumbling ebony mass gathered momentum, rumbling forward with the implacable power of an avalanche, the crash of thunder roared overhead. Lightning flashed and danced across the surface of the night, strobing across optic nerves, turning dark to light. The enemy shrank back as a single crackling trident slammed into the ground between them and the four warriors to stand in place, humming, turning the air to ozone. For a moment, an eternity, all was silent, even the wind ceasing its scream. Then with a roar the bolt split...
White light turned red-tinged darkness to full day in an instant. Shadows surfed the luminous waves, gaining form and dimension as they came, forming a rank that faced the enemy defiantly, confidently, angrily. Wolf, bison, bear, elk, badger, all took shape on the sand. All facing the gathered enemy. All ready to mete out punishment. The wolf stepped to the fore as the sibilant voices rose.
"HHHooowww dddaaarrreee yyyooouuu cccooommmeee hhheeerrreee?" the voices demanded. "Ttthhhiiisss iiisss nnnooottt yyyooouuurrr cccooonnnccceeerrrnnn!"
The voice of the wolf, deep and menacing, made itself felt to all. "You overstepped your bounds!" the wolf replied. "You came to the world of these," he nodded toward the four combatants. "You broke the covenant! For that you must be punished. Never again shall you be able to do such as you have done this night! Come forward, and be destroyed!" The battle began anew...
No bard will sing of the battle that took place, the battle for supremacy over a world that was still finding its way, still searching out its destiny in the universe. No poet will compose hymns in praise of the heroes of the combat. The carnage will never come to the attention of those on whose behalf the battle was joined. None will know of the sacrifice nor of the union of man and animal, human and spirit that formed that night. Only those who took part would ever know the truth of that night. But that night would become a turning point in the lives of all who fought...
The last of the evil was done, scattered, never again to amass the power that gathered and was violently dispersed during those hours. When all was silent, the battle finished, the wolf turned to face the warrior, the archer princess, the old man, the hell hound. Bison, elk, badger and bear stood in a crescent behind him. "The Great Spirit has seen your strength, He knows your hearts. We were his power made flesh this night. For all of your days remember this night, and those who battled by your side, and be thankful. Waste not, and you shall have abundance. Now we must return to your world, as must you. Farewell, brothers and sister. Farewell." Blinding light flashed, and the wolf and his companions vanished...
The warrior turned to the others. "Let's us go home, folks," he said tiredly. "Maybe now we can rest for at least a little while." He took the archer princess's softly calloused hand in his left, the old man's gnarled fingers in his right. The hell hound nosed between warrior and princess and all stepped forward, two long strides carrying them from black sand to winter-cured prairie grass. Overhead, the clouds scattered, the last waning bit of moon shone silver across the ranch yard. They were home...
Firelands-The Beginning
in SASS Wire Saloon
Posted
Linn Keller 11-28-13
Everyone else was being sociable.
I didn't feel terribly social.
I set down behind my desk and looked at what used to be Esther's cane.
She never needed it for walking.
She ...
I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.
I remembered how she walked with it, how she ... she flowed when she walked and that cane was an ornament, a scepter, a veldt-marschal's baton.
But not a cane.
Esther had a way of knowing things, a knowing I could neither understand nor explain.
In time I came to accept that she had this gift, and this cane ... this cane was a potent reminder of that gift, and of her.
She knew, somehow, I would need a walking stick, she knew I would need to help my shot up leg, and she had her cane lengthened to fit my long tall frame.
"Oh hell," I grunted.
If I set there I would either lean the cane against the wall behind me ... and it would fall over.
I didn't want it to fall.
That would not respect ... the giver.
I could lay it across my desk in front of me.
Slovenly, I thought.
I frowned, pressed the tip into the floor, leaned my weight onto the cane, my other hand on the desk top, pushing myself slowly to an upright position.
My leg was healing; my leg was strengthening; I straightened it fully.
I squared my shoulders and paced off on the left and deliberately marched, tall and straight, diagonally across the office floor.
I pulled the Jewel's door open and stepped inside.
Five minutes later I left, and my mood was not improved.
One of Daisy's girls was behind the bar.
I expected as much.
Mr. Baxter was well respected and generally well liked; it was not surprising that he would be eating Thanksgiving with a family.
I knew Daisy's girl was single.
The place was almost empty; it was evident she was not only running the bar, she was also filling for Tillie ... not a strenuous task, as nobody was coming in wanting a room.
Two other men stood at the bar, nondescript fellows, nothing at all remarkable about them.
I stood up to the bar, left foot up on the rail, then I shifted my weight, switched feet.
"Damn cripple," the near man snarled.
I leaned on the cane and turned it slightly, felt the slight click.
I looked at Daisy's girl and raised my chin slightly.
"Beer," I said quietly.
The fellow nearer me was wearing a worn suit, townie shoes and a narrow brim hat -- a townie and not from here -- and he was not in a kindly mood, by the way he glared at nothing in particular, and by the way he turned and kicked my cane, hard.
I anticipated his move.
Instead of my palm resting atop the gold ball, I gripped the wire-wrapped handle, I flicked it hard sideways and the ebony sheath flew from the watered-Damascus blade.
The blade's tip pressed uncomfortably up under his jaw, a little to one side, hard against his throat.
One thrust and the blade would slice through at least two major vessels.
He knew it.
So did I.
My coat was open; I casually brushed it back to expose the scrimshawed handle of my engraved Colt revolver: the pistol's handle was between my belt and the bar, not displayed for him to see, but cleared so I could draw without impediment.
Daisy's girl drew back and looked around, reached up and tugged urgently at a dangling cord, then lowered her hand, big-eyed, wringing her suddenly damp palms in a bar towel.
The other fellow -- the one on the other side of this ill tempered soul -- followed the clattering, rolling ebony with his eyes, then looked back.
"Mister," I said quietly, "when I come back from that damned War, everything decent and good in the world was dead. My wife died a week before I got home and my little girl died in my arms the night I got back and after that I didn't care what happened to me.
"I got married and I learned all over again how good life was.
"Well guess what."
I pressed up and twisted the blade, just enough to break the skin, and a trickle of blood ran scarlet down the front of his neck.
"I buried my wife a couple of days ago."
I tilted my head a little.
"I will give you one chance, and one chance only, to get your rancid carcass out of my town." My words were slow and evenly spaced, I spoke soft because there was no need to speak loudly.
The townie opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.
"S-s-stage," he hissed, and I nodded.
"Leaves in one hour," I said. "I'll be back in an hour and fifteen minutes."
I backed up, lowered the blade's tip.
There was a quick blur of movement behind him, the distinct ring of cast iron against a man's skull: the fellow facing me sagged against the bar, his face the color of putty, and the man behind him slumped bonelessly to the floor.
Daisy's girl stood behind him with an aggravagted look on her face and an eighteen inch frying pan in both hands.
She looked up at me -- she looked defiantly at me -- and then she stiffened her back bone and snapped, "What did you expect? He was going for his gun!"
I sauntered over to the ebony shaft lying half under a table, picked it up, then I walked over to the townie with the ill temper.
I plucked the kerchief from his pocket, wiped his blood off my blade, dipped his kerchief in his beer and used it to wipe my blade again.
I would rub it down with powdered limestone later, a trick I learned from that funny Japanese fellow who showed us what a sword could really do, back during the War, but for now I slid it back into the sheep's-wool lined cane-shaft.
I waited until the townie was rallied enough to drag his partner out of the Jewel and across the street; the two of them waited on the Deacon's bench outside the Mercantile for the stage, and I went back to the Jewel and paid for my beer.
Later that night when I went back to the house, Angela was only just returned from Bonnie's: she'd gone there for Thanksgiving dinner, and bless Bonnie for inviting us, but for the life of me I did not have the heart to be social this day.
Angela came charging into my study with a happy "Daddeeee!" and I dropped the cane and caught up my little girl and laughed as I swung her around at arm's length above my head, and she spilled happy little-girl giggles all over the floor as I spun around, and I swung her down to the floor and set myself down and I laughed too.
Angela climbed up into my lap and Alfdis came in carrying little Dana, my tiny little daughter, and my son came strutting in behind her.
I took Dana and held her while I still held Angela, and wished for a wider seat, for my boy leaned against me.
"I think," I said, "I shall need a wider seat" -- and I laughed again, and realized that maybe I actually did give a damn after all.