Author's note: I meant to have this updated on Friday, along with my two Star Wars stories, but things didn't work out quite the way I planned. (rolls eyes) Typical. In any event, I do hope my American readers had a wonderful Thanksgiving. . .I know I did, spending it with my parents, two brothers, and all but two of their children. To my non-American readers, I hope all has been well with you. Without further ado, here's the next chapter, which includes two new characters. Jason Wellington is 'played' by Richard Armitage, aka Guy of Gisborne in the BBC series Robin Hood. And his grandfather? Well, you'll find out next chapter!
Chapter Eight
Everyday Life
"I need to go shopping."
Cal raised an eyebrow at Elena when she made this announcement. Okay. . .and his part in this was what, exactly? They were sitting in his grandmother's kitchen, finishing up their snacks. Cal was taking a break from fixing his grandmother's computer, and he had no real idea as to what Elena was doing, aside from keeping his grandmother company. Elena continued, "I need to go grocery shopping. . .I don't want to think about what my food supply looks like. . .or Meg's for that matter. . .after almost two weeks away."
"And I have what, exactly, to do with this?" Cal inquired, folding his arms over his chest. Elena merely smirked. Ohhh, no. He knew that smirk. Mind you, he didn't know Elena's expressions nearly as well as he knew Megan's, but he grew up with the latter. He didn't even meet Elena until they were teenagers. But he knew that smirk. . .oh, did he ever! And it almost always involved trouble. . .most often for him. The real question was, could he handle that kind of trouble?
"Oh, I was thinking you might like to get out of the apartment for a while. . .and help me carry the groceries to my car. . .and up the stairs here," Elena replied. Cal blinked at that comment. Here? Elena lost her smirk and leaned forward, dark eyes intent. Cal felt a bit like a butterfly attached to a poster board, seeing that expression. She said softly, "Yes. Here. Megan was already exhausted when we picked up her parents and Gavin at the airport. . .the drive home and fielding her mother's questions about Bethany would only make matters worse. The last thing on her mind will be food, but she has Michael to think about now. Gavin will be worn out from the flight, so I'm the best choice."
Well, hell, how could he argue with that? And he didn't even need to think about what his grandmother would say. . .she would shoo him out of the apartment and remind him that he could work on the computer later. He asked in resignation, "So what do you need me to do? Ferry you around Campbell, or just act as muscle?" Elena flashed him one of her more devastating smiles, one that usually made his knees weak. And today was no exception, dammit!
"A little of both, actually," Elena replied, eyes twinkling. Yeah, of course they were twinkling, she had won! She grew serious, adding, "I figure if we hit all of the grocery stores, plus the Super Wally-World, that should be enough." All of the grocery stores? Cal allowed himself a mental groan at the idea. Elena laughed at his expression, adding, "Hey, it won't be that bad! We'll get the lightweight stuff at one store, for Megan and Michael, the heavier stuff at another store for me, and anything we'd forgotten at the previous two at the third."
At least she had a plan, which was more than he could say for himself. He asked quietly, "What, exactly, do you mean by lightweight stuff for Michael?" It was, he thought, a fair question. Until he thought about where Elena and Megan just came from. The newcomer just spent two weeks in the hospital, and he was accustomed to bland food. Michael was also recovering from an abdominal wound. . .which meant he wasn't ready for spicy food. Too bad. Cal was looking forward to introducing him to pizza. Since he answered his own question, Cal moved on to the next part, "When do you want to leave?"
"Do you think your grandmother will be all right for the next hour or two? Nico will be here, but. . ." Elena began. Her gaze slid toward the computer in the next room, and Cal smirked a little. The woman opposite him growled a little, adding, "I just want to make sure she'll be all right! She was nice enough to loan Nico to us while we were away, and I know that helped Michael!"
"Anyone ever tell you that you're cute when you get defensive?" he asked with a half-smile. Elena just stuck her tongue out at him, and Cal went on, "I'll go check with her, then take a look at the computer while you're putting the list together. Yes, you need a list, I ain't traipsing all over Campbell without a list. You know what you need, you have a basic idea of what Meg needs. . .put a list together, then I'll check with Gran to see if she has any coupons."
"You do realize 'ain't' isn't a word?" Elena asked primly. Cal rolled his eyes, partly in amusement and partly in exasperation. She just giggled and said, "Okay, amigo, I already have the beginnings of a list in my head. I just need to go down to Megan's apartment and check out what she needs. . .aside from everything." Cal smirked. Yeah, he knew what she meant. Meg was actually a decent cook, but she usually either lacked the time, the energy, or the incentive to cook. Cooking for one really wasn't a lot of fun, as Cal knew himself.
"You have a key to her apartment," Cal observed and Elena just looked at him as if he'd said the dumbest thing imaginable. Okay, so it wasn't the brightest thing he could have said, but. . .alright, it wasn't the brightest thing he could have said. He had always known that Elena had a key to Megan's apartment, just as Megan had a key to Elena's. Elena just smirked and Cal mock-glowered at her, adding, "Oh, go make your list!" But he smiled as her laughter followed him from the room.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB
It was outlandish. Utterly absurd. He had responsibilities and obligations here, he could not simply go traipsing off. . .
But they were right. Both Maureen and Pelagia were right. He did need to pick his van up, he did need to check on Boromir and see to the girls. And. . .and he did need the rest. Ronan Daly slumped back in his chair, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. He thought of his conversation with Pelagia, in which she told him that she wanted him to leave for Campbell after finishing up with his patients for the day. . .and then, his earlier conversation with Maureen, in which she told him that going to Campbell at the end of the week wasn't a bad idea at all.
The thing was, it was almost week's end. Damn the women in his life. However, there was no heat to it. Just aggravation, frustration, irritation, and all the other 'ation' that went with dealing with females. Especially when they were right. Ronan flipped open his schedule for the following day. . . and barely held back a yelp of frustration. Now he knew there were at least some items on the calendar for Friday, because he distinctly remembered putting them there! Controlling his frustration with an effort, he picked up the phone and dialed Maureen's extension at the nurse's station. She answered, sounding absent-minded, and Ronan asked in as a steady voice as he could manage, "Maureen, do you know if my cases for tomorrow have been given to another doctor?"
"Mmmmm, let me check. Mr. Malloy had to go out of town. . .his younger sister is dealing with her husband walking out on her," Maureen began. Ronan rolled his eyes. Not at his patient or at the steel which appeared in the head nurse's voice, but at the stupidity of any man who walked out on a woman who had an older brother. As the older brother to three younger sisters, Ronan knew better than anyone else just what older brothers were willing to do on the behalf of their little sisters. And while Maureen's late husband never walked out on her, it was a situation through which her oldest daughter suffered. She was raising four kids and going back to school to become a CPA. The less said about what happened to her former son-in-law, the better.
Maureen continued after a moment, "Mrs. Nelson needed to reschedule. . .she couldn't get the time off from work, so she's rescheduling for the day she does have off. And the only other appointment you had for tomorrow was the orientation meeting with the new volunteers. The coordinator got sick, so that's been rescheduled as well. Your calendar is clear, Ronan."
Ronan could only stare at the phone in shock. Of course Pelagia knew about all this ahead of time, she was a demi-goddess, if not a goddess! He could have smacked his forehead on the desk, but Maureen was on the phone, waiting patiently. He said, sighing a little, "Thank you, Mo. I have a few more patients to check on, and then I'm heading to Campbell. I'll try to be back Monday." Emphasis on 'try.' He had to figure out how he would get back to Raleigh on Monday with both his usual car and his van. Then there was the whole matter of Boromir. Ronan wasn't sure if he'd want to leave his friend's side, no matter what happened. He trusted Megan, Elena and Kristin to take care of him, but that didn't make up for thirty thousand years of missing his friend.
"Take your time, Ronan, you have plenty of it," Maureen advised. Well, that was true enough. With most of his children still in Ireland, involved with their own lives, Ronan accumulated quite a bit of leave. He had been back to Ireland a few times since his wife's death, but during his last visit, it became clear that it was no longer home. Ronan allowed himself a brief, ironic smile. Too Irish for America, too American for Ireland. Well, that wasn't entirely true. While his accent got some attention from his patients, it was largely of the 'COOL!' variety. Although, Ronan did need a translation when one of his teenage patients informed him that his accent was 'really sick.' Not especially something a doctor wanted to hear, even after learning from the teen's older sister that 'sick' was the new 'wicked cool.'
"You have my beeper number and my cell, if you need me," Ronan told his long-time friend, as he always did when he left even for a long weekend. Twenty-five years. Where had the time gone? Ronan mentally shook his head. He was turning into an old fool, lamenting the passage of time. That was life. And he had work to do. Right. The first thing he needed to do was finish his rounds for the day. It was more to reassure himself than anything else. . .maybe to reassure his patients as well. He learned that it helped his patients recover when they knew their doctor actually cared for them.
"Have a great time. And, Ronan? Relax," Maureen counseled. Ronan smiled and ended the call, then turned his attention to his rounds. Much to his surprise, several of his patients were actually pleased for him that he was taking some time off, even if it was just a few days. He looked tired, they told him, and the time away would be good for him. It wasn't good for a person, one of his older patients told him extremely severely, to work too much. They would burn out, and then where would Ronan or his patients be? Heartened by his patients' compassion, Ronan left the hospital feeling much better about his decision to leave for a few days.
That lasted right up until he reached his apartment. Ronan never really thought about his apartment very much. It was a place to sleep when he wasn't working, but he really hadn't had a home in several years. . .not since his wife died, if he was really honest about it. Most of the time, he was at work and asleep in the doctor's lounge (or on the sofa in his office, though that didn't happen as often). He really didn't spend that much time here. And it showed.
Ronan shook his head. He had work to do. He really needed to stay focused. . .based on what Pelagia said (and didn't say), Boromir and the girls would have need of him soon. He found the duffel bag in his bedroom closet, the bag that his niece bought for him when he left Ireland. Funny, but Pelagia reminded him of her. . .not just in her long blonde hair, but in her very name. Pegeen. She was. . .how old was she now? Forty, forty-five? Something like that. But in his mind, she was still the beautiful little girl his sister brought into the world. He supposed that was the way. You never really saw your children as they were, but rather, as the little ones they were at one time.
He wondered if the girls' parents felt that way. . .Megan and Kristin. What were their names? Alison and Fred? No, their father was Francis. . .and he didn't think their mother's name was Alison. Alicia? Alexandra? Aileen? That wasn't it, either. He would remember it, eventually. . .hopefully before one of the girls had to remind him. Ronan supposed that the girls wouldn't expect him to remember, but he did. . .especially with all the time he spent with the pair while they were here.
Not quite as much time as he spent with the Fellowship during their journey. . .not even Boromir or Legolas, but still a great deal of time. He chose to focus on that, rather than how very. . .empty. . .his life seemed away from the hospital. Ronan thought about the conversations he had with all three girls. Elena loved to talk about her nieces and nephews and loved to show off pictures of them even more. Actually, saying that she 'talked' about them was something of an understatement. . .the more correct phrase would be, 'bragged' about them constantly.
Kristin was often focused on her studies to become a doctor, when she wasn't worrying about her older sister or about Boromir. But it wasn't just the science itself, or the patients. It was the whole picture. The kids in the pediatrics ward utterly adored her, for the coloring books and crayons she bought at the local dollar store, but more for the attention she lavished on each child. She loved children and they knew it. As Mo was wont to say, dogs and kids knew the marshmallows around them. Kristin, he discovered, was a marshmallow for both children and canines.
Megan. Years ago, as Gimli, he overheard someone compare Eowyn and Boromir. There were similarities between the young shieldmaiden and his friend. . .but for some reason, Ronan saw the opposite similarities between Megan and Faramir. Both quiet, both basically gentle, and both incredibly deadly when the situation called for it. She didn't tell him about the case which led her and Elena to come up to Raleigh, but she did tell him about those horrifying times when she found it necessary to kill. Ronan found it more telling, the flat tone of voice she used when speaking of those harsh necessities than the words themselves. As if she was trying to protect herself from what she had to do.
He wasn't unfamiliar with the defense mechanism. . .he used something similar.
Yes, he missed them all, and he missed Boromir. His Sindarin and Westron were both going downhill rather rapidly without Boromir around for practice. Ronan thought with some amusement that his friend wouldn't appreciate being considered practice. . .on the other hand, he would most assuredly enjoy the practice itself. He would need a sparring partner, once he regained his strength and his memory. And he would need a friend, someone who was there, at least in one respect. He would need Gimli, son of Gloin. . .he would need Ronan Daly.
And Ronan needed to be there, too.
BBBBBBBBBBBB
As Ronan Daly was noticing just how empty his own apartment was, Kristin Rafferty was noticing the exact opposite. She had carried her bags to her room while Gavin talked with her parents, and that was where she stood now. Her room, her sanctuary, the location of her castle. A faint smile touched Kristin's mouth, remembering a tiny, dark-haired girl crawling into a cardboard castle, a princess of a land that didn't exist. She remembered the dolls who were her daughters and sons, the stuffed animals who were her pets. The castle was long gone, lost to the ravages of time and an overly excited child, but the dolls and the stuffed animals remained.
The walls, once decorated with posters of rock singers and teen idols, were now adorned with the latch-hook rugs she had made, and the velvet posters her sister had completed. Her particular favorite, an exotic Spanish flamenco dancer, held prominent position over the headboard of her bed. It had taken Megan close to six months to complete that, between running out of markers and the shifts she had taken at work. But on Kristin's eighteenth birthday, her older sister had presented it to her, and then helped her to hang it up. It stayed there ever since.
In the corner, beside Kristin's walk-in closet, sat her desk. . .a rolltop desk, something she wanted ever since she saw it in one of her dollhouses. It was a gift from her grandfather Rafferty when she turned fourteen and entered high school, and here it would remain until Kristin had a proper apartment. Here, where it would be safe. On top of the desk sat her photographs. . .the family portrait that was taken when she was a small girl, the picture of her settled on Megan's hip after her older sister graduated from college. In fact, most of her pictures could be found in her sister's apartment, in varying sizes.
There were, in fact, very few pictures from college. On the other hand, whatever pictures she didn't have on her desk were at college. But those she always put away when she was leaving for any length of time. Her eyes shifted next to the CD's neatly filed in the cubbyholes of her desk. Just the way she left them. She smiled and turned her attention next to the floor beside her desk. Her scrapbooks. Again, just the way she left them. Kristin eased herself to the ground, running her fingers lightly over the spirals of the books. There were scrapbooks of various things that held her interest. She kept a scrapbook the first year the Carolina Hurricanes were actually in North Carolina, fascinated as she was with hockey at the time. She still loved hockey, just as her sister did, but she no longer had crushes on the players.
Here was another scrapbook, handled far less often. Kristin smiled a little. She'd been nine or ten. . .and her assignment was to collect, preserve, and label leaves around their house. Like many children, she was given to procrastination and waited until the night before to do the bulk of the work. Her older sister, home from college for some reason she couldn't recall now, spent that evening helping Kristin to collect the leaves and that night ensuring the items were properly pressed and placed in the book. Kristin kept the book as a reminder not to leave things to the last minute. . .among other reasons.
And then she saw something else, something she'd almost forgotten. Her little treasure box. Kristin smiled with delight, reaching for the small box. Meg made this for her. . . when was it? She couldn't remember. It wasn't even for shop class, which Meg and Elena both took in high school. Art class, maybe? That sounded about right. Kristin smiled as she ran her fingers over the box, remembering how much her sister hated art class. She couldn't draw to save her life, and to make matters worse, her teacher was one of those who penalized someone who couldn't draw. Fortunately, he was gone by the time Kristin got to high school. But the box remained.
Kristin removed the lid, trying to remember what was inside. It had been a few years since she opened it. One thing she remembered from the last time she pulled it out. . . finding things that obviously had some meaning for her when she put them in, but had no idea what they were for now. Kind of like a time capsule, now that she thought about it. That wouldn't be the case this time. She shifted her position until she was more comfortable, and then removed each item, one by one.
First was the unused candle that Elena gave to her for her fifteenth birthday, her quinceanera. According to tradition, a young girl's fifteenth birthday was the ending of her childhood and the beginning of her womanhood. Elena explained that to her, as well as why she gave Kristin a candle for her birthday. Candles meant light, and light meant hope. She should use her candle wisely, lighting only in the darkest of times. The gift, and the sentiment behind it, meant a great deal to Kristin and she hugged Elena, then put the candle in her treasure box.
Next was a small box. But it wasn't any ordinary box. . .no, this box held a very special piece of jewelry. It was her grandmother Sayre's final gift to her. . .her grandmother's way of telling her, reminding her that even if she wasn't born into this family, she was very much a Rafferty and very much a McFarlane. It was her grandfather's dogtags from the Second World War. Megan inherited their grandmother's engagement ring, but Sayre wanted her younger granddaughter to have something to the grandfather she never had the chance to meet. The dogtags were it, and they remained within her treasure box, never to be worn. They were too sacred to be worn casually.
Kristin reverently replaced Craig McFarlane's dogtags back in the jewel box, before turning her attention to the next item. She smiled ruefully, shaking her head in amused remembrance. It was a framed copy of her first paystub, working as a window cashier for Lady J. She had been sixteen when she began working there part-time, and she was so proud of her first paycheck as a real working girl, she talked her father into buying a frame for her paystub. Her mother teased her about it for days, and Megan just smiled softly at her, her eyes reflecting pride as much as amusement.
Megan. Kristin turned her attention to her next item. . .the newspaper article which ran when her sister and Elena graduated from the police academy. It was a nice article from the Campbell Seeker, but whoever wrote the article spelled her sister's name wrong (Meagan, instead of Megan). Even so, the article was worth keeping. Besides, every time she saw the reporter in question, she gave her a hard time about it. That was one of the advantages of living in a relatively small town. . .if the mayor or local reporters did something stupid, you could say so to their face(s). Like the paystub, it was framed.
The final item in the box made her smile, murmuring, "I wondered what happened to this." Carefully, she picked up the seashell, which her parents brought back from Florida a few years ago. Kristin saw too many movies while she was growing up, in which something nasty bit down on the ear of someone 'listening' to the ocean. . .so she simply cradled it carefully in her hands, admiring the simple beauty of the shape and the colors. She murmured, "So pretty."
"Reconnecting, baby girl?" her father asked from her open door. Kristin looked up, startled. She never even heard him approach. He entered the room and knelt beside her, stroking his hand over her long black hair, commenting, "Gavin said he was heading to Meg's apartment. Your big sister forgot a few things when she decided to bring that young man home with her." Forgot a few things? Like what? Their father observed rather wryly, "I don't think Meg thought about who would help Michael with private matters." Priv. . .oh. OH! Kristin felt her cheeks burn. That made two of them. While she helped with bedpans, that was a far cry from helping a man into the bathroom.
"Well, nobody's perfect. . .and Meg is the absolute first person who will tell you that she's the furthest thing from perfect," Kristin offered. Their father chuckled and Kristin continued, "And yeah, I guess you could say I'm reconnecting. The last time I opened this box, I lost track of. . .well, I forgot why I saved whatever it is." Dad settled himself more comfortably on the floor beside her, rubbing his thumb over the glass which protected her first paystub.
"Funny thing about that, Kris. . .you find yourself looking for that very item years later," he said softly. Frowning, Kristin shifted to look at him more closely. His bright blue eyes were distant as he went on, "I remember once, a long time ago, I lost track of something that I loved so much. The funny thing is, for a while before I lost h. . .lost it, I also lost track of my own feelings. I forgot what this meant to me." Kristin shivered a little, sensing there was far more that her father wasn't telling her. He noticed and pulled himself back to the present, running his free hand up and down her forearm, adding, "I didn't mean to upset you. I just. . .don't be so quick to throw things away, baby doll. You just never know when something that seems useless will be exactly what you need."
He pulled himself upright with a grunt, holding onto the edge of her desk. Kristin looked up, still feeling unsettled, and he ruffled her hair, saying with a smile, "Don't spend too much time in the past either. . .your mother doesn't feel like cooking, so we'll probably order in for pizza. And the last I checked, the only time you wouldn't eat pizza was if you'd eaten it for lunch or if you were sick." Kristin had to smile at that. . .that, at least, hadn't changed much. She would still eat pizza just about anytime.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB
"Grandfather. . .I'm home!"
Jason Wellington frowned thoughtfully as no answer echoed back through the house. That was odd. He could have sworn his grandfather planned to be home this afternoon. Unless he got his days mixed up (again), which was entirely likely. Now retired from his university position, his grandfather spent his days looking after Jason's seven year old daughter and running a dog sanctuary out of their home. Natalie was at school right now, and the dogs were silent.
Shower first, he resolved, then figure out where Grandfather is. His aching neck and shoulder muscles were begging for relief. While his meetings in South Carolina (Florence and Dillon specifically) went well, he didn't think he'd be hearing from his potential clients for a few weeks. On the other hand, the drive home was so aggravating he promised himself that the most stressful decision he would make was whether he would stop at Shoney's or Cracker Barrel for lunch. It ended up being Shoney's. . .he didn't have the energy to resist the temptation always presented itself in the gift shop of the Cracker Barrel. . .especially since he stopped at South of the Border on his way down.
His ex-wife had hated the restaurant/gift shop, but he'd fallen in love with it the first time he visited it. That was about twelve years earlier, when he was spending Thanksgiving in Virginia with his college roommate. I should call Zeke today or tomorrow, Jason reflected, loosening his tie as he made his way into the bedroom, then the bathroom, haven't spoken with him in a while. Zeke had warned him that Corinne was bad news. Typical young male, Jason hadn't listened. Zeke warned him. His grandfather warned him. Everyone warned him. He didn't listen.
Still, Jason couldn't complain. He got Natalie out of the bargain, and his ex-wife's job led them to Campbell. He had been born and raised in England, and despite the uncomfortable heat of the North Carolina summers, he'd fallen in love with the American South. His ex-wife hated it, hated the South, hated Campbell. . .hated being a wife and mother. So she had left them all. . .Campbell, the South, Jason, their six month old daughter. Wanted to find herself, she said. Jason's grandfather, who never particularly liked her, made the sharp statement that, 'I believe that is the purpose of university. . . furthering one's education and 'finding' oneself.' He had just arrived from England, and Jason had smiled at his grandfather, before breaking down.
He could have never done this without his grandfather. No matter how much he might have complained about his grandfather's high-handedness, about tripping over the dogs, about the barking, Jason wouldn't trade any of it if it meant losing his grandfather. Dr. Lucius Wellington had raised him from the time he was fifteen years old, had warned him about Corinne, never once said 'I told you so' and moved across the ocean from his beloved England to this tiny town in North Carolina, simply because Jason and Natalie needed him.
His grandfather had said on many occasions that he had committed great sins, some of which turned Jason's father against him. But Jason couldn't imagine his grandfather ever committing such terrible crimes. . .not the man who had learned to take care of and guide an angry, embittered, hormonally charged teenaged boy. His grandfather was the one and only reason why Jason was a decent person, was capable of loving his daughter, was capable of taking care of her at all.
He reminded himself of that as he tripped over his grandfather's most recent rescue. She was a beautiful Shetland puppy. . .unfortunately, Hobby was teething and she had a terrible habit of yipping as well as nipping. Not surprisingly, his daughter adored her. . .then again, Natalie adored most of the dogs whom his grandfather rescued. Jason spent the next fifteen minutes calming down the puppy, who was not at all happy about having her nap interrupted, not even by a human she liked.
Which was why he still hadn't gotten his shower when the front door seemed to implode off its hinges and his elegant, meticulous, impossibly civil grandfather shouted, "That arrogant old biddy of a harridan!" The door slammed and Hobby whimpered, diving under his grandfather's bed. Jason groaned and pushed himself to his feet, now rubbing at his forehead. This was not looking promising. Especially not when his grandfather continued in Latin,
There was only one person who caused this kind of reaction in his grandfather. . .and now that Jason thought about it, he realized he had a meeting with her today. With a sigh, Jason rose to his feet and headed into the kitchen. His grandfather was still ranting, but not as loudly as he had been. Oh yes, Dorcas Meriweather had done it once more. What made it worse was, she was one of the biggest contributors to his grandfather's dog sanctuary, and his grandfather was a very pragmatic man. While he could have done without her contributions. . .it would have made things a lot harder.
Dorcas Meriweather was, by all accounts, a good woman. She gave generously to many charities in town, helping to clothe the cold and feed the hungry. And feeding the hungry also meant dogs. She was also a terrible gossip, and troublemaker. It was nothing for her to stir up trouble, just because she could, for as something serious as an argument to as petty as someone remaining friends with the guilty part. His grandfather utterly despised her, and to the best of Jason's knowledge, she was tolerated rather than liked.
One thing both Jason and Lucius had learned during their time in this town was how the real grande dames of Campbell behaved. Women like Johanna Watkins, Regine Farrell (his grandfather never called Mrs. Farrell 'Jean,'), Sayre McFarlane and others never called attention to their charitable works, unless it was to try to get support for those particular causes. They certainly didn't do it to make themselves look good, which was often the attitude Ms. Meriweather demonstrated. Even more damning was Mrs. Meriweather's attitude that she was in some way superior to the grande dames in question. According to Mrs. Farrell (who also supported the dog sanctuary), Mrs. Meriweather was 'the very definition of a damn Yankee, bless her heart.'
Jason's grandfather had raised an eyebrow when Mrs. Farrell mentioned this, asking, 'I do hope we aren't regarded as 'damn Yankees,' especially since my grandson and I are both British subjects.' The lady had merely smiled and responded, 'not at all, Dr. Wellington, though I'm sure my mother would have had a few interesting epithets for you, since she was French.' That had provoked an outburst of laughter from his grandfather, something Jason had never heard.
The young man went into the kitchen, where his grandfather was now puttering around, still growling under his breath. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what Dorcas Meriweather had done this time, because when his grandfather was this angry, it was because she had done or said something so incredibly stupid, Jason found it hard to believe she was capable of getting out of bed in the morning, much less function in society. His grandfather stopped in the middle of chopping vegetables, pointed the knife in his general directions and snarled, "That woman is a menace to society!"
"I've no doubt of that, Grandfather. You've said that of Mrs. Meriweather so many times, it's a wonder you don't simply call her 'Menace' Meriweather," Jason responded cheekily. His grandfather glared at him, but Jason only smirked. The young man continued after a moment, a little more seriously, "You shouldn't let her upset you like that, Grandfather. She really isn't worth it. Why don't you let me handle her from now on? She seems to like me."
"Of course she likes you, Jason! A handsome young man like yourself. . .that old biddy would fall all over herself on your account! And much as I'm tempted to let you deal with her, I won't because a) the dog sanctuary is my responsibility, not yours; b) you have your own career to deal with and c) there is no way I would allow that harpy near any young man, much less my own grandson! She is a piranha!" his grandfather exclaimed. Jason chose not to point out that he had called her a harpy, a biddy, and a piranha within five minutes of each epithet.
"To answer your first point, the dog sanctuary may be your primary project, but I have helped out on it more times than either of us can count, as has Natalie. If my seven year old can wash dogs that weigh twice what she does, then I can deal with Dorcas Meriweather. Point number two, I'm between clients right now. Point number three. . . well, I really can't answer that. What did she do this time?" Jason finally asked. His grandfather just shook his head.
"It doesn't matter one whit. . .she's a soulless bitch with no compassion," he bit out angrily. Jason raised both eyebrows, startled by the words and the venom. His grandfather was not a sentimental man by nature. The older man's dark eyes were haunted as he said, "With the sins I've committed in my life, Jason, I've learned the value of compassion. About two weeks ago, a young man was found in Raleigh. . .a young man who had lost his memory, who was fighting for his very life. He had nowhere to go. Two young women, who live in this town, learned of his existence and his plight. They chose to bring him here, where people could take care of him. And do you know what that selfish biddy is saying about them? She's insinuating that they're nothing more than whores, for bringing an unknown man into their respective homes!"
With that, he slammed the knife down. Jason frowned. It sounded like Dorcas Meriweather, all right. The young man asked, "What did the others have to say about this? You're ranting about her, but not about them. . .did they simply smile politely and roll their eyes, did some of them agree with her, did some of them say she was a fool?" His grandfather sighed, some of the tension easing out of his body, and picked up the knife once more.
"The prevailing opinion is that they would have thought less of them if they had allowed that boy to remain where he was. Besides, with his condition, there isn't much he can do at the moment," his grandfather replied. Jason nodded, still not understanding. They were both used to Dorcas Meriweather, after all. Then the man who had always been there for Jason, no matter what the situation said heavily, "With the things I've seen and done in my life, Jason. . .I will not allow those girls to be treated badly for showing a lost man compassion."
What could Jason say to that? There was very little he could say, and the engineer asked quietly, "Is there anything I can do?" He doubted it. . .doubted it rather strongly. And his grandfather shook his head, which Jason expected. But he had to ask. There was nothing more to be said on this subject. . .so Jason changed it, saying, "I don't know when I'll hear from any of the people I spoke with in South Carolina. They seem to take the possibility of an earthquake seriously, but the decision-makers seem to be like the Council here in Campbell. . .unwilling to actually do anything about the possibility. . ."
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB
He had no idea of the time when he awakened once more. There was still light shining through the window. In truth, he had no desire to find out the time. The only thing he truly wanted to do was lie in this magnificent, warm bed. Unfortunately, his body was telling him something else entirely. Mikal groaned a little, knowing that the needs currently making themselves known would not simply go away if he ignored them. On the contrary, they would only become worse.
A quick glance told him that the privy was no more than a few steps away. Surely he could make such a short distance under his own power? Carefully, Mikal threw the blankets to one side, shuddering a little at the pain. He could do this. He could make the short journey from the bed to the privy, and he could do this thing without awakening Gavin, who was sleeping at the foot of the bed. He could and he would. He remembered nothing of his previous life, but he was absolutely sure that he had the strength to do such a small thing. . .
His hand wavered as he slid his legs over the side of the bed. . .a voice in his mind, his voice, repeating in a dreamy voice, such a little thing as he stared at a gold ring he held by its chain. Mikal settled his hand in the blanket, gripping it as tightly as he could. . .but he could feel the cold air, it was so very cold, and this ring, this small ring, so innocent, so harmless. . . Roughly, Mikal shook himself and forced himself to focus as he settled his feet on the ground. That proved to be a mistake. The moment he tried to stand, his legs gave way and he collapsed to the ground with a thump and a cry of pain he didn't quite manage to stifle. That pain nearly whitened out his vision, and he lay very still.
As his vision began to return to normal, something seemed out of place. A blonde woman, who looked incredibly familiar, knelt over him, scolding, "You must be more careful, child. . .ask for help when you need it!" He would have argued, but he hadn't the breath for it. The woman (long, pale blonde hair and green eyes, so terribly familiar) stroked his hair back from his forehead, saying more gently, "There are two in this place who would help you gladly, love, but you must ask for it. And speaking of which, here comes one of those who would help you."
There came the sound of footsteps, and then Gavin was kneeling beside him, worry obvious in his bright eyes. The woman was gone, Mikal discovered, but Gavin was here. He said in the language Mikal understood easily, his scolding tone making the question redundant, "What are you doing out of bed?" His eyes strayed over Mikal, and then noticed the direction he was heading, and his expression softened. He looked back at Mikal, asking, "You need to relieve yourself?" Mikal nodded. . .just barely. He was in too much pain to do anything more. Gavin continued, "Hold onto me. . .and we'll hope Meg didn't hear you cry out." Well, yes, Mikal didn't want that, but why didn't Gavin want that? His new friend added, "She's asleep, and I'd like her to stay that way a little longer."
Oh. Of course. When he could move without crying out, Mikal pushed himself up onto his elbows, pain pulsing through his torso despite his careful attempts. Once he was able to sit upright, Gavin very carefully slipped his arm around Mikal's waist. Little by little, helped Mikal to his feet, taking all of Mikal's weight. The newcomer found himself grateful that Gavin was here, rather than Meg. . .she was so very small. There was no doubt in his mind that she was strong, but she shouldn't have to bear his weight.
As Gavin helped him into the privy, he explained that Meg received very little sleep, because of her duties as a guardian. Mikal understood, without truly understanding how he understood. Ever so often, he would lapse into the new language, English, but he would correct himself, and repeat what had been said. With Gavin distracting him with conversation, Mikal was able to make it to the privy without being humiliated by the necessity of assistance. At least it was Gavin who was at his side, rather than Meg or Layna, Kristin. . .or one of the junior healers with the pan.
Once his needs were relieved, Gavin eased him to his feet and the half step to the odd water pump. There was a strange sound from the privy, but Mikal was more fascinated by the water running over his hands. Gavin had only to move a knob, and the temperature would grow warmer or hotter. Smiling at Mikal's wide eyes, Gavin turned the knob, and the water completely vanished. It occurred to him that he saw some of this when he first met Gavin, but he was actually in too much pain to really notice. He was in pain still, of course, but now, he used the strange occurrence to distract him. There were so many strange and wondrous things he saw since he awoke. . .and just when he thought nothing more could surprise him, he discovered how wrong he was (the talking sign came immediately to his mind. . .how exactly did that work?)
"Better?" Gavin asked as he gently wiped Mikal's hands dry with a soft towel. Mikal bobbed his head once, smiling in relief. Yes. Much better. Gavin smiled back, adding, "Good. Then let's get you back to bed, where you belong. Hopefully, Meg will sleep a little longer. Once she wakes up, I'll go out for food." Mikal wasn't sure if he could eat right now, but he knew it would be necessary sooner or later. Besides, while food wasn't necessary to him right now, getting back to bed was. He allowed himself to lean on Gavin as the other man led him out of the privy and back to the soft, warm bed.
His companion murmured, "I should find a way for you to communicate us if we're asleep or not in the room. . .don't want you hurting yourself." Well, that sounded like an excellent idea. However, now that his body's needs were taken care of, Mikal was feeling rather sleepy and didn't want to think anything but sleep. Gavin maneuvered him into the bed, covering him again. Mikal sighed quietly, nestling down into the pillows. Gavin squeezed his shoulder, and then lay down at the foot of the bed once more, a sentinel guarding him.
And, of course, now in bed, Mika found it difficult to return to sleep. He would have laughed or sighed, if he did not hurt so much. Instead, and not for the first time, he wondered about Gavin. The other man seemed to recognize him, as did Meg's father, but Meg hadn't. . .nor had Kristin, or Layna. Only Meg's father, Gavin, and Ronan. Gavin and Ronan spoke to him in languages he understood. . .if only briefly in Ronan's case. But Mikal understood the words nonetheless.
But he'd been over this before in his mind. That was the trouble with being injured this badly. He was glad (he thought) that he was alive. . .but he had entirely too much time to think. It wasn't the first time such a thing had occurred to him and he was quite certain it wouldn't be the last. Mikal wondered what he would do, once his body healed. Meg and Layna were guardians. Ronan and Kristin were healers, and in his heart, Mikal was sure that he was a guardian of some kind.
Right now, however, he couldn't guard much of anything. He was too weak, unable to visit the privy on his own. He would have sighed, but the fall a few minutes earlier made him leery of moving too terribly much. There was a sigh from the foot of the bed and Gavin pushed himself up, saying, "I'll turn on the teevee. Maybe we'll get lucky and there'll be something good to watch." One thing Mikal hated about the teevee, being unable to understand what was being said, might help him get to sleep. He would sleep, and eat what they wanted to eat. He would learn this English, and he would regain his strength. Only in that way would he be able to take his place as a guardian. Only in that way would he be able to repay Layna, Meg, and Kristin.
BBBBBBBBB
Yes, my champion, Pelagia thought, watching over the now-sleeping Boromir and the reincarnation of Elessar, rest and heal. Once you heal, once you regain your strength, you will also regain your life. No, not as you remember it, but a new life. Perhaps even a better life. Boromir had already begun his tasks as her Champion, and there was much he could do before he even regained his strength or his memory. There was a Christmas party coming up at the local community center, and Pelagia knew that Megan's mother Ailsa was even now scheming to get her elder daughter to attend. . .and Boromir along with her. That promised to be quite a challenge.
Pelagia would leave the convincing to Francis and Gavin Rafferty. Ronan was on his way from Raleigh, and by week's end, three members of the original Fellowship would be reunited. Gabriel Wainwright was yet needed in Oklahoma, and Legolas would take his time coming from Vancouver. He, along with Haldir, was needed where he was. But there was another in Campbell, a former enemy who might yet be an ally. He stood between the darkness and the light, and had yet to make a conscious choice either way.
For now, she had other work elsewhere. She had promised her sister that she would check on her Champions in this time while Boadicca was sorting out a problem in another time frame. Satisfied that Boromir was in the very best of hands, Pelagia vanished, to return when she was needed once more.
