DMGXI
'I received an invitation today. It was delivered by courier.'
'What's the occasion?'
'An impromptu holiday get-together... it's from Susanna Palermo.'
'You don't sound very enthusiastic.'
'I'm not. Short notice...look how late she sent it.' Catherine threw the envelope on a nearby parson's table before turning her beautiful eyes towards the window. 'It's two days before Christmas and she wants to meet tomorrow. How inappropriate!'
'Catherine?'
She turned back towards the sound of the voice, surprised by the questioning tone. Vincent was staring at her intently. He said nothing, letting his features express concern.
'What? You know that there is something about her which I just can't...'
'She certainly seems to drive anger in you. I admit to being a little surprised by your reaction. You are usually the soul of patience.'
Catherine raised her eyebrows before performing a series of facial features as she tried to decide if her husband was being kind or sarcastic. She didn't reply immediately. Instead, she chose to leave the comfy chair near the window and join her husband on the large couch located on the other side of the living room. She passed in front of the gas fire which burned brightly behind the glass grate built into the wall. Despite an impressive appearance, the fire didn't generate much heat but its dancing flames were comforting to a man who spent most of his life within sight of an enduring flame and scent of candles laden with beeswax. Catherine gave every appearance of pondering her husband's comment until she was settled beside him, legs tucked underneath her.
'I hate to admit that you might be right, although I am not sure if anger is what I'm really feeling.' Catherine paused, choosing her next words carefully. 'Suzanna appears to be self serving. She has a perfect opportunity to do something inspiring for the helpless and defenceless and yet it's all turned out to be relatively superficial.'
'But some real help is being given to certain people?'
'Yes, but with the volume of donations available, she should be able direct the charity to do even more. In fact, with better management, she could collect twice as much and help even more.'
Catherine's hands, which had been dancing around during her explanation, fell silent in her lap. She stared intently into the flames.
'I hear you,' Vincent nodded. 'There is some strong emotion inside you but I have to confess that I don't know what you are feeling Catherine. Are you angry?'
'No, I am frustrated. I am sure it comes across as anger. I want to do more but I don't have any control.'
'Another difficult circumstance for you?'
'I hate to be considered controlling.' Catherine was silent, thinking. Vincent did not interrupt. 'Do you think I can't let go of things Vincent; that I need to be in charge?'
'I believe that a yes and no answer is safest.'
'What?' Catherine turned and stared into the lovely blue eyes of her husband.
Vincent sighed deeply before replying. His wife's anxiety around her work on the committee plagued her constantly. In unguarded moments he could sense her mind ticking over, working and struggling for a way to approach her dual role. Terry and Jason's departure from New York and the children's absence from the house left her with too much time for thinking. The unsolicited invitation from the socialite did nothing to quell Catherine's concern. Her investigative mind was working overtime. Vincent cautiously formulated an answer.
'My love, your sense of right and wrong is so much a part of you. I honour and respect that you have such a drive to help others. I have seen you defend the most helpless, including me, at great risk to yourself. And yet, I sense more going on inside of you.'
'There is. When I think of her, I am not myself. I don't know the source of this frustration which rises in me. It feels almost...primitive.'
Vincent was taken aback by the choice of words but there was an immediate understanding. 'We aren't so far removed from our animal past that there won't be times when strangers drive deep emotion. I have not seen you give in to this Catherine except...well...you know.'
'You don't generate frustration in me, my dear husband. You drive me to a distraction in which I can express the best of me.' The comment rightly deserved a few shared kisses between husband and wife. Their tender intimacy effectively cut off the rising anger in Catherine. She broke away reluctantly.
'I am going to her little get together. I will be circumspect and try to examine my internal triggers to see if I can identify what drives this strong resistance. Then I will overcome it.'
'I can only say that I will be proud of you.' Vincent's few words and his smiling approval were the final comfort measures which turned Catherine's negative energy into fierce desire, a much better direction for unfulfilled frustration. Even as their lips met again and again, he knew the rising spectre of Suzanna's ambition would soon meet head on with his wife's indignation and growing need to fulfill the governor's mandate.
...
Carl kept his eyes steadily on the road. His two passengers were comfortably seated in the back, chatting softly. The entire journey had been so emotionally charged from the moment Cathy left New York, to Jacob's plan to join her and of course the return home by car instead of an easy flight. Their capable driver had no desire to add to their burdens. He would have advised against a road trip near the end of December, just days before Christmas but he understood the needs of the two young people. Unless danger was imminent, he would comply with their plans.
Getting away from Montreal had not been easy. Hélène was deeply saddened to see her granddaughter leave. She had to deal with many issues which were increasingly complicated by the presence of both Cathy and Philippe. With promises to keep in touch, the grandparents shared a lingering hug with their granddaughter before parting company. Philippe and Vladimir were to return to California immediately. There was a lot of unfinished business there too. Jacob struggled not to hurry the goodbyes. His promise to Carl's wife about returning before Christmas Eve echoed loudly in his ears. Carl, sensing the worry, had placed a hand on his arm to reassure.
Fortunately, Jacob insisted on leaving Montreal as early as possible. The sprawling metropolis had been experiencing uncertain weather conditions. The possibility of heavy snow presented some challenge but Carl had driven through much worse. He noted the weather and road conditions via his advanced GPS. Fortunately, he had no need to consult or worry the couple in the back. His confidence and skill left Cathy and Jacob free to talk without interruption.
The white dotted line was clearly visible between the large snowflakes but there was no accumulation on the road although the temperature had dropped quite a bit from the time of their start. He knew that the ride over the mountains in upper New York State could present great hazards if the road became slippery. To quell any rising nerves, he played some light music just loud enough to give privacy to the couple in the back.
Although they left early, both Jacob and Cathy expressed a desire to stop at two places. First. they hoped to pass by the piece of land where the burned farm house once stood. No one ever had the heart to rebuild on the site. Many of the children lost in the fire had never been identified. From the state of the area, the children, all runaways, had been forgotten. An unmarked, universal grave, partially covered with snow seemed unattended even in the spring and summer. A weather darkened plaque lay on the ground between leafless winter-dried shrubs and weeds. A few trees had also grown up around the burn site. Their bare branches, waving aimlessly over the site, added to the lonely feeling.
Only Jacob's insight and Cathy sensibility guided them towards the right spot. No other markers existed. They didn't stay long. But, in every fibre of her body, Cathy felt the fear, the anguish and the disgust of what her mother suffered. Jacob watched the process from a short distance, saying little, just observing as the energy of the past filtered through his wife. Reliving the nightmare was healing for Lena's disembodied spirit and for Cathy's unabated anguish over the life lived by her mother. As she walked around the site, unconscious hand movements swept through the air. The arms waved and drew the energy in, then out. She hummed a soft tune, something in keeping with an ancient ritual which seemed to come to Cathy naturally.
After leaving the burn site, the daughter retraced her mother's steps from the unkempt land, across the road to the motel where Lena inveigled the night clerk to let her wait, at a cost, for the return of Freddy. When the subdued couple finally walked into the room where Lena and Freddy originally hatched their plan to get married, Cathy felt vindicated, loving each memory of the practical approach which the unusual couple hatched to save their relationship.
Carl could sense the importance of the moment and stayed silent. It wasn't the first time he might miss Christmas with his family but Carl's equally busy wife understood the demands of his strange job. Although it was getting late there was still time to fulfill the needs of his clients and get home on time. He refused to hurry them or show any signs of impatience. After their little talk at the home of Patrick DelCassian, Carl finally understood much of Cathy's inner sadness and her difficult road back to emotional health. He hoped to be an unending support to her recovery.
Carl had waited outside the rundown motel remembering the unspoken reassurance to Jacob while they were in Montreal. He looked up into the late afternoon sky, the picture of patience. The young couple completed their rituals. Once all the revisiting had been accomplished, Carl continued south at a steady pace. Jacob's soft voice drifted forward but easily deflected off the discreet driver's ears.
`Do you want to talk KitCat? You've been very quiet.'
'I'm not so sure. I am so happy to have you beside me. We will be home soon. I think I just want to put my head on your shoulder and sleep.'
'S'ok by me.'
The back seat of the vehicle was comfortable but did not lend itself to cuddling. Cathy leaned against her husband, within the confines of her seat belt. She was emotionally spent and yet empowered by the series of events which transpired. All the knowledge which had come to her unbidden no longer lay dormant. Because her ancestors had received an indefinable energy at some point in time, it became clear that the potency it held was a gift from an ancient God or Goddess. How this would all play out in the 21st century continued to plague her untutored mind.
Cathy drifted in and out of the twilight world of dreams. Jacob's even breathing had a rhythmic pattern. His warm breath wafted over her head lulling the senses. The hypnotic effect took her body into the past. She felt the pull of Veneranda and Theodoric. There was no need to hold back. A light sleep would allow her to engage in astral travel. Each foray into the past allowed her to become adept at time travel. Even though Jacob would stay awake, he would be a party to the visions of the past. Their connection allowed them to share without words. Satisfied that she was not excluding her husband, Cathy allowed her body to relax and enter the astral plane.
Veneranda knew that her life was worthless to anyone. Despite her reflective awareness, she could not bring herself to release her passion to the handsome knight. Some innate knowledge informed her that there would be time in the future to fulfill her dreams. But, if she was not careful, there would be no life.
She sensed the swelling tide of battle on the outskirts of town. The negative energy of the enemy rose in the night air. Veneranda knew that the warriors would swoop down into the village and kill any man who dared to fight back. They would be well armed. The area was already weakened by years of fighting endless skirmishes. Each event depleted more and more of the males of the village. As soon as a boy grew to age, he was off to war. Fewer and fewer babies were being born. The village was a skeleton made up of women. As more and more men died, it also left the women vulnerable.
A consequence of battle was rape, and death. These were the principle fears of the women left undefended. If they were lucky some were drawn into perpetual servitude. Of the lack of choice, rape was the most certain outcome followed by a wish for a swift death.
Veneranda knew that she could have run away and hidden at the magical lake which she frequented at night. To be missing beforehand would raise some concern but she knew her destiny lay just where she was, huddled in a tiny hut at the back of the mayor's house with a group of other frightened women. She trusted that her destiny would be fulfilled just as it was meant to be. Veneranda closed her eyes to the tears and looks of horror on the faces beside her. Beyond the paper thin walls the shouts and cries were heart rending, even as stones and metal clanged together in the heat of battle. Dust and dirt seeped in between the cracks stifling everyone.
The sound of thundering horse hooves was almost unbearable. The settlement, unprepared to mount any serious form of resistance to the onslaught, fell swiftly. Despite the lack of a timely response, the invaders would not accept the easy victory. Weeks of inactivity, where natural aggression was suppressed, left the men eager for a real fight. When resistant wasn't forthcoming, mindless destruction followed. They stormed each house of the village quickly doing away with anyone hiding inside.
If the attackers hoped to gain riches from the foray into a small community they were deeply disappointed. Other than an easy victory, there was nothing tangible to enjoy, except a few frightened women. Once the escalation of destruction had reached its peak, the warriors began to search for another release of their pent up energies. The last remaining structure was the final target. Because her 'mother' had given such good service to the Mayor, Veneranda had been one of a chosen few to be protected under the more solid roof of the Mayor's house. The women were huddled together holding each other, fully aware of their pending fate but praying for a miracle.
Theodoric reined in his horse. His eyes were not on the skirmishes. Instead he sought any sight or sound of his goddess. He tried to do what his oath as a knight required, but his heart was not in it. The small village was ill equipped to fight. There was no battle, just mindless destruction. The only remaining building not burning or beaten to the ground was the home of the mayor. He watched as a group of footmen charged the last door.
Trying to look as if he was a part of the charge, Theodoric steered his horse in the general direction of the building. If he were honest with himself, he would admit that less than half his attention was on the fight. Consequently when he was attacked from behind by an infuriated, wounded straggler, he was unprepared for the stabbing pain which shot through his unprotected limb. He could feel the blood spurt down his arm. There was no time to apply any pressure. The attacker was yanking at his leg. Theodoric knew that his assailant was feeling the inevitable sense of the losing effort. The desire to capture at least one horse from the enemy, would then perhaps give him a chance to get away.
Theodoric fought hard for his life and his horse. Without the animal, his own life would be worthless, but the pain, and increasing numbness in his left arm weakened him nearly to the point of unconsciousness. Somewhere in the distance, he could vaguely hear the screams of women. A loud noise frightened his horse so that it bolted forward, upending the attacker and releasing his hold. From the mists of his mind he caught sight of a group of women being herded away from the main building, while others were being forced out of the front gate. His own men entered the building in hoards, shouting and grabbing at anything which could be moved, destroyed or saved as barter.
The group of women were being herded towards the centre of town. They stayed huddled together, almost rolling along as the women on the outer circle tried to protect the more vulnerable youth at the core. Fear locked their eyes on the men entering the house, hopeful that their attention would remain on the treasures within. There wasn't enough to satisfy the number of men whose energy quickly turned to the last remaining reward, a woman to rape and beat. Theodoric sensed rather than saw the transfer of attention as he fought to control the cloudiness behind his eyes. He shifted the movement of his horse towards the women. He had no desire to take part in the ritual which would follow. One goal held him steady. The dizziness from loss of blood was beginning to impact his ability to think. Out of the corner of his eye, the dark hair of his Goddess stood out. He reined in his horse, needing a moment to think about his choices. There was none and he couldn't think.
Instinct drove him towards the crowd. His eyes remained on the one target. He had no plan and no idea how he would save her. He did know that he didn't want it to be at the expense of another. Somehow his horse seemed to find the spaces between his own men. The women parted at the sight of the big horse barrelling towards them. In the core was Veneranda, looking not afraid, not vulnerable, but expectant, as if she would accept whatever fate had to offer.
The women scattered, running for the first time, confusing the men who had seen the possibility of an easier assault. As each man on the ground tried to capture one of the scattered women, Veneranda ran, dodging outstretched grabbing arms at every turn. She knew there was but one arm she wanted to capture her. As her knight came into view, the sight of his bloodied arm, hanging limply at his side, sent shivers up her spine. Clearly he had been badly hurt. Was the arm useless? Could he transfer the rein of his horse from right to left so that a strong arm could hoist her up on the beast. Even as he approached her quickly, she calculated the height. It would be impossible to mount the horse on her own.
There was no time for further thought. Amidst the rising dust and shouts, she held her breath and grabbed the arm which swung in front of her. Fresh blood was still dripping from a large gash. There would be no grip from her knight. His hand hung limply. Veneranda gripped the arm above the gash as the knight leaned over, his face ashen. Sweat poured from his brow. She wasted no time. With one might push upward, she forced herself onto the back of his horse. She gripped his midriff with one arm while her other hand took hold of the reins. She dug her heels into the side of the mare, forcing the animal to bolt forward through the dust and the cloud.
When she was able, Veneranda wrapped her hand around the still bleeding wound seconds before her knight fell back against her.
Cathy moaned. She woke to find her hand gripped tightly around the arm of her husband.
'Jacob, you know what we have to do don't you?' Her voice was barely a whisper.
'Yes,' he replied. No trace of fear entered his voice. The lights of New York and home were vaguely visible in the distance.
