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Chapter VII - Mother Earth, Father Time

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Two weeks passed of Athena waiting for her mother to disappear into the forest, then bribing one of the older children to care for the rest of the bunch, and finally convincing her little sister she was headed to the market before venturing to Beochaoineadh Castle with her father. Mr. Everleigh had given up on meeting Sir Claudius, as the girl insisted on parting ways at the castle's pebbled driveway. Even if Mr. Everleigh wanted to go inside the castle to speak with the man, he had to work for his family, going straight to selling his wares on the streets. All that mattered to him was that his daughter was still just as beautiful as the day she began working and that she brought home gold coins at the end of each week.

But beauty and gold can't keep secrets forever.

Athena snuck in through the back door, in cat form, skirting past her mother who sat knitting clothes for the children. She made headway for the bedroom when Mrs. Everleigh called, "*Iníon!"

Her ears drooped. Athena leaped into the air, lifted her forearms, and tucked her hind legs.

"Lass, you shouldn't be doin' that here," Mrs. Everleigh whispered—fierce, her eyes turning the color of the fireside.

"Ay, Ma, I just—"

"Where did ya leave your dress and shoes?"

Athena stared at the floorboards.

"Speak up."

"Outside da window of my bedroom."

"Why are dey dere?"

"I was tryin' ta come in through da window but 'twas locked. I had been draggin' me clothes back from town and left 'em dere." She turned. "I'll go get—"

"No, we've other things ta discuss."

Athena pulled her hair over to one side and dragged her feet across the floorboards. She grabbed a blanket from the settee to cover herself.

"Why were ya out so late, me lass?" Mrs. Everleigh looked her daughter in the eye. "You've never been to da market dis late at night. Besides, we've food aplenty from your other visits dis week."

"I only wanted ta take an evenin' stroll, Ma." She rubbed her bare arms.

Mrs. Everleigh's eyes moved back to her knitting. She was making a light blue dress, high at the collar and frilled out at the bottom with strawberry buttons. Athena knew it was hers not by the size but the color. Mrs. Everleigh took a slow breath in yet quickly let it out. It was the loudest sound in the room on that quiet night.

"Ma, you must believe me."

Mrs. Everleigh grew cold. "I don't know what ta believe anymore. You're gone every day and never do what I ask of you. None of the chores. You don't take care of da children while I'm gone. 'Tis your responsibility as the elder sister and you have done none of it for da past two weeks."

Athena's eyes bulged with tears but she drew them back in.

"But, you can prove ta me that you're still benevolent if you do what I ask."

The girl lifted her head, her watery eyes catching the firelight. "What's that, Ma? I'll do anything, I promise."

"Tomorrow, you must care for da children while I'm gone. Den, after breakfast, you will teach your youngest sister to use da washboard."

Athena caught a lump in her throat. "Yes… Ma." She shivered.

Mrs. Everleigh put down her knitting to look at her daughter. "You know I only ask dis of you because I want you ta grow ta be a gentle and benevolent soul. You have a unique gift, iníon. I know da tricks you play on your father."

Athena stiffened.

"I've known for a while now. You must not use your gift in such a way. All I want ta know is why you did it."

Athena's eyes darted across the room. "I—I don't know, Ma." The tears she had been holding back came out in floods, streaking across the ground.

"Me lass, it's alright." Mrs. Everleigh came nearer to her daughter and wiped away her tears. "You are so young and 'tis alright to make mistakes."

"I didn't mean to hurt him, Ma…"

"You didn't, me lass. But he wasn't able to work for several days, you know dat."

"Yes, Ma," she sniveled. "I'm sorry."

"But why did you do it?" Mrs. Everleigh lifted the girl's chin, but Athena wouldn't look at her.

"I wanted—I wanted ta go out by meself. I didn't want ta have ta wait for him ta escort me ta town every day. I love walkin' with him, Ma, but I—was ready ta go on me own." Athena covered her eyes with the blanket.

"Ah, I see," Mrs. Everleigh spoke, understanding. "You've always been a fiery lass in dat way." Athena lifted her head and smiled the slightest bit. "I am not fiery like you are, iníon. I don't know where you got it from." They both giggled. "Perhaps it's da cat in ya. I should've known you'd want ta go out on your own."

"Oh, Ma, thanks for understandin'!" Athena hugged her mother. "So, you'll let me go den? Out to town by myself?!"

Mrs. Everleigh shook her head. "You may be Milly half da time, but the other half, you're me daughter. You still have your duties about da house. You've got your brothers and sisters ta look after, too." Athena sunk into the couch. "I know you lean toward your áthair because you are his prize, but my daughter, I know who you are. I know you more dan your áthair does."

Athena stared into the flames, chills running over her body.

"Da spirits of da earth connect us, iníon. Dey look after us. Dat is something dat your áthair will never understand." Mrs. Everleigh pressed her lips upon her daughter's forehead. "From now on, you will do your duties around da house half da week, den da other, you may go explorin'." A thin smile spread across Athena's lips, but she didn't look into her mother's eyes. "I must finish me knittin' now. You go on ta bed."

Athena rose from the settee and wrapped the blanket around her like a nightgown. She headed toward the bedroom, laid one of her palms down on the doorframe, then turned her head to face her mother. "Ma?"

"Yes, me lass?"

"I will do what you asked of me tomorrow, I promise."

Mrs. Everleigh's smile flashed brightly in the firelight. "Dat's a good lass. Now get on to bed." She shooed the girl off with one of her knitting needles.

Athena grinned with the same thin smile. "Yes, Ma."

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Mr. Everleigh awoke with a sharp inhale through the nose. He spread his arms out to the side, like a bird opening its wings for the first time in the morning. Today is going to be a good day, he said to himself. With his wife out in the forest, Athena off making money, and the children still asleep, life was good. The birds twittered outside the window, singing to him.

He threw one leg off the bed, then the other, and slid into his slippers. Rubbing his eyes and scratching his beard, the man walked out of his room. Light bolted in through the windows, grasping the brown, dusty kitchen. All the pots and pans were tucked in nice and neat in the cupboards, waiting for his wife to wake them up. Mr. Everleigh could hear the children's gentle breaths hailing from their rooms.

"Ach!" He popped his back, then searched for the nearest place to sit. His eyes landed on the dining table and so he plopped down into one of the old wooden chairs, not caring if it were his seat or not. "That's a little better," he groaned, his face still twisted and tense. Mr. Everleigh glanced about the room, noticing familiar golden-brown waves.

"Athena!" he called, rising and rushing to her side—all the while rubbing his lower back. "My girl, you blend in with the living room. I didn't even notice you were here!"

"Yes, Father, I've been here," the girl muttered, not even moving her mouth. He sat down in the seat across from her nearest the fireplace.

"What is wrong, my darling? Why haven't you gone to your work?" The wrinkles around his face loosened as his daughter began to cry. "Oh, Athena, please tell Father. You know I'd do anything in the world to make you happy." He scooted the chair closer to her, wood against wood, so he could hold her hand. The screech likely woke the other children, not that they mattered.

She wiped a tear away. "Mother told me not to go…"

"How did that ole wench find out!?" he shouted.

"I don't think she knows about Sir Claudius, Father, but she doesn't like that I've been spending all of me days 'in town'."

"Ah," his eyes softened, "I see." Athena had a handkerchief in her lap. Her silvery blue eyes were encircled with red, and her cheeks were puffy—not rosy.

"What then did she tell you?"

"She told me I could only go out a few times a week—not every day. The rest of the days I must stay here and help her with the house and children while you're gone to work."

Mr. Everleigh let go of his daughter's hand, grimacing. He stared out the window and flared his nostrils, while his face turned just as fiery red as Athena's.

"So that means you won't be getting paid as much as you have these past couple weeks."

"Yes, Father… That is, if Sir Claudius still decides to pay me."

"Well, he's got to! You've got to get dressed and go there now and tell him!" He shooed her away.

"But Mother will be back here any minute now," Athena protested, though softly.

Mr. Everleigh gazed at the pollen falling out of the sky. The sunlight changed his coloration into a bright, burnt orange and turned his face shape into that of a decrepit potato. A frown seeped into his wrinkles—wrinkles from years of waking up and going to work without a will.

"That gold," he said, feeling the coins in his hand but only grasping air, "is the most important thing you will ever make." He rose and went to the window. "If you have gold, we, your family, won't have to work as hard as we do now."

Athena lifted her head. "I know, Father, that's why I wanted to—"

"This gold, it's a precious thing," he spoke, shutting his ears. "I know that. We know that, you and I. And do you know why we know that?"

Athena shook her head.

"Because we're people of the future."

The girl opened her eyes, her tears like river waters bursting through a dam.

"We're thinkers, innovators. People like your mother don't think the way we do. They don't plan accordingly. They're selfish, Athena. They don't think of the future generations."

She nodded.

"I know you, Athena, more than your mother ever will. That's why you're my favorite. You're not like the rest of the children, and you never have been. That's why I always wanted you to go to Dublin and learn to be a lady with the rest of your cousins."

"Father… please, you know I don't want to go."

"I know, darling." He stumbled over to his daughter and patted her hand. "Besides, your aunts and uncles and cousins don't have near enough the intelligence that you have." She giggled, gently placing her fingers over her pink mouth. "You are better off here anyway, where you can get the gold."

"Yes, Father," she said. "Father?"

"Yes, dear Athena?"

"Every day you've been walking me to Beochaineadh Castle, and we part ways and you go on to town. But, I want to go on my own. I'm tired of being treated like a child. So, I will go today if you let me go on my own."

He smiled. "I commend you for your independent spirit, my daughter. Of course! You're no child—you're a young lass now."

Athena grinned a thin smile, her lips as small as a needle thread.

"You go on now. I'll be leaving soon after you," he said. "It will be our little secret."

"Alright, Father. Goodbye." She kissed him on the cheek, as she did every morning, and trotted over to the door. Once out, the girl ran off into the forest and perched behind a tree, waiting on him to leave. A few moments later, he had changed into his work clothes and whistled as he trudged on to the village.

Athena waited for her mother. When Mrs. Everleigh came, she came as slow as turtles.

"Iníon!" the woman called, her dress weaving in and out of the blades of tall grass.

"Maidin mhaith a M'athair," Athena greeted, jumping through the grass to reach her.

"Have you woken da children yet?" Mrs. Everleigh asked, as bright and beautiful and gentle as the morning flowers. She spread her arms out, feeling the sun.

"No, Ma."

"Well, that's alright. Let's go in then." She walked up the stone steps leading to the back door.

Athena stopped her mother, grabbing Mrs. Everleigh by the hand. "Ma, I have something' ta tell ya."

"What's that, me lass?"

"I lied to Pa and told 'im I was gone ta town. He asked me dis mornin' why I wasn't goin' and I didn't know what to say. He thinks I'm gone…."

"Oh, me lass." Mrs. Everleigh hugged her daughter. "'Tis alright. We'll keep it a secret between us that you're stayin' here to help. I'll tell da youngin's not to say anything either to your áthair."

"I didn't mean to lie but I didn't want to upset him," Athena said.

"'Tis alright to lie to that man. He won't listen to da truth anyhow."

Athena dropped her head.

Mrs. Everleigh began to laugh. "I commend ya, me lass." She put a hand on her daughter's shoulders. "Don't look that way. Ya did da right thing." The woman opened the door and walked inside. Athena remained on the porch, her eyes stuck to the stone.

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* Iníon - Irish Gaelic for "Daughter"