Kathy shrieked past. A blur
in her birthday party dress, she was the first to reach the courtyard's
retaining wall.
Of the three men watching,
the shortest literally tugged the oldest into the conversation. "I was
just telling your son that the phrase 'shipping manifest' is not as vile
as he may conceive."
Liam's chin prevented his
head from hanging any lower. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed his
father's rigid annoyance -- jaw locked, teeth clenched, lips tightly pursed.
"Kathleen!" their father
scolded. His consternation dissolved into delight. As Kathy
and the four other girls huddled for a chorus of laughter, the corners
of his eyes crinkled with enchantment. No matter that humor gladdened his
features, dismay chipped at the timbre of his voice while he addressed
his best friend, "Yes, well... Liam seems to have other thoughts about
his future, Shay, and I doubt we'll ever see him hunched over journals
and documentation. For all the years we've traded in textiles, I've yet
to determine the cloth he's been tailored from."
Shay nodded thoughtfully.
"Were the Missus and the Sister pleased with the treasure for little Kathleen?"
he redirected, maintaining his good-natured disposition.
A burly man, Séamus
Brennan boasted a chest broader than his shoulders. His jowls and dimpled
chin appeared swollen under his unwavering smile. The girth perched above
legs too thin and feet too small was as proportionally odd for a man as
it was for a shore bird. Despite the years of prosperity under
that burgeoning waistline, Shay's wide hands still bore the calluses of
labor -- he had never stopped toting bolts of fabric, whether two doors
down or to the docks.
Liam felt transparent as
the two men chatted. Founded on a childhood friendship that was stronger
than most blood relationships, Uncle Shay and Liam's father enjoyed much
more than a business association. Theirs was an amiable partnership, with
the majority of their success achieved through the integration of their
personal and professional lives. Although they had come to share fewer
common interests throughout the years, like the brotherly affection between
them, their camaraderie had only increased.
The contrasts between Séamus
and his less garrulous, more elegant business partner were striking. A
wigless, full head of strawberry-blond hair was constantly afrizz; eyes
the blue of a sunny spring sky were ever alert for a moment of whimsy.
Blessed with a temperament that neither collected nor parceled bad-will,
only the elements and years had weathered his ruddy complexion. Of average
height, he was dwarfed by his companion; but what Shay lacked in stature,
he made up for with wit, never failing to hand out a clever line or well-chosen
phrase at the most appropriate time.
It was accepted -- and celebrated
-- that Séamus Brennan never met a kind word he could keep to himself.
Enraptured by Kathleen's
frolicking, Liam's father's features were swathed with a remnant of former
youth -- mirth tautened his hollow cheeks, smoothed the creases from his
forehead. Sunlight prettily glinted the silver streaking his dull brown
locks. "... rumors to lift those trade restrictions for years, Shay. I'll
believe it when they're abolished, and not a day before."
"With the Scots supplying
what they can't, the English are still crowing that a glut of Irish fleece
will depress the market's prices. And they'll keep blaming it on economics
until they realize their quality will never be better than inferior. When
you inspect the broadcloth that came down this morning on the cart from
Ulster, you'll see. It may be greige, but even a blind man would
be able to see how fine Eire weaves."
Shay's national pride did
nothing to soften his partner's ascetic countenance. "What you're telling
me then, is that Spotbridge will be inspecting the next shipment out?"
Shay curved an arm around
his friend's waist and confided, "Time and again, we've manipulated the
soddin' English and their rules with ingenuity and personality. Am I not
right? You just keep crafting your artful transactions and I'll keep persuading
Spotty with my 'warmest' handshake."
Kathleen, prancing across
the courtyard, swept her hand across the back of her father's frock coat
in passing. His steely regard finally bowed under the additional pressure
of Shay's comically puffed cheeks and hearty wink. He shook his head and
chuckled, "You'd imagine one day the English would begin noticing how little
wool there is on an island so stocked with sheep."
"As long as we keep up with
our excise taxes and duties, and keep procuring all those silks and jacquards
from the Orient to keep their sow wives happy, the affluent bastards will
never take heed!"
Liam's bitter laughter eschewed
their levity. "If I used such language on your sacred grounds, Father,
you'd cuff me but good, wouldn't you?"
"Liam," Shay cautioned from
under his breath and a mostly-toothful smile.
But the warning came too
late; the damage had been done. Even his father's ears pulled back offensively.
"You can't spare a hour for your sister -- "
Liam charged the short distance.
"And can you not spare an hour without spinning business?" he challenged.
He pointed a silencing finger at Shay. "How is it that you never weave
in a word about this one's mouth? How is it, Father, you embrace the Lord
with one arm while the other is wrapped 'round a man who not only doesn't
share your faith or morality, but has yet to decide if there's even a God
to have them for!"
Shay's face colored. "Liam,"
he growled. At his friend, he purred, "Donn... At least for your
sister's sake, Liam, mind your tongue!"
By crumpling the front of
his frock, Liam's father fought a striking impulse. The corner of his mouth
lifted derisively, though, as he glowered at his heir. "Take a look around
the next time you venture outside these walls, Liam. This God damned Ascendancy
has penalized the pride right out of the land. Your countrymen are destitute
and illiterate; they've no politicians for fight for their rights; no land
without a son to hold the title. *My* affluence, Liam, has clothed you,
put food in that worthless belly of yours, and roofed your shiftless head.
You dare mock me, boy? Then you do so at your own expense!"
Uncharacteristically anxious,
Shay divided the two men. "That scowl on your face would be less difficult
to manage, young man, if you didn't know he was right," he asided, easing
Liam out of his father's direct line of sight. He waited for the heated
moment to cool, which it did in the instant Kathy twirled past. "This isn't
the time for a sermon, Donn," he allayed. "Let Kathy have her special
day. You and Liam can have at each other's throats during the rest of the
year."
One of his eyebrows arched,
accompanied by a coddling, "Hmmmm?"
Liam's father wriggled his
slender fingers in and out of a fist and nodded acquiescence. "Insightful,
as always, Shay." He paused for a mental accounting. "With the pearls,
once the foal comes... And with the interest accumulating in her Rothschilde
trust, Kathleen's dowry is becoming quite promising."
Liam's hunched shoulders
protested the sudden movement of his head jerking to attention. "Dowry?"
he echoed. "She's only twelve and you're -- "
His father's look was cutting
of more than a comment. "This doesn't concern you, Liam. Carry on with
your daydreams." But Liam, shadowing the retreating men, adamantly peeled
back his father's shoulder.
"LIAM!"
Liam cowered back a step.
"Da, she's *just* twelve. What you're suggesting -- "
"-- doesn't concern a brother!
I've got preparations to tend to if my daughter is to make a good marriage
one day. Even better than the one you were to have," he added, pointedly.
Shay landed a mitigating
hand upon his best friend's shoulder and entreated, "Please! Donn,
it's only been a few months since Corrine nearly lost her life. Praise
your Christ that Liam was able to identify the bastard that got put to
the gallows for such wickedness."
Liam swallowed hard and unknotted
his new shirt's restricting jabot.
A few wisps of thinning hair
escaped from their binding as Liam's father reared his head; bobbing
erratically, they shivered his angry aura. "And what an error of convenience
that Liam will *never* greet an altar, Shay. Still, I'll not let Kathleen
suffer his liability and I'll not allow her to be fodder for barter."
As Kathleen skipped past
with the other girls, her father grasped one of her fluttering leader ties
and gently reeled her back. With one strong arm scooped about her waist,
he hoisted her into the air.
"Da!" Kathy squealed. Delighted,
her airborne feet danced from under her late-summer petticoats. Holding
onto his neck with all of her might, she leaned towards his face and graced
his cheek with a fervent kiss. And released him as dramatically.
"Kathleen," he mock-scolded,
captivated even though she'd untied his ponytail. With the tip of his nose,
he poked at the ribbon she dangled between their two faces.
Séamus smiled at the
pair skipping away. "These four and two other daughters, but not a one
of them has me knotted to her finger as Kathleen has your Da. I'd give
up a measure of my success for a son, nonetheless," he sighed. Blithely,
he looped a surrogate arm around Liam's shoulders and muttered against
the young man's cheek, "You'll find someone again, Liam. And Kathy's not
grown up and out of the house just yet; still we've got to start moving
along what your father's God planned."
But rubbing his chin in thought,
Liam barely heard the consolation or Shay's supper invitation. The morning
before, his sister had been eleven. After the set of one moon, Kathleen
had taken the first step out of his life and he couldn't ignore the pang
of jealousy tightening his chest while the young woman-in-disguise tidied
their father's coif.
-0-
"OH!" Cordelia defensively
clutched the towel to her chest even though she was the one fully clothed.
Gale didn't react. Freshly
showered, she continued drying between her toes. "I'm almost done if you
want to brush your teeth or anything."
"You're kind of..."
"Oh. I'm sorry. I always
forget to lock the door and... I guess nudity is a demon thing. We've got
no modesty."
Cordy couldn't argue with
Gale's statement. She'd probably seen Angel in every pair of silk boxers
he owned, making her wonder if her resident phantom, Dennis, had an ethereal
wardrobe. It wasn't the first time she concluded that Dennis was a snappy
-- albeit retroish -- dresser.
"That's some, uh -- " Cordy
lowered her eyes until Gale saronged a bath-sheet, " -- tattoo you've got
there."
Gale pinched up her terrycloth
hem and glanced down at her left hip as if seeing the ornate design for
the first time. "I've had it so long, I don't remember it most of the time.
Like seeing it every day, but not seeing it. You know what I mean?"
"Um. I would think you'd
remember something like that." To reroute her discomfort, Cordelia stepped
to the sink. Raising her hairbrush, she commenced her bedtime beauty ritual.
"I've got one, too," Cordy said after a couple of strokes.
She paused and, reaching
behind with one hand, exposed the small of her back. "Nothing fancy like
what you've got. But it hurt like hell to get!"
Gale nodded her admiration.
"Kewl. Celestial motifs are pretty common and they're good to get. Mine's
way different, though. See?" A couple of steps brought her hip nearer for
inspection. "I've got lightning."
"YOUCH!" Cordelia shuddered,
an empathic response. "That bad boy had to hurt like a mo fo!"
"Yeah." Gale traced an incomplete
capitol. "My sister -- you know I had a twin sister?" She paused, taken
aback by Cordelia's negative head shake. "Anyway, we got them at
the same time. She passed out, but I stayed kinda conscious. By the time
they got to the second column, I was hallucinating, serious big time."
Accepting the invitation,
Cordy gingerly poked the tattoo. In addition to the two columns, and the
bolt of lightning, there was a funky-looking heart spilling blood into
a couple of pitcher-shaped cups. It was the strangest design that she'd
ever seen, but there was also something very beautiful about it. Probably
because of the baby-fine lines each segment had been drawn with. "So, all
put together, what does it mean?"
"That I'm pretty, smart,
and fun to be around!"
Cordelia returned to the
sink, not sure what to make of the reply until Gale laughed. She smiled
into the mirror. "Joking, huh?"
"Yeah. Just kidding. The
columns signify my twin and me -- hers were exactly the same. Right before
she died, a demon I was fighting chinked one of my capitols. Leora was
the Chosen One, you know? But I took her place. My Watcher always said
her death was a coincidence, but..." She smudged a hunk of wet hair off
her forehead with her wrist.
Watching Gale lost to reflection,
Cordelia felt a pang of sentiment. She quickly diverted her attention to
her teeth and gums. "So does, like, Wesley know about it?"
Snapped from her reverie,
Gale began vigorously toweling the moisture from her head. She snorted
in amusement. "That's how Wesley figured out who I really am! When he saw
it and -- and -- " Her eyes popped wide open. "But, you know, not that
he saw it other than in a purely *ordinary* way," she recanted, "nothing,
you know, physical, or anything. I mean, he was kinda giving me a physical...
"But we weren't playing doctor
or anything like that. OK?"
Gale turned several shades
deeper than Wesley had ever blushed. Cordy tch'd, dismissing the obviously
embarrassing subject. "You know, Gale. It's cool what ever *didn't* happen
between you and Wesley."
"Wesley never talked to you
about us?" the nervous Warrior asked.
After wrangling her long
brunette mane into a ponytail on top of her head, Cordy closed her eyes
and began applying cleanser to her face. "I'm not trying to get into your
business, really. I just was asking about the tattoo. That's all. And if
Wesley's OK with it, it's 'K. Angel fine with it, too?"
Scrunching her face, Gale
shook her head 'no'. "Angel's never seen my tattoo. Other than you and
Wesley, no one outside of Council has ever seen it."
Cordy splashed her face clean,
lightly patted and turned. She specified, "your *tattoo*." Gale bashfully
nodded 'yes'.
"Oh, man..." Cordy whistled
a breath. "It's just a Council thing, then," she commented to herself.
As Gale timidly padded out of the bathroom, Cordy's thoughts honed in on
Wesley. "Oh, man..."
-0-
"Angel!" Wesley barely managed
to open the door to his and Cordelia's quarters before being confronted
with Angel's obstructing bulk. "Are you alright?"
Angel bullied Wesley back
and locked the door. "You should be asleep. You haven't slept since before
we left for the airport yesterday."
"I-- I--" Wesley inhaled
sharply. "I'm restless, Angel. My mind is racing a million kilometers a
second and the back of my eyelids has become a virtual map of the Olympic
Forest. If you'd like, since you're here, we might go over what little
information Cordelia and I have gleaned from Gale and Tibo. If you could
offer some insight --"
"Go to bed," Angel commanded.
Wesley rubbed his temples.
"Angel," he snarled, losing leash of his temper, "I thought you'd given
up whatever animosity you used to harbor for Gale."
A sardonic smile consumed
Angel's mouth. He halted mid-pace and laughed grimly. "That was before
I thought we'd ever have to see her again."
Wesley rushed the door...
Too slowly. Angel, having sped from the other side of the room, blocked
the doorknob.
"If you'll speak with me
about this assignment, I'll stay; otherwise, get out of my way."
"I'm not going to let you
do this," Angel menaced, squaring his shoulders.
"How?" Wesley seethed, "By
imprisoning me here, too? Surely you can't be that cruel since you're too
antisocial to keep me entertained!"
"I'm going to have Cordelia
get us a flight out of here and --"
"You'll do *no* such thing,
Angel." Wesley leaned into the vampire and used his slight height advantage
to peer down his nose. "For a month, now, I've conceded to your wishes
but, please -- You've got to start giving this situation a rest. There
won't be any evil demons crashing through the front door to get at Cordelia
or me -- "
He paused. At the insistence
of a tap from the other side of the wall, Wesley lowered his voice, " --
no incendiary devices exploding. And, even if there were... I --
I can't keep living my life as if it's in constant danger."
"It's not your *life* I'm
worried about."
There was concern pitted
in Angel's dark eyes and a part of Wesley deeply appreciated the emotion.
The other part of Wesley was damn exhausted with it, though. "We're here
to do a job and we're not leaving until we've done it. Gale's not transitioning
well, her Messenger is incompetent, and, there are several families missing.
The Powers That Be sent us here to get to the bottom of this --"
Angel prodded Wesley back.
"*That's* not why we're here," he sniggered. He strode as far as the room
allowed before coming back around.
"Then why?" Wesley fleered.
Angel's fingertips peppered
his skull. "To fuck with our minds."
After knuckling his glasses
up his nose, Wesley dropped the fist to his mouth and slowly blew into
its hollow -- in vain, anger had usurped his frustration. "It's not enough
that your frenetic personality and your over-protectiveness have practically
isolated Cordelia and myself from the rest of the world that you're a conspiracy
theorist now, also?"
Angel returned to the door
and stopped. "This is what they do."
"Puh-leeze, Angel!" Wesley
shoved the vampiric barricade aside and unlatched the door.
"Angel? Wesley?"
"NOTHING, Cordelia," they
quelled in unison before Wesley shot a caustic eye at Angel and curled
through the doorway.
Cordy noted Angel's body
language -- kinda statuey except for the tense finger fidgeting. "Hey,
Angel, you wanna watch TV or something? There's cable."
Tenser fidgeting, with his
focus landing just above the floor. Cordy's lips puckered up to a plan.
"Videos? You can remind me how good music *used* to be," she sing-sang.
Folding one leg onto the
mattress, Cordy plopped down. She flicked through channels. "Mop-o-Matic!
You think Dennis would like that? Although... I don't know, since he hated
that twisty mop I got him. He's way too picky about his cleaning supplies
for a ghost. *Only* buy name brands, and if it's something that hasn't
been around since the beginning of time -- you know, like the 50's, then
he doesn't wanna use the stuff. Sorry to say, Dennis, but Bon Ami wasn't
meant to clean Teflon."
She scooted back against
the headboard, sweeping both feet to one side. Angel didn't take up her
patted invitation for a seat. "You should have been at dinner, Angel. Wesley
and Gale -- " Catching Angel's almost imperceptible flinch, Cordy adjusted
her comments accordingly. "They're such goof-balls, you know? Trixie made
spaghetti -- not nearly as good as yours, but she's only got kids to feed,
so I guess it's cool, but -- "
Taking a deep breath, she
continued yammering, " -- Gale reaches into the pasta pot and picks up
a strand and tinsels the back of Wesley's head with it. And then he reaches
into the pot and does her." Keeping time with her chatter, Cordy channel
surfed too rapidly to decipher what was on screen. "Back and forth this
keeps going on and the kids are all *busting* up until one of 'em says,
'we're not going to eat off their heads are we?'
"Well, Trixie turns around
and glows hot pink! OK, sorry. But, you know if you're gonna try to pass
off as human, probably *not* a good idea to go neon, but then she swats
Gale across the arm and points a pretty mean index at Wesley. By now everyone's
laughing and spaghetti is all over the floor and the kids are flinging
it at one another and it's a big ole mess!"
Petrified eyes peered from
under beveled brows. "Wesley doesn't understand."
Cordy clicked off the set
and rose; a prudent approach gradually brought her to Angel's side. She
slid her palm down one of his long unbuttoned sleeves. "Because he doesn't
know," she explained softly, relieved as Angel's muscle slackened.
Angel canted against the
door, ran his finger over the poster of a singing quintet whose identity
he couldn't discern from their interchangeable rivals no matter how many
times Cordelia had explained the differences to him. "I can't fight what
I can't see."
Self-consciously dropping
his head and speaking "And I'd take you guys back home, except I don't
have one," above his silent heart caused Cordy's breath to catch.
"You're never going to be
able to fight in the first place if you keep hiding in your room," she
soothed, taking his cheeks in her palms and tilting his head.
But Angel shied away from
the unspoken affection adorning her face, complementing her droll smile.
"Why do you think we're here?" he asked.
Cordy shrugged. "Force of
Darkness?" she ventured brightly, hiking a brow.
He considered her notion.
"Guess I'll have to go find him, huh?"
"And when you do?" Cordy
began as she escorted Angel to a seat in front of the TV, "kick his ass
*extra* hard for making us come all this way to get him!"
-0-
Wind-milling his arms reduced
the tension in Wesley's shoulders. He had nearly forgotten what the term
'full range of motion' meant. His head toggled effortlessly and his
chest expanded across lungs filled to capacity. Still, he looked forward
to the day he'd once again be able to flex without listening to himself
creak.
Gale greeted his arrival
at the kitchen table with a smile, extending a palm towards the opposite
bench. "Look familiar?" She pointed at the chessboard.
Wesley examined the child
resting across Gale's lap before taking in the playing surface. He counted
the pieces, considered their positions and beamed. "The last game we never
finished playing! As I recall," he boasted, "I was win -- "
Wesley's attempt to move
his black rook ended prematurely when his hand collided with Gale's.
"It was *my* turn," she proclaimed.
Wesley rummaged his thoughts
for a moment. "No. It was definitely mine."
"He talks funny." The little
girl sat up abruptly.
Gale studied the sleepy face.
"That's not a polite thing to say, Chandi."
Chandi peered sheepishly
at Wesley. "Sorry that you talk funny," she apologized. Slumping
against Gale's side, she rubbed her sleepy eyes.
Gale smiled pardon one second,
rushed the board in the next. While fumbling her piece, Wesley reached
forward and tackled her fingers. His chiding glance was met with his opponent's
smug impenitence.
"Diversionary tactics?" he
asked, begrudgingly dropping the pawn into her waiting palm.
Folding his forearms across
the table edge, Wesley leaned forward and considered his options. "You
know, Chandi, if you listen very closely to people, you will eventually
notice that *everyone* speaks strangely," he said with an extra coating
of British veneer.
Chandi giggled.
Having achieved the desired
effect, Wesley lowered his gaze from above his lenses. As his head leveled,
his bottom lip nudged its top mate into a boyish grin. "If you don't mind
my asking, young lady, where are the other children?"
Chandi rolled her eyes. "In
bed," she replied unhappily, hopping off Gale's lap.
While Chandi hugged Gale
hugely and the two pecked cheeks, Wesley moved his knight. Smirking supremacy
above his and Chandi's enthusiastic goodnight squeeze drew Gale's attention
to the stratagem he'd applied.
Chandi, oblivious, toddled
off to bed.
Staring dumbfounded and open-mouthed
at the board, Gale slammed the tabletop with her hand. Immediately covering
it with his own hand, Wesley confidently rested his cheek on top of his
fisted other. "You can't possibly win," he razzed.
"I'm going to figure this
out if it takes all night," Gale threatened, plaiting their fingers.
He reached across,
tipped up her chin. Fully dimpled, he gloated, "remember you've only got
five hours until sunrise."
Less than an hour later,
Gale resigned herself to her plight as she dismissed another round of options.
She sighed. "You don't know how many times I've been tempted to call you,
just to hear a friendly voice. Even if you do sound funny."
Wesley palpated her wrist
with his thumb. "It's difficult when you're trying to acquaint yourself
with new responsibilities when you're not sure you know what you're doing,
even when you're exactly suited for the position."
"It's not that." She met
his eyes briefly before shuttering hers. "You know how I used to go online
with all my Messenger buddies? How we'd trash chat and -- I mean, I know
I'm not a Messenger any more. And some of the guys wouldn't be able to
talk to me even if I could locate them, but..."
She scratched her forehead,
dropped her hand, and gnawed on her fingernail.
Wesley swept her hand aside
and slipped the back of his fingers along her cheek. "But..." he prompted.
Gale lowering her head to the table left him bewildered.
"I feel like I'm stranded,
Wesley. That it's not that the guys won't talk to me anymore. It's more
like they're no longer there."
Wesley moved to sit next
to her. Straddling the bench, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and
gathered her to his chest. "Surely, Tibo's not making the situation any
better, but the Powers That Be obviously know what kind of trouble you're
in and they've sent us to help, Gale. This will all get better. I *promise*."
Rolling her head against
his collarbone, Gale's sobbed, "But this is supremely bad, Wesley. All
the promises and help in the universe can't help this situation."
Wesley held the Warrior tighter.
He stroked a tear from her cheek before settling his hand on her back.
"There, there. This is only chess, Gale," he joked, his cheek stroking
her slightly damp scalp. "All you had to do was ask and I would have gladly
retracted my move."
-0-
The bedroom door flew open.
Kathy darted in. A practiced click sealed Liam's room. With her eyes
closed and her lips swagged with mischief, she listened to her party guests
pitter-patter past.
Her new silk dress fit her
perfectly; the salmon-pink bodice smoothed to just above her hips, dipping
to an elongated vee in the front. Two rows of ivory lawn and one row of
crisp Irish lace ruffled from under elbow-length sleeves. A tidy bow embellished
the corners of her split cuffs, with larger bows decorating her center
front panel. A dressmaker had managed to conceal buttons beneath one of
the galloons festooning her princess seams, making it appear as if Kathy
had been permanently encased in the meandering floral. As she barely contained
a fit of the giggles, the slight pannier styling of a matching full-length
skirt wobbled above its farthingale.
Liam couldn't resist sneaking
up on her, but the floorboard creaked his next-to-last step, startling
the girl. With one hand clamping her mouth and one arm lassoing her waist,
he yanked her away from the threshold.
And, as abruptly, let go.
"LIAM!" she whisper-shouted,
shoving him off his feet and onto his mattress. Instantly she clambered
atop him. But he pushed her aside and sat up.
Her cherubic smile fluttered
away. Two deep lines notched the space between her serious brown eyes.
"What's wrong?" she pouted. "Is it that I smell?"
Amusing Liam with her antics,
she took a whiff of the air in front of her and checked the crooks of her
elbows. "Ma even let me wear some of her orange blossom water. Here!" And
she thrust her wrist against her brother's nostrils.
Liam playfully defended himself,
easing her hands into her lap. "No, Kathy. You don't smell, girl," he assuaged.
"It's just... You're... "
His brows crossed and his
nose wrinkled. Perspiration drizzled down his sides. "But -- You're wearing
stays now?"
Rolling her eyes to the ceiling,
she tumbled onto her back, swinging her legs swung back and forth as she
tussled with her bodice. Kicked off at her heels, Kathy's dainty velvet
slippers hung on by her toes. "I know! And I HATE them. But, Ma says I
must!" Sadness pooled in her eyes. "I begged *so* hard, but Anna wouldn't
loosen the lace."
Liam's heart constricted.
He regretted broaching the subject, for the more Kathy squirmed the more
uncomfortable she became. A huge tear rolled from her cheek onto his coverlet.
Miserable, she sniffled noisily.
"Kathy, please!" he pleaded,
capitulating. He couldn't bear seeing her suffer. Raising his fingers,
he held them at wait. "Just stop your weeping."
His smile was all the proof
she needed that he'd submitted to her will and, in return, she showered
him with gratitude. She nimbly unbuttoned her bodice and bounced upright,
presenting her back. "Thank you! Thank you!" she extolled.
With a hard tug, he unfurled
the lacing's bow. Kathy's deepest breath of the day helped the ribbons
reverse-slither through the eyelets. It wasn't much different than watching
a hemp rope uncoil from around a mooring to unfetter a ship -- except Kathy's
lash, from all the activity she'd engaged in since the morning, left her
spine chafed and her pale flesh bruised and scored where the linen-bound
whale boning had been riding her waist.
Retracting his fingers, Liam
scooted away before giving into the temptation. A tickle would only
exacerbate the irritation.
Comfortable, Kathy rebuttoned.
"I hate it. HATE it! If Ma wants to wear one, fine! But I plan to help
Da and Uncle Shay when I'm older. And I'm going to ride horses and wear
breeches just like you!"
Grinning, she blinked.
He blinked and reached into
his pocket. "I got you a present; maybe this will cheer you up?" Lifting
her right hand, he slid an ornate silver ring onto her middle finger. "I
know it's not as special -- or expensive -- as the necklace Da got for
you --"
But Kathy cut him off before
he could finish apologizing. "A stór! Liam! It's so pretty!"
Ecstatic, she bounced up and down. "I've never seen anything like it! Where
did it come from?"
His cheeks were warmed by
her elation. "Staggering through Claddagh yesterday. There's a silversmith
there and... When I saw it I thought of you. And look. I got one, too,"
he said, displaying his hand.
"We're twins!" she proclaimed,
admiring her ring from every angle. She lurched at him. Knocking
them both off balance, she clenched his ribs and ground her nose in his
chest. "It'll be my favorite present always, Liam. Thank you!"
He earnestly returned her
embrace and kissed the top of her head. "The smithy told me that the hands
mean 'kinship', the crown means 'loyalty', and the heart -- "
"The heart means 'love',
doesn't it?" She lifted her face and kissed his chin. "I knew it; and I
know that I'll never take it off!"
Liam primped the lace bow
holding the curls at the top of her head. "And know I'll never stop loving
you," he sighed.
Distracted by the activity
outside the door, Kathy bolted straight up. "Those dullard girls
are spending the night!" she huffed
Laughing, he helped her onto
her feet, directing her at the door squeaking ajar. "Those dullard girls
are your cousins," he reminded her.
"Not our real cousins, though."
"But close enough relations,"
an intruder responded from the open doorway. The siblings turned and regarded
the stark figure filling the cavity.
"Like you, Sister?" Liam
snidely remarked as he stood.
The humorless woman regarded
her nephew while she collected her niece. "You've guests, Girl, you should
be entertaining. Your brother will always be here." Although, not much
taller, she overruled the caps of Kathy's shoulders and steered the child
out the door. She tugged at the floppy lacing as Kathy bounded past.
Before he could catch the
words, Liam explained, "It was too tight. And it hurt."
Sister -- that was all they'd
ever dared called her, never Aunt Maeve. Their mother had never referred
to her younger sister by any other name, either, perhaps also scared of
the strong-willed diminutive female with loam-dark eyes. Faintly brown
lashes and eyebrows with random colorless quills hinted at the scalp secreted
beneath the tight white coif and flowing black veil.
If the she was indeed married
to Christ, Liam mused, He was the most benevolent of spouses. The Sister
resided under their roof more often than her abbey's.
"It's Kathleen's mother's
decision on how best to manage the girl's toilette," she said. As she stepped
into the room, the taffeta ribbons of her black, calf shoes scratched her
alb, drawing attention to its fagotted hem. The fine linen fabric had been
bleached to purity and beetled to so fine a sheen the Sister gleamed around
the edges. A dainty Venise lace added geometric scalloping to the full
sleeves billowing over her wizened hands.
She absently fingered her
lapis lazuli prayer beads. An intricately embroidered girdle cinching the
tunic to her abdomen would have gone unnoticed, black upon black, had not
the strand been looped from it. Other than the ornate gold and cobalt rosary,
she never donned such an ostentatious -- and irregular -- variation of
her vocation's habit outside the courtyard walls.
"And who manages your toilette,
Sister, that they seem to have forgotten your vow of poverty?" Liam retorted.
The nun's cheeks flushed
hot and she narrowed her eyes; one corner of her truculent mouth twitched.
She wore disdain like she wore her fineries -- with arrogant remorselessness.
Able to subjugate corruption with a withering glance, the Sister was condemnation
incarnate.
Ignoring Liam's provocation,
she commenced a contemplative stroll from the room. Stepping into
the hallway she stopped, turned her head, and regarded him from over her
shoulder. "Never forget God is watching you, Nephew," she intoned,
no more impassioned than if cosseting a child.
-0-
evancomo@netscape.net
Angel's
Journal
