CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Carnahan O'Connell estate, October 6, early afternoon


"Mum! Here's a pile of letters from Jonathan!" Alex called out as he put down his heavy load. Evie and Rick had decided to take Tallulah's idea and try to rescue the valuables from the ruined homes in the bombed out neighborhoods. Rick and Alex had been going from house to house, carefully noting the street and location, and noting each home's valuables.

Thus far, several paintings, crystal, antique furniture--sideboards were a special favorite, along with writing tables and antique writing utensils--English bone china, Dresden figurines (usually located in the basement or hidden in a niche in the floor of the fireplace), Turkish rugs, silver, jewelry and other items of potential value were identified, photographed, and were given over to the police for safekeeping.

"Where?" Evie said, running from the kitchen. "Tallulah!" she called, stopping at the day room Tallulah used during the day to save herself some steps. "Used to use," Evie said aloud, a tear falling from her eye. "Every time I turn, I expect her to be there, or to answer my call. I can't get used to the idea we'll never share a laugh over a cup of tea."

"It's okay, mum," Alex said, coming over and hugging her. Evie hugged him back hard. She pulled back from her son and wiped her eyes.

"Here, let's see what Jonathan has to say," Alex said, going back to the pile of letters on top of the bundle he had brought inside. "Let's get a cup of tea. It's a bit chilly out," he said as he led his mother back to the kitchen.

"You pour, I read," he instructed his mother as he sat at a writing table and taking up a letter opener. Evie nodded and starting gathering the tea things as Alex read the first of Jonathan's letters.



Dear Sis:

Well, here I am, on the train, rolling through the English countryside towards Wales and the Irish ferries which await me and my charges. It's a Tuesday afternoon, rain clouds are in the sky (when aren't rain clouds in the sky here in merry England?), hot Earl Grey is in the mug, scones with jam are on a plate. Train personnel are becoming quite accustomed to our donation of jam and sugar to bolster their food rations, so be sure to thank Tallulah a million times over for her foresight!

The kids are finally napping after having having mobbed me with pleas, wanting to open their presents. Did you ever notice children seem to know instinctively when they are going to receive presents? Ha, ha. I remember how you used to be as a tot of four when our parents would come home from a short trip to the countryside and laden with presents. How you jumped up and down, clapping your hands!

Some of the children expressed the thought that since they were going away, people were being nice and giving presents. How could I explain the presents were not meant as a consolation prize but as nice memory to hold onto while they were living in Ireland, waiting for the war to end?

I did stammer out an explanation, but Ian Mathewson didn't believe me, for he responded that when people want you to remember them in a nice way, they always give you presents.

The poor child! He was a foster child of nine years of age, flitting from one home to another and the family he was living with was killed on the 7th when their home near the Docklands was destroyed. Now he finds himself going to yet another home, and this home is in a foreign country. Does that explain his reaction? Would it be possible for Ian to live with us? Could we retrieve him from Ireland at some point and bring him home to live with us permanently?

Tallulah had a most wonderful idea of sending ahead by post to Ireland large boxes chock full of everyday items: soap, shampoo, garden seeds, tinned meat, bolts of raw cloth and so many pre-worn clothes I think the children won't have a problem with their wardrobes--even if the war lasts until 1945.

I know there are customs restrictions on what food items can be brought into Ireland, but that wily Tallulah! She stuffed the pockets of the winter coats with the restricted items, ensuring the pockets didn't bulge.

And on the coats, both girls' and boys, she sewed thick collars of fake fur, stuffing the collars with the money she found in the streets after the Luftwaffe dropped their silver 'presents' on us Londoners.

She told me there was no way of knowing to whom the strewn money once belonged, but the transplanted kids needed some kind of dowry, some kind of future while they are in Ireland and a hundred pounds to each child certainly would help.

I was instructed by Tallulah to inform each of the children what is in the collars of the coats only upon arrival at their respective farmsteads. I further instructed the children to not mention their windfall to any other child in the village, to which the children readily agreed for they didn't want their new foster parents' farms robbed for the extra cash.

It's to be their allowance, and I am thinking it would be an excellent idea to send along every few months a small sum of pocket money to each of the children I escort. What do you think of that idea, sis?

Tallulah is so smart at getting around the restrictions, sometimes I think she might have been a spy in one of her past lives.

Give Tallulah my love and many thanks for the help she's provided. She certainly is a busy person, helping with the Red Cross blood drive, organizing the shopping expeditions on behalf of the children, and that idea of hers to organize Operation Take Out for the retrieval of valuables from the bombed out homes sounds marvelous!

And speaking of Operation Take Out, I've been asked by our government to travel to Scotland to arrange for the usage of the vaults for the duration of the war. I'm afraid I can't give away too much information about where in our northern neighbor I am to temporarily reside for a few nights, for I think some information should be refrained from floating around--just in case this letter is opened and read before it reaches its destination to you.

I do have one idea: and that is the usage of the small islands off the west coast.

I am hoping this letter finds you well. Give my love to Rick and Alex and I shall see you shortly.

Love,
Jonathan




"He didn't know Tallulah had died when he wrote this letter," Alex stated sadly as his mother nodded in agreement and swallowed her tea. "It was posted on the 15th."
"We only saw him for an hour while the latest evacuees were boarding the train. Is there any way to contact him?"

"I don't think so," Ardeth said from the doorway. He'd been cleaned up and barbered quite well: his beard and hair were well trimmed and freshly washed. And his black clothes were well repaired and hung on him, fresh and clean. Dark shadows remained under his eyes, despite his sound night's sleep.

"Ardeth! Could I offer you some tea?" Evie asked, jumping up when Ardeth nodded and made his way to the kitchen table. She was a bit worried about Ardeth. He seemed a bit, well, a bit deflated. Was deflated the word she was looking for? Something heavy was bothering Ardeth and Evie couldn't get him to talk about it although she suspected it had something to do with his arduous trip to London.

Sitting down, Ardeth picked up a scone smeared with raspberry jam and looked at it a moment before tasting it. "Mmmm," he commented around his mouthful of scone.

"You know, Ardeth, with the Bracelet and Nuit and the Gods, I thought your arrival in London would have been, well, I don't know, more exciting, I guess," Alex told him, copying Ardeth and picking up his own fresh made scone and taking a bite.

Evie returned to the table with a large steaming mug of tea. "I would have thought that as well. But in the end, you just rode into London city limits on Thunder Sky," Evie told Ardeth as she too sat down.

"It was kind of anti-climatic," Alex said, finding the right word to express himself. "You being Nuit's earthly son and all."

"She did turn golden and rumble a lot," Evie noted. "When are you going to tell us about your travelling from Egypt to London?"

Ardeth looked puzzled but smiled at remembering how Nuit had sent a breath of wind when he'd ridden onto the O'Connell's estate. "I will relay details about my trip later on. How did you know I merely rode into the city limits?"

"The window showed us," Alex said around another bite of his scone.

"Nuit's been showing us a lot of things through the windows," Evie explained, taking a sip of her Earl Grey. "Tallulah's been--did, was--gathered up a large quantity of food supplies."

Ardeth nodded, a sip of tea in his mouth preventing him from speaking.

"Apparently she'd been stocking up the basement store rooms since '36," Alex said.

Evie looked at him. "How do you know that?"

"I found a receipt in one of the bags and the clerk had hand dated it June 12, 1936."

"Whatever could have possessed her to start stocking up on food and other supplies since '36? That's four years ago! She couldn't have possibly known what was coming down the line...unless she was prophetic."

"She read Black Elk Speaks," Alex told his mother but his mother merely looked confused.

"She had a copy of Black Elk? I found a copy in Kahn's the year after its printing. My people respect his Vision. And we, too, started storing supplies out in the desert," Ardeth said, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

"Who's Black Elk?" Evie wanted to know.

"An American Indian prophet, now living in the Spirit World with his grandfathers," Ardeth replied.

"He had a Vision that foretold this war," Alex explained.

"Apparently, few people heeded his word," Ardeth commented, borrowing Alex's word, then putting his napkin down and taking up another scone.

"He foresaw this war?" and both Ardeth and Alex nodded. Evie continued, "When was the book published?"

"1932," Alex supplied.

"Seven years. He would have been held in high esteem by my father, I mean, by Seti," Evie commented.

"Actually, Black Elk spoke his prophecy in May of 1931 to the man he chose to give his Vision to the world. He waited over sixty years to find the right person to whom to tell his Vision," Ardeth replied. "And that man was John Neihardt."

Evie looked stunned. "Eight years. And few people heeded Black Elk's word?"

"Few people bought the book, which went out of print shortly after its debut," Ardeth told her, swirling a bit of sugar into his Earl Grey.

"How did you get a copy then?" Alex wanted to know.

"Kahn's has everything," Evie and Ardeth said together. Evie smiled and Ardeth's mouth curled up of its own accord.

Evie said, "Kahn's Bazaar was around during Neferteri's lifetime."

"It's the oldest bazaar in the world," Ardeth commented, picking up his tea cup.

"What's the oldest bazaar in the world?" Rick wanted to know, coming in the kitchen. "Ah, Kahn's! You're talking about Kahn's! Lovely place, full of things: old things, new things, fake things. So this is where we're hanging out now."

"Yes. Tea, darling?" Evie asked, getting up and hugging her husband.

Sitting down, Rick asked Ardeth, "Do you know where Martin washed up? You know the Gilgamesh was found with their crew intact?"

Ardeth shook his head. "I know he is alive, for the Bracelet thrums. I did not know about the crew of the Gilgamesh. I am relieved to know they are all safe."

"Who made the Bracelet?" Rick now asked, reaching over for a still warm scone.

"Taita. He was the man Queen Lostris trusted most. She reigned in exile when the Hyksos first invaded Egypt, guarding the Double Crown of Egypt for her son, Prince Memnon," Ardeth replied, holding out his cup so Evie could refill it. She also refilled the rest of the tea cups, then stood up and went to refill the teapot and have another pot of tea.

"Good thing Tallulah filled an entire storeroom with tea," she commented softly as Alex said, "See? I said the Bracelet could have been a relic from the time of the Hyksos."

"He fashioned the Bracelet just before he died, and imbued the Bracelet with the ability to expel foreign invaders."

"Magic?" Rick asked, sipping his own cup of tea.

Ardeth nodded. "Yes. Taita appointed a Keeper, who was reincarnated as Martin Wilkes."

"It seems like the Gods reincarnated everyone who could help stop this war," Alex commented. He felt very much a grown up, despite the fact he was 17 and very nearly so.

His comment made Ardeth smile. "Yes, it does seem that way, doesn't it?"

Evie, having finished filling the teapot with water and leaving it to boil, came back to the table. Sitting down, she said "There is one question I'd like answered, Ardeth."

"Just ask," Ardeth said.

"How come you didn't take a train or hitch a lift with the soldiers?"

"Truth is, Cornwall natives did help me across Cornwall when they could drive. Most of the farmers didn't own cars. There were only a few trains, and they were headed towards the western coast," Ardeth told her. "I thought it much faster to get here on horseback."

"With things the way they are, horseback was probably better," commented Alex as he refilled his tea mug for the third time.

"Eleven days is not a bad travel time by horseback, considering I was delayed by heavy bombing for several days," Ardeth commented. "Besides, the Bracelet needs Martin to incant a spell."

"We had talked about that. Would the Book of the Dead help?" Alex asked Ardeth, knowing how many spells the Book contained.

"I am not sure. We shall have to await his arrival," Ardeth replied. "In the meantime, what can I do to assist?"

"Operation Take Out?" Alex asked. "We could use a helping hand."

"Operation Take Out?" Ardeth repeated, inquiring of Alex with his dark eyes.

"It's a home valuables rescue operation that our late housemaid Tallulah thought up," Evie said, her eyes filling with tears for Tallulah, for London, for all those who have been killed by this war.

"What does this Operation comprise?" Ardeth wanted to know as the teapot chose that moment to announce its readiness to accept loose tea leaves in its interior.

"We go to the damaged areas, and house by house, we retrieve what we can, photographing and taking down on paper the valuables the owners possessed," Rick replied as Evie went to attend the whistling teapot.

"And Jonathan's been up to Scotland arranging for vaults to store those people's belongings until either the owners can reclaim them or the government can locate the heirs," Evie called as she opened the oven door and a delicious scent exited the oven. She brought the teapot over to the kitchen table "Lunch will be ready shortly," she said, noting the expectant expressions on the men's faces.

"I'd be glad to assist in any way I can," Ardeth replied.

"How about I read another letter from Jonathan?" Alex suggested, and Evie nodded. Alex went to the writing table and returned with the remaining two letters.

Using the letter opener, he slit the envelopes open, chose a letter and began to read as the rest as Ardeth, Evie and Rick sipped their tea, ready to listen Alex reading Jonathan's words.

"This one's dated the 17th," he said and began to read the rather thick stack of paper.



Dear Sis:

What a battle to get through Irish Customs! The agents are checking everybody and everything--well, nearly everything. I thought for sure they'd find the forbidden food Tallulah had hidden but the agents never caught on. Good thing I distracted the nosy dog belonging to one of the Customs Agents with a bit of leftover meat I'd saved from dinner.

The boxes Tallulah had shipped ahead were in the postal office, safe and sound, their contents undisturbed. I did turn over some of the clothing and a bolt of raw cloth to the postal clerk when her eyes narrowed suspiciously at the children's squeals. When I handed the items to her, how her eyes shined!

She relishes the idea of helping out clandestinely and so has agreed to help me in future endeavors. You'd like her, Sis, she reminds me of Grandmother. Besides, we need a friend in the postal office, for someone might get a tad suspicious about the extra boxes coming through on a regular basis.

I also provided our new friend with a kilogram of tea and a kilogram of sugar. I do believe, sister dear, that we've made a life-long friend and confidant, for the price of tea and sugar is rising fast, both here in Ireland and in England and the Irish like their tea nearly as much as we do.

After hours of tramping through the hilly Irish countryside, the children have been settled on their respective farms. The government, in its infinite wisdom, failed to provide transportation to the farms, so we ended up walking to the closest farm, about twenty kilometers from the village the ferry dropped us off in.

The children were so brave! They each carried huge boxes full of clothes and food and such items as Tallulah sent along and not once did the children complain about the heavy load. I rigged up a kind of sledge and dragged the heaviest load, but still, after several hours, I was silently cursing the government. The one bright spot in the day literally was the sun: how the sun shines here in Ireland!

And naturally, Tallulah and I didn't inform the government we were sending ahead a large quantity of necessary items--some of them on the list of 'forbidden foods': the tinned meats and bottles of wine for each of the farm owners. Why Ireland doesn't want tinned meat and wine to cross its borders is beyond me. Perhaps they are trying to control price gouging from people trying to make fast money.

I know you're asking the question: Why didn't your brother Jonathan ask someone for a ride? Well, Sis, I could hardly ask for a ride from one of the Customs Agents, for the government, again in its heady wisdom, wants as few people as possible to know to where the children are being re-located, even though we are providing the necessary funds to evacuate the children.

Apparently, the government deems its Customs employees too trivial for such knowledge but with the many hours of reflection provided by our unexpected walking tour of Ireland, I have come to the conclusion that an invading army would want to interrogate the Customs agents.

I certainly would want to interrogate a Customs agent, were I a member of an invading army. Customs agents are the guardians of the Irish economy and the CO of an army might suppose Customs would know to where shipments of items, including human cargo, would be shipped throughout Ireland.

Upon reaching the first farm, where Ian is to be living for the present time, the owners nearly fainted when they saw us at the top of the hill leading down to their expansive farm. They immediately despatched their lorry to haul the boxes and children to the farm, but the children--bless them!--refused the help, and with a stiff upper lip, they walked up to the front door of the farmhouse burdened as they were with Tallulah's boxes.

At the door to the farmhouse, the children did allow themselves to be relieved of their heavy burdens, and after a loo break and a snack, they were soon happily exploring the farm, with its cows, pigs, horses, and vegetable gardens. Ian, too, liked the prospect of living on a farm for a while, for he's never been outside the city limits of London, not even to see Windsor Castle--a trip every British schoolchild should take during their tenure in the educational system.

The children were quite excited to be given an 'allowance'--especially an allowance so big, and the farm owners agreed to dole out the cash on a bit by bit basis. At the children's requests (and all of them were in on this, mind you. What mannered children they are!), I did turn over to the farm owners--a nice young Irish couple--an extra thirty pounds from the money Tallulah found so that they may provide extra treats to their own children.

And, sister dear, I've some news, some big news! I've decided to apply to Children's Services so that I may become a foster father to Ian. I've grown quite attached to the stoic, though skeptical, little guy over the past few days, and frankly, I can't envision my future without having Ian in that future as my child--my son.

I'm not sure how CS will like the fact that I'm unmarried, but seeing as how it's War, and with fewer foster homes and more children needing foster care--especially when the war ends--I am of the opinion the shortly I will have the approval of CS and that either I will visit Ian here in Ireland every so often until the war ends and then bring him home, or Ian will come to live with me back in London.

To move on in my narration, I was granted use of the farm owner's lorry to drive the other children to their destinations. Too late, I realized that I didn't pack a map but I well remember Mister Duckworth in geography class at primary school, slapping our desks with his long ruler whenever he expected an answer to his questions about the geography of Britain, Scotland and Ireland. How Mister Duckworth trained us in geography and how I hated his geography lessons!

Well, Mister Duckworth's geography training has served me admirably, for I seem to know the Irish roads like the back of my hand. Not once did I get lost or need to ask for directions, and not once did I ever need to look at a map.

Sis, would you do me the favor of trying to see if Mister Duckworth is still alive? I know it's a bit difficult with the blitzkreig, but I'd like to thank Mister Duckworth for his dedication in teaching such an obstinate student such as I.

I am unsure of just when I will arrive back in London. I said I would be off to Scotland on that errand I mentioned in my earlier letter (I am on the ferry to Scotland as I write this letter). Thinking about my sorry lack of foreplanning, I will have to rely again upon Mister Duckworths geography training to wend my way around our northern neighbor.

I have been reading the accounts of the daily bombings in London. The foreign papers are full of commentary and the papers also say Hitler is not going to stop until he controls all of Europe. Over my bloody arse will he take London! Sorry, sis. It's the war, and my hatred for that ugly man coming out in my letter.

Oh, one other interesting item the foreign papers carried, a blurb, really. It seems a small plane crashed in the Mediterranean sea. You don't suppose that plane was heading towards Cairo, would you? For I had the strangest dream that the Pyramids exploded but that Ardeth stopped the army in time.

Give my love to Tallulah, Rick and Alex.

As always,
Love,
Jonathan




When Alex finished reading Jonathan's long letter, he looked up at the silent adults sitting around the table. Their tea had grown cold in their mugs, and tears were in their eyes.
"A foster father! My brother!"

"Can it happen that quick?" Alex wanted to know. "Will I have a...a...foster cousin?"

"Apparently so, if Jonathan gets his way," Rick said.

Evie sniffed a bit, and wiped her nose. Then she jumped up. "Food's beginning to burn!" She went to attend lunch: a steaming tray of fish, potatoes and vegetables. The O'Connell's were eating quite heartily, on occasion of Ardeth's safe arrival in London, but soon they would be rationing the supplies of food Tallulah had laid in, for who knew how long the war would last?

"We didn't have much time to relay just what happened with Nuit and you," Rick told Ardeth. "He arrived from Manchester and left that same day to escort children to the Irish countryside."

"He saw mum for about an hour before the train left," Alex now told Ardeth. "Each time he's popped back in London for a short time to pick up another set of evacuee children. He went to Scotland in between"

"He only found out Tallulah died just before he went off on his third trip to Ireland, after arranging for the vaults up in Scotland" Evie said, then added, "Alex, could you help me carry dinner ot the table?"

"Sure mum!" he responded as he got up and carried a huge bowl of steaming mashed potatoes and a plate of hot bread to the table. Evie carried the fish and vegetables and the four sat down to lunch, alone for the first time in their home since the 7th.

The villagers had felt they were imposing upon the Carnahan O'Connells--which the O'Connells vehemently denied--but the villagers insisted they wanted to dine in their own homes whenever possible. "To maintain some semblance of a normal life, whatever normal means in this strange new world," one of the villagers had told Rick.

Over Evie's agitated protests, the villagers returned to their own homes during mealtimes. Those villagers whose homes were destroyed were taking turns dining with the others. A few of the villagers had signed up with the Red Cross and were awaiting their overseas assignments. "Seeing as we have no homes, we might as well use the time to help others," they'd explained.

Evie had been mollified knowing that Nuit would send warning whenever the bomber planes appeared on the horizon. Nuit seemed to hum merrily all the time, now that Ardeth was here and she occasionally would send golden threads of light down to whereever Ardeth was located, and the threads of light would entwine themselves through Ardeth's hair.

The foursome ate their lunch in relative silence, each lost in their own thoughts.