Previously on The African Thumb Harp
Estrella contacts the redhead, informing her of Tara's return. The children burst loudly through the door, singing and laughing.
"Children!" Tara scolds. The sound of her voice rips through the foyer and they quickly move into position.
"Children, this is Baron S. Riley Finn."
Section Two
They snicker at the name.
"What's the S for, sir?" Spike lisps.
"Well boy, I'm glad you asked." Riley slings his arm around the child's shoulder. "It's Sergeant. I'm a sergeant in the secret order of the Republic of Yoga Masters." He opens his jacket to reveal his chest covered in velvet ribbons. He strokes his hand over each, enjoying the texture. "This pink one here is for accomplishing my Yogi status."
Spike steps back into line. "He's a Yogi," he whispers to the others. An echo of groaning sweeps through the group.
"More instruction, mother?" Dawn complains. "And a man, none the less."
"He comes highly recommended, Dawn." Tara looks for the redhead. "Where is Wil… Miss Rosenberg?"
"She's putting away the sticks." Sven giggles. "She's not very good with the stick, mother, but she certainly understands flexibility."
Tara perks a curious brow. "Sticks?"
The children all exclaim in delight. "Come outside, we'll show you!"
After much hesitation on behalf of the adults, the group cross the large courtyard and reach the sport oval.
Cordy is about to explain the rules when they hear:
"Yodelling
on a hill was a lonely comp-nerd
Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee
hoo
Out-of-tune was the voice of the lonely comp-nerd
Lay ee
odl lay ee odl-oo."
They turn the corner and find Willow clad in sweats, her hair tied back messily, swinging a hockey stick aimlessly whilst singing to herself.
The children smile, enjoying the sound of music.
"Miss Rosenberg?" Tara eyes the slightly dirty, singing redhead. "The children mentioned sticks but I didn't even think of this. I had no idea you'd enjoy something so…" she wrinkles her nose, "…messy."
"It's awesome." Willow wonders briefly what type of stick Tara had considered.
"Well, I see that you've been busy while I was away."
Willow notices a tall gentleman beside the blonde and moves closer for an introduction. "I have been quite busy, Madame Maclay." She eyes the man. "As have you." She wipes her hand across the leg of her sweatpants. "We haven't been introduced. I'm Willow Rosenberg. I care for the children."
Riley grasps her hand tightly. "Baron S. Riley Finn."
The group snickers again.
He stares, bewildered. "I'm here to tend to the needs of the Maclay family. Whichever members require my services."
Cordy moves forward. "Baron S. Riley," she lifts her leg up over her head, "I've been practicing every day."
"That's wonderful, child." He pats her head tenderly. "We'll do some work tomorrow." He turns his attention to Tara. "Shall we, Tara?"
"We shall never, Baron S." She steps closer to the redhead. "Will…Miss Rosenberg, might I have a moment with you…alone?"
The children scatter onto the playing field. They begin a casual game of lawn hockey. Riley watches the skilled performance with intense concentration.
The blonde and redhead move onto the patio. Willow quickly becomes aware of Tara's nervousness. "Miss Rosenberg…"
"Madame, if you would please call me Willow." She touches the blonde's shoulder. "Please?"
"Willow," Tara hides her nervousness by turning toward the playing field. "I can see that you have found a way into the hearts of the children. I'm impressed." Her blue eyes connect with green. "I'm curious to know how you've avoided their volumes of nanny torture."
"I've been around." Willow motions toward the bench, guiding the blonde to sit. "They haven't tried anything I haven't already been caught doing." She watches Xander clumsily tumble across the playing field. "I'm just giving them a nudge in the right direction."
"Nudging, hmm?" Tara is distracted; seeing her children so happy brings her a forgotten joy.
Willow observes the blonde's delight. "Hey, why don't you play with us?" She stands excitedly. "C'mon, they'd love it."
Tara looks down at her hands. "Actually, I haven't played since college. I'd make a fool of myself."
The redhead ignores the excuse. "Every modern day chick must know the rules of hockey." She presses a stick into the soft hands.
"But, but…" the blonde protests, "look at what I'm wearing!" She had on a purple fedora and a dress made of burgundy silk. Over the dress was a silver vest, adorned with blue felt kittens.
"You'll make them smile. Focus on that, Tara." Willow wonders if she stepped over a line using Tara's name so informally and waits for the blonde to reprimand her. But there is no response.
"WOOOOOOO! Spikey, you go son!" The blonde is suddenly up and running toward the oval, cheering for her eldest son.
"Oh my Goddess," Willow whispers, "I hope I didn't screw up her mind."
She saunters over to where the Baron S. is sitting for a better view of the game.
The children, after reacting with disbelief, are fighting to be the one to explain the rules to their mother. Anya rushes to fetch another stick.
Willow smiles to herself, feeling satisfied that her work is bringing mother and children closer.
"Well?"
"Well what?" Willow turns to see the Baron S. looking impatiently at her.
"I asked you a question."
A very long pause ensues. Willow can't stand it. "Are you waiting for me to do or say something? 'Cause I'm getting that impression."
"I want you to answer the question. I asked if you are a lesbian."
Willow hides her shock. "Yes. How did you know?" She wonders if she drooled too obviously over Tara.
"Hey, I didn't become a Yogi for nothin'." He grins. "I sneaked a peek at her file on you, during the long car ride. There were little hearts and rainbows and 'I love Willows' all over the sheet. She sure doodles a lot!"
"WHAT?"
He giggles. "Joking. But the file did say that you were at a school for questioning girls. And the headmistress wrote something about your dykey ways not having been completely cured."
Willow presses her lips together.
Riley notices her bemusement. "Oh, don't worry, the headmistress also said you'd be great at the job. The file wasn't all about your sexual, er, problem."
"Gee thanks, Baron S." Willow is obsessing over his joke about the doodling. Her heart had believed him, and now it struggles to process the truth.
Tara rushes over to the table, children clinging to her every limb, panting and grinning. "I scored!"
Xander agrees, eyes wide. "Mother is so good at that game, Will. You should play with her sometime."
The Baron S. snorts. Willow looks fiercely at him and he makes a motion of protecting himself with a shield.
Tara turns toward the redhead. "I'm game, if you are?"
"Perhaps, but not while the kids are on the field. You look like fierce competition."
"How about tomorrow afternoon?"
The redhead doesn't hesitate. "I'd love to."
"It's
a date, then?" The blonde twirls the stick in her hand.
Willow
runs her fingers across her lips. "It's a date."
88888888888
The red plastic sphere rolls across the hockey field. Tara tumbles in front of the redhead. Willow grunts as her ass slides across the dewy grass. "Nice one, Madame." The redhead twists to her feet.
"I'm a bit rusty." She snaps the sphere with the tip of the stick, and flips it into her hand.
Willow examines the lithe body before her. "I don't see any rust, Madame Maclay."
"Willow, I'd like you to call me Tara. When you attach that title to me I feel very old." She hands the stick to the redhead.
"Well you can't be that old. My guess is about 27."
"Good guess." Tara smiles. "Sometimes the burdens of life make me feel about 80."
"Well, if I look like that when I'm 80, I say bring it on." The redhead collects the hockey gear into the duffle bag. "Madame… I mean Tara," their eyes lock, "how is it that you've come to mother all of these children?"
"Oh, Willow," she reaches to carry the bag, "I was very young. Their father was my father's best friend. When their mother died I was the only woman of age to take over her duties."
"How did she die?"
They continue to walk across the playing field. The blonde sits beside a large oak tree. Willow sits beside her.
"It's almost as tragic as Humperdink's." She lowers her face, paying respect to the dead.
"Humperdink?" The redhead hides her giggle.
"Humperdink Maclay, the children's father."
"Oh. Did you love him?" Willow leans forward, hoping the answer that she wants is the one that she gets.
"Love," she shakes her head, "love was never a factor. I was a convenience. Nothing more."
"What do you mean?"
"Humperdink lived a secret life." She struggles to reply, questioning whether she should reveal all the family secrets.
"Secret?" The redhead's eyes widen.
"Yes. Hump, er, Humperdink," she corrects quickly, "had issues with having his name shortened. Schoolyard trauma," Tara informs her. "Anyway, he never loved me and he never loved his first wife. He could never love us because he…didn't swing that way."
Willow stares at the blonde blankly.
"He was gay, Will. And totally in the closet." Tara blushes, feeling as though she has vicariously come out through her dead husband.
The redhead bites her lip. "So he married that first chick and then he married you, just to cover his inner fruitiness? Man…." She thinks of the children she has been taking care of and how they must have been created. "That's gotta have sucked!"
Tara shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. Though it was pretty convenient for the both of us." She blushes again, and wonders if she has given away too much.
Willow looks at her curiously but doesn't call her on it.
"Tara, if I may ask, how did his first wife die?"
The blonde looks away. "Oh, you can ask, but it's a crazy story. You see, and this is probably going to shock you, she was also a professional Yogi. Her boss, Riley, organizes these yearly yoga conventions. Actually, that's why he's here now."
"Riley, as in the Baron S., in charge of a con? He strikes me as… incompetent, at best."
Tara continues telling the story rather than arguing the trueism of Riley's incompetence. "Uh, she took it upon herself to run a class on being an Ice-arian. Surviving on a diet consisting only of chipped ice. One student was an undercover tabloid journalist. Pretending to be inspired, he encouraged her to take her proclaimed 'month on ice'."
"She didn't," breathes Willow.
"She did. After a week her digestive system started to feel the stress. Living solely on water is hard enough for the body to deal with, but when it's frozen water it just…": she trails off.
"Ouch. That's really sad."
"I remember her, she was a really sweet woman. After her death, Hump had a bit of a breakdown. He became reclusive and just plain weird; obsessed with safety. His wife had been so healthy and fit, yet she was dead. So he made those kids train to become Yogis."
A look of comprehension spreads over Willow's features. "So that's why…"
Tara nods slowly. "It was Hump's wish. For me to learn the teachings and keep the children training for the years to come. At first it seemed, well, excessive. But eventually it became common practice. Now, not a day goes by without it." She looks searchingly at Willow. "Be honest. Am I a crazy old widow, obsessed with her husband's legacy of yoga?"
Willow pretends to think about this. "Well, you're not old."
Tara playfully swats her.
"Am I interrupting?" The Baron S.'s loud voice makes them jump.
"No, we were just resting before returning to the house." The blonde stands from the grassy spot. "Did you need something?"
"I was about to begin the session." He touches the silken badge on his chest. "You'll never believe the people that have come to sample your techniques."
Willow perks with excitement. "You have techniques?"
Tara smiles invitingly. "Willow, would you like to come see for yourself?"
The redhead tosses the gear bag over her shoulder. "I'm right behind you."
They enter the huge ballroom and the redhead stares at the crowd in the room. She looks down at her grass-stained sweatpants. "Should I change?" she asks nervously.
Tara turns back toward the redhead. "Oh no, come up front near me."
"I'm new to this," she grins, "be gentle." She follows the blonde to the front of the group.
Tara rolls out her rainbow mat. "Try this on for size."
Willow lowers herself to the floor and then turns to Tara to compliment the rainbow mat. The blonde is in deep conversation with an elderly man. He is dressed from head to toe in white muslin cloth, and sways to music that only he seems to hear.
"Willow," the blonde gets onto all fours beside the redhead, "meet Aspran. He taught me Grade four yoga."
Willow greets the man distracted; out of the corner of her eye she can see the children meditating along the wall. She frowns as she sees Dawn open her eyes and slip outside.
"I'll BRB," she whispers to Tara, and follows the young girl.
She finds Dawn alone on the patio, struggling with a yoga posture.
Willow is about to say something when she sees the other children trickling onto the patio and surrounding Dawn.
"Ha!" shrieks Xander. "You know you're not supposed to do The Brave Warrior until you're 20!" His pink face is gleeful.
"Yeah," Cordy chimes in. "You're doing it wrong, anyway."
The children start to argue and yell, each trying to correct and embarrass Dawn.
"HEY!" Willow rushes over. "What's the problem? What's with the Dawn-bashing?"
Spike lisps passionately that they are only trying to fix her terrible posture before their mother catches her doing yoga so badly.
"I see a way to settle this." Willow rushes into the house and returns seconds later, breathing heavily. She types furiously until she finds an online yoga manual, looks up the position, and then smiles triumphantly. "I found the position. None of you are right!"
She joins the sweaty bunch and starts to correct them. She grabs Dawn's left arm and pulls it upward, "no, you've gotta lift it higher!"
Willow is so absorbed that she doesn't notice Tara's presence until she feels a soft hand on her shoulder.
"Actually," Tara announces, "you're all wrong."
With a sweeping hand gesture she spreads her rainbow mat onto the concrete patio and invites Willow to stand beside her.
"Bend over." Tara murmurs her words in Willow's ear.
Willow gulps but obeys.
Using the redhead as a model she teaches the children proper form. "First, mountain pose." She straightens Willow into perfect vertical alignment. Tara's hand travels to the redhead's waist. She whispers softly. "Breathe, Red."
"That's hard to do with your hand there, Blonde." Her breath hitches as Tara's fingers travel up her ribcage.
"A steady heaving breath will help maintain balance." Tara guides the redhead. "Now we move into a standing forward bend." She holds Willow steady.
They continue slowly moving into the posture. The children watch with less enthusiasm. Spike yawns and returns inside to the class.
"You need to lift your leg a little higher." The blonde's fingers run along the length of Willow's thigh, resting firmly above the knee. "That's wonderful, but don't let your arm fall." Her hand brushes across Willow's breast as she raises the drooping arm. "Can you feel it?"
"Oh, I can feel it."
Dawn clears her throat. "I think we can all feel it."
The children return to the session in the ballroom. Baron S. Riley notices that the two women have not returned and dismisses the class for water refreshment. The crowd moves into the dining hall. He watches through the window.
Tara helps Willow shift onto the other leg, tenderly supporting the pose.
Baron S. rubs the pink satin ribbon on his chest. "She'll never be interested in me."
Estrella walks up behind him. "Did you really think after all of this that she'd switch teams for you?"
"A man can dream." He turns into the room. "I can see that Madame Tara has her sights set on something in red."
"She'll never see you as anything other then her Yogi, Sir."
"I can see that now." He rolls his yoga mat, stuffs it into a shoulder bag and walks out. He informs the crowd that the afternoon session and the following days sessions will move downtown to the 'Gristle and grit' pub.
Tara teaches Willow how to move gently between postures. Their bodies connect. Each struggles with awakening passion.
Willow stands from her forward bend. She loses her balance and falls into the blonde's arms. Their eyes lock. Willow can feel her breath hitch as Tara tightens her hold on the redhead's waist. "Your technique is very good."
"Thank you." Tara's eyes shift to the soft red lips. "You learn quickly."
"I'd love to learn more."
The blonde smiles at the redhead and begins to walk towards the door. She turns around and smirks at Willow. "Oh, I intend to teach you"
Willow watches her leave and sinks down onto a bench nearby, tracing every second of the previous moments in her mind. "I think I'm in love," she says happily.
The Baron S. walks up the garden path. "You seem a little short of breath, Miss Rosenberg," he says, stopping in front of the bench where she is sitting.
Willow eyes him with a mix of curiosity and bemusement. Baron S. Riley never failed to amuse her in some way or another.
"Yeah," she responds, "I am kind of tired."
The dignified Yogi stares at her for some time until she begins to shift uncomfortably. "Isn't it interesting," he says casually, as if it is just occurring to him, "that Estrella is always here? Not only that, but she gets no real pay and has very little purpose. If I didn't know better…" he trails off, looking through the window where they could both see the beautiful blonde chatting with her honored Yogi, Aspran.
The redhead bites her lip, suddenly feeling very unsure of herself. " If you didn't know better, what?"
"Oh, nothing," The Baron S. says nonchalantly. "Look, I must be going. It was lovely meeting you, Miss Rosenberg." He holds his velour-gloved hand out to shake hers.
The redhead nods numbly and shakes his hand. She watches as he walks away and turns her head to look through the window again. Tara is sitting on the couch laughing, while Estella jokes from the doorway.
"I can't believe this," Willow says, convinced that the Baron S. is right. "I was so sure she liked me…"
She sighs, grabs her laptop bag, and enters the room. Most of the crowd has dissipated so there is no place for her to hide. Thankfully the blonde is in deep conversation with yet another yoga friend.
Willow can't help the smile that forms on her face. "She really is a social butterfly." The smile quickly turns into a look of extreme pain as she remembers that the blonde is already taken.
The house is eerily quiet as the redhead makes her way up to her room. She takes out her bag and begins stuffing her belongings into it. "I guess I don't belong here. Miss Heteronski was right. I can't deal with this gay thing," Willow mutters to herself. She opens her laptop and types a short note to leave on her bed. She prints it out and places it down, grabs her bag, and makes her way out of the house.
It's midnight when she reaches the Seminary. She throws a rock at her old roommate's window and is shocked when the girl abruptly pulls down the blind.
"Bit late for pebble tossing, isn't it?" Miss Heteronski's voice booms through the night. There's a loud clanking as the old woman climbs down the stairs and approaches the steel entrance gate.
"Hey," Willow says meekly, "I need my old room back."
The matron looks smug. "'Fraid that's no longer possible. Francesca is now sharing with the new girl and," she raises an eyebrow and gestures at the dark room, "she clearly doesn't want to give her up."
The hypocrisy of this school, which preaches heterosexuality by day and encourages bed-sharing at night, suddenly infuriates Willow. "Just give me a bed, I'm not in the mood for this."
Miss Heteronski shrugs. "Fine, but in the morning you're going straight to therapy or back to Madame Maclay. Your choice."
Willow is taken to a dusty room, which seems not to have been used for some time, and is told to change into the uniform pyjamas. She can hear Christian inspirational music playing through the thin wall as she changes, and can't resist internally contrasting it with a Yogi's Nepalese oboe CD.
"Lights out, girls," she hears Miss Heteronski say. She peers into the hallway and sees the matron pacing about with a candle in her hand.
The candle reminds her of Tara's face on the night that she reprimanded Willow at the table. She sighs longingly. 'I'm whipped,' she realizes.
To her surprise, she hears her name being called softly.
She opens the door to see Mr Puddlewife shivering in the hallway, clad in a pair of Care Bears Nighttime Stories pyjamas. They barely cover his ankles, she notices, welcoming him into her room.
He sits on her bed and looks at her gravely. "I hear you ran away from your job. Whatever was the matter?"
She shakes her head. "It seems so stupid. I can't even explain it. I just had to get away."
"From what?" His voice is gentle. "Or should I say, from whom?" He looks around the small room. "You certainly came to the right place if it's you that you want to escape from."
"No, that's not it!" Willow answers quickly and then hears the defensiveness to her tone. "At least, I don't think so. It wasn't me that I was escaping. It was Tara."
"Things didn't go well for you there? I must say, I'm surprised."
"Well, no," she blushes. "They went the opposite; really well. So well that I fell in love with her."
"I see." Mr Puddlewife sinks into thought until Willow grows impatient.
"What do you see?"
"I see myself at your age." His voice grows dreamy. "It was 1984, and I lived in Switzerland. It was so white and pristine. I met a girl named Susette. She wanted me to be her first, er…"
Willow, who had been groaning internally until now, looks interested. "First f$k?"
"Yes."
"What does this have to do with Tara and I?"
He scratches his scalp. "Umm. Actually, it doesn't. I was just reminiscing."
Willow calculates. "Wow, you're a patient man." She stands up and strides across the room. "I love her and, soap opera-ish-ly, she doesn't love me. I had to get away."
"She doesn't love you? Did she tell you this?" He shifts to pull the wedge of twisted pajamas from his leg.
She shakes her head. "I saw her. With the butler."
"Essie?" He tries to hide his laugh. "Tara and Essie. Willow…" He reaches to comfort her. "Essie is married."
"She's what?" The redhead begs for an explanation. "Tell me."
"Estrella left the seminary, as you know, but what you didn't know is that she left with Ms. Heteronski's prized pupil."
Willow's jaw drops.
He closes her mouth and continues. "You'll never see Essie with anyone but Cuntstantine. Their commitment is for life. Besides, Tara is like a daughter to her."
The redhead drops her head to her hands. "What have I done?"
"Rest here tonight, dear. In the morning you can return to the Maclay house and talk with Madame Tara."
She flops backward and her head falls onto the dusty pillow. The haze drifts up causing them both to cough frantically. Mr. Puddlewife closes the door as he walks out. Willow cries herself to sleep.
Part Three sooooon
