Since Catherine Parker had been a dancer before she took her vows and since Miss Parker obviously inherited her ability, it is only reasonable that one of her grandchildren would also inherit that ability.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Olivia tapped her toes as she watched the Irish dancers, young Sapien girls, dressed in black and green, their arms perfectly still at their sides, as they performed a jig. She started to hum the tune, and at the same time, watch how the girls in the black and green kept time to the music, her instincts recording each step, her mind knowing at what beat, the right leg went up, when the left leg bent, and at what ankle both crossed together. .
So far, no one had noticed her slip away, not her father and mother, nor her brothers or sisters. Only Patricia kept her eyes on her, when she wasn't looking at the large ornate cross that hung on the wall and the man with the reddish brown hair.
She could see someone behind him, or rather her mind did, something horrible so horrible that she almost closed her eyes.
Meanwhile, Olivia had gotten up and went over to the dancers; imitating their steps. She was nervous at first, but then forgot that she was a tourist, and at once, brought her mouth into a smile, her eyes suddenly sparkled, and she danced, her feet moving precisely on the wooden floor as the harp, violin, and flute played an ancient Irish melody.
"Ah look at the pretty Colleen," said an old woman.
Tap, ti, tappity, tap, The dancers click their heels on the ground.
Olivia smiled, and continued stepping with them, not noticing that the older girls separated to let her in.
"A natural," said another woman
Now the girls do a slight curtsey as the music slows down for a little bit. Tappity, tap, tap, tap.
The other girls kept their steps, trying hard to look serious as the second woman went over to the leader of the troupe who watched to see if any of her girls did not loose their rhythm.
The music speeds up and the dancers move their right legs forward. Tap, ti, tappity, tap, ti, tap.
Olivia did not care. She was floating on air, being happy, doing something that she could do, and not see angels like her sister.
The teacher found a costume her size, and Olivia quickly changed behind the long skirts and bodies of the leader and her assistant. Two of the younger girls moved aside to give her a spot and the tempo of the music picked up to a fast jig.
"That must be the father over there," said the assistant, but the teacher stopped her.
"By the way, that other girl looks at him, Fiona, he's not."
"What other girl, Miss O'Malley?"
"The one who was looking at the cross," she replied.
"Future nun," said the assistant.
They both nodded knowingly.
An old man who heard the whispers, shook his head. "Not her. My sister was like that, staring at crosses. She wound up working for the IRA, sending people to hell. Sure and it was the crosses reminded her of the deaths she would visit."
"How about I talk to the little girl?" asked Fiona who believed in goodness in everybody.
"It would be best."
Patricia was a little wary of the woman, trying to press her body against the wall, but Fiona was gentle. She asked her who the man was, but all Patricia said was that he was a bad man.
"And is that your friend?" asked Fiona, pointing to the dancing Olivia.
"My sister. We're fratral quadrups."
"Do you mean fraternal quadruplets?"
"Yes."
"Maybe we can get you in the front away from that bad man. What do your parents look like?"
"Father's tall. He has brown eyes and his hair's over his shoulders and it's dark brown with some red in it. Mother's tall too and she has dark hair, she says its brunette, but she's skinny and she has very very long legs." She shook her head. "I don't look like them, but my brothers and Olivia do. They tried to make my hair dark, but Father and Mother were very angry and we climbed up the roof and …"
And such a story you make up my little one, thought Fiona. "I'll find someone to notify your parents. She didn't want to ask what the parents called each other. The child would probably say mommy and daddy. "What's your last name?"
"Angela," said Patricia.
"I'll find your mother and father." For some reason, she felt that using the term, mommy and daddy, would be inappropriate. The little girl looks wise beyond her years and no wonder with her sister dancing as if she had taken lessons from when she was in her mother's womb. Maybe I could use my influence to get them in a good private school. That old man's wrong. That child will never grow up to be a killer, but there was something in her eyes. A policewoman, she thought, and ran off.
The tune now changed to The Irish Washerwoman and the audience was on the dancers, especially the little girl with the dark brown hair, her feet tapping lightly, her eyes shining, her arms perfectly straight as if she had been doing this since before birth.
The violin now takes the main tune and the harp and flutes are merely accompaniments.
Tap, tap, tap, tapity, tap, tap, tapity, tap, tap, tapity, tap, tap, tapity.
"And such a lovely colleen," said the Old Woman again.
"Olivia?" Miss Parker's mouth gaped open, unable to say anything beyond that point. It was like seeing her mother again, only her mother had been a ballerina and even with lessons, her mother had never attained the perfection that Olivia had.
Jarod too was astonished, but only for a second. He waved his hand in front of Miss Parker's eyes to assure her that they weren't dreaming. "She's like what you said your mother was like."
"No Jarod," said Miss Parker, still in a daze, "Mother was never that good."
"Hi mother, hi father," said Olivia, not missing a step, her arms perfectly straight, her right leg now bent out at the knee as she prepared to go into the next phrase of the dance,
And as she spoke, the music changed, so the little girl imitated the other girls, crossed her legs, and stepped, one foot in front of the other, her hair flying, while the violinist, the harpist and the flutist played