by Emmett Swan
“You gist,” returned Shelly calmly, “but don’t you think there is truth to what I’m saying?”
“Don’t forget Facebook!” said Riley.
“We don’t do Facebook,” piped in Grace. “We still write letters to keep up with our friends.”
Jessica turned to Riley. “I guess I have to learn to write on paper all over again.”
“And who needs cars to get around,” he replied. “Horses are just fine.”
“It looks like we have a lot of work to do when we get back home,” continued Jessica, sitting back down at the table and turning to Riley. “We have to teach those people about their true place in the world. Before you know it, women will be going to college! Oops, that’s already happened.” Jessica was smiling inside and getting really excited.
Shelly stood up. “I see you’ve bought into it. There are real differences between people—poor, rich, men, and women. And when that is recognized, society works much more smoothly. No weighing the system down. It’s just the way it is.”
“We have to do something!” said Riley, slamming his fist on the table. “Those damn minorities are getting out of control.”
Shelly looked at Grace. “It’s getting late, Gracie. We’d best be going, don’t you think?” Grace stood up. Jessica wondered if their sarcasm had been overly offensive, but she didn’t really care.
“Yeah, it’s getting a bit PC around here,” said Grace.
“And don’t bother to get up,” added Shelly, looking down at Jessica and Riley. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you.” It was her turn to be obviously sarcastic.
“And you do eat like a pig!” Grace snorted at Riley, crossed her arms, and turned to leave.
They strode off the terrace together in a hurried huff. Jessica and Riley watched them mount their horses and gallop toward their home.
“Well, that didn’t go so well,” mused Jessica. “Guess we took it a little too far.”
“Who cares?” said Riley. “They’re dippy.”
“This could be a long summer,” said Jessica, watching the girls ride across the field.
Sixteen
1774, Earth
It was the week after Christmas and a blanket of snow covered the grounds of the Kyne House. Conall, his athletic frame covered by a thick coat, squatted down in the frigid air as he worked on rebuilding a section of dry-stone wall near the main entrance to the manor. As he worked with his tools, hands bare, his fingers would often go numb from the cold. He paused to open and close them until they loosened up.
He cursed the cold and recalled with some annoyance the circumstances that led him to be doing menial labor at this time of year. Repairing stone fences would normally have been the job of Ardal or one of the other servants, but that was back when they actually had servants. Once the gold started disappearing, his parents blamed the servants and, one by one, let them go, although there had been no evidence any of them had taken it. But it had to be one of them. The gold plates and decorative ornaments had been taken from a locked display cabinet in the dining room, and gold coins were taken from the vault. Aside from the family, only servants had access to these areas.
Ardal, the last to be let go, had been released the week before Christmas, just after the golden-handled sword displayed in the music room had vanished. Strangely enough, with the house empty of servants a week later, thirty gold coins had disappeared from the vault.
With the servants gone, it was just Conall, his two brothers, and his parents in the house. So who was stealing the gold? It didn’t make sense.
Conall inserted another stone into a gap in the fence and peered over its edge toward the facade of the house. “Someone is getting inside,” he mumbled, “but how?”
It was at that moment that he witnessed something that would change his view of the world forever. Directly in front of him, not ten feet away, he saw footprints forming in the fresh snow.
Yet no one was there making them.
One after another, as if someone were walking, footprints appeared.
Conall had heard of unnatural things happening in the world but never gave the stories much credence. Yet something unnatural was happening before his eyes right now. Was this magic? His heart raced, and he was suddenly warm. Uncertain what to do, he hunkered down behind the fence and collected his thoughts.
He realized that whoever or whatever this being was, it was likely the one taking the family gold. By rendering itself invisible to the eye, it had been able to access the interior of the manor and steal his inheritance.
Having no experience with magical beings, Conall had no idea what this individual was capable of. Did it have the power to harm him? To use powers against him in some unnatural way? It was possible, but by God, he was not going to let an invisible thief get away with robbing his family. He stood up from behind the wall ready to take action.
The steps began forming in the snow at a quicker rate. The thief is running away! Conall’s first instinct was to run after him, following the prints in the snow. But he hesitated. He didn’t know what to do if he caught the thief or what the thief could do to him. He may have weapons. While invisible, he could strike with impunity. Conall decided he had best recruit help.
His parents were away for the day, so he ran into the house and called for his two brothers. “Laughlin! Meyler!” He opened a hall trunk and retrieved weapons. “Come quick! The gold thief escapes.”
“What is it you say?” asked Laughlin, appearing in the hall, frowning.
“As we speak, the gold thief runs away,” replied Conall, examining a hand knife and handing it off to his brother. “He has rendered himself invisible to the eye, but I spotted his prints in the snow even as he was making them.”
“Invisible?” asked Meyler, quickly descending the stairs. “Do you mean magic?”
“Aye,” said Conall. “It must be. So I did not dare pursue him alone. Quickly, don your coats and grab a sword.”
Laughlin and Meyler threw on their boots while Conall handed each one a sword. “Make haste!” he cried.
Conall made for the door with a long sword in hand. “We shall pursue the thief and offer him his just desserts, magic or no magic,” he called over his shoulder. His brothers followed, struggling into their coats.
“Are you sure this is the wisest course?” asked Meyler, stepping out into the cold.
“Blast you, Meyler. Would you have this thief rob us blind and get away with it?”
“No. Of course not,” replied Meyler, “but if this being possesses magic, perhaps we could be better prepared.”
“I side with Conall,” said Laughlin. “Yes, we could be better prepared, but we must take advantage of our opportunity. We may not get another one.” By now they were at the front gate, crossing the courtyard with long strides.
“Come!” cried Conall. He showed them the tracks in the fresh snow. He bent down to carefully examine them for the first time. “Hmm…notice the strange shape of the print. It is wide and short.” His brow wrinkled as he studied it. In all his tracking and hunting experience, he had never seen such prints.
Laughlin and Meyler nodded. Since the evening’s snow was new, following the strange footprints would present no challenge.
They followed the trail for several miles across field and pasture until they approached a cluster of hills broken with rocky outcroppings.
“He seeks refuge in the Donny Hills,” guessed Conall.
Meyler looked ahead. “Perhaps he knows we pursue him.”
“Aye,” said Laughlin, “and it would be a simple matter to ambush us in one of the little canyons that abound in those hills. Especially if one is invisible.”
“As far as we know, there is only one of him,” pointed out Conall.
“Maybe,” said Meyler. “But he possesses magic and we do not.”
Conall walked beside the line of footprints. “Just stay alert.”
They followed the trail into the heart of the Donny Hills. There, the strange prints le
d into one of the small canyons. The three brothers remained on high alert as they entered it, but there was no confrontation. Instead, the trail led them to the back of the canyon where it abruptly ended at a vertical cliff. It was as if the thief had walked through solid stone. They all three stood there in a line facing the cliff, lost in confusion at the impasse.
“Is this more magic?” asked Meyler. Conall shrugged.
“Where could he have gone?” asked Laughlin.
Conall looked up to the top of the wall. The rim of the canyon was at least twenty feet over their head and sheer, sprinkled with snow and ice. “There is no way he climbed out.”
“Unless he used his magical powers to fly,” suggested Meyler.
“If he could do that, why did he walk this far before taking flight?” scoffed Conall. After a few moments of thought, he said, “Stay here.”
He exited the canyon and wound around to its other side, approaching the sheer cliff from above. He looked down at his brothers.
“I espy no sign of the thief on this ledge,” he called down. “Let’s scour the area. There must be some evidence of his movements.”
Laughlin pointed to a giant boulder sitting in the center of the box canyon. “He could be sitting atop that great rock giggling at us this very moment.”
Meyler scooped up a handful of snow and hurled a snowball over the top of the boulder. Nothing impeded its flight.
“Nope,” he said. “I don’t think so.”
They spent an hour traipsing around the canyon and several others adjoining it but found no sign of the gold thief other than the original tracks that led them there. The cold began to numb their extremities.
“What do we do now?” asked Meyler.
Conall shook his head slowly. “The thief has gotten away. There is nothing more to do. Let’s find a warm hearth.”
“Nay,” said Laughlin. “I have an idea. We are a poor match for a magical being. So we need a magical being as our ally.”
Conall stared mutely at his younger brother for a moment, but then his eyes opened wide and he nodded. “You mean the Lady of the Mist, don’t you?”
“Aye,” said Laughlin. “We go to Saler Swamp and summon her aid. We pit magic against magic.”
“The Lady of the Mist!” exclaimed Meyler, his voice incredulous. “A spirit from another world? Would you jump from the frying pan into the fire?”
“It is true no one knows where she comes from,” replied Conall. “But I’ve heard she helps those in need. Perhaps she would help us.”
“We may as well try,” said Laughlin. “She may refuse but unless we ask, we will not know.”
“She may do more than refuse,” said Meyler. “Therein lies the problem.”
“It’s our only option,” said Conall. “Otherwise, this invisible thief can continue to come into our home unimpeded.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a golden guinea. “It is said that gold is required to summon her, and gold I have. Let’s head to Saler Swamp.”
Seventeen
Later in the day, their breakfast with Shelly and Grace still fresh in their minds, Jessica and Riley were eager to escape the confines of Connaree Manor. They crossed the broad pasture, climbed the dry-stone fence to the dirt lane, scampered down the slope below the wooden bridge, and then waded down the creek. When they reached the mossy bank of their hidden paradise, they set their shoes down and walked barefoot across the soft, green carpet to their favorite trees, where they sat down and leaned against the gnarly trunks.
Jessica took in the green, enchanting environment, let out a long sigh, and felt her body relax. Their magical little forest was the perfect escape from the drama at Connaree Manor. Somehow, word had already gotten back to Aunt Noreen and Uncle Basil about their exchange with Shelly and Grace during breakfast, and they had confronted them about it. They wondered why she and Riley had been so unfriendly, and even confrontational. Jessica had tried to defend their actions, but Aunt Noreen would have none of it. She said she was disappointed in the ungenerous way they had treated their guests. That one can disagree with someone in a diplomatic, polite manner. If they didn’t improve their attitude, word would get around and they wouldn’t have any friends this summer. Uncle Basil had stood quietly by, clearly unhappy.
Jessica wondered if they would tell her parents. She would have to talk to them herself and explain her side of the story. But the only phone was the landline in the living room, so she would have to wait for a time when she had that room to herself.
“You know,” said Riley, looking up through the lush tree canopy, where golden afternoon light illuminated the sea-green spring leaves, “Shelly and Grace are a couple of losers, but I never figured them to be tattletales.”
“We’re in a new country now,” replied Jessica. “I guess things are different here. Small towns, small minds, though. Same as at home.”
“Yeah, maybe,” returned Riley, scowling. “But it sucks.”
Jessica nestled her back into the bark of the broad trunk of her tree and looked through the sunlit branches toward the back of their sanctuary. She could barely make out the stone cliff-face wall that enclosed the parcel of trees. She reached out and caressed the thick carpet of moss. It felt cool and slightly moist. The smell of clean earth was strong.
Maybe her parents were right. Louisville seemed a long way away, along with all her unpleasant memories of that horrible day on Lake Nolin. The long hours of work she had put in at Against Drunk Boating, making phone calls and asking for money, had taken her mind away from her troubling thoughts, from her unavoidable conclusion that she was a terrible person for letting Curtis die. For being responsible. But even while she was making calls, the thoughts continued to haunt her. But here in the forest, she felt different. She felt better.
“At least we have this place,” she said. “We’ll just spend our whole summer here.”
“Yeah, I feel good here,” Riley replied and patted the roots of the tree he was leaning against. “I love these trees, especially the three big ones.” He craned his neck to look toward the sky at the grand branches and profusion of leaves spreading across and above them like a protective forest ceiling.
Jessica knew what he meant. The forest had plenty of old, stately trees. But the three big ones had more character. They weren’t as tall as some, but their bark was knobby and dark, and their thick, strong branches swept out in all directions.
She giggled. “Well, maybe they can be our friends.”
“They might be the only ones we have this summer,” Riley mumbled.
Jessica looked at Riley and smiled. “I think Grace liked you. I bet she would be your special friend if you wanted her to be.” Jessica emphasized the word special by winking at Riley.
“Yeah, whatever,” Riley replied. “No thanks.”
Jessica sometimes gently prodded Riley to take advantage of his opportunities to develop friendships and maybe more with the pretty girls who were interested in him. Although he was short, he had a cute face and a sweet personality. But he usually ignored them. He liked girls as friends well enough but seemed to prefer the company of his male friends. Jessica had come to accept that about her little brother.
“I really don’t need new friends,” he added, looking up at the sky pensively. “I’ve got friends at home.”
“Like Dylan?” Jessica asked, rolling over on her side to see Riley’s face, studying him.
“Yeah, like Dylan,” replied Riley, looking down at the moss. “We make a good team at the theater. We laugh a lot when we hang out. But he got kinda pissed when I told him I had to leave.” He frowned.
“Well, I’m sure the two of you will patch things up when you get back. You have that to look forward to, you know. I, on the other hand…” Jessica’s voice quivered and her words trailed off. Emotion sometimes took her so suddenly it was embarrassing. She rolled over again onto her back.
“Ah, Jess. Don’t think about that,” Riley said softly.
“I can’t help it!” She put both hands to her face, rubbing vigorously as if to rub away memories. “I think of Curtis everywhere I go.” She dug her hands into the moss, feeling the moist carpet envelop her fingertips. “I do think of him less here in this forest.”
Now might be a good time to tell Riley, she thought. They were bonding. If someone else knew it was her fault Curtis died, it would be such a relief. But what would he think? Maybe here, with no one else but me every day, he would be more sympathetic. She weighed it in her mind. Her fear of his reaction was strong, but her cross was terribly heavy, and it was bringing her down.
It was the same feeling she always got before going into confession with Father Mark. That ashamed, embarrassed feeling. But saying it—admitting it—to someone else was worse. She couldn’t help but worry about what Father Mark would think.
The idea of searching her past for everything she’d done wrong since the last confession was such a downer. How much should she tell? How could she make it sound a little better coming out? Sister Rose always said, “But then God already knows.” But if he did, what the hell was the point?
This was different, though. This was serious. No little kid stuff anymore, like telling a little lie or cursing. This was life, death, and blame.
Unbidden and unwelcome, the memory of Curtis’s wake came into Jessica’s mind. She remembered sitting with Curtis’s sister outside on a bench. Jessica liked Caroline a lot because she was serious and mature and beautiful; Jessica secretly wanted to be like her when she was twenty-one. They’d had many conversations over the short time she and Curtis had dated, mostly during the weekends when Caroline was at home from college. Caroline treated Jessica more like a peer and less like a simple high school girl.
Sitting outside that day, they were both devastated by the tragedy and tried to console each other—one who had known Curtis his entire life and one just beginning to. The memory of the wake was bitter, but her thoughts of Caroline were sweet, helping her to be strong while allowing them both to grieve openly. They hugged each other often during that time, crying together.