The Prince of Almond Manor

by Gregory Jonathan Scott

  A funny thing happened when Oakland spoke to the bird. Betty Lu looked at him, turned around and walked back into the house as if she understood exactly what he had told her to do.

  Oakland patted his tightly trimmed hair, pressed the shirt that was loosely hanging down his front side and pushed most of the fabric into the waistband of his pants at his backside. He held his head up, tugged the lapels on his jacket and walked to the front of the Manor where he’d quietly enter as a guest.

  The homobirduals, Razzle and Dazzle, as he’d named them, scampered in front of him as if passing on a reminder it was okay for two chaps to be companions.

  Oakland found himself at the top of the stairs outside. He’d become tense. He couldn’t budge. His feet remained frozen to the ground.

  What was he doing? This was crazy.

  He stood outside for a couple of minutes, contemplating if it was better to run back home or go inside. His body was restless to hightail it out of there, but his head was itching to bust through the door and find a seat inside that fabricated chapel.

  As luck would have it, there wasn’t anybody at the entry once he’d become brave enough to open the door. He stepped inside and immediately looked around. Gleaming gray and white had covered the room, gushing from every corner. Sparkles flashed, bouncing off every wall.

  He was pretty certain there’d be a slim chance he’d make it down the front stairway unnoticed, forcing a new plan to revisit the secret passageway Deklan had taken him down before.

  Oakland thought back to the kitchen raid and mapped out the halls in his head all over again. It was easy to reimagine, and since the second level appeared vacant, he crept along the wall to the left, and then made a right. Oakland passed Deklan’s room, fighting his urge to stop, kick the door in, and take claim to his man who probably wasn’t there. Dousing that thought, he’d taken another left until he reached the stairway behind the bogus bookshelf at the end of the hall.

  His anxieties slightly settled once he was safely behind the secret doorway. Just like before, the narrow tunnel was extremely dark, and the only way to find the bottom was to cautiously toe tap each step while running a hand along the walls at either side. It seemed like a long way down in the dark, but he’d eventually come to see light at the end of the tunnel.

  Before creeping through that storage room door, he centered an eye to the peep hole and looked through. It appeared empty, compelling him to make a move.

  The door to the kitchen was straight ahead, his attention captured by the bright light stretched across the floor through the crack at the bottom and the small window top center.

  Maximizing caution, he slowly pushed the door open.

  “Bollocks!”

  Somebody was coming.

  Letting the door close, he scurried away and hid behind a large trunk set in the back corner of the room. He hung there for a few moments, waiting for the area to clear.

  He’d gone for the door again, giving it a slight push.

  “Bollocks!” Not again.

  Another visitor had come into the kitchen and Oakland’s intuition told him they weren’t stopping there. He rushed behind the bookshelf he’d come through and waited. After a few minutes he returned to the store room and like a stalker who had a deviant mission, peeked through the lower corner of the small window, watching Wattsworth glance around while counting on his fingers.

  What was he doing?

  The lanterns in the kitchen dimmed and Oakland saw Wattsworth leaving. But, the moment Oakland started pushing the door open again, he caught a glimpse of light flickering outside the kitchens main entryway.

  “Bollocks! What now? Who is it this time? Wattsworh?”

  If Oakland hadn’t gotten out of that closet soon, he was going to miss the sketchy nuptials. He let the door go and it bumped his toe with a thud. He winced. Not because it hurt, but because he feared whoever was lurking on the other side had heard the thump.

  The light he saw from the incoming lantern flashed across the far wall. It was Wattsworth again, returning to the kitchen for some reason. Oakland stayed quiet, keeping an open eye pressed to the windows corner, waiting for the man to leave.

  Finally, Wattsworth had left the kitchen.

  Solitude.

  Maybe?

  Oakland grabbed a broomstick and a dust collection tray from the closet he’d been hanging out in for ten minutes, tiptoed quietly through the kitchen and out into the hallway. The prop he carried had been used to make believe he was part of the cleaning crew and hoped it would fool anybody who might come across him in a place he shouldn’t be.

  The layout of the hallway was the same as it was upstairs, helping Oakland keep his bearings while wandering the part of the big house he wasn’t too familiar with. He noticed several doors lining the inside wall and presumed they opened up to the great room where the wedding was about to take place. Hearing several voices behind those doors had nearly proven he was correct.

  Oakland cracked the first door he’d come to and peeked in. He spotted what might have been the front of the chapel. Somebody was on a platform lighting candles and he’d seen a few rows of forward facing chairs. He kept moving.

  Before opening the last door he’d come to, he hid the broom and dust collector behind a drape in the hallway. His nerve endings had about burst through his skin and the booming in his chest continued increasing.

  After taking a deep breath, he daringly proceeded, putting on a phony smile even though he was troubled inside. Noisy whispers were resonating from every chair. Everyone appeared as though they were making efforts to remain well-mannered, patiently waiting for the duo cord orchestra to start playing, signaling the start of the wedding.

  As Oakland had discovered, everybody packed into the front rows, leaving the rear of the room mostly vacant. Oakland chose a seat toward the back, yet near others to help remain somewhat veiled. He felt relaxed, finally finding his safe-spot after sneaking inside walls like a dirty rat. While he sat there, his leg had gone twitch-crazy, bouncing up and down as if it wanted to get up and run on out the door.

  He sat like everybody else, waiting patiently. He clutched a hand over the pendant beneath his shirt, making sure the magical jewel hadn’t disappeared.

  The hum of the musical cellos played and the crowded room begun to politely turn quiet. Rustling fabrics made noise as everybody stood and shifted to face the back doors where the wedding couple would soon appear.

  Then Oakland saw what he had come to see. The vision he’d been eager to lay his eyes upon, yet dreading all the same. His heart ached as if it had been wound tight with barbed rope and securely padlocked.

  Deklan stood in the back doorway to Oakland’s right, the side he always occupied when the two of them were together. The man was elegantly dressed, downright stunning. There were no other words that could properly describe him. The white shirt, black and gray diagonally striped tie and the neatly pressed black against black pinstriped suit with a deep-V lapel turned Deklan into one of the most handsome men Oakland had ever seen. He was crisp and clean, strong and dignified, so beautiful—inside and out. Oakland couldn’t breathe. That man was his and he could only sit there watching him get taken away.

  Occupying the spot at Oakland’s far left where he himself should have been standing was the damsel in pure white silk and lace—her face covered with a fine netted veil, leaving her features barely visible. The wedding couple had been divided by nearly twenty chairs lining the back, each standing at their own entrance, and Oakland wished the separation would stay that way forever. The dame was closing in on his man and the way it appeared, the couple remaining separated forever the way he wanted wasn’t going to happen.

  Oakland continued holding his breath, choking back sadness and hiding the tears behind a sniffle and a cough. He was the only one in the room who had taken a seat before the march of the wedded had gotten started. It might have been a sign of disrespect, but he couldn’t stand a minute longer and watch the insanity pla
y out in front of him. Oakland’s legs had given in to weakness and his quivering chin had made it impossible to keep his sadness confined to only himself. He was breaking into pieces and near sure his reaction was becoming visible to those around him.

  Nearly every eye had been pinned on the bride except for one person a couple rows ahead of Oakland, whom had seemed to notice he’d taken his seat before he should have. The tall thin chap must have been concerned, as he hadn’t looked away from Oakland for a moment, not even as much as a glance at the bride or groom.

  The man who spotted Oakland left his own seat and had taken the one next to him. “You’re Oakland, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “How… how’d you know?” Oakland stammered.

  “I’m Jedidiah. Deklan’s friend. He told me about you, and from the look on your face and the way you have been observing him, I was pretty certain you were the secret boyfriend.” Jedidiah kept his tone low and breathy.

  Was Oakland that obvious?

  When Oakland heard, “The boyfriend”, he cracked a smile, looking at Jedidiah crossways beneath a lowered brow.

  The way Jedidiah was so intently observing Oakland, his subconscious mind had flashed an image of it being the mirror man sitting in that seat. Was it a disguised message telling Oakland to go get his man? He doubted the advice his head was giving him, sat tight and decided to behave.

  Instead of what Oakland understood to be a hallucination, he heard only a voice that time, possibly another message ringing in his head that told him to go after the man he loved. It had to be The Mirror Man speaking. He swore it was him. He’d heard his voice.

  Oakland turned toward Deklan and watched him, noticing he was rocking in a manner that displayed a nervous disorder.

  “It’ll be all right.” Jedidiah pressed his shoulder against Oakland’s.

  Oakland was thrilled to hear those words from Jedidiah. A part of him needed assurance from somebody other than himself. It somehow set the truth he’d been seeking into motion.

  The progression of the nuptials started moving on both sides of the room. Deklan walked one side while the damsel toe-tipped some strange skip and a hop on the other side, appearing to be tripping with every step.

  “That should be me,” Oakland thought. He watched the man he loved very closely, couldn’t take his eyes off him. Deklan looked so elegant, so regal, and all Oakland wanted to do was holler with anger. Even cry. He was breaking down. On the verge of falling to pieces. It felt as though he’d been stabbed in the chest over and over again with the dullest knife in the land.

  Noticeably depressed, Deklan walked toward the front of the room where the mountain of candles had been set aflame and flickering brightly. His hand lifted and rested over his lapel as if he was pledging allegiance to the Nations flag.

  At the same moment Deklan’s shirt shimmered beneath his hand, Oakland felt the pendant vibrate against his chest. The necklace and the shimmer in Deklan’s breast pocket seemed to be connecting, and since the Mirror Man had mentioned the ring and the necklace had a strong link, he was sure the shimmering in Deklan’s pocket was the ring.

  With his hand still pressed to his chest, gripping tightly, he noticed Deklan glancing around the room as if he was looking for someone, perhaps Oakland, the man he truly loved.

  Once eye contact had been made with his Prince, Oakland instantly recognized that slanted smile he’d always found charming. But little by little, over the next few seconds, the hum, the glow, and the link between the two metal pieces had begun to weaken. The further away from Oakland Deklan marched, the fainter the jeweled connection had become.

  Was he losing him? Was that a sign?

  This can’t be happening.

  The ache in Oakland’s chest tightened the further away Deklan had gotten from him, the ring and the necklace were separating.

  A thought occurred to Oakland just then.

  As with most nuptials, there was that upcoming awkward pause when the master of ceremonies would ask if anybody objected to the marriage. Even though they might be cast away by many of the people in the room, that would be his last and only chance to speak out. But how would he approach his disapproval without being stoned, or causing embarrassment to Deklan’s family when publicly pointing out their only heir was in love with another man instead of the lady standing next to him at the pulpit?

  The clock piece in his pocket reminded him that time was ticking and that notable pause was soon to be mentioned. Oakland’s hands were sweating profusely and his bleeding heart was racing.

  “Omigawd,” Oakland muttered for a different reason that time. His nerves were crawling and his body as though it was about to blow apart.

  “All is going to turn out well.” Jedidiah seemed to sense Oakland’s tension. He said again, “It’ll all work out.”

  Who is that man?

  In the back of Oakland’s mind, Jedidiah had to be another version of The Mirror Man. He felt it. The gentleman looked much different from the last time he’d met with the mirror man in the small carriage house, but to Oakland’s understanding, a fictitious character was able to change forms.

  Was he going mad?

  The words of confidence Oakland had heard from Jedidiah were that of which had been spoken by the fairy godfather before, and stranger occurrences had happened related to the Mirror man. All magical. He was quite sure the two were the same person.

  Oakland could see Deklan had become completely distracted. He might have been visibly on the platform with the bride-to-be and Parson Brown, but Oakland could tell he wasn’t all there by the way he was acting.

  The time had come.

  “Omigawd.” A sickly feeling had instantly come over Oakland. His tongue felt thick and his face was burning up.

  “Ladies and gentlemen”—Parishioner Parson looked out into the large crowd—“Does anybody have reason to believe these two should not be wed, if so, please stand and speak, or forever hold your thoughts.”

  Gretchen had intently kept her focus on Deklan while his head turned toward the guests. After momentarily glancing around the room, his gaze stopped on Oakland.

  Oakland swallowed, taking the lump in his throat further into my chest.

  Deklan glanced at his mother and then back at Oakland, smiling at Jedidiah as his gaze traveled by him.

  Oakland started to stand, but before he made it too far, Deklan’s hand gestured for him to stay seated, passing on a nod that appeared he would carry out what Oakland had been thinking of doing. At the same moment, Jedidiah tugged on Oakland’s coat tail, bringing him back to his chair.

  Deklan’s thoughts must have collided with Oakland’s somewhere along the way since they both seemed to have had the same idea at putting the wedding to a stop.

  Oakland had been pleasantly rescued by the man who loved him, leaving him in a better position, allowing him to pull in the reigns on what he had planned.

  Deklan dragged his hands through his hair, stopped the wedding and attested to the marriage, insisting it should not continue. “I’m sorry. I am truly, truly Sorry,” he repeated. “We cannot go on with this wedding. It’s a mistake.”

  In the front row, Deklan’s father had risen from his chair, scowled at his son and then looked back toward everybody seated, giving a phony smile, a nod, and a wave that appeared he was trying to let everybody know everything would move along as planned.

  Oakland was beaming, his smile super bright, and when he looked at Deklan’s mother, she was smiling too.

  Since it wasn’t going to matter anymore, Deklan lifted the lacey veil from in front of the brides face. She was a pretty little thing, but not the right type for Deklan as he and Oakland had both known.

  Oakland sensed Deklan was planning to explain to her and everybody else that he was in love with somebody else and it wasn’t fair to her or him to proceed with the wedding as scheduled.

  Deklan looked at the bride as if she was the only one in the whole place, and that pleasant voice Oakland heard sever
al times before had softly spoken, “Gretchen”—he’d gotten her name correct that time—“you and I have known of each other for only a few days. I’m far from comfortable moving forward with this wedding, or can I imagine you being content with the arrangement either.”

  She nodded as an unspoken gesture that she agreed with him completely.

  He placed her hand into his. “It’s important to me that I’m truthful with myself and to you. I wish that I had been strong enough to bring it up before this moment, but because I was afraid of hurting the people closest to me and not looking out for myself, I ended up allowing it to get this far. What I’m trying to say is—I need to step away from this wedding.”

  Gretchen’s eyes had gone soft, almost appearing as if she was relieved. She whispered, “It’s okay, Mister Deklan. I’m glad you said something before the ring was placed on my finger.”

  Deklan smiled at her and said, “You’re a beautiful person from what little I know, but I have to be true to myself by following my heart, and be with the one I really love.”

  Gretchen’s hand rested on Deklan’s cheek before she turned and walked away.

  Chapter 35

  Deklan’s Father stood with a glare shooting from his eyes that could have started a fire in a wet forest. His mind had to have been raging. “What have you done?” his mouth stayed shut. A good idea.

  In the meantime, Gretchen’s parents shuffled into the aisle and chased their child out the exit door. They scowled at Deklan as they passed by him first.

  Everybody involved should have known the wedding wouldn’t have ended well, had it been that day or in the future.

  On the other hand, Oakland was happy to see Gretchen flee. His plan wasn’t meant to be harsh, but it was the honest thing to do, and as heart wrenching as it was for everybody else, it was what it was. He sat quietly in the chair next to Jedidiah, or next to the mirror man so he’d thought, and waited for Deklan to make his next move.

  Without additional delay, Deklan turned toward all his parents’ friends sitting in the chairs and said nothing, just stared at everybody, almost appearing as though he was looking through them. A low tortured sigh had come out of him as he ascended from the platform and walked the same aisle he’d come down on the way in.