Hope from the Ocean: (The Prequel to Fireflies )

by P. S. Bartlett

  “Why did ye do that?”

  “You should not touch me zis vay. You are leafink and I vill look into my hand for your lips and fint nossing.” Raina’s eyes filled with tears and she left the room before Owen could find two words to put together to stop her. As brilliant as he was, she’d left him with only the taste of raw potatoes and cabbage on his lips and his heart about to break his ribs.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Upon Dell’s return from his job search, something was different about him and he arrived home at least an hour early.

  “Dell, what a surprise, dear! Dinner won’t be ready fer quite a bit,” Kathryn blurted in surprise, taking his hat and coat and hanging them for him. The garments carried all of the familiar odors, yet once removed from them, he did not. Instead, he smelled of a vigorous walk in the cold city air but bore not even a hint of alcohol. Kathryn followed him into the den and fluffed a pillow for him in his favorite leather chair. She stood behind him for a few moments, breathing in his scent just to be sure and patted his thick shoulders.

  “Don’t fuss about me wife, I’ve thinkin’ ta do. I don’t normally think well on a empty stomach but I suppose I’m not too old yet to try somethin’ new,” he grumbled. “Not sayin’ I didn’t have plenty of time walkin’ back from the trolley stop or ridin’ the damn thing or even in between lookin’ for window signs for job openins’.”

  “Ye just clear yer head, dear, and I’ll see if I can’t move things along in the kitchen.” She swept from the room in a flash.

  Dinner was nearly ready every evening by five o’clock, in hopes that Dell would arrive someday on time. Kathryn was an optimist among many other things and tonight, the vegetables would be firm and the meat would have texture and hang on when it touched their forks. This meal had the potential of being the finest ever eaten since the Whelans had arrived.

  Less than thirty minutes later, they were all seated and a peculiar hush blanketed the room but for Dell’s usual eating noises and a comment or two on the quality of the food. Owen had long since looked to Rachel for approval of his table manners or even his dinner conversation but on this night, neither mattered since no one spoke until finally, Kathryn brought up Owen’s fabulous news. She may have seemed unimpressed at the time she’d heard it but the opportunity to brag to anyone who would listen was wasting as the clock ticked, even if it was only to Dell.

  “Ye want to be a doctor, boy?”

  “Aye, sir, I do.”

  “Well, looks like a stroke of luck hit ye smack on the noggin’, then.”

  Dell’s reaction was far below what Kathryn hoped but sober, he was not a happy man. Sober Dell was a brooding, bitter man, angry at the world—even if he contained most of it through silence. However, silence wasn’t their friend and although at times his inebriated self was obnoxious and crude, the sober, silent Dell was almost terrifying. Whether he was drinking or not, the energy of the time bomb counting down within him was ever present and even a meal such as this was impossible to fully enjoy. The only solace in this supper was that it was brief. They didn’t have to sit through waiting for him to finish a sentence because half way though it he’d lose his train of thought. They ate in quiet but certainly not in peace.

  Rachel had several times looked up from her plate, feeling Dell’s glare upon her. This sudden display of self-discipline on his part was not self-imposed at all and only she, Dell and Raina knew it. Now, with his blaming eyes upon her, Rachel avoided eye contact with him. She knew in his dependent mind, he was holding her accountable for his abstinence and she could feel his resentment. She forced her supper into her mouth and swallowed gulps of water in between bites, first to oblige Kathryn’s request and second, to keep busy. Owen was pleased with her appetite and smiled continuously at her, each time she looked up until finally, he too could see behind Dell’s sober façade. Owen knew his Uncle hadn’t had some epiphany that morning which kept him off the pub stools all day, once his thoughts turned from himself and grasped the full picture of his dinner companions. He was so preoccupied with his good news he didn’t see that a drinking man like Dell would not suddenly climb on the wagon without a boost.

  “I’ll call Raina to clear the dishes,” Rachel said, rising from her seat.

  Only Dell’s eyes followed her from the table. It was as if he could see through the back of his head when she passed behind his chair on her way out of the room. Owen was wise to the undercurrent flowing around him. He too began to stand and excuse himself, gathering dishes and silverware without so much as a grunt from Dell. Dell only spoke a few words before standing and returning to his den, and those were to Raina, as she stood waiting for him to set down his fork for the last time.

  “That was a fine meal.”

  Rachel motioned to Owen to follow her upstairs to her room once the dishes were collected and Raina had begun to wash them.

  “Raina, I’m rather full and tired. Ye don’t mind if I leave ye to this tonight do ye?”

  “No Mum. Sleep vell,” Raina answered, not once looking in Owen’s direction.

  Dell walked through the parlor and around the stair case and using the other entrance to the den. He chose the path where he wouldn’t need to either avoid or contact anyone else on the way. Kathryn however followed him into the den and pulled both doors closed.

  “Are ye feelin’ poorly Ma’?”

  “No, I’m a bit fuller than usual but I’m well son. I only wanted to take a minute and explain this evenin’’s unusual mood.”

  Rachel sat on the bed and took Owen’s hand to sit beside her.

  “First I want ta tell ye how proud I am of ye. No mother could ever be more pleased with a child. Life has rushed by these past several months and I knew ye were bright and ye have instincts and maturity beyond yer years. I feel sometimes as if ye were meant…”

  “Ye don’t need to talk about that. I need to say somethin’ to ye.” Owen sat up straight and took a deep breath, blowing the air out through his mouth. “My whole life,” he paused, rubbing his hands down over his trousers and taking another deep breath which now, Rachel knew was in effort to release the emotion building inside him. “I didn’t know who I was. From the time I was born, nothin’ made sense ta me. Everythin’ I did and everywhere I went–I never felt a part or as if I belonged there. Every day that feelin’ inside me slips away little by little and a sense of meself, a sense of who I truly am, takes its place,” he spoke, placing his hand on his chest.

  “Owen, I…”

  “Please, let me finish. This is my world. You, America, me schoolwork and even me friends are who I am now and it’s right. For the first time in me life, Ma, I don’t want to run away from anythin’. I want to run towards somethin’.” He leaned over and placed his head in Rachel’s lap. She cradled it and stroked his thick brown hair. “Oh son, I know our lives aren’t perfect but we’ll run towards yer future together. Soon, I’ll find us a sweet little house close to yer school and every sad and painful memory will be erased to make room for that future.”

  Owen sat up and wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve.

  “Wait just a moment. I have somethin’ fer ye.” Rachel pulled out a flat box wrapped in paper and tied with ribbon from the drawer of her chiffarobe and handed it to Owen. “I was goin’ to save this for Christmas but proper men don’t go around wiping their eyes and noses on their shirt sleeves, now, do they?”

  “Ma, ye didn’t have ta buy me anythin’.”

  “Just open it.”

  “Ah, handkerchiefs, very nice Ma. What’s this?” In the corner of each handkerchief, she had embroidered his initials in blue. The letters “OW” rested in a sprig of wheat and angel wings.

  “Ma, these are too beautiful ta use.”

  “Oh, ye’ll use them or give them back.” She laughed.

  He returned them to the box, placed the lid on and asked, “What did ye want to tell me?”

  “Only that I plan to sell the silver and jewelry I carried with me next week so that I
can begin my search for a house.” She took a deep breath. “I had words with Dell this mornin’.”

  “What happened? I’ll go down there now and take care of him!”

  “Ye’ll do no such thing. I can handle him meself and I’d say I did a good job too, considerin’ his sober state this evenin’, but I’m not foolish enough to believe it’ll stick.”

  “What’s yer worry?”

  “He didn’t not drink by his own choice, he did it outta shame. Shame doesn’t make people change. It can only make things worse. He has to want to stop and the bad thing is the next time he picks up the drink, he’ll be starvin’ fer it and drink even more.”

  “How do ye know all this, Ma?”

  “I just know. Keep yer distance from him, sober or drunk until we’re able ta leave. Promise me that, will ya?”

  “I promise but if he gives ye any trouble…”

  “He won’t,” Rachel insisted, grabbing Owen’s hands hard and pulling them to her. He flinched in pain and pulled back.

  “What is it?”

  “Me bad hand is all. After all this time, it’s still tender in spots.”

  “Why don’t ye go walk Raina home and I’ll turn in. I’ve this book to finish,” she said, picking it up from her night stand.

  “I don’t believe she’d want me to.”

  “Oh, my goodness yer bein’ ridiculous now. Why on earth wouldn’t she?”

  “I told her of me good fortune and invited her ta come visit when we move. She hushed me and, well, I don’t think she believed me.”

  “Yer her only friend, ye know? Go to her and make her see ye mean what ye say. Go,” Rachel said, pushing him to his feet and towards the door.

  “I hear Dell comin’ up the stairs. He must be goin’ to bed. I’ll just stand here a minute until the door closes.”

  “Owen please, I’ll be fine.”

  He waited anyway. Upon hearing the door close and the lock turn, he stepped out of the room and made his way back downstairs to walk Raina home. When he reached the kitchen, only Kathryn stood placing plates in the cabinet. He looked at the hook by the back door and Raina’s coat was gone but a hint of cool air lingered in the room, which told him she’d only just departed.

  He burst out the back door and spotted her silhouette a few yards from the house and ran to catch up to her.

  “I wanted ta walk ye home,” he panted.

  “I know ze vay,” she stated, steadily walking.

  “Well, a course ye do, but it’s dark and cold. I thought we could talk about what happened.”

  “Where is your coat and hat?”

  “I forgot them. Raina, will ye slow down? Yer long legs are too fast fer me.” He laughed, making plumes of frosted breath in front of his face. He darted ahead and stood in front her, blocking her path, clutching at himself for warmth. Raina stopped as well, with her hands stuffed into her pockets and a scarf tied tightly around her head.

  “I wasn’t teasin’ ye before. I really do want ye to come and see me at school and maybe take a walk and see the town.”

  “It does not matter vat you vant or vat I vant O’en Vhelan. Vat matters is I work, efery day. I have my Aunt and Uncle and I am not to do zose tinks vis you. If I disobey, zey vill send me back and I don’t vant to leafe…now.”

  “Ye don’t work on Sunday,” Owen said, taking her arm under his and continuing towards her house.

  “You go back now. My aunt vatches for me. If she sees you, she get angry.”

  Owen obeyed Raina’s order and released her arm but held her hand for a moment before letting her go. “I’ll see ye tomorrow Raina.”

  She didn’t answer him but instead, continued on and didn’t look back.

  Chapter Nineteen

  After years of having no direction, Owen finally believed that there can be a great deal of comfort in having a goal and working hard to achieve it. The comfort comes from knowing you’ve something to look forward to that you know you can depend on. Having someone to share it with gives the goal the affirmation you need when you’re still discovering who you are. Owen’s goal was so close he could taste it now, almost as tangible as the cranberries, mixed with potatoes and turkey gravy on his fork as it touched his awaiting tongue.

  Thanksgiving was an American holiday but oh, how he wished the whole world had this mouthful. The tarty sweetness of the berries and the rich turkey grease-infused gravy declared him a citizen of America—as far as he was concerned. He was thankful for everything in his life. This one unique meal defined his identity more than his name on his admission papers to college. The comfort it provided as he sat across from his dear Rachel and even his aunt and uncle allowed him for the moment to imagine he’d found his own Tír na nÓg and he had no regrets or nostalgic longings for anything beyond American shores.

  Reflecting was time unwell spent and forward thinking, imagining school and new friends who shared his passion and interest, consumed his thoughts. Even before his plate was wiped clean with a dinner roll, his mind was in a medical book. He restrained himself from asking to be excused while he waited for his uncle to finish mopping up his own plate, and he dreamed of having this meal alone with Rachel with a book open in front of him as he ate. Unlike Dell, who’d surely ban any book from dinner, she would never deny him anything he wanted as long as it was in his best interest. Studying and taking advantage of his God given talents were pursuits she would never discourage and he knew that allowing him to study at the dinner table would fill her with joy, not ruin her meal.

  “Who’s doin’ that?” Dell groaned, setting his fork down on his dish.

  “Doin’ what?” Kathryn asked.

  “Who’s shakin’ the damn table? My fork doesn’t sit steady in me hand as it is these days!”

  Owen’s feet were up on their toes and he hadn’t realized his anxious need to escape the table were making them bounce and in effect, the table as well. He immediately put his hands on his thighs and steadied them, stopping the unconscious movement, and gave Rachel an apologetic look. This simple involuntary action caused a memory to resurface and it shook him briefly until his aunt spoke of sweet potato pie, bringing him back to the present.

  “Dell, are you ready for dessert?” Kathryn inquired, changing the subject.

  “If I can eat it without chasin’ it, yes.”

  Raina had barely spoken to Owen in the past week. Any attempt he’d made at a conversation with her, no matter how insignificant, was met with nods or yeses and nos. She was walled up inside of fear and he saw neither a door nor a window to access her. He made up his mind not to give in to her rejection but rather to devise a plan that would lower that wall enough that he could climb over it and have his friend back. He’d all but given up any romantic pursuits. She’d made it clear his advances were unwanted yet he was infatuated with her beautiful accent, her golden hair and that big wide smile he hadn’t seen in over a week. He decided he would write her a letter.

  While he’d waited for dinner to end, so many things had flowed easily into his mind to say and now, as he sat with the yellow light of his desk lamp casting its golden glow on the blank paper, all he wanted to tell her was that he loved her. He didn’t understand what love was. All he knew was what he felt when her fingers touched his mouth and the sensation of her hand in his. He’d felt a girl’s hand in his before but the sensation and the situations were like night and day.

  He could never write “I love you,” but he could at least say how much he valued her company and friendship. He filled the pen and the first words at last began to flow:

  My Dear Friend Raina,

  I’m writing to you because you will not see me when I’m around you. You used to smile at me and laugh at my stories but ever since that day, you have not once smiled or laughed and I miss you very much.

  I’m sorry for the many times I was too busy with my friends and school to talk to you. That was unfair of me to treat you so unkind. You deserved me to be a better friend than that.

 
I’m sorry most of all for upsetting you and I would never want to do anything to cause you trouble with your family. I only wish for you to be happy. I hope you never have to go home to Germany and that you will always be my friend. When I move to Center City and start college, I truly want you to come and visit us and perhaps we can take a carriage ride.

  With…

  He stopped. His hand was about to pen the word he knew he misunderstood. He contemplated asking his mother’s advice on how to close the letter properly. It dawned on him that this was the first letter he had ever written and might very well be the most important. If he didn’t get this right, it could end up being a tragic mistake. He didn’t want to once again upset Raina and have her think he was leading her on or teasing her. He crumpled the letter up and started again. Unconsciously, he was making the first important decision of his life in this new world without consulting Rachel, yet he filled the pen again and started over.

  My Dear Friend Raina,

  I am sorry if I’ve upset you. I want us to talk again and I miss your smile. Please speak to me. I wish to apologize. I won’t ever do anything again to anger you so. I hope you never have to leave America.

  Your Friend,

  Owen

  He read and reread the letter at least twenty times. He believed there was nothing he’d written which could either lead her on or think him making a jest. His eyes were starting to burn in the dim lamplight but he secretly hoped she was still in the kitchen cleaning up so he could give the letter to her. Then he faced a new dilemma: how could he simply hand her a letter as distant as she was? Surely she would never accept it.