by S. A. Glenn
“Ahhh! That stings! I do need surgery!” He dropped his head, wagging it in misery.
“Your surgery is over. Doctor Nane:hi, at your service.”
“You said you were not going to tease me anymore!”
She giggled. “I am sorry, Love. Please, forgive me,” she begged, kissing him all over his face.
“Okay, okay, I will not hold a grudge.” He pulled up his trousers and gave her a colossal kiss on her soft lips.
“Let me get a cushion for you to sit upon, then let us eat.”
“Thank you, Nane:hi. What would I ever do without you?”
It was a cool, spring night, 1763. Mr. and Mrs. Nathan Blackwell had left Drury Lane Theater, deciding to take a leisurely walk to St. Martian-in-the Fields to catch a buggy ride home under the full moon.
“The air is quite crisp,” stated Nane:hi, tightening her shawl around herself.
“It is refreshing. I thought perhaps the fresh air would do you and the baby some good.”
“It is invigorating, I am sure it will . . .” She took in a breath full. “Oh, Nathan! I just felt the baby move. Put your hand right here.” She stopped their pace, grasped his hand and placed it over her rounded stomach. “There! Did you feel that?”
“Yes, I did . . .” He raised his brow in exhilaration. “Tell me again what day you predicted the baby would be born.”
“March 29th,” she reminded him, continuing their walk.
“That is right. I remember now.”
“And you predicted April 1st, Fool’s Day. Why would you want your child born on such a day?” She wagged her head with a smile.
“What, my lady?” He stopped their walk and turned to her. “Do you not think it would be hilarious? What a day for a birthday. One could have antics all day; I wish my birthday were then. I could play pranks to no end and get away with it. Who would scold me?” he laughed.
“I do not know about you sometimes, Nathan Lee Blackmore.”
“You love me, Nane:hi . . . you will put up with me.”
“Yes I will . . .”
They embraced with a long hug and kiss. Holding hands, they continued onward.
A few blocks before their destination they came to a dark and enclosed alleyway. A huge man jumped out from it, brandishing a large knife that glistened in the moonlight. He had a patch over his right eye and he was missing teeth, reeking of liquor and tobacco smoke. “Aye, maties!” he said, exhibiting an insidious smile. “Don’tcha bees thinkin’ ye’s gettin’ ‘way without payment, now!”
“Nathan! Oh my God!” said Nane:hi with a sharp, shrill cry.
“What a purty lass you are,” said the pirate, running his fingers through her hair.
“Unhand my wife, you vile creature!”
“Keep yer distance—er the lady gets hurt!” he growled, placing a knife to her throat.
“What do you want?!” demanded Nathan.
“Well . . .”—his voice became a whisper—“. . . I wants yer riches, and a piece of this young, sweet thing.” He ran his vulgar tongue up her cheek.
“She is with child! Have you not any morals?”
“I can fix that.” He glided the blade down her front, stopping at her belly.
Nane:hi gazed up at Nathan, petrified, begging him with her eyes not to do anything brash.
But he could not control himself, believing the scoundrel had gone too far: how dare he threaten the lives of his one-and-only truelove and unborn child! He darted in between Nane:hi and the cold, sharp, steel blade and grabbed the man’s wrist. He and Nathan struggled, holding each other, dancing to a deadly tune.
The intruder broke free from Nathan’s grasp, pushing him onto the ground. “Time for ye to die!” said the belligerent buccaneer in a deep, hollow voice as he charged Nathan like a raging bull.
“Not today!” Nathan displayed his finger with his statement. Being nimble, he swept his leg, tripping the ogre. Nathan jumped to his feet, ready for round two.
“Ye will pay dearly for that!” assured the pirate with his face down in the dirt. He stood, holding his weapon in front of him, switching it back and forth between his hands, eyes narrowing as he glared at Nathan, rushing him, swinging his blade.
Nathan avoided contact, taking hold of the man’s arm, jerking it down onto his knee, freeing the weapon from his grasp. Three swift punches to the face brought the assailant to his knees. With all his might, Nathan put one more blow to the man’s head, knocking him unconscious, dropping him to the ground.
Nathan kicked away the knife and turned to Nane:hi. “Are you alright?” He rested his concerned hand upon her face.
“Yes, my love. Thank God!” she exclaimed, hugging him—then her look turned to horror. “Nathan!”
The pirate was sitting, pulling out a small object from his boot. He stood. Not sure what to expect, Nathan quickly turned. The pirate placed his hand upon Nathan’s shoulder, thrust the thing deep into the royal messenger’s heart, dropping him to his knees. A blank stare fell over Nathan’s face as his breathing became shallow.
Nane:hi hurried around to her husband’s aid and pulled out a small dagger from his chest, blood gushing. “Ahhh!” she shrieked, placing her hand over his wound, dark-red oozing between her fingers, warm and sticky to her touch.
The pirate ran lamely away.
“Stop!” demanded a distant constable, blowing his whistle repeatedly.
“Nathan!” Nane:hi cried out, holding him from falling over. “You’re gonna be alright. Please! You’re gonna be alright!” she pled with a forced smile, eyes full of tears.
Nathan stared up at his wife, her image and voice fading; his body grew colder than he had ever felt. Not having enough energy to blink his dried-out eyes, his heart beat twice more. Stopped.
Nane:hi’s tears fell onto Nathan’s face as her head dropped forward. She caressed her husband’s lifeless body, rocking him back and forth. “What are our child and I going to do without you? What will we ever do without you?”
The villain was captured and found guilty of murder in trial—hanged by the neck till dead.
Nane:hi was at the river as a violent storm made its way toward her. The air was warm and still, the sky was overcast. Incredible pain overwhelmed her as she began her labor with a scream. A baby girl was born hours later, being cleansed in the cool water of The River Thames. When she was done, she took her daughter home, carrying a container of water, just missing the downpour.
The baby was born April 1st. Her name was April-Storm Marie Blackmore. She grew up knowing about the love her mother and father shared, understanding how dearly her father valued the two of them. Once a week Nane:hi dressed her daughter with colorful, silk ribbons and beads. They visited Nathan at his gravestone, standing next to each other, honoring a great husband and father.
THE GYPSY
Vladimir Asimov was speechless as he gazed sympathetically upon the couple. He interlocked his fingers, relaxing his hands on the table. Shaking his head, he lowered it.
In tears, Katherine took hold of Samuel’s hand, stroking it with her thumb. “That is horrible!” She dabbed the corners of her weeping eyes with a cloth. She stiffened her lips, trying to convince herself and Samuel with a forged smile and swift downward shake of her head that it was not real. “I do not trust those things happened!”
Alarmed about his believable past, Samuel peered back at Katherine as he lightly stroked his chest over his heart, adopting a phantom sting of frigid steel he was sure pierced his hollow beating, muscular organ once long ago. Samuel recalled his stepfather and his demise—what excruciating pain he must have endured. He wondered if he himself would get caught and be hanged by the neck till dead. Visualizing a noose, he grabbed his throat, swallowed hard. Or maybe things would turn out fine and he could have a long prosperous life he hope
d for. The loop and slipknot vanished from his mind. Not wanting anymore of his past to come about in case it revealed his mystery, he cleared the frog from his throat. He needed to know his fate, believing that that was a safer gamble. “Please, Mr. Asimov, tell me… what does the future hold for me and Katherine?”
“No, Samuel! No more!” Katherine beseeched him. “It is not right. Some things are not meant to be known!” She heard in her mind Reverend Papanikolaou expel those very words.
Feeling her squeeze his hand tight, he prayed in his thoughts, asking for her acceptance. “I must know, Kat. Please! I must know!” He peered into her eyes, seeking permission.
“Okay, Samuel, if you must…” She released her snug hold, showing him a compassionate smile.
“First,” said Vladimir Asimov, putting out his hand, “I need money. I have to make living at this.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Samuel reached deeper into his pocket, pulled out a nickel, and slid it to him. “Keep the change.”
“Very generous, sir. Now, for your future… Ahhh, yes, I see—smudge on glass—sorry. One moment, please.” He exhaled his hot breath upon the ball, wiping it off with his sleeve. He fixed his eyes on the crystal ball harder than before. “I see Katherine and you in front of home on hill. You two are very happy, things going well. What is this? The outsider? Oh!” he exclaimed, blinking twice, mouth gaping.
“What is it?” Samuel asked, Vladimir Asimov’s words being familiar.
“It is… No! No! No! Oh, Lord in heaven!” He backed away from the crystal ball, bumping the table with his knee, knocking the glass sphere off the stand.
“What is wrong?” Katherine asked.
“I must end passage. Here, take back nickel!” He frantically pushed away the money. “Is time for you to go!”
When Vladimir Asimov mentioned “the outsider”, Samuel felt a sense of déjà vu. Where had he heard that phrase before? “Please, sir! Tell me about the outsider.”
“Getting late! Sorry. Must close, now!” He stood up and hurried over to the door, showing his clients out with his hand.
“Come on, Sam. Let us not intrude upon Mr. Asimov.” She stood and took Samuel by the hand, barely able to get him to move.
“But who is the outsider? What has happened?” he pled, pointing at the displaced crystal ball as Katherine pulled him out the exit.
Samuel boosted Katherine up into the buggy then climbed aboard. Grasping the reins, he motioned for the horses to take them home. “I’m worried somethin’ bad’s gonna happen, Kat.” He peered at her feminine outline.
“Do not be. I’m sure he cannot tell the future.” She hid her worried face.
“But what about the things he said that we know to be true?”
“Coincidence! He got lucky guessing personal things about us. The rest of the stuff, one cannot prove whether it happened or not. He does that for a living, Samuel, and he is very good at it. I have to give him that,” she admitted, as though she were denying the reality of it all.
He scratched his head, not fully convinced of her explanation. “I don’t know, Kat. But, if you think so. Yah, horse,” he shouted, accelerating the animal’s pace.
CHAPTER 12
Sunday morning, Katherine and Samuel stood in front of Reverend Papanikolaou at the church’s entrance. Katherine stepped up to the reverend and smiled, but it wasn’t her usual big one. “Hello, Papa. Good to see your compassionate face.”
“Good morning, Katherine.” He took her hand. “Is everything okay? You don’t seem to be your routine, chipper self.”
“I’m fine, but may I speak with you after the sermon. Alone?” she whispered.
“Of course, child,” he winked.
“Thank you, Papa.”
“Samuel. Good to see you again, son. How is everything?” The reverend shook his hand.
“Good, Papa. Just somethin’ from last night that’s rattled my brains. Can I speak to you after everyone leaves?” he spoke quietly.
“You most certainly may…”
“Thank you, Papa.” Samuel made his way next to Katherine.
A slight breeze ran through the church, keeping it cooler than the week before. The room was peaceful except for the normal, occasional coughs and whispers. Everyone’s attention was on the reverend, aside from the parents keeping their children hushed.
Reverend Papanikolaou wandered up the aisle, stopping next to two little girls standing in the middle of it, giggling. He crouched, whispered to them, and had them nodding their heads yes then gracefully joining with their parents in the second row. He continued his journey. Hiking up two steps onto the stage, he stopped behind the podium and faced his parish. Flipping through his bible, he stopped at a marked page.
“I would like to thank all of you for attending my services today. As usual, the church is filled to its capacity. I can’t ask for a better outcome.” He hung the white-lace book marker over the podium. “I would like to start off the day with the truth… the truth in God’s words. Please, turn to Zachariah 8:16.” He cleared his throat and quoted: “‘these are the things that ye shall do; speak ye every man the truth to his neighbour; execute the judgment of truth and peace in your gates:
“‘And let none of you imagine evil in your hearts against his neighbour; and love no false oath: for all these are things that I hate, saith the Lord.’ Now, let me clarify all of this for you, my friends. What this is telling us is…”
Samuel listened to the interpretation but could not grasp how it applied to him about not telling others his full name or that he was on the run. He hoped he had not lied to these folks, but, yet wondered if not sharing the full state of things was a lie. He projected his hand, feeling edgy, searching for an answer.
“Yes Samuel. You have a question?” asked the reverend.
A few townsfolk pivoted, smiling and nodding as they granted his presence.
“I reckon I do, Papa,” he admitted, nervous with so many eyes upon him. “If a man tells the truth when asked a question but stops before he completes the answer, is that lyin’? Is it a sin?”
“Excellent questions, Samuel.” The reverend flipped through his bible. “Ah, yes. Here it is: Genesis 12:10. ‘Abram in Egypt’.”
The entire church echoed of thin papers ruffling as worshipers searched for the passage.
“‘And there was famine in the land:’” read the reverend. “‘And Abram went down into Egypt to sojourn there; for the famine was grievous in the land.
“‘And it came to pass, when he was come near to enter into Egypt, that he had said unto Sa’rai his wife, Behold now, I know that thou art a fair woman to look upon:
“‘Therefore it shall come to pass, when the Egyptians shall see thee, that they shall say, this is his wife: and when they will kill me, but they will save thee alive.
“‘Say, I pray thee, thou art my sister: that it may be well with me for thy sake, and my soul shall live because of thee.’
“So you see, ladies and gentlemen,” the reverend explained, “just because Abram and Sa’rai did not spill their guts about their entire life, that doesn’t constitute a deception. So, since Paraoh would have killed Abram, God’s servant, Abram had to do what was necessary to keep himself out of harm’s way in order to continue doing the Lord’s work: Sa’rai was Abram’s sister as well. Abram didn’t lie. Does that answer your question, Samuel?”
Samuel paused, pondered the answer. “I think so, Papa,” he remarked, wondering if he himself was doing the Lord’s work.
As the services concluded, Katherine stood at the end of a line of people heading out the door and made her way over to the reverend. “Hello, Papa. Thank you for being here for me.”
“Not a problem. What’s on your mind, child?” he asked, taking her hand.
“I feel horrible! Last night Samuel and I con
sulted a Gypsy. It was only for fun, Papa, but things he said scared me,” she admitted, clenching his hand.
“Oh! I see. What did he say that was so upsetting?”
“Things about Samuel’s and my past, a past we shared long ago… and about our future; though I don’t know what is to be of it: he would not continue to share that vision. I saw horror in the Gypsy’s eyes. I feel bad because I told Samuel it was ‘just for fun.’ He trusted me. But the experience got him riled up and frightened! I told him everything would be okay, but instead… I don’t know! And then there is the fact of rather or not I disobeyed God by seeing the Gypsy. I am so confused!” she stated, saying everything very fast.
“Calm down, Katherine. It will be okay. Come, sit down, relax.” He led her to a bench.
“Thank you, Papa.
“That’s my girl. Now, it is best not to meddle with these people or any other type of mystical materials. Some things are not meant to be known.”
“I know. I remember you saying that before. I guess I’m just stubborn headed,” she admitted, laughing.
“Everything is going to be okay. God does forgive us for our shortcomings. No matter what happens in our lives, He has a plan for us. Keep your faith.”
“Thank you, Papa. I will… You are always able to help me see the light. See you next Sunday.” She made her way to the door.
Lingering alone by a table, glancing inside a bible, Samuel noticed the reverend was available. He scurried over to him, trying to put together his concerns in his troubled mind. “Thank you, Papa for takin’ time to talk to me.”
“It’s quite alright, Samuel. Glad to be of service. Now, tell me what’s in your thoughts?” He led him by the arm, sitting with him at the bench.
Samuel leaned forward, his elbows upon his knees as he stared down at the English, red-oak flooring. “Me and Katherine seen a Gypsy last night, told us ’bout our life together many years ago; said I was stabbed in the heart ’n’ died. Then he started tellin’ us ’bout our future. It started off good… then… well…”—Samuel looked up at the reverend, panicky-eyed, thinking he’d probably be found by the bounty hunters and hanged. Swallowing hard, he visualized that loop with its slipknot snapping his neck as the floor underneath him dropped, dangling his body while he twitched once or twice. He rubbed his throat—“. . . then he refused to tell us what happened next. He got spooked. Made us leave. I reakon I believe what he saw was real, though Katherine says it ain’t. But I think it is, she just don’t want me to worry ’n’ all. I don’t know what to do, Papa!” he admitted, begging for a comforting answer.