Shasta Summer

by Teresa Geering

  “I can’t believe how incredibly relaxed I feel here, George. I know I should be worried sick about Shasta but I trust May.”

  Hearing this last remark as she came out with the tray, May smiled to herself. “Well I’m pleased to hear that, Iris.”

  Setting the tray down, she put a glass of juice in front of George and Iris, sat down in the spare seat, and settled back contentedly to watch the world go by.

  Iris was sipping her drink and looking out over the green when suddenly a startled look came over her face. George noticed it asked, “Are you alright, Iris?”

  “Well, I’m not sure to be honest, George. As I looked at the green I thought I saw a maypole and Morris dancers which reminded me of an old-fashioned village fair. It’s probably just my imagination running wild and the heat, I suppose. I’m not used to it.”

  May felt now was the time to take a chance and tell Iris the truth about Shasta Village.

  “Actually, Iris, it’s quite possible that you did see what you thought. Every year for the past two hundred years or more there has been a fair on the village green. The villagers take the opportunity to dress up in costumes of old and re-enact their past history. The fair normally lasts for one day only but when your daughter, Shasta, arrived in the village recently, she declared that we would celebrate for two days this time.”

  “I know I said earlier that I trusted you, May, because you are my sister, but I find it rather hard to come to terms with the fact that my daughter is Shasta, and that she is here in the village but living in the past at the moment.”

  Feeling desperately sorry for her sister, May said, “Try and understand, Iris, that Shasta is a magical village. You remarked yourself about the gardens. The villagers only have to wish for what they want in their gardens and it grows instantly. When Shasta came here two hundred years ago, it was a weed-infested village that no one cared about. By casting a spell with the help of the villagers, she ensured that from that moment on never again would a weed grow in Shasta, and so it has been ever since. If you want something to happen in Shasta, it happens.”

  “Are you telling me that I just had a glimpse of the past, May?”

  “Well, actually, Iris, yes, I believe you did. I was unsure at first whether you had inherited the gift, but it would seem you have.”

  “What gift, May? What is she talking about, George?”

  George, who had been sitting quietly listening to all of this, suddenly became more interested and sat forward in his chair. “What exactly do you mean, May?” he asked.

  “The females in the family have the gift of second sight. You have not been aware of it, Iris, because until now it hasn’t materialised. However, because you’re in Shasta, it has been awoken. That is why you had a glimpse of the past.”

  Iris was sitting quietly trying to take all this in.

  “Is that why I feel so different in Shasta, May? So much more relaxed?”

  “Yes,” said May. “The longer you stay, the more acceptable it will become to you.”

  May went back inside the teashop to refill their glasses, giving Iris a chance to take it all in. Magic wasn’t always used outside of their own homes.

  “Are you alright, Iris?” asked George with concern. “That’s rather a lot to take in all at once.”

  “Well, it is a bit of a shock, but I have always had this feeling about our family. The way May comes across, for instance, with her long black plaited hair virtually down to her waist. That in itself is unusual for a woman of her age these days, and all those gold and silver bangles and long flowing dresses that she wears. Sometimes I’m sure there is a Romany influence. Actually I feel quite excited about it George if I’m honest,” she said.

  “You never cease to amaze me, Iris” said George in a loving way.

  May came back with their refilled glasses and they sat back in a companionable silence enjoying the cooling drink, taking in the ambience of village life in general.

  As May looked out towards the village green, she was suddenly aware that someone was approaching from behind them. Resisting the urge to turn around, she knew instinctively that it was Erasmus.

  “Hello, May. How are you today?” he asked.

  “I’m very well, thank you, Erasmus. Can I introduce you to my sister, Iris, and her husband, George?”

  When the introductions had been made, Erasmus was invited to join them for a drink but this he declined, not wanting to intrude. Having bid them farewell, he made his way across the green, telling May that he would see her later on.

  “What a good looking man Erasmus is, May. How did you meet him?” Iris asked, full of curiosity.

  May being a private person was reluctant to talk about Erasmus but her sister would not let it go until she had heard the whole story.

  “Very well, Iris, I met Erasmus on Shasta Day quite by accident. We got talking and he gave me a love token for my hair and we have been walking out ever since.”

  “Well, I must admit you’re a quiet one, May. I had no idea. Can you explain about the love token, though. I really don’t understand?”

  “Well, as I said we met on Shasta Day. On this day, the whole village dresses up in historical costume as the mood takes them. Everyone congregates on the village green and all of the old traditions are performed as in days of yore. Sometimes we even revert to using the old dialect. If a man is interested in a woman, he will give her a ribbon to wear in her hair. I suppose it could be compared to the commitment of an engagement ring. If she accepts and wears it, a love tryst is then assumed and the couple will then go out together until such times as they marry. Erasmus gave me a ribbon and I have worn it ever since. It was all rather sudden, I must admit. I don’t know if it's love at first sight, but it feels right.”

  “Oh, May, how romantic,” said Iris. “I must admit I never thought you would be the marrying kind. I am so pleased for you. Isn’t it wonderful, George?”

  George agreed. He was very fond of May and only too pleased to see her happy. He was not unaware of the gentle flush on her cheeks, as Erasmus had spoken to her. He considered her an attractive woman and would like to see her settle down with someone but there was something about Erasmus he wasn’t too sure about. Perhaps he was being over-protective of May and only time would tell.

  Chapter 23

  The past

  It had been a beautiful hot summer’s day and the young woman sat atop her brightly coloured caravan enjoying the last rays of the early evening sunshine and the beginning of a welcome light breeze. The reins of her piebald horse were lying loosely across her foot beneath her dress and he seemed to reflect her happiness as he trotted slowly along the country lane. The sun, still very warm, was gradually sinking in the sky behind the trees but, every so often, it appeared through the thin branches.

  Listening to the birds singing in the trees, the woman was at one with the elements.

  The hedgerows along the lane also gave cover to the birds which talked to her as she passed by.

  “Good morning, mistress,” they seemed to be saying.

  “Good morning to you, pied wagtails and sparrows,” she responded in kind.

  Approaching a fork in the road, she instinctively encouraged the horse to the right. Suddenly she reined the horse in and decided on impulse to go left. As the young woman slowly made her way along the leafy lane, she was aware that she was approaching a village. It looked completely neglected and, from every grass verge and garden, weeds ran rampantly.

  How awful that there should be such neglect, she reflected. No flowers were growing at all.

  As she passed the villagers, their heads were hung low as if in despair.

  “Good evening, sir,” she called to one, but the only response was a low grunt of derision.

  As she reached the middle of the village, she reined in her horse and got into the back of the wagon. Picking up her black cooking pot, she set it down outside, balancing it on its three legs, and placed some dried seed pods and fresh herbs inside it. Co
llecting a few twigs from nearby she placed them under the pot and proceeded to light a fire underneath it.

  Out of curiosity, the local villagers began to gather round.

  The look of the woman was strange to them. She had blonde hair worn in a long plait over one shoulder, compared to the villagers’ hair which was mostly shades of brown or black.

  The villagers grew in confidence as their number began to increase.

  Picking a stick up from the ground, the woman began to stir the contents of the pot from which a strange but hypnotic pungent smell began to rise.

  The villagers, sitting around in a semicircle with their smocks coming over the knees of their britches, seemed to be affected by the aroma and they started to smile. Nodding their heads in approval, they were happy to sit there watching. The woman began to hum quietly to herself whilst stirring the contents. One by one the villagers joined in the humming and took it in turns to stir the pot, nodding happily towards the woman.

  As the vigil progressed through the night, the sky began to lighten into a new dawn and the woman held up her hand to command attention.

  “My friends, each of you will take one seed pod from the pot. When you open it, you will see two seeds. Plant one of the seeds in the hedgerow and the second seed in each of your gardens. Every one will be different and this should be done at sunset tonight.”

  As they had nothing to lose, the villagers put their trust in the woman and did as she asked. The following morning, in each garden and every hedgerow, a new flower had grown where each weed had been. The villagers were so happy to see so many pretty flowers, they asked the woman if they could name the village after her. Smiling, she agreed and the village became known as Shasta after her.

  Many white Shasta daisies now grew in profusion alongside the red poppies in the hedgerows. In celebration, they decided to hold a fayre on the village green and Shasta was asked to stay and join them. It would be held two days hence, on the Saturday, as many preparations had to be made.

  One woman from the village called May, who appeared to be in her late thirties, asked Shasta to join her in a meal that evening.

  “I should be very happy to join you, May, and I thank you,” she said.

  Shasta asked May to sit in the front of the wagon with her and they slowly made their way up from the village green to the cottage.

  Words were not considered necessary as they were content in each other’s company.

  Approaching the door of the cottage, May lifted the haggaday, or door latch, to gain entry.

  As Shasta followed May inside she became very aware of the spaciousness of the room compared to her wagon. Glancing around, Shasta tried to take everything in at once.

  Although there was only one well-proportioned room, she was instantly drawn towards the large fireplace. On either side was a wooden chair.

  On the right hand side of the fire hearth was a black pittering iron for stoking the fire. This was leaning against a box of logs filled to the brim. On the other side of the hearth, resting on its back, was a smoothing iron ready for use.

  Hanging from a hook concealed somewhere in the chimney breast was a black cooking pot suspended over the lit fire.

  Shasta inhaled the wondrous smell of meat, herbs and vegetables invading the room which made her realise just how hungry she was. She was later to learn it was not uncommon for a cooking pot such as this to be kept permanently topped up over a lit fire so that there was always food ready to eat.

  Shasta only cooked her food when she made a stop on the road, usually by a stream.

  On a black trivet, a revel cake was cooling, a favourite of Shasta’s which she had made herself many times in the past. The ingredients of dark flour, currants and caraway seeds were purchased from the villages as she passed through them.

  To the back of the room was a table with a few unmatched chairs spaced around it. On the other side, in the corner, appeared to be the sleeping quarters which contained two wooden pallets with mattresses on top. A long curtain hung in between, separating them.

  This left Shasta wondering who the other occupant might be.

  As she was preoccupied with this thought, the door to the cottage burst open and a young man entered.

  Dressed in normal working clothes of a smock down to his knees and breeches, he appeared to be about twenty years old. He walked over towards May and, lifting her off her feet, he proceeded to dance with her around the room, much to both of their amusement.

  Shasta was instantly taken by his good looks. Aware that she was staring she cast her eyes downwards.

  Setting May back on her feet he said, “Hello, May. I heard in the village that we had a guest staying.”

  “Shasta, this is Merlin. He has lived with me since he was a young lad and I’m convinced he has never grown up.”

  As Shasta looked properly into the young man's eyes, she was completely overwhelmed by her feelings. Very shyly, she bobbed down in a curtsey. Normally unaffected by young men she had met in the past, Merlin made her feel quite warm inside from her toes to the top of her head. She was also aware that her face felt rather hot.

  Merlin gave a quick bob of his head to Shasta whilst at the same time taking in her beauty.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, mistress Shasta,” he said.

  May, noticing the looks that passed between the young couple, was pleased. Merlin had never shown any interest in the local girls of the village and, although she had only just met Shasta, she was already becoming quite fond of her.

  “I suggest you go outside and clean up, Merlin, then we can eat. I assume you will be coming back down to the village with us tonight to help with the preparations for the festivities,” she said.

  “Very well, May, and, yes, I will come with you. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Will you get the dishes from the shelf please, Shasta, and I will dish up our meal,” May asked.

  “Of course,” she said.

  Reaching to the shelf, Shasta put the dishes on the table, still preoccupied with thoughts of Merlin.

  May took the dishes one by one and filled them with meat, potatoes and a selection of root vegetables. As she filled the last dish, Merlin re-entered the cottage and took his place at the table.

  Over their meal, Shasta explained that she hadn’t really intended to come to this village but had intended to go in the opposite direction. She couldn’t explain why she had been drawn towards it.

  “That was absolutely wonderful, May. I didn’t realise how hungry I was. Thank you,” said Shasta, having finished her meal.

  Merlin agreed. Standing up he walked over to the revel cake and brought it back to the table with a knife.

  Cutting three pieces, he cut a further four thin pieces which were put aside for good luck, as was the custom.

  Offering a piece to Shasta as their guest, he gave a piece to May and finally himself.

  When this was eaten, May and Shasta each had a mug of ginger beer while Merlin had a mug of ale, and they sat back replete.

  Having rested awhile, they made their way slowly down to the village to soak up the atmosphere.

  Many of the villagers who passed Shasta looked on her with reverence. The men tugged their forelocks whilst the women bobbed a curtsey in respect. At the same time they thanked her again for making their village so pleasing to the eye.

  Shasta had never felt happier. As long as she could remember, she had always been a traveller. Now, for the first time, her wanderlust didn’t have the same appeal and she felt that she could possibly settle here in the village so recently called after her.

  Chapter 24

  As they reached the green, Shasta could hear lots of laughter in the distance.

  Her thoughts travelled back to the despondency in the villagers when she had arrived. Fortune certainly had smiled on her when she had taken the left fork in the road.

  She would never have met May or Merlin otherwise.

  “You seem happy, mistress,” said May.


  “I was just remembering how it was when I arrived in the village, May. Everyone seemed so unhappy and disillusioned. Now everyone has a smile on their face.”

  “They have good reason to be happy, Shasta,” said Merlin. “The village has been transformed and we have the added pleasure of a beautiful young woman in our midst.”

  “Thank you, kind sir,” she said with an exaggerated curtsey while in kind Merlin bowed to her.

  May looked on with contentment at the young couple and began to daydream. Who knows, she thought, maybe if we could persuade Shasta to stay Merlin could find the happiness he deserves.

  Approaching the village green in the warmth of the summer evening, Shasta looked on with wonderment.

  In the centre of the green a huge bonfire was being prepared. In the distance, large spits were already in place to roast the bulls which would certainly feed the whole community.

  Shasta took it on herself to suggest that a tree be cut down from the forest on the day before the fayre. She had seen this done during her travels. A female entering puberty then performed a sacred ritual for the purification of the earth. Shasta was asked if she would choose the tree and oversee the ritual, to which she agreed. The thought of a fayre and celebration caused great excitement among the villagers and they looked forward to it with excited anticipation. As dusk began to fall, Shasta, May and Merlin walked back to the cottage. Shasta retired to her caravan having bid May and Merlin a good night.

  She began to think about the events of the last couple of days and her feelings for Merlin. She had met many young men on her travels but none had affected her in the way that Merlin had. With that in her mind, she decided to go to bed and finally fell asleep after much restlessness.

  She awoke at the crack of dawn and, preparing herself a substantial breakfast, she made her way down the path towards May’s cottage. May had insisted that she leave the caravan on the grass verge in front of the cottage.