Dragonholder

by Todd McCaffrey

  Anne rushed out immediately with a kitchen towel. She cleaned the wound, located the cut, and pressed the wound shut with the towel wrapped around. Ed was worried and in pain. As soon as she felt he was stable and not shocky, she got me to take over while she went to phone the vet.

  For the next hour we traded off, kneeling down by Ed holding the vein closed while the kitchen towel got wetter and wetter, was replaced by a clean one, which in turn got drenched with blood. The back yard looked like a battle scene — the grass was smeared red with Ed’s drying blood.

  Finally the vet arrived. He took a while examining Ed, making sure of the extent of the wound and sizing up the options. “I’m going to have to anesthetize him,” he said. We had to put a twitch on Ed – a rope that twisted his nose – to get him to stand still while the vet injected the anesthesia.

  Ed fought the drug. When it finally took affect, he toppled slowly, nearly skinning his front knees before we could roll him on to his side. He lay there, legs straight out, eyes wide with fright, twitching. It was too much for Anne, who had been so calm throughout the ordeal. Before she lost it completely, I ran inside, found the liquor cabinet and poured a shot of Cointreau. I rushed back and handed it to her, “Drink it.”

  It must have been the right thing to do because Anne knocked it back, made a face, and said, “Thank you, I needed that.”

  The vet stitched Ed up, gave him the antidote for the anesthesia, and waited while the big horse got back on his feet.

  The sun was setting as the vet told us, “He’ll be all right. Just watch he doesn’t cast himself.” If a horse lies down against a wall it can position itself so that it can’t get up again — and the horse is “cast” — a terrifying position for an animal and one that often results in horses thrashing themselves to death.

  Anne sent Gigi off to make Ed’s bed in the stable while we slowly walked him over. Gigi had laid a big deep pile of straw and Anne made him a rich mix of bran mash with an extra dollop of sweet molasses. Ed ate it hungrily. We all watched until we realized that he was all right and we were famished.

  Ed’s stable was just slightly out of line with the kitchen window, but not so much that we couldn’t keep on eye on him. When Anne was cooking, one of us would watch out the window, and when she had to see for herself, one of us would stir the pot. I don’t think we ate standing up, but I can’t be sure..

  It was late before we were willing to consider going to bed. Ed was still standing in his stall — pacing around in circles. He never did go to sleep — he was still on his feet the next morning, and the thick straw bed that had been laid for him had been ground into fine chaff.

  Anne’s mother, called “Bami” by us grandchildren, was an amazing and well-loved grandmother. She taught me to play chess and was mature enough to play down at my level — letting me win sometimes. By the time we were in Meadowbrook House, Bami had decided that I was old enough to play against her best and she would regularly trounce me. In fact, I don’t remember beating her once when we were in Meadowbrook.

  I had made friends with Geoff Hilton — a fellow schoolmate. Geoff’s family was English, his father had been brought over by his company, Hoover. Aside from board games, mostly military war games, Geoff and I frequently played chess — I frequently beat the pants off of him. I learned later that Geoff would learn one new chess trick and beat me with it until I figured out on my own how to counter it.

  I remember one day, however, when Bami was practically fuming that Geoff had trounced her with a new gambit that he’d thought up. Immediately afterwards, she challenged me to a game. When I demurred, she nearly forced me to the chessboard. Well, she beat me in about five moves — I didn’t know what had hit me.

  Anne D. McCaffrey — “Bami”

  Afterwards, she was contrite, “I’m sorry, it’s just that he annoyed me so!”

  Geoff could be very annoying at the time. He occasionally “got my goat,” but where he excelled was in tormenting his little sister, Babs. Barbara Hilton was Gigi’s age and in Gigi’s class so they became good friends. Many weekends both of them would come over.

  Geoff Hilton

  That worked out very well — with a few exceptions. The most memorable was at Thanksgiving Dinner. Thanksgiving is a purely American tradition but one that Anne would never abandon. Anne’s cornbread stuffing is the best in the universe — in my completely unbiased opinion, of course. She also made an excellent chestnut dressing, a great turkey gravy, magnificent mashed potatoes — I’m getting hungry just remembering the smells in Meadowbrook’s small dining room that night.

  It was marvelous and after a long silence while the meal was eaten, everyone sat back, contented.

  The moment was broken by a sniping exchange between Geoff and Babs. Whereupon Anne, attempting to recover the good mood, said, “But Geoff, we all know that the English only insult those they really love.”

  Geoff mulled this over for less than a second before turning to his sister, with a vicious twinkle in his eyes, and said, “Barbara, dear, have I told you how marvelous you look?”

  Barbara “Babs” Hilton, Gigi, and Anne seated at the dining room table, Meadowbrook House

  While the sniping between Geoff and Babs was rare and got better with time, Anne was alarmed when she noticed that her mother had started snapping at the children and complaining all the time. Anne became convinced that it was just too hard to have three generations living in the same household and suggested that her mother consider taking an apartment.

  Shortly Anne and her mother were in a vicious argument that ended with them not speaking to each other. After several days of tense silence in the house, Bami came to Anne one day and said, “I’m sorry I’ve been so mean. It’s just that the children are too loud, everyone’s too loud, and I’ve got this damned ringing in my ears.”

  It did not take long for Anne to realize that her stoic mother was in severe distress with a loud ringing in her ears: tinnitus. Bami’s irritability only increased when we moved into our next house. Money had grown very tight, so we were forced to compromise and considered ourselves lucky to rent what we did — a semi-detached house in Dun Laoghaire on Rochestown Avenue, easy cycling distance from our school.

  Site 11, Rochestown Avenue

  The road was a well-traveled one, complete with buses. There was no ancient wall to muffle the road noise. Very soon Bami could not stand it. The series of arguments erupted once more. One day Bami announced that she had found herself an apartment in Blackrock and no one could talk her out of moving. No one did. Within the week both Anne and Bami were thrilled with the new arrangement.

  Bami’s apartment was within walking distance of our school, and while Gigi and I visited her often, she was more often entertaining her chess foe, Geoff Hilton. Years later Geoff would tell me how much he enjoyed his times with Bami and how jealous he was of me for my grandmother — but I think I am more envious of him for his friendship with her.

  Bami had sailed the seven seas on tramp steamers after the Kernel had died — just for the pure fun of it all. She’d loved Japan when they’d been stationed there just after the war, she’d survived the depression, she had a sharp wit, acid tongue and was … cool, formidable, a caution. She was never far from a shot of Scotch, although she never drank excessively. In her travels she’d grown to love collecting ivory and sterling silver, and her apartment was adorned with beautiful oddments. She was a lady who had lived her life completely, had enjoyed it, and still enjoyed it.

  1973 was a lean year, both for writing and for income. Anne had to take bank overdrafts between books to keep the family going. In Ireland it was rare for a woman to be a single parent and sole provider for her family. Fortunately Wright was still sending his child care payments, and, more fortunately, Betty and Ian Ballantine kept Dragonflight, Dragonquest and all of Anne’s other Ballantine books in print. The two dragon books had earned out their advance, so every new copy sold made money for Anne.

  Anne still had to delive
r on the Dell romance contract. Working with the old dictum, “write what you know”, she started a book about the abuses against women that were rampant in Ireland and wrapped a strong, compelling story around it. The working title was A Kilternan Legacy and it dealt with an American divorce and two children trying to find their way in Ireland. The concept smacked of autobiography; the book was anything but.

  Anne also started a series of connected novelettes for Roger Elwood who had arranged a four-book series called Continuum. For Continuum 1, Anne wrote “Prelude to a Crystal Song” and continued on with “Killashandra - Crystal Singer,” “Milekey Mountain,” and “Killashandra - Coda and Finale.” When the series was completed, Anne would pull the four pieces together into one complete novel — Crystal Singer. In Crystal Singer, Anne was also writing from experience — using her singing experience and disappointment as the basis for the story.

  The big problem was Ed. Anne had to find a place to stable Ed and a way to pay for it. She wanted a stable nearby. The solution was Brennanstown Riding School, then located in nearby Cabinteely. The owner of the school was Jane Kennedy, a lean, spirited rider whose horse abilities were far greater than her people abilities. Jane attracted a few loyal supporters and many young helpers. At first Anne put Ed in on half livery — she paid half the cost of his keep, and he was ridden by pupils for the other half — but when she discovered that Jane needed help scheduling, running the accounts, and manning the phone, they came to an arrangement that lasted over six years.

  Soon enough, on Saturdays Anne — the award-winning science-fiction writer — would settle in at the office in Brennanstown to answer phones, make sure that students and teachers were assigned to horses, and manage the accounts. In some ways the juggling act was reminiscent of the times when Anne had been a stage director for the Breck’s Mills Cronies.

  Gigi, who was thoroughly horse-mad by then, would accompany her and gleefully muck out stables, feed and groom horses, clean tack, or cart hay for the pure joy of being in the proximity of a horse — and have the occasional free lesson. She was not alone in this and made friends with the other helpers. At that time there were Cliona, Eoiffa, Brenda, and Derval.

  Poor Derval was always given a hard time whenever she went into the hayloft because of an unfortunate incident years back. She had been abstractedly piling out the hay near the entrance and, moving back to admire her handiwork, had stepped into the thin air behind the ladder. The ensuing fall broke her nose, and both arms.

  Derval Diamond

  Derval took the “slagging” over this with the same cheerful good nature she showed at all times. Tall, a bit gawky, with an aquiline nose, full lips, curly hair, and an infectious smile, Derval was a character.

  When, in 1974, Brennanstown had to find new stables, Jane Kennedy relocated the school to Kilmacanoque, just outside Bray — about ten miles further away. To get the horses there, she enlisted all her helpers to hack the long distance. Gigi still remembers the marvelous time she had riding Ed and leading a string of ponies.

  At the end of the school year, in the summer of 1973, when the lease came up on the Rochestown house, Anne was lucky to find a house close by available for a long lease. It was number 79 Shanganagh Vale in Cabinteely. The house was at the back of the estate. It was a low bungalow, with three bedrooms, one bathroom, a long dining/living room and a kitchen nearly as long. It was a lovely house and we all enjoyed its comfort for the next three years.

  1974 was a tumultuous year for Anne — a roller-coaster year with more down than up. In the spring Wright was laid off by DuPont. He informed her that as he had no income, he would no longer be able to pay child support. And in April, her elder brother’s wife died after a long lingering bout with cancer.

  On the up side, the New England Science Fiction Association, NESFA, asked her to be their guest of honor at their 1975 Easter convention, Boskone. A Guest of Honor had her airfare and hotel room paid for the convention. Anne gladly accepted. The invitation was made sweeter because NESFA had a tradition that the Guest of Honor would have a small press book published by NESFA Press and sold at the convention — and would she be willing to write a Dragon story for them? The up-front fee was a welcome incentive. Anne was delighted. She arranged a signing tour with her publisher to start after the convention.

  On the down side, I graduated from high school that year and wanted to go back to the States for college. I was accepted at Lehigh University — with a partial scholarship. Betty Ballantine graciously signed as surety on the tuition. Still money was tight and I had to earn his own pocket money.

  Alec was working in a garment cleaning factory in Massachusetts and wrangled me a summer job. Gigi went to France for the summer on a foreign exchange program. Anne was alone for the first time in many years.

  One of the few things that Anne always tried to have enough money for was a housecleaner to come in once a week. Anne did the cooking and the laundry, but the general cleaning she left to the housecleaner. The cleaning woman in Ireland was a sweet lady named Kathleen. When Bami had set up her apartment, she asked Kathleen to come and clean for her, too.

  Anne was alone in the house when Kathleen called her from Bami’s. Kathleen had found Bami on the floor, unconscious. With quick thinking, she remembered Bami’s affinity to drink and splashed a little bit of whiskey under her nose. Either the smell or the feel did the trick: Bami took a deep breath and continued breathing until the medics arrived.

  The prognosis was not good — paralysis on the left side. Crippled, in a home, at best.

  “She wouldn’t have liked that,” Anne recalls with tears in her eyes. “She always wanted to be active, to do things by herself. To have her just stuck in a shell … it wouldn’t have been fair.”

  Those were bitter days, working at Brennanstown Stable in the day, travelling to the hospital to sit with an unconscious mother, and afraid of what the future would be for them both. After ten days with no change, Anne’s mother had a second stroke on July 12 and passed away, never regaining consciousness.

  Bami had requested that she be cremated. Cremations were not done in Ireland at the time. The coffin was shipped to Birmingham, England for cremation but Anne had no way to get herself there. Bereaved, newly orphaned, Anne was at a loss for what to do. Her Brennanstown friends helped her out. One of them, Simon Healy, was a pilot. Simon managed to get the loan of a plane, and flew Anne and Gigi over there just for the cost of the fuel. Simon’s kindness, sympathy, and dedication made a very difficult journey as pleasant as possible.

  It saddened Anne that her mother, who had befriended so many people in her long life, had only a daughter and a granddaughter at her funeral. For a long while Bami had spoken of having her ashes scattered in beautiful Galway Bay. While Anne plotted how to honor this request, Kathleen recounted how Bami had spoken often of resting in the family plot in Boston, next to her husband. So when the urn was brought to her later that month, Anne tucked it in the back of family’s Welsh dresser, next to her father’s Doctoral thesis, to wait until her tour of the States the next spring.

  Gigi had not been feeling well since her return from France. Initially both she and Anne put it down to the stress of the moment. But when Gigi was still suffering after Bami’s funeral, they sought medical advice.

  Anne was again lucky in her connection with Brennanstown. Gigi’s friends, Anne and Orla Callaghan, recommended their doctor, Hilary Webb. She quickly figured out that Gigi was suffering from more than normal stomach upsets and sent her on to the top gastroenterologist in Ireland, Dr. James Fennell.

  The news was bad — Gigi had Crohn’s Disease. To get to the diagnosis of Crohn’s Disease both acute appendicitis and abdominal obstruction must be ruled out — which means that the symptoms are worse than both of these. Additional symptoms include severe colic, constipation, vomiting, malnutrition, chronic debility, and abdominal fistulas and abscesses often causing fever and generalized wasting. The worst of these symptoms were not yet manifest — all Gigi
knew was that her stomach was upset all the time. This on top of everything else was a horrid blow for Anne.

  Just when she most desperately needed it, Harry Harrison — who had first mentioned Ireland to her — recommended Anne to write a trilogy of children’s books dealing with dinosaurs for the UK publisher, Futura. Anthony Cheetham, the publisher, agreed. The advance was very welcome — but Harry’s kindness was never forgotten.

  In the midst of all this, Anne had to write the story for NESFA Press. Finally she wondered — in the throes of a terrible bout of bronchitis — how she would ever find a time when she could write it. With that thought came the title, A Time When, and with the title Anne found the story.

  There was one major hitch to Anne’s attendance at Boskone and the subsequent signing tour: Gigi. The signing tour would last far beyond Gigi’s Easter vacation, and Anne could afford neither the additional airfare nor the lodging. Fortunately, Anne found an excellent solution — again at Brennanstown.

  Many of Brennanstown’s riders were students teaching and studying for their British Horse Society Assistant Instructorship, known to everyone as the AI. It was the principle credential required to work with horses. Anne discovered that one of the students, Antoinette O’Connell, was in need of lodgings. Antoinette, “Anto” for short, got on famously with the reduced family. She soon moved in, taking my room, and providing Gigi with a “big sister.”

  That problem solved, Anne put the finishing touches on her trip, corrected the galleys for A Time When, packed her mother’s ashes in my old fake elephant-hide camera bag, and left for Boston. As she was packing to go, Gigi asked if she could carry anything. Anne handed her the camera bag.