The Willows

by Mathew Sperle

  Cradling her against his chest, he kissed the top of her head. “Oh, Glenn, I’m sorry. I guessed I’m so you still hurrying from one thing to another, I didn’t stop to think. Believe me, the last thing I want is to leave right now. It is no excuse, I know, but this isn’t a easy time for me. I am confused and torn, and hell, there is so damn much I have to do.”

  She eased away from his chest, touching his face gently with her fingertips. “I know. And I don’t want to make things harder.” With a pleasant smile, she took his hand and tugged it. “Kaman, walk with me back to the cabin.”

  “Gwen…”

  “No, I understand, really,” she told him as they walked to the porch. “This is all very new and confusing for me, too. Maybe we can both benefit from a little time apart. We needs to sort things out.”

  She was right, but her words made him uneasy. He didn’t want time apart, didn’t want to risk her sorting him out of her life.

  At the porch, she climbed to the steps. Behind her, through the open door, Michael could see the gentle glow of the fading fire, it’s worth reminding him of all he would leave behind. Gwen’s gentle smile. Nearly unmanned and him. More than ever, he wished he could stay.

  She took his hand between hers. “You are a good man, Michael, and I know you’re thinking of what’s best for the children. Part of me wants to cling to your arm, demanding you stay and reassure me, but another part understands that if you go now and do what you need to do, it will be that much sooner that you can come back and we can try this again. It may be bold of me to say so, sir, but I find I’m quite eager to spend the night in your arms.”

  “Oh, Gwen.” He took her in his arms for one last drugging kiss, aching with loss when he yet to let her go. Standing back, gazing at her against the backdrop of the softly lit cabin, he relies how much of his dreams had gotten tangled up in this woman. How coming home to her, and his family, was what gave all his struggles of meaning.

  “Oh hell, till the children I will be here,” promised as he turned to go. “I might be late, but if I have to break a leg trying, you and I, my lady, will most deftly try this again.”

  Chapter 20

  “It is getting late, Gwen.”

  Clad inner cone shaped hat and long flowing bedsheet, Jude looked exactly like Merlin-to anyone with an imagination. Her brothers, in their potato sack tunics decorated with their personal coat of arms, made a perfect knights-or would, if they weren’t fidgeting so.

  “Hush, you’re interrupting.” Glenn tried calming them by reading, but not even their favorite story could change their fears over Michael delayed arrival. Counting the hours as they ticked away, Gwen shared their concern. “Your uncle is a very busy man,” she told them nonetheless, keeping her voice firm. “He will come when he has the chance.”

  “But it will be dark in a few hours,” Patrick argued. “And how can we hold the tournament?”

  “We would just gather up all the candles and light them, and it will seem twice as magical.” And romantic, she found herself thinking, though sanity decreed that she avoid such thoughts. Every time she anticipates seeing Michael again, touching him, she went half mad with impatience.

  “What good are candles, if he doesn’t come?”

  “We will have none of that, Jude.” Noticing the girls frown, Gwen quickly corrected herself, “I mean Merlin. If there is one thing your uncle is famous for, it’s keeping his word. He said he was coming and he’ll be here, just as soon as he can.”

  From there worried expressions, Gwen knew she had to do something, and quickly, for they’d soon have heard doubting Michael as well. “I am so certain he will be here.” She told them, slamming shut the book, “I say we should go outside and get ready to meet his boat, why don’t we find hiding places, so we can really surprise him?”

  “Screaming with delight, they scrambled up with new enthusiasm to run for the door. Following more slowly, Gwen was glad she thought of hiding. They need something to do; that inaction was what made them edgy. And herself, too.

  Watching the twin scramble for the same hiding place and giggle when they bang their heads, she laughed with them. Any other time, she might have scolded, concerned that they’d ruin their costumes, but today she just wanted to join them. It was time for fun, for magic, for thinking it acting like a child herself.

  She looked down at her costume, and thought how are friends would have sneered at her in this dress. No adult sheet known would mistake her for a queen, with the necklace of shells and stone Jude had made for her, and a crown made of paper in paint, yet when the children had ooed and ahhed and declared her the most beautiful Gwen ever, she’d happily believe them. Their enthusiasm gave no need for finery and riches, just them. Being with those kids, helping them plan this party, had been more fun then any social ball.

  “He’s coming!” Paul whispered suddenly from behind a big Cypress.

  “Quick, Gwen,” Peter whispered from the bushes. “You have to hide.”

  Panicked by the urgency, Gwen froze. By the time she glanced around her, it was already too late, for Michael had caught sight of her and he was driving into shore. “What’s wrong?” He asked, jumping from the craft as the banked. “Where are the children?”

  “Surprise!” They scream, popping out of their hiding places to crowd around him.

  Stopped, his gaze–happen use, half bewildered-going straight to Gwen. “I assume this means I’m not too late?”

  She nodded, drinking in the sight of them. Spite her reassurance to the children, she relates now that she had been afraid he’d let them down. After all, her father had often disappointed her, and on more than one special occasion.

  But Michael is here, standing before her, and it was all she could do not to rush at him and shower him with kisses. Though clearly tired and worried and more worn than she’d ever seen him, he had managed to be here. Once again, he’d kept his word.

  “Happy birthday,” she said, wanting to tell him a whole lot more. Later, she promised herself. When they were alone.

  “Birthday?” With a mock frown, he turned his attention to the children. “I thought I’d been summoned to a tournaments. What are Merlin and the Knights of the round table doing here?”

  As the children smiled, their faces lighting up with pleasure, Gwen again father the urge to kiss him. Not only had he come, he was ready and willing to play that game, right down to recognizing their costumes. “Oh, it is a tournament, all right,” she told them, clapping her hands. “My Knights, find this newcomer a tunic.”

  At her command, he stooped down to let them pull a sack, decorated with the crown they chosen for his coat of arms, over his head. When they were done, he shook her head. “Something tells me we’ve got a lot of loose potatoes lying around somewhere.”

  “Quiet, sir,” she said with a grin. “You must be serious, for you are about to be transported to Camelot. Where is my page? Oh, there you are, sir Christopher. The blindfold please?”

  “Blindfold? Now just waiting moment, my lady-“

  “She is not a lady anymore, now she is the queen.” Christopher corrected sternly. “You cannot argue, Uncle Michael. You have to obey the queen.”

  “He is right,” Gwen whispered in his ear, stepping up to tie the cloth over his eyes. “You are in my kingdom now, sir, and you half to follow my rules.” Aloud, she added, “Sir Patrick, Sir Peter, taken off now in his boat.”

  Michael is still arguing as the pulled off. Losing no time, Gwen took other children and trudged through the swamp. They carried baskets of food, she gingerly carrying the cake. All none edibles have been carried there earlier, to make certain they reach the fortress before the boys and their honored guest.

  With barely minutes to spare comedy finished their last preparations, assembling in front of the fortress door just as the boys arrived with Michael. As they moved the blindfold, Gwen watched his face. She enjoyed his surprise almost much as her own upon first seeing the children’s handiwork.

  “Inc
redible,” he said with a low, appreciative whistle.

  Gwen felt a surge of pride in the children’s work but in equal amount further on, for appreciating it. “Welcome to Camelot,” she said, taking his hand to lead him to the door. “Come inside. You will find it even more amazing.”

  They shuffled through the doorway, Michael remarking on familiar boards and scraps of metal. “So that’s where the knob went,” he said, as Patrick shut the door behind them.

  “Yeah, well, we also borrowed the chairs, too.” Patrick gestured to the pair of thrones, and draped with flowers stuck in streamers of Spanish moss. To one side stood a table laden with food and gifts, to the other, and display of carved weapons and imaginative shields. No actual money had gone into the party; the children had a knack for using their imaginations to fashion a great deal from very little.

  Michael turned slowly, taking it all in. “You children never cease to amaze me,” he told them. “I never imagine you were building anything this large. How did you manage all by yourselves?”

  Jude shrugged, but anyone could see she was beaming. “Jeffrey help some, but mostly we wanted to keep it a secret. No one else but you and Gwen has ever been inside.”

  “Then I’m doubly honored to be invited here today.”

  “Seem right, somehow. It’s your birthday, and as Gwen says, we shouldn’t have no… I mean, any secrets between us.”

  He said nothing, but Gwen could see the words touching him deeply. Go on, but her, she wanted to tell him, but like Jude, Michael was still a stranger to softer emotions. For now, it was enough that he was here, participating. The rest they might better take a step at a time.

  When asked if it is time to start showering their honored guest with gifts?

  Nodding eagerly, Jude pulled out her wand in order her brothers to line up behind her. As she handed Michael a necklace similar to Gwen smiled with just the right amount of pleasure. The twins step up to present a well preserved birds nest, he managed to remain properly appreciated, but his delight showed strain as Christopher offered though hoarded remains of his half eaten candy. Patrick finished the presentation with a wonderful poem, telling of his knightly virtues.

  Gwen felt is eager and excited as any of them, wishing she, too, could present her gift now, but they’d all agreed she would wait until after the tournament. Perhaps that was why, the very instant Patrick finished reading comments she suggested that they should start the competition.

  Jude step forward with dramatic sweep of her bed sheet, and waved her wand. “Here yee, here you, today’s contest is swordplay. To win, a knight must knock the sword from his forponent’s hand.”

  Realizing her mistake, she turned to Gwen, who mouth the word for her. “Er, opponents hand,” she went on. “You can also win by forcing you’re, er… The other knight out of bounds.” He gestured at the circle they had drawn earlier in the dirt.

  Again she turned to Gwen with a pleading expression. “The prize,” Gwen prompted, realizing Jude had forgotten what came next.

  “Oh, yeah, the winner gets crowned King of Camelot.”

  Christopher grinned ear to ear. “Then we all get to eat dinner and have some cake.” Easy to see where his priorities lay; he pointed his little finger into the icing.

  “You better get fighting, boys,” Michael chuckled. “I don’t think your brother’s belly can hold on any longer.”

  “Us? You got a fight, too.”

  “Yeah, Gwen says you are the defending champion.”

  He held up his hands. “Sorry, I don’t have a sword.”

  They all turn to Gwen. “It would mean a great deal to us, if you would participate, sir. If you will, we can outfit you. Quite certain our bailiff must have extra weapons. Sir Patrick, would you happen to have a sword any breastplate this knight can use?”

  “Indeed I do.” Bowing with a flourish, the boy handed it up. “In fact, my Queen, I just so happened to have them right here in my hands.”

  Mike was hard put to stifle the grin as he took the wooden sword and battered piece of metal from his nephew. “Very well, and who shall be my first challenger?”

  “Me, me,” Christopher begged. “I never get to go first.”

  “I would be delighted to fight you, sir. I suppose it would be wise to get my hardest competition out of the way first.”

  Beaming, the little boy drag him over to the circle.

  “Wait,” Jude called out. “You cannot fight without a token of your lady’s favor.”

  Gwen grabbed the colorful cloth sheet selected, but Michael surprised her by shaking his head. “I already have her favor,” he said with a teasing glint in his eye. “My lady gave it to me long ago.”

  She blushed, thinking he referred to last night, but then he pulled her white handkerchief from his pocket. That he’d kept it all this time filled Gwen with quite awe. She couldn’t help but compare it to how she’d felt finding lance’s token, trampled and forgotten in the dirt.

  “I want a favor, too,” Christopher demanded.

  “Stepping up, Gwen tide the colorful cloth to his suspenders. “Remember the plan,” she told him and he whispered, before hurrying back to join the others.

  Little boy clearly took a reminder to heart, for his uncle had barely touch the boy sword before he went flying to the ground. Clearly surprise, Michael argued with Christopher was declared defeated, but Merlin quickly called for the next opponent. Peter fell after two minutes, blaming the loss of his weapon on the fall, while Paul took four minutes and some terrific acting to lose his sword as well. Patrick did better, lasting a good ten minutes before falling to his knees on the other side of the circle, the only trouble being that Michael was nowhere near him at the time.

  Hoping his nephew to his feet, Michael shook his head. “I am the adult. I’m supposed to try to lose to you. What are you boys up to?”

  Patrick looked up with absolute innocence. “We did our best. Can we help it, if we can’t be the true champion?”

  Taking her cue, Gwen step forward. “As Queen of this realm, I declare the newcomer our winner.”

  “Good, can we have cake now?”

  “Not yet, Christopher.” Michael stared at Gwen. “Jude and Gwen have not fought yet.”

  Gwen shook her head. “Merlin and I are the judges, and we declare the contest over. Page, bailiff, please bring my gifts.” Taking his hand, she led Michael to the throne. “Our champion has more than earned his reward.”

  “Reward?” Michael teased. “I hope it has nothing to do with fish.”

  She pushed him gently into the chair. “Sit down and let me make my speech.” As he looked up, his gaze questioning, she felt suddenly unsure of herself. What if he didn’t like her gift, or understand what she meant to say?

  Yet, in the long run, did it matter? Whether his reaction, she had to do this: she owed it to Michael for a very long time.

  Gathering the children around her, she took a deep swallow and then plunged in. “We, the citizens of Camelot, and have been join in the search, both far and wide, for the one man strong in valiant and worth enough to call our Lord. Today, my loyal subjects and I agree that we have found him. Page?” As Christopher step forward, she took the paper crown he held out. “We agree that there is no one else who has earned the right to where the royal crown of Camelot.”

  She set it on Michael’s head, all too aware of his dark eyes on hers. “What is this?” He asked, grabbing at her wrist.

  “Something I should have done years ago. Sir Patrick?” She turned to the boy, now marching forward.

  “This is so nobody in the world can ever doubt that you are our King,” the boy said strongly. “For you, King Arthur, I present Excalibur.”

  Michael took the sword from Patrick, but his gaze never left Gwen face. She watch skepticism give away to confusion, then a slow, dawning smile. He understands, she thought with a rush of joy. At long last, she done the right thing.

  “Gwen paid Patrick to carve it for you,” Jude was explaining
. “That is how I got the locket. Patrick didn’t want to take anything for it, but she said it would give the special gift meaning.”

  “It does,” he said quietly, running and appreciative hand over the beautiful crafted wood. “This is your best work ever, Patrick.”

  The boy blushed. “I wanted it to be special. Gwen said she wanted it to be worthy of a king, so each time you held it, you would know how we…” At the hesitation, Gwen nudged him. “We love you,” Patrick finished off in a rush. “All of us.”

  Clearly moved, Michael nodded at the boy, then each of the children, until his gaze came upon Gwen. For a dizzy, terrifying moment, his eyes probed into her, asking his sonic question. Did she count herself in their number? Did she love him, too?

  “Chris, you little pig.”

  At Jude’s, shout, the link between them snapped, and Gwen’s gaze was drawn to the table where the little boy pilfered the food. As he spun, the perfect picture of guilt, they all began to laugh. Shaking her head, Gwen told the others they might as well eat. Everyone had waited long enough.

  “I’m sorry I was late,” Michael said, rising to his feet beside her. “One thing after another came up, and-“

  She took his hand and squeezed it. “No, please, you don’t need to explain, and you certainly don’t have to apologize. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

  And in that moment, as he smiled at her, it was all that did. Leading him to the table, she decided that the other matters could wait, like exploring her emotions and worrying about the future. It was enough to share their meal, laughing at the cake that wasn’t completely cooked inside, and gather their things together as the sun began to set. It was enough because Michael was with them, and they could be a family, if only for a day.

  Riding back to the cabin with him and Jude in their boat, while the boys followed in their own, Gwen sighed with a deep contentment. And entire outing without argument, not even among the children. Surely this was the stuff of which dreams were made of.