Jenny kept staring, bug-eyed and silent. “Here, ye can touch it if ye want.” He held out the knife to her, hasp first, but that didn’t work. She wouldn’t budge. Yes, she was a pest, but he still didn’t want to get in trouble with Evie for frightening her.
Evie—she had called Evie her mommy. That must be fairy speak for mama. “Is Evie yer mother?” he asked, trying to engage her in conversation.
Jenny smiled and nodded. She realized that if she didn’t talk, then he would. It was hard not to talk, though. Hmm. She could pretend her lips were sewn shut. She clamped her jaws then squeezed her lips together—forcibly keeping them tight so she didn’t start talking—and nodded again.
“Oh,” Wee Ian replied. “Does that mean the bairns are yer brothers and sister?” He knew they must be, but he was hoping she’d start talking again. He wanted to check on his father, but didn’t want to leave the girl silent and alone in the barn. If she stopped talking all together, someone was sure to notice, and then he might get blamed. He didn’t mind getting in trouble for deeds he had done, but he hadn’t done anything to her, not really—just pulled his dirk on her when she had startled him from his nap.
Jenny wanted to tell him all about her little brothers and sister, Wren, but pressed her lips together tighter, settling for a rapid head nodding. She liked him and hoped he stayed around. Maybe she could have a friend her own age!
She seemed to like it when he talked about her brothers and sister. He wished he could tell her that they were his family, too—even that they were his blood family—but he had told Evie he wouldn’t, that he would only refer to them as his kin. “Did ye ken that I gave Wren her name? She’s my kin, too?” he said proudly, still hoping she would speak. Was it just a few minutes ago that he couldn’t get her to shut up?
“You gave Wren her name? And if you’re her kin, then you’re my kin, too!” She couldn’t contain herself or her mouth. She jumped up and grabbed him in a big bear hug.
“Watch the dirk!” he yelped, and dropped it. He pulled out of the unwelcome embrace and held her an arm’s length, checking to make sure he hadn’t stabbed her. “Are ye all right? Did I cut ye?”
Jenny dropped her elbows to her side, clutching one hand with the other, holding tight to the excitement of having more family, finally someone her own age. She opened her mouth to tell him all about her other sister, but suddenly recalled how he had treated her when she had talked too much. She looked at him coyly, dipped her head down, and went back into mute mode.
“Yer bleedin’!” he exclaimed, and grabbed her arm. His knife had cut her just above the elbow. “Quick, I need a cloth to stop the bleedin’. Oh, I’m so sorry. I dinna mean to hurt ye.” Wee Ian found a rag hanging on a peg in the wall, shook it out, and held it on the bloody spot, applying direct pressure like Leah had told him to do for his father.
“Now will you tell me your name?” she asked, not paying any attention to her wound. It didn’t hurt, and if she didn’t look at it, it wouldn’t bother her.
“The white man call me Wee Ian,” he said, giving her the standard monotone reply he always used when asked his name. He inhaled quickly and returned to his normal voice, “Ian Kincaid is my father’s name, too. He’s the one who’s ailin’ under the tree.” All of a sudden, she wasn’t such a pest.
“Wee Ian? Like Wee’un, Pee’in’?” she asked. He nodded a short affirmative, but she couldn’t stop herself from adding, “That’s awful!”
He glared at her. Maybe she was a pest. A big-mouthed pest.
Jenny realized that she had made a mistake. “I mean, I can think of a better name for you, I’m sure I can.” She paused, and added, “Did you really give Wren her name?”
He nodded again. He didn’t feel like talking anymore.
“I like that name!” She felt his hand on her arm, still holding the rag to her wound. “Is it bad? I don’t want to look. Blood makes me sick. Well, it does if it’s mine or somebody’s I care about,” she added softly.
Wee Ian pulled the rag away and saw that it was just a small scratch that had bled profusely. The bleeding had already stopped. If she didn’t bump it, it would be fine. “Ye’ll be all right. It’s naught but a scratch, but ye scarrit me. Can we go outside now? I want to go check on my da.”
“Doc or Scout?” she said, then crossed her arms across her chest in a gesture of confidence.
“What?”
“Your name. Are you a Doc or a Scout? You just doctored my arm, so that’s why I said Doc, but you seem like a Scout to me. I’ll bet you always like to lead the way, making sure it’s safe for everyone else to go ahead, right?”
“Scout. I like that. All right, ye can call me Scout,” he said, smiling at getting a name that seemed to fit better than the hand-me-down name his father had also used when he was a child.
“And you can call me Jenny,” she said, with a full-dimpled smile. “Come on, let’s go check on your da, and I’ll try not to talk too much. That is if you’ll try not to stab me again,” she added with a wink.
The two walked side-by-side out into the sunshine, then Jenny smacked him on the arm and said, “Tag, you’re it,” and ran to the big family tree. She had someone to play with, at least for a few more hours.
***62 You Were Wrong
Ian was awake and obviously feeling better. At least, he could sit up by himself now. He was my husband’s cousin and the sire of my three babies, but also the orneriest, least-forgiving man I’d ever met. He gave me up—dropped me at Jody and Sarah’s doorstep when I was pregnant—so he could go on a vengeance quest.
I turned out fine—finer than fine since I wound up marrying his cousin, Wallace—but he was still a wreck. I looked around. I finally had a chance to talk to him without a large audience. Wee Ian, the ever vigilant caretaker, was at his side, and it was actually better for me that he was. He needed to hear this, too. I was ready to let his father have it with both barrels.
“You lost a wife and three children because of your hate and need for revenge. Wallace let the Lord take care of vengeance, and you know what? He gained a wife, three, now four…five children and a son-in-law. What do you have to show for doing it your way? You were inches from death, and if it weren’t for the goodness of…of…the lass, Leah, and her husband, you and your son would both be dead.”
I bit my tongue just before claiming Leah as my daughter. I had inferred it, but didn’t feel like going into that discussion!
Ian’s head stayed low. I wasn’t sure if it was shame or if he was trying to find words to refute my explanation. Either way, he wasn’t ready to talk.
“And where is Rocky?” I asked. I wasn’t ready to stop the conversation, and I really was curious about the huge masked-faced dog that was as much Ian’s canine brother as a traveling companion. “He wasn’t with you when you came last time, either—when the tax man was here.”
“He’s deid,” Ian said flatly, humbled—or was that humiliated?—head still bowed.
Wee Ian added to the somber statement. “I dinna believe in the vengeance, but what they did to that dog was…was…” Wee Ian’s eyes teared with the memory. I put my hand on his shoulder to let him know that he didn’t have to recall or relate the story to me—I still understood.
“Okay, then you lost three children, a wife, and your best friend in the whole world. Do you think maybe you’ve learned something from it?”
“Aye, if I’m gonna be vengeful, I’d best be quick about it.”
I couldn’t help myself. I slapped him hard on the back of the head. “I hope you get a big headache from that, too. And you’re lucky I didn’t have a pot or a crappy clout in my hand when I did it. Ergh!” I stomped off in a huff before I lost control and started kicking him.
Wallace came over and sat down next to Ian. He handed him a cold stone bottle of ale. “That’s not to drink,” he said. “It’s to put on the lump that’s sure to start rising.”
Ian accepted the drink with a nod, then brought it up to the tender spot
, wincing as the cool hardness hit the already sore area.
Wallace settled back against the tree. “You know, Evie is a pretty even-tempered person most of the time, but you sure know how to rile her. What did you do this time?”
“Ach, she was doin’ her preachin’ about vengeance and God, and how ye got her and all the bairns and a few more in yer family because ye let Him,” he tipped his head up to the sky, then realized how much his head was hurting. He started again, “Ye let Him take care of the vengeance. If that’s true, then why did she hit me so hard?” Ian brought the bottle down, examined it casually, and then decided the cool ale would be better inside of him. He opened the bottle, took a long swig, and sighed in satisfaction.
“Well, maybe she figured God needed an extra hand right now, and she’d help Him out. I mean, you don’t seem too keen on listening to reason.” Wallace looked over at Ian to make sure he was listening. Ian glanced up and gave him a blank stare—he heard the words, but didn’t feel like they pertained to him or this situation.
Wallace could see that he wasn’t getting through to his cousin. He drew himself up and said plainly, “She’s right and you’re wrong. It’s as simple as that. I’m with her. I’d like to see you have a happy life, but from what I’ve seen of you lately, I’d say you actually enjoy being miserable.”
Wee Ian came up and smacked his father on the back of the head, almost in the same spot Evie had. “See, he said the same thing I did—ye like bein’ miserable. Dinna ye ken yer supposed to be settin’ a good example fer yer son? Do ye want me to wind up like ye: alone, hatin’ and killin’, always fightin’ with someone about them doin’ or sayin’ somethin’ agin ye or yer kin? I may be yer…yer son by blood, but I’d rather wind up like Cousin Wallace and Evie—with a house and a family and a dog that nobody wants to kill jest to spite me, aye?”
Ian looked over and glared at his son. “Yer not supposed to hit yer da,” he said, totally ignoring what the boy had just said.
“Yeah, weel, if that’s the meanest I ever get, I’ll be glad,” he said, and stomped off to the barn, not caring if he was stirring up dust or not.
***63 Gifts For You
“What’s this?” asked Sarah, as she opened the master copy of the hand-illustrated book that James had invested in.
“Oh, it’s the very first edition of a book on the flora of North Carolina,” Leah said. “You know, helpful herbs, how to identify botanicals, process them, uses for healing, antidotes in case you get too close or ingest too much of the wrong ones. Hey, did you know that impatiens—jewelweed—helps defray the itching of poison ivy?”
James reached into his valise and took out his Smith and Wesson model 629 pistol.
“And what do ye have there, young James?” asked Jody.
“This is for, shoot, I should have brought another one. This one’s mine, but I brought one for my Uncle Julian, and one for my new father-in-law.”
Wallace smiled and rolled his eyes at being the father-in-law to a man nearly his age. “I’m twenty-eight,” James said, answering the unspoken question. “And you, Dad?”
“Twenty-three,” Wallace answered modestly, then quickly changed the subject. “So, what is this? I mean, I can see it’s a gun, but what is this part?” He cautiously touched the revolver’s swing out cylinder.
“Here, see, I can put one bullet in each hole, and then,” James pointed the empty gun at the fireplace and pulled the trigger six times, “this chamber revolves after each squeeze. Each time, a fresh bullet is loaded into the firing chamber that lines up with the barrel. The hammer is activated by the double-action trigger. It hits the primer and fires the round. I can squeeze off six rounds without reloading.”
“Rounds? Ye don’t have to load the powder, tamp, and then add the shot?” Jody had picked up a bullet and was examining it closely. “My daughter told me about bullets. Did ye happen to bring the machine to reload—is that the right word?—reload these rounds?”
“Yes, we did,” James answered. “I wanted to bring two sets, but we only had our carry-on bags. I mean, we had to pack light. I figured we could do the reloading at one place, and then, maybe, use the one reloading apparatus as a pattern to make another one. We have to make sure we save the shells, though. We only have a certain number. That and I don’t want them to be found later, if you know what I mean.”
“And whose is this?” I asked as I held up a Mickey and Minnie Mouse short-sleeved nightshirt. James and Leah both blushed bright red at the sight of the shirt. “Why are you two blushing? I mean, it’s only a nightshirt.”
“I…I just brought it to sleep in. I don’t have a shift and thought this would...” Leah took it from my hand and pretended to inspect it. “Well, lookie there,” she said to James and waved it at him. “Mickey has pants on. See, he’s hiding behind the valentine, but you can see the bottom of his shorts right there…”
“So Mickey didn’t run around without clothes…” James said, swallowing hard, as if by doing so, his red face would return to normal.
The two of them were paying too much attention to the lightweight cotton knit. I knew there was an event they were remembering but didn’t care to share. Rather than make them squirm, I backed off, and changed the subject…sort of.
“Mickey and Minnie Mouse, welcome to the 18th century,” I announced.
“So that’s him, Michael Mouse?” Jody asked, honestly excited about the character. All four—Sarah, James, Leah, and I—nodded. “I heard about him. So that’s what he looks like. Is that his wife? Or do mice marry in yer time.”
“Nah, they don’t marry. They do sing and dance and tell jokes, though,” I said, which drew big laughs from the 20th century-born, and stares and blinks of shock from the 18th century crew.
“Cartoons are just diversions like poems and novels and music. Oh, we still have those, too, and lots of other ways to spend—or waste—time, depending on the motivation. You see, people don’t have to work as hard—physically, at least—for the most part. So, the time not spent building, repairing, cooking, hunting…. Well, you get the idea, I’m sure. You have high born and aristocracy now. Well, lots of the people aren’t rich—actually, most of them aren’t—but they still have lots of idle time. But I digress. I want to see what else you have in your magic bags.” I grinned at the memory of sharing my ‘magic’ bag, my backpack, with Sarah when I first met her. Now it was my turn to be surprised and enchanted.
“Here, these are for you,” Leah said, and tossed a rolled up white cotton bundle to me. “I read that they don’t have these here, so I brought enough for the both of us. Sorry, Sarah, I didn’t think about bringing any for you, but we can share.”
“Cool,” I said, as I pulled off the thin plastic binding from the white cotton briefs. “I don’t have to go commando anymore! Yee haw!” I stood up and danced with my new panties held in place over my dress. I glanced over at James and Leah who were howling with laughter, then looked at Jody and Wallace. They were both shocked at my brazenness, but then they, too, started to giggle at my unbridled delight.
“Weel, I’ll take yer word fer it about their comfort. They look a might binding to me, though,” Jody said, and shifted on the stool. He changed his focus back to the bag. I could tell he wanted to change the subject from scandalous underwear to anything else.
Leah had picked up on his discomfort, too. “Here, these are for the babies. I didn’t know if I had all brothers or sisters or a mix. I was pretty sure, though, that there was at least one little girl. You see, I always knew you had a little sister in there for me somewhere.”
“Whoa,” I said breathlessly, “you did, didn’t you? I thought you outgrew that when you were ten and I told you I…I…I had my tubes tied...”
I was pale at the sudden memory. Leah had sparked a few minor ones with her presence, but this one was major.
“Is there something wrong?” Wallace asked when he saw how stunned I was all of a sudden. “And what tubes did you have tied?”
&n
bsp; I shook my head to erase the unwelcome 21st century version of me that had suddenly appeared. I had never felt it before—the older, plump, and achy person I used to be—even when I first realized that the nurse taking care of me in the hospital last month was my daughter. Leah was who she was, my flesh and blood, and I was her mother, but I never felt old. I shuddered again.
“Fallopian tubes,” I answered with a grimace. I was here. Now. In this body. That other person was only a memory, an odd story from a book of fairy tales. “Woman stuff,” I clarified, as I looked over at Sarah, “that got fixed last year. I’m fine or we wouldn’t have these three beautiful babies, now, would we?”
I shook out the rolled-up pink fabric cylinder. ‘Little Sister’ was machine embroidered on the front along with hearts and butterflies. The cotton-blend gown was soft and had long sleeves. “Here,” Leah said, and tossed a green roll to Wallace and a yellow one to me.
Wallace used the back of his forearm to brush off his pants, then laid out the green gown. ‘Future President’ was embroidered on the front. I hurriedly opened out the sunshine-colored all-purpose sleeper and saw that it said ‘Grandpa’s Legacy.’ I handed it to Jody and smiled, but said nothing.
Jody held it up and blinked rapidly. I could see he was trying to keep tears from spilling out. “You miss him, don’t you?” I asked, then immediately felt stupid.
He took a deep breath. “Aye, I do. I have other grandchildren now, and I love them all, but Benji was my first. Of course, it helped that he looked a bit like me. And he is my legacy, too. He’s old enough now that he probably has bairns of his own.”
It was uncomfortably quiet. No one knew what to say, either to continue or end the topic of conversation. Jody wiped his eyes with the insides of his wrists, then looked over at James. “I think he and his family went back to live at my family’s estate at Barden Hall, or at least nearby. His father was a teacher. Did ye happen to meet him?” he asked. “I mean, I’m sure he dinna let it be known that he was from here and now, but he was sure to stand out, him bein’ big and red-haired like his grandsire.”
Aye, I am a Fairy (The Fairies Saga Book 2) Page 54