Cat Dubois' Odyssey to Enchantment

by BoJenn

  “Yes, good idea.” Cat submitted to Eleanor’s request once again, but this, too, bothered her. After all, Cat was independent and hadn’t submitted to anyone since her father and mother died. Doing what Eleanor wanted, even though it was good advice, caused Cat to rebel somewhat.

  The snow outside had begun to fall again, but the wood in the fireplace was blazing when they entered the room. “How did that wood get on there? I didn’t put more wood on, did you?” She looked at Eleanor.

  “Oh, of course; you take care of everything. Why ask?” Cat moved to the music player. It was an older stereo system. Then, she realized there wasn’t power to play any music. “The power is out— damn. We have no music, no TV, just us, again. What shall we do? Sleep?”, Cat griped. She didn’t want to sleep.

  “Well, there are some old pictures around here, aren’t there? Why don’t you tell me about yourself, about your family, perhaps?”, Eleanor suggested, perkily.

  “I’d rather not talk about them, if you don’t mind,” Cat barely whispered, not wanting to play Eleanor’s game anymore. After all, why should she? It was only fair that Eleanor start telling her the truth about her visitation in a straightforward way.

  At a loss for conversation and things to do Eleanor looked around and her gaze fell on the little black puppy. “We need to take Lovey outside. He hasn’t been in a while.”

  “You’re right. Come on, Lovey. “Before we go outside, please pour a large brandy for me. I want to take it with me while we wait on Lovey.” Cat began to demand and take some control back.

  “Yes, good idea. I’ll pour one for both of us.” Eleanor poured to the top of the rim. What else was there to do? At least it might loosen up the conversation.

  They left the manor through the front door this time. It was closer, and it was brighter on that side of the house because Glory Town’s lights sometimes lit up the hillside, so it wasn’t so dark.

  “Maybe Glory Town didn’t lose power?”, Cat questioned. “We’ll look down the mountain towards town and know, then, if we are alone in the dark.”

  Eleanor and Cat stood outside and watched the snowflakes mixed with rain as they came down. Lightning could be seen along the opposite ridge of the southeast mountain. They watched it dance across the sky as thunder rumbled. The rain began to beat down hard drops. There appeared to be some lights below in the town, but not all of them. That told Cat the power outage wasn’t isolated. “Lovey, come, boy.”

  Eleanor patted the side of her leg. Lovey was as black as the night. One could not make out his body unless he was close and within sight. “Come, boy!” He was happy to run inside. They were, too. The weather was brutally cold. Wet and chilled to the bone, the storm would be rolling in soon. They returned to the den. The fire was ablaze with more wood.

  “How does this happen?”, Cat asked.

  “I don’t know, dear. You do have a few ghosts here. That I do know,” Eleanor said, absolutely straightforward and factually.

  “You’re telling me my ghosts put wood on now, but never before you came? Why now? Are you special to them?”, Cat laughed. “Geez.”

  “It’s good to see you laugh,” Eleanor said. At times Eleanor looked much different than a frumpy elderly English woman. She seemed warm and glowing and much younger. So, Cat watched her in the warmth of the ember’s glow. For a moment, Cat thought she saw her mother’s smile, but the amber blaze of the fire and that large serving of brandy could have tricked her. She looked at Eleanor again. “Could it be? No, of course not.”

  “Yes, you do have quite a few entities here. Have you ever seen them?”, Eleanor asked.

  “Let’s tell scary stories like we’re girls again. Come on. It will be fun.” Cat laughed.

  “I have a better idea, before we start with the ghost stories. How about telling me who you dreamt about? You talked your head off when you slept this afternoon,” Eleanor informed her. The fire popped and an ember burst above the fire.

  “I talked?”, Cat asked.

  “Yes. You chatter a lot. It’s hard to make out. You really make very little sense, but I think you talked about a Catherine, and it didn’t sound like your were speaking of yourself. Who is she?” There was silence.

  Cat went to take a gulp of the brandy, but it was empty, so she got up from the stool, which the two of them had brought in earlier and placed at the edge of the hearth. She poured another large glass.

  “You seemed to be dreaming of something good. Were you?” Eleanor asked leading questions, hoping to prod Cat into her deep psyche.

  “Hmm… Yes, I think so. My mother was in my dream, I think.” Catherine said.

  “Oh, a good dream. Wonderful!”, Eleanor remarked.

  “Her name was Catherine, like me. I was named after her.”

  “I see,” Eleanor said, ready to listen to more.

  “I don’t want to talk about her. Let’s move onto something else,” Cat interjected, perturbed again.

  “Alright then; let’s try the boxes. We have two more to unwrap. Shall we?” Eleanor paused before retrieving the other two boxes. She smiled as if she were about to say something, but she reached for one of them instead and brought it to the center of the room. “Box #2, here we go. There’s a 2 on the top, and it says, ‘Catherine, you must open this one next.’ Hmm.”

  “Me, again?”, Cat asked. "I hope it's not another pet.” She looked around, briefly. “Where is Lovey anyway?” Lovey got up and came next to Cat. Catherine opened the large box only to discover that there were three smaller boxes, one of which eventually opened up to reveal a little bitty box. She paused before she opened it. “It feels like Christmas. My father wrapped boxes and put them inside boxes—every year. He was so predictable.” They both laughed as the amber fire took Cat back to Christmas pasts. Only for a moment, did she remember that her family was quiet at Christmas—it was rather a mournful time, and her mother always cried. Her father got drunk.

  Cat held up the small box, the tag read, “Box #2. He is Your Brother, signed, The Son.” “HUH?”, Catherine exclaimed, confused. “Oh, this is another hidden message.” Cat was frightened of the unknown. She said to herself, “What is in this box? What secret is in here? I am scared.”

  “I suppose, dear, just open the little box. Let's see the mystery,” Eleanor encouraged her, adding extra support, “Don’t be frightened. I’m with you.”

  Catherine opened it and found an antique heart-shaped locket. She opened it slowly to reveal the face of a handsome young boy in the old tiny frame within. “Hmm… I wonder who this is?”, she mused.

  “Who, dear? Who is it?”, Eleanor said, watching Catherine’s reaction.

  “It’s a young boy.” Cat seemed dismayed as she looked closer at his picture. “A boy who…”

  “Do you know him?”, Eleanor prompted.

  “No. No, I don't.” Catherine’s face crumpled and she began to cry profoundly.

  “What is wrong, dear? Why are you crying?” Eleanor was opening the line of questioning again.

  “I…I don't know. The boy’s face made me…I don't know.” Stammering, Cat looked for the words to describe the cold chill she felt.

  “Do you know the lad?” Inquisitively, Eleanor led Cat into past memories.

  “No, I don’t, but his face seems so familiar. I feel his sadness.” Cat held the locket tenderly within her hand. She held it as if she remembered something about this boy.

  “I see,” Eleanor said, gently. “Sometimes it’s common to feel someone’s pain in pictures. You are sensitive. Now, look again. There is something about this picture that made you upset. What is it, Catherine? Something you remember, dear? Try to remember.”

  “What do you see, Eleanor? What do you know? Why are you here?”, Cat insisted through her tears. “You are here for a reason. Now, what is it you want from me?”

  Eleanor paused before answering Catherine. She took a deep breath, as it was time to start revealing some little things. “Remember, dear, you asked me to come?” Ele
anor’s face was glowing and warm like the amber candles. She seemed inviting; she seemed to hold secrets to Cat’s past. Her appearance, now, was iridescent—angelic. And, the room had taken on a glimmer; the whole room was softly bathed in golden amber light. The chill of winter that prevailed in spite of the well-stoked fire, was gone; the air was warm now—soothing. Then, a log in the fireplace popped. The embers flew. Cat looked into Eleanor’s face.

  “No, Eleanor, I do not remember asking you to come.”

  “Oh, yes; yes, you did, my dear. You asked many times for many years, and I was sent at your request. I’m late, but that can be explained.

  “Timing is always perfect, according to the heavens.” Eleanor’s smile was as warm as the glow ‘round the hearth. Her hair gleamed in the light. “Our Father sets the time. It is never early; and it is never late. So, I’m right on time—His time—not mine nor yours, but the right moment for you.”

  “There is a door that opens at a specific time,” Eleanor further explained. “If certain events happen, then the person is more likely to accept the experience. If a person experiences an event too soon, but hadn’t the right order of circumstances prior or wasn’t otherwise prepared, then the lesson might be lost, due to what would then be bad timing. Do you see what I’m saying? Without being made ready, all could be lost with a slight rumple or dither in the sequence that brings understanding. It is a pity that some humans miss the door—forever lost, in their lifetime.” Eleanor held Catherine’s hand.

  For the first time in a long time, Elizabeth Catherine Dubois did not argue, not even with herself. “Tell me Eleanor, tell me when, where and how I asked? I’ve never asked you or anyone for help— not one person. For heaven’s sake, I don’t even know you. How is it that I asked you?”

  “Well, that’s not true, dear. You did ask. You asked many, many, years ago. I was delayed, as I said before, and I apologize for my tardiness. And, I am here now, and that's all that matters. But, to assure you better…hmm, let me think…” Eleanor paused to sort the exact sequence of events. She knew that if she reconstructed the timeline, it would help Catherine to recollect.

  “Catherine, dear, do you remember when you got down on your knees and asked God for help when your parents died? You also asked for help when Daniel left. Then, you asked for help when you felt so all alone when your animals died in the fire. Now, do you see?”, Eleanor encouraged.

  “Who are you, Eleanor Harding? Who are you? Who is this boy?”, Catherine whispered.

  Eleanor smiled, as usual. Her very presence brought such warmth and illumination. Glimmering like an angel; that’s the way she appeared; and, most importantly, Catherine could now see that.

  A twinkle once again floated from her eye and her being, her aura, was filled with her beautiful inviting light. “You will need to open the next two boxes to understand the boy, and to understand who I am and why I’m here. For now though, get some rest. We will open the next box soon. Go to bed, dear.” Spoken just like a mother, Eleanor sent Catherine up the stairs to bed.

  The Apparition

  Cat decided to open Box #3. It was late night or early morning and it could not wait. That way, she would have the entire day to contemplate the significance of all of the boxes. But for now, she went off to bed as “Mother Eleanor” suggested. Tonight, she would sleep in her own bed. She climbed the stairs and didn’t notice the boy who knelt on the stairs and watched her ascend. She walked up to the landing where he sat. She paused. Cat couldn’t see him, but, on the landing, the temperature dropped rapidly by 10, then 15, then 20 degrees. She saw her breath as she breathed. The chill went through her, and the boy looked up at her, but she couldn’t see him. She knew he might be there, so she slipped her hand down to feel where the air was the coldest. She rubbed her hand over what could be the top of his head. She wasn’t sure. He moved his head to the side as her hand was passing through what would have been the top of his frontal lobe—what use to be bone, but was now manifested as just cold air. She said, looking down. “Are you the boy in the picture?”

  “Yes,” he replied, but so timidly she wasn’t certain she really heard anything.

  She said, “I’m going to bed now. If you come into my room, you’ll make it so cold, but you can come. I’m use to you with me.” Cat spoke to the boy as if he heard her, and as if she had always known he was with her. “Come on, shall we?” She reached out her hand.

  He watched her as she turned the corner to her bedroom. He arose and drifted through her closed bedroom door. He stood in the corner and, without expression, he watched her undress and slip into a pink flannel nightshirt. Tadhg watched from the ceiling above them. Then he flew down to tell Eleanor just how sensitive Cat had become since knowing the boy was real—might even be the boy in the picture. But, she wasn’t sure. “She can handle knowing that I’m here,” Tadhg concluded.

  Cat climbed into her bed and pulled the thick down blanket up and almost over her head. Soon, Cat would be sleeping again—really resting—like she had earlier in the day. But just before she actually drifted off, she whispered, “I’ve slept so much, though I’m still so tired. I could sleep a 100 years. What is that woman feeding me?”

  The boy answered, “I don’t know, but I think it’s good,” and he kissed her brow. Cat was soon deeply asleep.

  In her dreaming state, a woman came to her. “Tell me about your dreams?”, the woman asked. She was lovely and had golden long hair that flowed down in soft curls. She was wearing a light green dress that shimmered like satin.

  “Who are you?” dreamily, Catherine asked.

  “Your guide. Your friend. Now, follow the path before you, Catherine…this way. She pitterpatted down a long hallway in quiet black slippers. A boy flashed in Cat’s sight. He was standing at the end of the long hall. He smiled and had two teeth missing. His skin was white and he had no shirt on. He was skinny and his red swimming trunks hung on his hips. He tilted his head to the right like a camera was taking a picture and he was clowning with the photographer. Then he became serious. He was a happy boy, but then, no longer clowning, he began staring deeply into another place behind a veil; his look pointed to that place. He wanted to tell another story. Then, he faded away from Cat’s dreaming thoughts, and the dream shifted to a different place.

  Cat ventured deeper, following her guide, who held her hand. “This way,” the guide said, her voice low and warped as if it were echoing in a tunnel. She was a young woman with a crown of flowers in her long, light-golden hair. Her apparel had changed. She now wore a towel draped around her waist, dressed in island apparel. “Come, this way. Go down the stairs. There.” She pointed Cat’s way. Down, down, down the stairs Cat went, dreaming that the same boy, from her previous dream, had placed a gift in her hands. She knew this boy—she was sure of it. “Remember this?”, he said, handing Cat a music box. “Yes, you gave a music box to me a long time ago,” he said. Cat looked at him, examining his familiar features. Who are you?” Cat looked at the boy, hoping for some sort of hint.

  He said, “It plays, ‘We Will Go On Forever’.”

  “Did you call my name?”, Cat asked him.

  “Yes, I called you. Now, come and follow me. I want to show you something.”

  Cat did as he asked, and moved down the hall. Her feet never touched the ground. She was a child again, and her feet were freed by the heaviness of gravity. She floated quickly to catch up with him. He had left her behind. “Are we playing hide and seek?”, Cat yelled to the boy.

  “No,” he giggled back at her. “Come on! This way!”

  “Where did you go?”, Cat asked, while she was peeking around the corners of a distant but familiar place. There was no answer from him, but she heard his voice, with the formal British accent. When she looked behind the next door, she saw he was there, sitting on the floor holding a book and reading a poem. The poem was so familiar that she remembered it! “I know that poem! Grandfather used to read it to us.”

  Cat stood at the entrance of
the door. She wasn’t frightened, but she was apprehensive. This wasn’t just a common dream. Her feet grabbed the floor, moving her towards the voice down the hall. “Where to?” Listen. Hush! Grandfather clock watches! Be quiet!” Scolding him, she turned to face him.

  He said, “In here.” He was sitting on the floor with his legs bent at the knees, and separated to the side, agile as young children often do. “‘Tinker toys, dreaming, putting the symbols together, hearing a name, whispering clearly, “It’s mine”,’” the little boy read aloud. “‘Rising from my bed, sleepy eyes gather shadows, lighting the path, this way I move.’”

  Catherine recited back, and she continued the poem with a stilled heart, “‘The wind moved drapes, a gold light casts, the treasure box… it opens, my past fractured memories appear. Life's gifts I've blown, then forgiveness drapes His love, then He adorns my crown.’ Grandfather read this to me when I was three or four.” Cat’s memories she had forgotten were now vivid. She remembered sitting on her grandfather’s lap as he read.

  “Who are we to each other?”, Cat asked the boy.

  “Us. He read it to us,” the boy answered.

  Suddenly, she was back in her room sleeping, Cat rolled over in her bed. She drifted back into sleep. However soon, there was a knock on her bedroom door. The young boy spoke from the other side of it in a loud whisper, “Beth, Beth, wake up! There’s something I want to show you. Get up!”

  “Beth?”, she said the name out loud. “I remember the name, Beth.” But, Cat was dreaming again. The dream had shifted once more, and this time, she was “Little Elizabeth,” or just “Beth,” just as this young boy called her. She recognized herself as both of these two names, but her mind sought answers that she could not yet give. It was so long ago she could barely remember even the vaguest snippets. She thought, and moved around in her bed to make sure she was awake. “Wait a minute.”

  Little Elizabeth went to open her bedroom door and said in her own girlish English accent, “Thomas, what do you want?”