by F. E. Arliss
The next stops were at the shoemaker and a wool artisan who did weaving, spinning and made both fabric and yarn. Then on to a skilled knitter and a young woman who did sewing and repairs. Almost everyone worked from their own homes and had lean-to like structures off the sides or backs of their stone homes. These lean-to huts were where they housed their wares.
At the shoemaker, Emery left part of the bag of goods and drew a rough sketch of what she wanted along with a paper outline of the boots she currently wore and another of her bare feet.
The rest of the items were delivered to the seamstress and the knitter was summoned. After a long discussion among the seamstress, the knitter and Emery, measurements of her body were taken and they scavenged through some of the other fabrics and samples that the young seamstress, Rowan, had tucked away in various corners, Emery left satisfied. The knitter scurried away to her own hut in excitement.
All of the artisans started out with perplexed looks on their faces, but a growing excitement was evident in the whole village as they opened cupboards and boxes scavenging for items they thought they might never get to use. People began taking bets on what ‘queenie’, as the villagers had begun calling Emery after the braiding ritual, had requested. None of the artisans mentioned anything and were very secretive about the projects they were undertaking.
Some of the more enterprising villagers even tried to bribe it out of Kern, but the young man simply grinned and retreated into his stacks of plastic, glass, old canvas and nylon sails, fuel drums, and old tires.
The crones, having seen that Emery was taking an interest in what her clothes were going to be now, had also done a bit of planning of their own while the girl was in town.
When Emery returned to the Abbey, to her complete astonishment Mur and Ray were standing in the front hall decked out in what looked like black tuxedos from the early 1920’s. Later, she’d learn they were the tuxedos of Millicent’s great great grandfather and great great uncle, worn for the frivolous parties on the mainland before the Great War put an end to nearly every man of age on the island.
The twins looked so handsome and so refined, even their braided hair couldn’t take away their look of elegance and the handsome nobility of their chiseled features. Millicent quickly shoved Emery into the downstairs powder room where Dorothea, Bertha and Letty quickly divested her of her worn board shorts and ratty sweater.
Dorothea, being the tallest, lifted a teal green satin dress over Emery’s head and gently tweaked it into place. It had a high cuff-like band around the neck and cut-out shoulders that accommodated Emery’s muscled upper torso. Bertha tugged at tiny buttons that snugged the fabric around her hips and she heard Letty’s low murmur say, “Well, I guess they didn’t call them the ‘roaring twenties’ for nothing!”
When Emery was pushed gently in front of the wavy Victorian mirror, she could see what Bertha was talking about. The dress was so form-fitting it looked like it had been made for her. It hugged her shape down over her hips and from there fell in panels of silk satin and silk chiffon, so that when Dorothea took Emery’s hand and swirled her about in a twirl, they all gasped out, “Ahhhhh!” as the skirt billowed and swayed. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.
Dorothea commanded, “There is some mascara and lipgloss on the basin. Put it on and then come out. You’re going to learn to waltz and tango properly. You’ll be going into society soon and you never know when you might need to be able to shake a leg. Mur and Ray are both excellent dancers.” At Emery’s slack-jawed astonishment after that statement, all four of the old ladies snickered and pranced out. It was only then that Emery realized they were all wearing ball gowns that looked like they’d come out of a museum exhibit as well.
Emery put on the mascara, then the lip gloss. She stood for long moments looking at herself in the mirror. Those sneaky old ladies had been worried she wouldn’t think she was pretty with her now braided and outrageously different hair. They didn’t have to worry. Their ploy had worked. She was beautiful. She could see that now. The dress made her look like a willowy maiden of old. Smiling, she stepped out of the cold powder room and followed the strains of music that floated along the cold passageways.
She found everyone gathered in the banquet hall that had been used for church services in the early part of the millenia and then was used as the public entertainment space the last couple of centuries.
To her astonishment, Mur and Ray, Kern from the salvage yard, and the gnarled-knot of a weapons master, all suited in black, were twirling Millicent, Dorothea and Bertha around the room to the strains of what she identified as perhaps Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite. Kern was tending to the music. It was a sight she hoped she never forgot. All three couples were outrageously elegant and graceful. Never in a million years would Emery have thought she’d see this. It was enchanting.
Every so often the men changed partners and Emery sat with Bertha, the only non-dancing crone, still clad in her signature bib-overall and gently nodding along with the music.
When the music stopped, Kern came to take Emery’s hand, whistled low under his breath, then was sharply cuffed on one pink earlobe by a tiny, bow-tie clad Don Juan who leapt onto the shoulder of his tux. Deira was still curled tightly behind Emery’s ear, humming slightly in her faint, whispery voice. “No flirting!” Don Juan commanded the now blushing red-headed junk master.
Bowing to Emery, Don Juan quickly sprang across the distance to her shoulder, gripped the high neck of the aquamarine dress and whispered, “You look stunning, my Lady.” During the following explanation of the steps of the waltz, which were easily mastered in a few minutes - after all, there’s only three of them - Don Juan counted them out to her in a muffled whisper, “Long, short, short; long, short, short; long, short, short.”
Finding the right amount of pressure to apply to Kern’s opposing hand in the ‘box shape’ they were to make with their arms, was more difficult. But with Don Juan’s constant reminders, Emery had succeeded to waltz elegantly with each of the men within the afternoon.
The following few weeks were taken up learning the tango and to Emery’s surprise, the paso doble. Mur danced this style with her by basically just grabbing her around the waist and moving her along with him. She eventually got the hang of it - again with Don Juan’s whispered coaching.
Bertha and Kern taught her the swing dance and how to dance to rock and roll. Bertha was surprisingly nimble when jiving to the tunes of Elvis Presley. Kern, to her delight, came with different records to use on the old gramophone and they tried many different ones to see what tunes inspired them to do what kinds of dances. The crones were enjoying the lessons as much as Emery was and some of the townspeople began to show up and join in.
After that, once a month the island had a potluck and dance in the Abbey’s large hall. It was fun and Emery got to dance with all kinds of people of all shapes and sizes. It was a lot of fun and everyone looked forward to it. The bear-like form of the blacksmith was one of Bertha’s favorite partners and it tickled everyone to see the bib-overalled Bertha cutting a mean jive with the burly blacksmith right on rhythm.
Mur liked to jive too and a reluctant Ray had learned as well. In the middle, a shorts-clad Emery would dance right along with them until the sweat soaked tee-shirt she wore simply became too uncomfortable and she’d have to flop onto a chair and drink a glass of water before converting to a long tulle skirt she’d simply velcro around her waist over her shorts and dance a refined tango with Kern.
Millicent, sitting next to Dorothea and Letty on an old bench along one side of the gallery, said quietly, “That girl has no idea what she’s done for this island.” The other old crones sighed and nodded, smiling happily.
Chapter Seven
Sea Carriage and Selkie Bones
The next day, after visiting the shopkeepers and having her first dance lesson, she woke to one of those rare sunny days. No one had really approached her about things, so Emery simply took the day off. She tried to don her
antler hat but quickly realized that the cherished item no longer fit on her head over the braids and crown of spine bones. Emery cried out a wail of frustration that brought the crones running. Staring at the girl they all loved as she sadly lowered her hands from her head, the battered, much loved hat with its brown, felt antlers hanging listlessly from her hands, Dorothea stepped forward and hugged Emery to her bony torso. The other three joined in and Emery felt comforted, but still sad.
The group loosened their hold on her and Emery, with great pageantry and reluctance, handed the much loved hat to Dorothea. Then grabbing her boots and anorak and set off to escape into the wilds of the island.
It was good to be on land for a day. Soaking in the sun, Emery laid down in a shallow hollow, wept a few tears, then slept. Tiny wet hands woke her as they fingered her ears and rummaged through her braided hair. Oohs and ahhs slipped lightly through the air and cold drops of water ran down her neck.
“Ok, ok, you guys, back off!” Emery commanded the small figures that surrounded her. The tiny sprites cowered back a few feet. Never ones to resist any temptation for too long, one of the bravest ones bounced forward and patted Emery’s knees - leaving tiny wet hand prints in the khaki fabric of her pants.
“You look so good! Like a queen of the sea!” the small sprite exclaimed, clapping her tiny hands together and causing slight squishing sounds to float away on the wind. “Plus, you’ve got selkie bones in your hair! Magical selkie bones!” the excited sprite shrieked. The rest crowded around her trying to see the bones closer.
Emery raised one hand to her head, felt the strange round bones woven into the top of her head and exclaimed, “Is that what those things are?”
As though this was the excuse they’d been waiting for, Emery was swarmed by wet, slippery limbs and practically overcome by the smell of the sea as the group of little sprites scrambled up her arms, stood on her shoulders vying for positions and ran small fingers over her head.
“Yes, yes!” the group chorused in their squeaky voices. “Selkie bones! Selkie bones! You are so blessed!”
Emery having a short supply of patience these last few days, commanded, “Enough! Get off!”
The group retreated instantaneously and stood sulkily to the side, small seaweed-topped heads bowed in disappointment.
“Answer my questions!” Emery demanded. “What are selkie bones doing on my head?” She’d heard the stories, of course, about women who could turn into seals and then became women again when they returned to land. “I thought it was just an old wives tale!”
“Ohhhh, noooo,” the group chorused. “There really are selkies. The old lady must have given you bones from her family. She’s a selkie and all her children were selkies too. Several died in childbirth or at very young ages. Then the others all went to live on other islands with husbands who didn’t mind them being seals. If she chanted when she gave them to you - you’re totally blessed!”
“She did,” Emery said grumpily.
The tiny bold one piped up, “Her giving you these bones is very important. I mean...they’re her children’s bones and are very magical and precious! They have the gift of commanding water - or at least, being one with water, especially if she chanted. So even though you’re a disaster with water, now you’ll be much better!”
At Emery’s look of wounded pride at being described as ‘a disaster’, another of the sprites spoke up in her defense. “Well, of course she’s a little weaker at one of the elements. She commands fire, is in total kinship with air, and all the earth animals and plants love her. It’s only normal that she’d be at a bit of a disadvantage in one of them. She’s an excellent sailor. And now, with the bones, she isn’t disadvantaged at all!”
Emery flopped back onto the matted grass. “Go away! You’re damaging my self-image!” Silence reigned, as the slight sounds of splishing, squishing feet disappeared. If it was true that the bones gave her an affinity for water, she was still not going to try it out today. Just the idea that she had baby people/selkie bones braided into her hair was...well...freaky!
She couldn’t decide if she was honored or horrified. Still trying to come to terms with her new understanding of what her life was going to be, Emery simply laid in the sun all day and thanked the powers that be for the sunshine.
Having a practical nature and keeping true to Circling Wind’s philosophy of ‘semper gumby’, Emery had laid the small green toy on her chest above her heart and meditated on being flexible in her life. Things were different now. She needed to be different. She needed to adapt to who she really was. To her surprise, she’d really enjoyed dancing.
As the afternoon sun began to sink towards the sea, Emery rose and gracefully air-walked down to the edge of the waves. There was no such thing as a beach on Eigg. It was all shale-edged shores and boulder-lined cliffs.
Removing her socks and boots, Emery waded out into the sea. Trying to communicate with and love the water, rather than fight it or despise it, she simply stood closing her eyes and radiating acceptance. She could adapt to the water. She had the ability to choose her attitude in life and she could accept the cold, saline-sting of the waters. Rather than brace herself against the feel of the waves, she welcomed them and concentrated on accepting them as part of herself.
Minutes passed and the sun warmed her skin. Without even realizing it, Emery was warm rather than her typical feeling of bone-penetrating cold the island normally gave her. Now as the water lapped gently against her shins, she opened her eyes and looked at the glinting lights dancing on the rippling water. The reflection of the sun on the undulating liquid looked like a golden road leading to nirvana. In complete faith, Emery simply stepped forward and walked onto the glimmering path. Someone had gifted her the bones of their beloved child, she would accept that honor.
She didn’t sink. Her bare feet encountered something slightly slimy and yet textured enough to keep the grip her toes had hooked onto. Hardly daring to look down, she chanced a split-second peek at her feet. A three-foot wide disk of dark green that was almost black kept her above water. Only her feet and ankles were submerged. Two black eyes in a leathery face swiveled back to look at her. In a split second she realized she’d stepped onto the back of an enormous sea turtle. A turtle! Her shield skin kindred spirit!
Almost toppling over at the realization, a chorus of harsh, barking sounds and a row of large liquid eyes in sleek, dark-fur faces snapped her back into an upright position. Seals! She was on a sea turtle surrounded by seals. Or maybe...selkies. People in seal form.
Slowly the procession surged through the seas around the island. Emery, naturally well-balanced, soon got the hang of balancing herself on the center of the broad back beneath her feet. The seals jumped and gamboled in the water beside them as they made a slow procession to the village dock. Several fishing boats, and other workers at the small port spotted them and all activity ceased.
The keen-eyed villagers stood staring, mouths gaping as the large turtle brought Emery up against the side of the stone jetty. Emery bent down, stroked the top of the leathery head and whispered, “Thank you. Thank you so much my strong-backed sea carriage.” Then bowing in gratitude to the dark heads watching from the waves, thanked them as well, before she stepped up onto the stone jetty and watched as first the sea turtle’s head and then the seals all disappeared.
Emery sank onto one of the wooden crates at the edge of the pier and took a few minutes to regain her equilibrium. No one moved. The fishing boats remained still, simply floating on the waves, afraid to start their propellers in case they damaged ‘queenie’s’ guides.
Dorothea arrived on a donkey, the twins trailing along behind her with another shaggy-haired mount. Mur simply picked her up and slung her onto the top of the unburdened donkey. Ray turned it towards the Abbey and smacked it on its bony rump. It rambled off up the hill with Dorothea following behind.
It took half an hour for the village to return to its normal activity. Even then it was only because the sun was
setting and the fleet needed to come in for the night. Everyone was stunned, except perhaps for Rowan McGuire, the purveyor of the selkie bones that now graced Emery’s head. She simply cackled merrily and patted her hands together in happiness, humming softly as she puttered about her tiny one room hut.
Chapter Eight
Do What Thou Wilt; Harm None
Each day for the next two weeks, Emery and the twins sailed as usual. They’d been together almost every day for the past six months and were so used to each other that words often didn’t even need to be spoken. Emery had become a good sailor and, as a sort of third-wheel in the group, often just tried to make herself useful.
The weather had turned warmer and now the twins were more often wanting to anchor and swim. Emery could swim now - not in a typical human sort of way, but slid gracefully through the water like a seal and no longer felt the cold. She had learned to free dive to a depth of about twenty-five feet and could hold her breath for almost two and a half minutes. She’d found her first lobster - a very small one, the week before.