Chapter 6 - May Daze
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cg4YrOlAkds
"Morgaine began to feel the coldness of fear. She was nowhere,
then, in the world she knew. Was it possible that within the Druid
magic which had removed Avalon from the very world, there was a
further unknown country, a world round or past Avalon? Glancing
at the thick trees, the ancient oaks and hazel, fern and willow,
she knew she was not in any world she had ever seen. There was a
single gnarled oak, old past guessing, that she could not possibly
have failed to see and know. Certainly so old and venerable a tree
would have been marked as holy by the Druids. 'By the Goddess!
Where am I?'"
MZB - Mists of Avalon
Jethro lay abed late, for a change. He wasn't sleeping, but
thinking, or rather, grousing to himself; dam Homer anyway... Em's
first visit back in a coon's age and here the damfool put his big
foot in things already. Jethro flung an arm over his eyes to block
out the bright morning. No wonder he hadn't much luck with the
girls he'd dared bring home...
He sighed finally, and took his arm away, risking a peep at the
window. Well, it was Homer's place, he could do as he wished, lord
knew...Ole Uncle Homer or Cousin Homer or whatever he was...some
older relative who had taken Jethro under his ample wing when the
boy's parents had succumbed to
valley fever, and moved him up the hill with him, taught him all
he knew about ranching and its' attendant disciplines, as well as
the fine art of distillation of various fruit juices...
He guessed Homer meant well, in his own wicked way. Dam
him...Jethro at last heaved himself up. Have to face the music and
dance sometime, he admitted.
Washed up and dressed, he at last emerged from his room and headed
into the kitchen. Hm. No one here. Out on the porch?
He poked his head out but was met with only a lone chicken's icy
stare. Think they'd notice one of their own missing and wander
well away from the house and bar-b-que, he mused, thinking the
fowl were never particularly bright birds. Well, where the devil
was everyone? Even the hound pack was oddly missing.
His growling stomach reminded him of first thing's first, and he
scrambled up some eggs and peppers with tortillas and cut up a
tomato with it, washing it down with the dregs of strong coffee
left to him. So, someone was here and broke their fast before him.
Not too anxious to head out, he chopped onion, garlic and peppers
and put on a big pot of beans, stoking the fire for a good while,
and added molasses, cumin and chilies, tomatoes and plenty of
water to cook for hours. Tossing in a big bay laurel leaf, there's
dinner, he decided, wiping his hands.
Clock in the hallway read near noon, now. He'd slept that long?
Maybe he was dragging out the moments til he'd have to face Emlyn
in the cold light of day...
Which was actually getting rather hot now, he knew, as he sat on
the porch and tied fast his steel-toed work boots.
Now he could hear it, echoing up the valley. Hammering. Had Homer
put lil ole Em to work then?
Stepping off the porch, Jethro pulled his hatbrim down and glanced
about him, noticing Casey's big grey out in the field below. Well!
The lad had been a big help to them, with Jack out of town now. He
picked up his tool belt off the rack in the barn and headed on
down to add his hammer's ring to the rest, whistling 'Nine Pound
Hammer' as he poked along.
As he came into view of the stage site, he saw with no small
surprise, that nearly half the roof was already up. Hm.
'Waaalll, look who's up, finally!' Homer mumbled around a mouth
full of nails, peering at Jethro. 'Better get to crackin',
sleepin'beauty, or we'll have this done before you haul your dead
rear end up here...'
'Jethro!' Em waved from atop the roof, 'How d'you like it?
Does it meet with your approval?' She had her split denim skirt on
and boots as well, straw hat and gloves, ready to build a roof, or
ride; obviously proud of her work thus far. Casey, too, looked
down at him grinning.
'Well aren't you all just busy as a hive of honeybees in June!'
Jethro climbed up beside Homer and looked up, inspecting their
efforts, shaking the frame and seeing it
held steady.
'It's built to the foreman's specifications...' Homer informed him
narrowly.
'Uh-huh.' Jethro stood, hands on hips. 'You get any sleep last
night, Emlyn?'
'I did. But, as you said, there's work to be done!' Em smiled at
him. 'And...at this rate,' she wiped her brow with her kerchief,
'...we just might finish it today! If you'll ever get on up here
and lend a hand!'
Jethro headed up the ladder and straddled a beam next to Em.
'Don't push yourself, now, gal...safety first!' Em rolled her
eyes, and Casey resumed his hammering. 'Slow and steady...'
'...Aye, aye, captain...' Em helped Casey grab another board from
Homer and hauled it up beside them.
'We've only been working on this since about eight this morning.
We should be finished today!'
'You think?' Jethro surveyed the area left to go.
'Yes. We do.' She locked her gaze with his, 'And when we're
finished, then we can go on that little ride I mentioned!'
'Got'cha!' Homer injected, his grin wide enough to hide his eyes.
Jethro knew when he was beat. 'Well, alrighty then...let's finish
this monster! Beans tonight, boys and girl!'
'My favorite!' Em exclaimed heartily.
'Heh, heh, heh...' Homer chuckled to himself.
. . . .
And finish it they did, breaking only for a quick bite and rest at
Jethro's insistence, and at last, he pronounced the roof rain-
worthy and they packed up their tools, after securing a large
canvas over the top as an extra precaution.
After washing up, all gathered in the yard about the big picnic
table and partook of Jethro's beans which were tender and
toothsome, along with great hunks of sourdough bread and cheese,
finishing up with walnuts and dried apples for dessert. Casey
excused himself directly after eating, having wished to be off
earlier but Homer insisted on feeding the lad first. 'Can't have
you workin' and ridin' home empty, boy!'
'Lad put in a good days' work, as did yourself, Miss Nob Hill,' he
told Em, picking his teeth with stray tiny twigs they'd saved from
woodworking.
'He seems to have grown every time I see him!' Em remarked.
She regarded Jethro intently, picking small splinters from her
arms. 'So! What about my ride, then?'
Homer's eyebrows hit his hairline, but he saw Jethro shoot him a
dark look and kept mum. Jethro knew after all Em's hard work he
had better acquiesce... 'Alright, Em,' he sighed. 'Tomorrow, then!
But no long rides, hear? Just up over the ridge aways...I'll be
your guide.'
Em visibly relaxed then. 'Excellent! You'll see, it'll be fun,
just like old times!'
Jethro rather doubted that...a long trail ride through nettles and
fresh poison oak, ticks...his backside ached just thinking of it.
'...We'll pack a lunch, and some trail food...I'll restock your
larder, fellas, when I return!'
'Don't you worry about that, Em. We got some good free labor from
your visit! But, keep in touch, eh?' Jethro looked at her, holding
her gaze.
Homer whittled away on a gnarled bit of wood. 'Tomorrow...that'll
be May lst!' he pointed the stick their way, 'Watch out for elves!
Gnomes!'
'Tomtens!' Em added her Swedish house elves.
'Tommyknockers and bwbachods!' Jethro grinned.
'Boob-a-whats?' Em giggled.
'Ole Bwb-a-chods! My favorite fairies!' Homer leaned over and
poured himself a few fingers of jack from his lil' brown jug. The
other two wisely stuck to new apple wine. 'Welsh elves, Emlyn!
They don't care for teatotalers! Or preachers,' Homer spat, then
carefully spilled afew drops of jack on the ground. 'Spirits for
the Welsh spirits!'
Em smiled, warming to Homer's affection for the devic realms. She
poured abit of her wine out, as did Jethro. 'In Mexico, they honor
spirits, and spirits of the dead, thus, as well...'
'It's good to honor those who've gone before...' Homer was oddly
thoughtful and not as overwhelming as usual. 'But don't forget
your Winchester, there, son! Snakes, bear, and bad hombres you're
more likely to run into, May Day or no!'
. . . .
Em took her candle into her room, closing the door. They'd
prepared the horses and their tack and saddlebags for tomorrow's
trip, packing canvas and some extra provisions in case they got
caught out and had to spend the night outdoors.
They turned in just after dusk, wanting to get an early start on
the morrow. Walpurgis Night, Emlyn thought...she watched the
waxing moon come up, holding a bright star just above her horns.
Beltane Eve; Em felt a little shiver run up her back. She wasn't
cold, no...she realized she was feeling newly excited. It had been
awhile since she'd felt enthused over a new venture--one she had
initiated herself, and not some mad whirl she'd been thrust into
willy-nilly. She'd purposely left the artefact back on Nob Hill.
Yawning, she opened the window a crack to let in the fresh
mountain air and didn't mind that it blew out her candle.
She eased 'neath her blankets, feeling at home here at Jethro's
where she'd spent many an evening before, chastely, naturally, as
befitting a sister; listening to the frog chorus from the lower
pasture's wee pond lull her toward dreamland...
. . . . .
Fog...or mist? And here was he yet again...Emlyn wasn't at all
surprised, it was as it should be. They put arms about one another
and began to dance, a slow waltz, round and round...and as they
danced, they melted into one another; one became the other and at
last, ultimately, truly and wholly themselves and so, at one with
all...
. . . . .
POUND!! Pound! Pound!
'Get up, sleepyhead! You asked for it, remember?'
Jethro. Already? Em groaned. '--Coming!' She cracked an eye open
and saw only dark sky out. He probably woke her too early as
revenge...
Bleary-eyed, she joined him in the kitchen after quick ablutions
and dressing for the road. 'Wrap your stomach around that and
we'll be off,' he told her.
Em looked into her oatmeal with dried apple rehydrating slowly
within. She knew she'd be alright with that...
'Tea?' She croaked.
'Oh, yea, you're a tea service sort, mam'selle, are you not?
Sorry, fresh out, old girl! Coffee?' Jethro poured her a cup and
handed her cream.
Em cleared her throat and taking a sip, tried to clear her head.
'Gracias.'
'Da nada, senorita...eat up! Be sunup here soon and we're
not even down the road yet...' Jethro set to, Em followed his
lead...
. . . . .
...Which led her seemingly up the steepest switchback trail she'd
been on yet, hugging the side of a deep, rocky ravine. Emlyn
suspected he wished to cure her of trailrides with him acting as
guide. Well, we shall see who gives out first, Em told herself,
leaning forward as she urged her willing Pancho up the ridge.
It soon turned into a warm day, but they were still under cover of
trees, deciduous as well as redwood and pine which
gave welcome shade whilst they climbed ever upward. Em found
herself wishing the trail wasn't such a challenge; she would have
otherwise enjoyed the scenery...as it was, she was ever alert for
a mis-step and kept a wary eye on the sheer drop to her right...
At last, though, they reached the ridge top and came onto a flat
mesa which offered a fine overlook of the oak-studded hills below
and hazy valley beyond. 'Fine view! Almost worth the climb!'
Jethro gazed down at her,'Pancho did all the work!'
Em dismounted and poured water into a bowl for Pancho, refilling
for Jethro's bay gelding. 'Is there a creek anywhere nearby?'
'Yep,' Jethro tugged down his hatbrim and pointed into the
distance over his shoulder. 'Just up over that rise, and
down into an arroyo...you'll see. We'll break for lunch there.
Runs along into some nice lil' lagoons. Might even take a swim...'
Em sighed deeply. 'Now you're talking!' She drank some water and
stoppered her canteen and mounted up. 'Lead on, brave knight and
may the spirits find favor with thee, and me...'
Jethro just shook his head and turned his horse about, as Em
followed, yawning still, although she was beginning to awaken.
Jethro began to sing: 'It's a gift to be simple,' he turned and
grinned wickedly at Em, 'It's a gift to be free...'He then faced
forward and urged Charley on. She cast a glance upward, noting two
hawks wheeling above. Sun looked to be nearing zenith. Noon soon.
She yawned again as Pancho plunged them back into the brush and
headed up and over the next rise behind Jethro. Em hoped she would
fully awaken soon...a May daze was upon her, indeed.
As it warmed, insects buzzed about them and Emlyn at last was able
to pay attention to sounds and sights about her; here the going
was not so steep and intense. She thought she could detect the
faint sound of water trickling off amongst the far trees... Jethro
pulled up abruptly and pointed into the willows; a doe and fawn
saw them, ears pricking, before they darted away. Em smiled at
Jethro. 'You won't see that on Nob Hill...'
'No, ma'am...' Jethro nudged his mount forward and Emlyn took a
deep breath of mountain air, sucking a gnat up her nose. That'd
teach her...
Indeed, the trickle Em heard soon became the rush of a real river,
not wide but welcome enough, as they followed the deer trail among
the manzanita and slender willows barely moving in the lazy
breeze. Large smooth rocks, some moss covered in deepset grottos,
lined the river's edge, the horses picking their way among them.
'Lunch?' Em called, hopefully.
Jethro pulled up, looking behind him. 'Nearly there. Stay in your
saddle, lil gal, it's 'Just Around the River Bend--' Jethro sang,
as he continued onward.
Pancho snorted and shook his head, bending here and there to drink
from the small shallows, Em following at a slow pace. As Pancho
brought her around a tall pile of boulders, she heard the sound of
a small waterfall, and beheld a joyous sight: a miniature
Shangri-La, with deep azure pools, surrounded by falls, with small
falls flowing from one pool to another... She gazed up to find
Jethro standing atop the big boulders she'd just passed, and
taking his boots off. '...Doesn't get better than this, Em!' he
said, proceding to strip down to his shorts.
Emlyn just watched, smiling, as Jethro stretched and then dove
into the pool below. A mighty splash startled a pair of ducks
beyond the rocks, complaining as they took flight. Jethro emerged,
shaking his wet head. 'C'mon in Em. Water's fine.'
He struck off swimming across the small pool toward the falls and
tucked his knees up and went barreling over, his 'Yeeeee-haaa!'
echoing up the canyon.
Em was hot. The water cool and inviting. She led Pancho next to
where they'd secured Charley, (Jethro's bay, could be a pain at
times, but he was a goer), and began to unsaddle both horses and
took their bridles off as well, tying ropes about them and then
hitched them near where they could find grass and water.
She sat well behind a thick stand of willows and demurely began to
peel layers of clothing from her heated and sticky flesh. Goddess,
that felt much better... At last, in only her chemise and bloomers
she emerged, sticking a toe in the cold mountain stream.
Jethro swam over and circled her like a shark. 'You're very nearly
there, Em. Another toe or two and you should be refreshed and
ready for another few hours on the trail!'
Em stuck her tongue out at him, and began to wade gingerly
in...'It's cold! Oh, barely spring! Oh, mountain water, in the
early spring! Oy!'
Jethro leaned over suddenly and grabbed her ankle, pulling her
over into his arms as he cushioned her fall against him and she
loosed forth a shriek.
'There, now, wasn't that refreshing?' he asked, as she sputtered
and growled and thrashed about.
'Yess-ss-ss,' her teeth chattered as she headed back out on dry
rock. 'Ice-ssa-ssa...melllltt-t-t. I'm-m d-done.'
'Em!'
'Later! When it's had a chance to warm up! I swear you must be a
furnace inside to stand it! I'm freezing!' Em wrapped herself in a
towel she brought for just such a happenstance, and shook her hair
out and just plain shook, soaking up the sunshine once more.
'Don't you get hypothermia in there, Jethro!'
'Awright, I guess I'm about cooled down...' he rose, water pouring
from him like Poseidon, and went for his own towel, sitting beside
Em. 'You like this place, though?'
'It's beautiful! I didn't know it was here. Maybe I've never been
up this route before,' she ran her fingers through her dripping
locks, 'by the water's chill, we must be aways up.'
Jethro grinned at her, looking slippery. 'You said you wanted to
go 'Up aways--!'' He stood and went to their saddle bags and began
unpacking their lunch, taking it back to Em. 'Walnuts, shelled...'
he set their food out on the towels, '...some cheese, dried apples
of course...
and, ta-da! Sandwiches!'
'I could just about eat Pancho! Thank you!' She grabbed her soft
cheese, tomato, olives and green onion sandwich and tucked in with
gusto. 'You make the best sourdough bread, Jethro.'
'I do, don't I?' He regarded his sandwich seriously and leaned
back on one elbow. 'Not a bad day, after all, I guess, eh?'
'It's gorgeous.' Em chewed thoughtfully. 'I miss this so much. It
reminds me, a little, of la Villa Encantata back in Sonora. Only
more green.' Em washed her hands in a nearby pool and attacked the
nuts and cheddar. She watched as Jethro took their canteens off
toward the big falls and
he circled underneath the falls' tail, behind it and soon
returned, handing Emlyn hers. 'There's a fresh spring beside the
falls over there. Taste.'
Em gratefully drank the crisp, clear water, tasting slightly
earthy. 'Oh, diosa! That is surely the Water of Life, Jethro.'
'That it is,' it was Jethro's turn to yawn. 'I believe I'll just
have a lil' nap here...' he rolled his shirt under his head,
putting his hat over his face. 'Rifle's there. Watch for bear and
wake me in about a half hour...' he yawned once more and proceded
to drop off effortlessly.
Em just stared at this miracle awhile, marvelling that someone
could just go to sleep so quickly. '...Watch for bear, indeed...'
she muttered, chewing nuts. She watched, however.
. . . .
The sun was well past zenith when Jethro awoke and found Emlyn
asleep beside him. He shook his head slowly. 'Shoulda known...' he
said to himself, watching her sleep awhile.
'"The tender spring upon her tempting lip,
Shows thee unripe, yet mayest thou well be tasted,
Make use of time, let not advantage slip...
Beauty within itself should not be wasted.."'
Jethro leaned over Em's placid features and slowly lowered his
lips to meet hers, when suddenly Charley raised his head and
neighed mightily. Em's eyes fluttered open.
'Damn!'
Shaking the Shakespeare from his spring-addled brain, Jethro
stood, gazing about, not seeing anything. 'You have definitely
earned your name today, Charley Horse!' he told his faithful, and
faithfully irritating mount.
'Que hora es?' Em inquired, yawning. 'I can't believe I fell
asleep! Sorry!' She stood and began to gather her clothes.
Jethro looked at the sky. 'Damn, again!' He took out his pocket
watch. 'Bloody hell! We slept the afternoon away! That's no
good...' He began getting dressed. 'We might have to stay in these
mountains tonight, after all...'
'Just where are we, Jethro?' Em buttoned up smartly, repacking
their saddle bags, and rounding up the horses.
'I know where we are and that's all you need know! Aww,' he ran a
hand through his hair, scratching angrily, 'if we get a move on,
we might, might! --Make it to a small settlement
not too awfully far from here. Might find a bed there...'
'I don't mind sleeping rough, it doesn't look like rain.'
'Yea-ah...it gets cold up here nights though, Em.' He clapped his
hat back on and saddled up. 'I mean, maybe not freezing, but low
forties. No, we'll do better to make for Modoc Springs. We can
make it, be pushin' it though...'
Em was already seated and ready. 'Let's hit it.' Modoc
Springs...she'd never heard of it. Sounded most serendipidous.
And off they trotted down the deer path, heading up and over yet
another rise...the sun swiftly lowering behind the tall trees and
the air carrying a hint of cool breeze now, harbinger of the chill
night to come.
. . . . .
An hour or so later, they crested the final rise just as the sun
disappered at last and the air became chill immediately. They had
put their coats on earlier but the drop in temperature was
definitely noticeable.
They emerged from the thick of pines into an open field and could
at last see some vista beyond a few feet ahead of them. 'Where is
Modoc Springs?'
Jethro sat silent staring. He tilted his hat back on his head and
pointed over to the next hillside. 'Do you see a fire, Em? Just
there--'
Emlyn peered into the growing dusk. 'I do! In fact,' she pointed
to the left, '...there's another one! Bonfires, you think?'
'I do!' He clicked a giddyup to Charley Horse and they headed
toward the dancing lights upon yonder hill...
Moving through the field, Em noted tall lumpen forms here and
there about them, mere shadows. They lined the field's perimeters
and were too far away in the darkness to make them out clearly.
Closer in, she discerned what she thought to be woodpiles.
Curious.
Nearing the sloping hillside, Jethro slowed abit and Em caught up
beside him. He was staring into a corner of the field. 'What the
devil could that be?' He nodded to their left; in the shadows
there appeared to be a...contraption?
of sorts--thick, tall poles were mounted onto wooden wheels with
other poles lashed upon them, pointing up at odd angles.
'Can't imagine...some sortof harvesting machine? Nothing ripe for
harvest yet though.' Emlyn was flummoxed but curious still.
'Well, we best see if we can join the fires, whoever lit them
would know...' And ever onward they continued, again taking the
high road.
As they neared, the sound of guitar and pipe and drum could be
heard. Jethro slowed once more, smiling around at Em. 'Could it be
a May Day celebration?' Then dismounted,
deciding to walk and greet their unknown bonfire bon vivants.
Em followed his lead and led Pancho into a small clearing on a
grassy mesa where people sat gathered about a large,
cheery blaze. Indeed, she thought of her own Druid gatherings, for
they wore crowns of twined ivy and flowers and were lustily
singing old songs with a keltic lilt.
Em and Jethro stood on the edge of the clearing, watching
silently. The song ended, and on cue: Charley Horse neighed,
shaking his bridle and all turned as one toward them. An old
bearded man with long grey braids stood, holding a large crooked
staff before him and approached.
'"Boldness, be my friend! Arm me, audacity!"' The old man put
forth his hand toward them, 'Come! Enter the circle and warm
yourselves!'
Tying their mounts to a nearby tree, they smilingly joined the
company. 'Greetings, all! I'm Jethro, and this is...'
'Emlyn,' Em informed them. 'Your circle is a welcome sight
indeed!'
'"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May..."' the old man
quoted, gesturing, 'Sit! Take a cup of mead with us...' he was
passed a cup ladled from a nearby barrel and handed it on to Em,
and one to Jethro.
'Iechye da!' Em toasted the throng. 'Cheers!' Jethro echoed, and
greetings in many languages and voices were returned.
'I detect the lilt of a Welsh lass, if I'm not much mistaken...' a
comely lad near Em leaned forward, long dark hair braided in many
ropes hung from his ivy-bedecked head. 'Noswaith dda, kinswoman!'
Em blushed, glad for the firelight which hid it, 'Alas, I've not
the Welsh I wish I had...but, was that 'good evening', perchance?'
He smiled, nodding and extended his hand, 'I'm Gwydion,' he
greeted her, taking the hand Em offered and kissed it gently.
'Emlyn, then? A hard worker are you? 'Tis a virtue, indeed.'
Em sighed, '"I seek the utmost pleasure, and the least pain"',
quoting Plautus, and smiled. 'Especially now; we have been riding
since before the dawn...'
The guitars struck up a merry tune and some arose and began to
dance. 'Come,' said Gwydion, still keeping her hand in his, he
helped her rise and led her round the other side of the bonfire.
Em glanced over her shoulder to see how Jethro fared, but she need
not concern herself; that well-built laddie had waiting women of
his own, pressing more wine and tidbits upon him, much to his
contentment.
Emlyn saw a smaller fire here where a cauldron hung above it and
could smell a delicious aroma emanating from within it's hold.
Gwydion handed her a wooden bowl and spoon, and ladled a thick,
rich stew. 'This should warm you well,' he said and they returned
to the fire, noting now that Jethro was eagerly tucking into a
bowl of his own.
'This is so very good...lamb stew, is it?' Em wolfed down the
thick gravy laden with tender meat and vegetables, with some
herbal seasoning she didn't quite recognize.
'Oh, aye. Sheep all about here.' They sat some ways from the
loudest revelry and so could hear one another. 'So, what brings
you to our Galan Mai?'
Diosa...what could Em say? She had hoped to meet some Welsh
cousins and here she had found a grove of them, apparently...and a
kissing cousin as well, perhaps. She regarded her new companion
and found him a pleasing, if rather odd sight, with his shirt open
with a shell necklace about him and bare chest painted with
eldritch markings... 'Well, we had just set out on a trail ride
and found the most wonderful place to swim...do you know it? There
is a lovely waterfall and lagoon, with sets of falls and adjoining
pools...'
Gwydion smiled, a fine sight. 'Indeed. It's a marvellous place and
favored by the Fay.'
'The Fay! Truly...' Em wondered how it was that she'd fallen
asleep so easily while on watch. 'I hadn't meant to fall
asleep...' she noted Gwydion's smile widened, '...but, I did and
when we both awoke, it was already too late to turn back home...'
'Wherever you hang your heart is home,' Gwydion stood and took the
empty bowl from her, setting it aside and pulled her up beside
him. 'Come dance with me.'
. . . . .
Em had joined Gwydion and the others in a ring-dance about the
fire, gay as Mayday and stepping lively round and round, turning
and heading widdershins and back, in and out, turning, bowing, and
on and on as the evening progressed; breaking only for more food
and wine and chatting with her new companions.
At last, the old man with the staff stood and pounding his staff
upon the earth before him, commanded their attention.
'It is an hour unto the midnight! Soon the games commence!'
He gestured into the field below with his staff, and the party
gathered their things and some called and whistled to the other
small bonfires dotting the hillside, and they moved more or less
together back down the hill.
'What happens now?' Emlyn asked Gwydion, Jethro joining them, arm
in arm with two fair maids, she noted wryly.
'Ah. Now we will light the bonfire and so pay our homage to the
Fay, the spirits of the land and the Lord and Lady, by midnight!'
He looked sideways at Em, smiling, 'Our revels have only just
begun!'
Em looked up at Jethro, wondering how he was holding up. He seemed
energetic enough still, although Em felt a pleasant
drowsiness slowly stealing upon her. Come to think of it, she had
felt more or less thus all day.
Others had arrived before them and bearing torches, were lining
the field, where by their light, Emlyn could now perceive the
lumps about the perimeter were actually tents, decorated with
painted signs and sigils, with smaller woodpiles for bonfires
spaced betwixt.
A very large pile of wood stood in the middle of the field at one
end, and the large contraption they had noticed earlier was now
being pulled forth by people with sturdy ropes to the other end of
the field, opposite the big woodpile.
'Glory be!' Jethro looked entranced. 'Em, would you look at that!'
Em was looking. She was looking more at the half-naked men, and
two women!--who were straining at the ropes, hauling the great
thing...they seemed to glow blueish in the firelight, and all had
barest of clothing covering their young, firmly muscled bodies,
painted with the same sigils she'd seen upon Gwydion. 'What is
it?' she breathed.
'S'a catapult! By jingo, it's a real catapult!' Jethro was
beside himself with glee.
Gwydion smiled at him, 'That she is! Wait till you see her in
action!'
They gathered at the field's end nearest the catapult and Em
marvelled at the size of the contrivance...huge whole logs were
lashed with strong ropes wound many times about them, the arm
powered about a sort of simple torsion gear in the middle of it
all. 'Amazing...'
Jethro stood as close as he dared, taking a torch and examining
the machine. 'This is wonderful...' he glanced up into the smiling
face of one of the women who had helped haul it. 'When I get home,
I want to build one of these myself. I'm inspired!'
'That is good! 'Tis an evening for inspiration and new ventures,
indeed!' She returned his smile, looking him over boldly.
Jethro appraised the girl as well, fascinated with her sinews as
much as her formidable contraption. 'That it is,' he agreed,
willingly.
Em saw all and smiled to herself. Jethro would not regret their
ride here after all, she was assured. She knew she certainly did
not, as Gwydion spread a blanket upon the ground for them and bid
her be seated beside him. 'But, what is it for?' Em asked, making
herself comfortable, as the small bonfires about the tents were
lighted, warming the immediate areas about them, 'We've no
barbarians at the gate to do battle with here!'
''Tis our match! To begin the midnight revels!' Gwydion looked at
her archly, invitation writ within the depths of his intense gaze.
Em couldn't quite discern his meaning, but Jethro's face beamed.
'You're going to light that big bonfire down there--
with a flaming bolt from the catapult?!'
Gwydion laughed and clapped a hand on Jethro's shoulder. 'Got it
in one, my friend! You see, peat bales piled there? They've pitch
and resins to set them alight. And the space here,' he pointed
'neath the catapult, 'has already been mapped out and designated,
as has the fire over there as well. Still, we shall try a few
practice shots, to check for accuracy, to see if we need change
the torque and angle...'
'Beautiful...' Jethro was in love. With the device or the hard-
bodied damsel, Em knew not which held his attention more. Watching
her tighten the ropes with the men, her biceps bulging, she seemed
a right Amazon to Emlyn, who felt inspired to become rather more
like her. Such were the keltic warrior-queens of old, she thought,
recalling Boudicia, or berzerking battle women of the Vikings.
Having aligned the machine within it's mark, a bale was loaded
into the large bowl-like attachment on the end of the cat's huge
arm, and the men began to wind the ropes about the torque gear.
'We won't light these. Just practice shots, as yet,' Gwydion
informed her, leaning near Em's ear, and
brushing strands of her hair aside. She could feel his warm breath
stirring against her skin, smelling of honey and wine.
She felt another rushing sense of chills up her spine and realized
how alive and excited were all of her senses, as she drank in the
bright evening's sky full of pulsating stars and smelled the
woodsmoke on the wind, listening to the odd trill of pipes here
and there about the gathering...she shivered from sheer
giddiness.'...Are you warm enough?' asked Gwydion, 'Here, lean
against me,' he moved behind her and leaned her against his warm
chest, holding his arms about hers. 'Better?'
'Much warmer,' Em blushed, thinking how very unladylike and
improper, all this... Why if the whispering women of Pankhurst
were to see her now, in the arms of a stranger with primitive
painting upon his chest and hair roped in braids like a pirate,
gone a-Maying off in the hills to who knew what end--she'd be
condemned a social outcast. Good!
'Moral indignation is jealousy with a halo,' as dear H.G. Wells
wisely noted.
Emlyn settled back against her fevered companion, revelling in his
attentions and the scent of him, like an outdoor cat,
clean and healthy, yet with a slight tang of sweat which bothered
her not at all. Perhaps not virtuous in the eyes of society, but
she felt that the goddess was smiling upon her and she was
altogether content and right in staying here.
'Dost thou think that because thou art virtuous, there would be
no more cakes and ale?' Ah, Shakespeare...
'Here we go!' Gwydion whispered, clutching her to him, as
those who were manning the great device all yelled, 'CATAPULT!!'
--And released the guy ropes: zzzwonng!--
the big clump of peat zinged off across the field, landing within
scant feet of the tall woodpile.
'But a few degrees off...' he smiled.
'Dam close!' Jethro was impressed. Em knew that upon their return
home, he would begin construction on one of these infernal
machines. She couldn't wait...!
On the next try, they did indeed hit their mark with this dry run,
and cheering went up all about the field. 'Now for the games to
begin! We needs must but wait for the Merlin to
deem it some few minutes to midnight!'
The games...Em wondered to herself, just what sort of 'games'?
Hieros gamos, possibly! She swallowed nervously, feeling Gwydion's
arms tighten in a soft hug about her. 'Are you ready, my Diana, my
Rhiannon, my Lady of the Lake?' he whispered, and kissed her cheek
lightly, 'Here comes the Merlin!'
Striding to one side of the great device, the elder in his white
robes looked the part of the Merlin, indeed, as he raised his arms
and called forth: 'To us! To us! Come and revel with us, o Diana,
Mistress of the Hunt! Join with us in our gaiety, o Horned Stag-
King! For the Lady is well-pleased with the emanations from our
revelries and doth both receive our heartiness and in turn,
reinvigorates us and all the land! Blessings upon our crops and
endeavors in the coming season, and Goddess grant health and
prosperity upon our peoples! Blessed be!' He struck forth his tall
staff into the air, 'Let the Games commence!'
Em heard drummers behind them then, she'd not noticed them as her
attention had been well-fixed upon the Merlin. Drumrolls beat and
stirred her blood as she watched the great peat bale loaded into
the bowl, and lighted. 'CATAPULT!!' all cried, and the flaming
missile rent the sky
toward it's target.
A direct hit! Great cheering, whistles and howls went up as the
giant bonfire was lighted by the resin-soaked peat bale.
All began to surge toward the bonfire, as Gwydion arose and helped
Emlyn stand. 'Come!' he shouted, laughing as he took her hand and
ran with her, joining the rushing throng as they made their mad
dash to the now flaming blaze engulfing the logs before them.
Musicians had gathered there and were making merry upon pipe, drum
and fiddle, guitar and mandolin...whilst large rings of folk
danced a circle dance in ever expanding rings
as more joined in the rigadoon about the scorching fire.
Emlyn pranced about parading her jasmin and ivy diadem and noticed
Jethro across from her, now bedecked with a crown of twisted ivy
about his head, and it looked altogether quite well and natural on
him. She saw him laughing gaily and tossing his head like a young
stallion and it both pleased and unsettled her...for a moment she
wondered if he would sprout horns suddenly, or goat's feet... But
as none of that mischevious magick appeared amongst these good
folk, she told herself to just let go and enjoy, and leave her
Victorian prudence behind in Pankhurst, where it belonged.
Indeed, Jethro had quite an entorage of giddy girls about him and
was revelling in their attendance. 'Dance! Dance!' he was singing
in his well-voiced baritone, 'Wherever you may be! I am The Lord
of the Dance, said he!' And all joined in the old lay:'It's a gift
to be simple, it's a gift to be free...!'
. . . .
'Come, my enchantress...' It was late, very late. Emlyn realized
all at once how very tired she was. She allowed her escort to lead
her where he would, as they neared the tents off to the sides;
small groups of people were still sitting, singing and playing
more quietly now, and eating and drinking... '...Cakes and ale,'
Em murmured to herself as she followed Gydion.
'Here we are,' he went toward a blue tent that stood somewhat away
from the others, '...and here, are your good steeds, see?' Emlyn
recalled their horses now, and saw with relief that they had been
nicely hobbled and given hay and water.
'Thank you! I can't recall when I last gave mind to poor Pancho!'
'He is well tended, and shall be safe for the night.' Gwydion led
her, torch in hand, behind the tent. 'When you leave on the
morrow, if you wish to take a shorter route down the mountain,
here is the way--' They walked along a pathway lined on either
side with bent willows and blackberry vines and he pointed to a
fork on the left. 'Unless you wish to revisit the pools, this way
will bring you home the soonest.'
'Wonderful, thank you, Gwydion!' Em was relieved. 'The pools were
lovely, but I think a quicker route would serve us best this
trip!'
Gwydion just smiled, and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. He
inhaled deeply. 'Jasmin flowers...jasmin, that's your scent.' He
bent to her neck, as if to drink of her, and
sketched a soft, slight kiss thereupon. He raised his head and
looking into his eyes, Em thought she saw elf-lights dancing in
his brown and green gaze. Lowering his long dark lashes he took
her hand and kissed her fingers gently, leading her back to the
tent.
'You've had a long day, my lady...' he lighted a lantern
and pulled the tent flap back, gesturing her to proceed within.
Emlyn was pleased to see their saddles and bags and tack all
stored neatly piled together in one corner. 'I feel so silly,
having forgotten our horses! Neither Jethro or I are usually so
remiss!'
'He is your man?' Gwydion asked, lowering himself upon the
sheepskins with soft cushions all about, and uncorked an earthen
jug.
'My--? Oh, no, no...' Em blushed, and settled down beside him,
running her hand over the soft wool. 'We were intimate once, long
ago. We have known one another since we were children.' She
regarded her new companion. 'We are just the best of friends,
now.'
'That is good news, indeed,' Gwydion leaned back upon an elbow and
poured two mugs of new wine. 'Iechye da, my lady!'
he gave toast, handing her a mug.
'Iechye da!' Em clacked her mug to his and drank of the sweet
apple wine.
'Come, warm yourself...' Gwydion lifted the sheepskin and eyed
Emlyn with a dark gaze. She could hear soft notes of pipes outside
and imagined similar scenes being played all about this May field
tonight...briefly she wondered about Jethro and which maiden had
finally captured his fancy. She hoped there was only one...
...As if in answer, she heard low voices and girlish giggling pass
close by and saw through the blue tent walls the lighting of a
lamp in the tent nearest them. She recognized Jethro's laughter...
'Your friend will be well taken care of, I expect,' her wild man
of the hills assured her, and Em snuggled down beside him under
the sheepskins and wrapped their soft warmth about her...
Emlyn felt herself well taken care of as well...
. . . .
Then came the dawn...or noon, more like.
Although Emlyn awoke refreshed, she gazed about herself in wonder.
Where was everyone?
She lay upon sheepskins still, but the tent and all sign of
Gwydion were gone. Their saddles and packs remained and she saw
the horses there safe, at least. Most odd, indeed. The fires had
burned out, and were covered with dirt and leaves almost as though
they had never been. She saw no other signs of life, but one other
lump covered with sheepskins close by. Jethro, she hoped.
Glancing all about, she perceived no sign of the big bonfire or
catapult. Indeed, t'was as though all had been but a dream within
a dream...
Combing out her hair, plucking forth the stray jasmin flowers now
crumpled, Em made a quick braid and looked about for water, not
wine! Was there nothing to mark the night's passing? Casting her
mind back to the evening before, she found the more she tried to
recall, the more fleeting the images she could but barely trace in
her mind's eye.
Rummaging in her saddlebags, she found her canteen still half full
of the good spring water. The horses! They had a water
bucket...oddly, it was still there with them, also nearly half
filled. Em washed up and patted Pancho and Charley, they seemed to
have passed the night unscathed at least.
Returning to camp, Em found afew more walnuts and bread and cheese
saved from their trip up and nibbled on this for breakfast. Soon
enough, she saw the other sheepskin stirring and Jethro emerged at
last, looking like a wild man with his hair sticking out all over,
ivy vines straying from his locks.
Emlyn couldn't help chuckling as his puzzled gaze took in the
empty field all about them. 'Nobody here but us horses,' Em said.
Jethro scratched his head, finding the ivy vines and tossing them
off. 'What the...' He looked over and saw Charley. 'At least the
horses are still here...' He shook his head. 'Glory, what a
night!'
'Our saddlebags and tack are all here. I've some bread and nuts
and cheese left...' Jethro threw off his sheepskin and
began pulling his boots on. 'Bloody gypsies...' he mumbled,
running his hands through his hair.
'Surely you jest...' Em replied, wryly. 'Some of the horses' water
is left to wash with.'
Soon they had pulled themselves together enough to be ready for
their departure. 'Nice sheepskins!' Em folded hers and rolled it
up, tying it behind her saddle. 'Yeah, I guess,' Jethro held his
out as if it were a snake about to bite.
'What is it, Jethro? You seem...angry somehow!'
'Just don't like being made a fool of, Em!' He hurridly stashed
his sheepskin and tightened the saddle's cinch.
'I dunno...I try to remember what happened and all, but...somehow
it just flies away from me!' He looked at her, his face pained.
'Then stop trying...' Emlyn wasn't flustered by what happened,
whatever it was. She'd been through some strange circumstances
before. 'We had an adventure. A sine die...here today, gone
tomorrow, or whenever! Que sera sera!'
What was this, though? Em bent over the campsite, seeing something
glint in the sunlight coming over the trees. Some hint of
silver...she picked up a milky stone in a silver setting.
'What'd you find there, Emlyn?' Jethro strode over. 'Hm. Looks
like a moonstone. Someone lost it maybe.'
Em didn't think so. 'It's mine now.' She pocketed it, intending to
put it on a silver chain and wear it as a momento. This was left
for her, she knew. It was a farewell gift from Gwydion, her May
Day companion. She smiled a small smile, recalling some moments of
the evening past that were very nice to remember, indeed...
Jethro had already mounted up. 'That catapult! How could it have
disappeared! Dam, what a magnifient monster that was!'
He grinned at her. Typical of Jethro to recall the great machine
instead of his merry maids.
'That's all you remember? The bloody catapult?' Em teased him, as
she swung into the saddle.
'Yep.' He'd keep it to himself then. Maybe it was his idea of
'being a gentleman'.
'Oh, there's a shortcut back, Jethro! Gwydion showed me--we bypass
the pools, but it should cut our return time by half, here...' She
turned Pancho and led them back into the trees, down the fairy
path that Gwydion had pointed out. 'To the left, he said, that
way!'
'Fine, Em. You lead this time and clear through all the
spiderwebs, then!' Jethro munched his cheese and hard bread, more
content now to just let things be. 'Think we have enough water to
see us home, IF you don't get us lost this way!'
'The trail seems well-used...' Emlyn struck out, feeling in a
mellow mood. 'The pool and falls were wonderful, Jethro.
Maybe we should come back up here again sometime...' she mused.
'Uh-huh. Midsummer's Day, I reckon? They were gypsies, Em.
Nothing more or less...'
Like no gypsies Em had ever seen, that was sure. 'So was that
Modoc Springs? I didn't see any buildings about.'
'Naaaww...it wasn't. Have to admit, I was off my compass somehow.
I think Modoc's over thataway somewhere--' he gestured farther
east. 'Not sure how we got so turned about.'
'Well, the bwbachods were well-pleased with us last night, I'm
sure! I don't know how I kept from getting a headache from all
that mead and apple wine!' Em felt rather a sense of well-being
and contentment free of ill after- effects.
Jethro just frowned and chewed on a long sweetgrass stem.
'Some gypsy potion in the wine, no doubt,' he commented darkly.
Em knew her old friend was not comfortable with things outside his
purview. Goodness, she had dealt with such her entire life it
seemed, moreso of late than ever. Perhaps it all was simply
preparing her for a life of well, adventure!
It certainly beat staying by the hearth in Pankhurst, toeing the
line and mouthing empty platitudes to the many colorless
automatons there.
She took the moonstone out of her pocket and studied it in the
sunlight. 'Iechye da, Gwydion,' she whispered, 'my lord, my
Taliesin...' she kissed it lightly and smiled, wrapping it in her
kerchief and stuffing it snug inside her skirt pocket. 'Til
Midsommer, then, perchance...'
Ah, 'the secret anniversaries of the heart,'--Longfellow spake
truly, thought Em, as her stout Pancho carried her back
home...what was it Gwydion had said to her? 'Home is where you
hang your heart!'
Viva la corazon! Emlyn smiled her secret smile and began to softly
sing, 'Tis a gift to be simple, tis a gift to be free...'
Jethro, never shy about joining in, that gregarious Sagittarius,
added his voice to hers, 'Tis a gift to know just who you want to
be!'
Onward and homeward they traveled til at last, they found
themselves overlooking the familiar sights of Homer's fields and
apple orchard, having gotten there just as the sun was setting and
indeed, in half the time of their trip up.
'Sic transit gloria mundi,' murmured Jethro, gazing at the setting
sun.
'"Unbidden guests are often welcome when they are gone!"' Em
replied. 'Come on, old thing, I'm starving! Feed me and I'll be
off back home, I promise.'
'Food, I can wrap my head, and stomach, around!' Jethro agreed,
and they raced home together, beating the sunset.
If they had but tarried a little, perhaps they would have heard a
lone piper's notes, softly piping a woodland call; to be heard
and answered only by the redwinged blackbirds and mourning doves.
. . . . .
WATCH! Vanessa Redgrave frolic! in: Camelot
"The Lusty Month Of May"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cg4YrOlAkds
Tra la! It's May!
The lusty month of May!
That lovely month when ev'ryone goes
Blissfully astray.
Tra la! It's here!
That shocking time of year
When tons of wicked little thoughts
Merrily appear!
It's May! It's May!
That gorgeous holiday
When ev'ry maiden prays that her lad
Will be a cad!
It's mad! It's gay!
A libelous display!
Those dreary vows that ev'ryone takes,
Ev'ryone breaks.
Ev'ryone makes divine mistakes
The lusty month of May!
Whence this fragrance wafting through the air?
What sweet feelings does its scent transmute?
Whence this perfume floating ev'rywhere?
Don't you know it's that dear forbidden fruit!
Tra la la la la! That dear forbidden fruit!
Tra la la la la!
GUENEVERE & CHORUS:
Tra la la la la [etc.]
GUENEVERE:
Tra la! It's May!
The lusty month of May!
That darling month when ev'ryone throws
Self-control away.
It's time to do
A wretched thing or two,
And try to make each precious day
One you'll always rue!
It's May! It's May!
The month of "yes you may,"
The time for ev'ry frivolous whim,
Proper or "im."
It's wild! It's gay!
A blot in ev'ry way.
The birds and bees with all of their vast
Amorous past
Gaze at the human race aghast,
The lusty month of May.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Chapter 5 - Homecoming
'...A Druid in training must first
be a bard before he is a priest, for music is one of the keys to the laws of the universe.'
--Mists of Avalon
WATCH AND LISTEN:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dUltGp-UeqM
Chapter 5 - Homecoming
The day was heating up and smelled of green, warming to gold, as Em and Casey headed ever upwards into the foothills. The big, sturdy grey slowed abit, bending his head low to pull them up and over the winding hillsides.
As Em fanned herself with her hat, she hoped that Jethro and Homer would be home...after her debacle at Crowley House, she no longer felt her usual optimistic cockiness would see her through towards her goals. Perhaps a different, more thorough approach. Moderation in all things! Right.
At last, though, they rounded over the rise and not a moment too soon for the day was indeed growing hot, and drove down the lane to the little valley ranch where her friends resided. Not waiting for Casey to assist, Em leapt from the wagon and looked about. Signs of life at last--
she heard a hue and cry and bellow from Homer's hounds
out in the far pasture, and they ran as a pack to greet them.
'Hey, ole Bizness! How are you, old dog?' Em bent to pat the aged dog's head as he snuffled and sniffed at her, creaky tail a-wag. The other hounds wagged a welcome, having sniffed familiar scents from Casey and Co. 'Where's your masters, eh?' Em enquired.
'I bet they're out in the far field workin' on the amphitheatre,' Casey informed her, hitching his horse by the water trough.
'Amphitheatre! Indeed?' This was news to Em.
Casey grinned as they fell in step together, the houndsapack gamboling about them. 'Oh, yeah. They, along with Jack of course, have been working on building a stage and roof, in the little hollow yonder--'
he indicated the far side of the field where, shading her eyes, Em could make out what indeed looked like a wooden frame. 'Sorta Jack's idea, really...he'd gotten them all fired-up about turning their barn dances into a sort of music festival, out here in the hills...I come out and help 'em once and awhile myself.'
'That's brilliant, Casey! It sounds like fun.' Em wondered why Jack hadn't mentioned this.
As they neared, they found Homer holding a tall ladder and staring up at Jethro who was hammering madly upon a 2x4 frame around the edges of what would be the stage. As Bizness 'rowlf'd!' at them, Homer peered around and then his brows shot up and he tilted his hat brim back.
'Waaaaall, now would you looky here! If it ain't Miz Emmeline Page back from La Revolucion!
Viva Villa, muchacha!' Homer grinned at her.
Jethro ceased hammering and gazed down at them. 'Well, now Em, aren't you a sight for sore eyes! What brings you way out here to see your dear old friends at loooong last, eh?'
He began climbing down the ladder. As he reached the ground, Em climbed up on to the makeshift stage and hugged them both, no small feat, getting an arm only half-way around Homer's mighty girth.
'Ohhh, I missed you both so!' Em kissed them both on the cheek. 'I have been wanting to come out for, o weeks now...'
'Uh-huh. Miss-Nob-Hill,' Jethro winked at Homer, 'Well, here you are at last, anyway...so what'd'ya think?' he waved an arm out toward the skeleton of the stage and roof.
'I think it's a grand idea and about time, too! Folks will love it! Why, if you get some name bands here, you might even charge admission!'
Jethro and Homer looked at one another. 'Way ahead of you, Em. Woody even mentioned it to Rob Williams! He's all for comin' out here to play, soon's we get it goin'!'
Em stared about her, smiling, hands on hips...it could happen! 'This is a natural amphitheatre, the way the ground slopes, here, then up behind the stage, with the tall pines behind us! I can't wait to see it, boys!' Williams, Em thought: yet another fellow Welshman!
Jethro wiped his brow and hands on his kerchief, stuffing it in a back pocket. 'Yep. Had to wait 'til the rains were done...alas, all too soon this year! Might get a thundershower here yet though...but, been a dry winter. Bad for farmers down in the valley. Have a seat, Em!' He and Homer and Casey all seated themselves along the steps as Em followed suit and Homer took out his pipe and pouch.
'Yeaah, so! We'll get the frame up, for stage and roof,'
Homer pointed, 'don't think we'll want wall--oh, later, maybe; the trees will act as a natural acoustic barrier and bounce the sound out front, see...' Homer packed his pipe. 'Get the roof up pronto, in case o'rain, and then lay the stage boards. Won't take long.'
Jethro took a slug of water and passed the jar. 'Yeah, we can hang a Jolly Roger behind the stage or somethin'...'
he grinned. 'The actual building doesn't take long. What was hard work was sawin' and planin' the logs,' he took the water jar back from Em, eyeing her closely, 'Jack did the lion's share of work on that, didn't he, Homer?'
'That he did!' Homer drew on his old Meershaum. 'Well, he and I did, mostly. Couldn't'a done it without him.'
'Jack's a good man,' Jethro's gaze bore down on Emmeline.
Em looked up, returned his gaze. 'That he is, Jethro.'
'Well, I have to be headin' back on home!' Casey stood and
saluted them. 'I shall return, and help out again soon;
you'll need help sandin' that floor, I reckon...'
Em thanked Casey effusively, causing the redhead's face to match his hair, and slipped him another payment, patting his hand. Touching his straw hat, he jogged on back to his wagon.
Jethro and Homer just sat with Em between them, smiling and staring at her, saying not a word.
'What?!' she finally had to prod them.
Homer looked at Jethro and Jethro looked back at him. 'Ah, now. Where to begin...?' Homer knocked the ash from his pipe and began chuckling to himself. 'You do know you about drove that poor boy insane, Miss Nob Hill...do you not?' he enquired.
Em folded her arms before her and leaned back, looking from one to the other. 'I do not.'
The men both rolled their eyes and Jethro stood, grabbing his hammer. 'What brings you here, down from Nob Hill, then, Em?' he asked wryly, poking about his toolbox, inspecting nails.
Where to begin, indeed? 'Jethro, I...' Em sighed. She didn't want to 'get into it' with the boys just now. 'Actually, I'm here to pick up Pancho. I'm heading up into the hills, and I need a horse to take me from the station, ah...up aways...'
'Hm. 'Up aways', eh?' Homer narrowed his gaze at her, his eyes disappearing into his round cheeks. 'Y'ever been 'Up Aways' there, Jethro?'
'No, Homer, can't say that I have...'
Em was feeling rather at a loss. 'Honestly, guys...give me half a chance, here, can't you? When did I become the enemy? Is it Boys Against Girls now? Our school days are long gone, Jethro...'
'Heh, heh!' Homer laughed, 'patting' Em on the back and causing her to reel forward, catching herself before she fell from the steps. 'Awww, s'good to see you, Em. You can take a lil' joshin' from your old pals, now can't you?' he looked up at Jethro, to see how he was taking being relegated to the rank of 'pal'. Homer knew Em and Jethro once were quite close.
'Hmmm.' Em knew she was outnumbered, and an uninvited guest. 'Well, it's always good to see you fellows. I missed you, you know,' she gazed up at Jethro.
'Don't have to be such a stranger, Em,' he told her, gazing down; sleeves rolled up over his tan, hard muscled arms, his thick black forelock falling over an eye.
Still a damn handsome man, Em thought; heavier, more muscular than lanky Jack...but 'we' were long ago, now, she recalled, abit sadly.
'Hadn't planned on it. Just happened.' She bit her lower lip.
'Wallll, then, this calls for killin' a chicken, what d'you think, there, J-Ro?' Homer peeked one eye up at Jethro. 'You'll stay for dinner a'course?' he regarded Em.
'Naturally. She'll stay the night as well,' Jethro added.
'I, ah, oh, gosh, I couldn't impose...'Em began.
'Don't go gettin' all Nob-Hill on your old pals, now. You'll earn your keep. Grab that hammer over there, Em...'
and Homer heaved his bulk upwards and blew his nose on his bandana mightily. 'I'm the foreman here, and you're hereby recruited! Now! Swing that hammer, lil' gal, or I'll make you kill that chicken!'
'As if I'd never killed a chicken before...' Em groused, patting her hammer on her palm.
Jethro and Homer just looked at her, silent.
'Well, I could, if I had to!'
'Hammer! Here--' and Homer instructed her where to start pounding nails.
. . . .
A fine soft evening came early up in the hills; Em missed the sunset as the orb dropped behind the tall trees before turning from gold to red. She had put in a couple hours' worth of honest labor and managed to work up quite an appetite.
She hadn't had to finalize the fowl, but she did pluck and cut it up while Homer fired up his bar-b-que and Jethro washed up some potatoes and carrots and did the cooking.
'May I keep the feathers?' Em asked, 'they come in handy for so many things...' she ran her hands through the softness of the white feathers, stained with bloody tips.
'Of course.' Jethro sat beside her on the porch, as they watched Homer squint through the smoke at his fire pit, poking it gingerly, as he turned the bird bits wedged between spits. ('Cook quicker that way.' he said, when insructing her to cut the carcass.) 'So. Em. What's up in the hills then?--'aways'?'
Em grinned, looking down, embarrased suddenly. She'd been long away from her old friends. Took some getting used to.
She cleared her throat, sipping some iced tea. 'Well, I actually am interested in finding out more about my fellow Welsh, and, I heard that many of those who came to work the mines, settled up in the hills, near the old mining towns and claims.'
Jethro took out a cigarette paper and pouch and began rolling. 'Is that so? Well, Em...that's interesting. Didn't know you had a hankering after your roots now. Sure, loads of Welsh about. And Cornishmen. Came for the gold, as most did up there.' He licked his cigaro and lighted it, drawing deeply. 'Was the death of the old ways for the Indians, though. Damn shame, that.' He exhaled and passed it to Em.
She drew upon it lightly and handed it back. 'Yes, it was a shame. The gold rush was a bloody point in our state's history, altogether... I'm glad we were born after it peaked. Rough times, then.'
'Not easy times, now, Em.' He let his smoke go out and it dangled from his lip. He looked at her. 'You put in some good work today, gal! Welsh, eh? You're aptly named, then...'
She looked at him, 'How so?'
'I picked up abit of Welsh, here and there...'Emlyn' is Welsh for 'work', Em! You didn't know that?'
She didn't. 'No! Truly? Dam!' Em sighed. 'Well, it has been the main theme of my life thus far...' She gazed out into the growing dusk, noting the first stars appear. 'I rather like it, though. 'Emlyn'. I'll take it!'
Jethro chortled. 'Really? Well, it is either a man's or woman's name. Many Welsh names are. 'Gwen' is actually a masculine name. Means 'fair' or 'shining'.'
'Where did you learn all this, Jethro?' Em stared at her old friend as though she'd just met him.
Homer took a seat beside them on the porch, the floorboards creaking beneath him. 'Old Meredith, waaay up yonder,' he poked the end of his pipe stem up over the ridge. 'He spells it "Meredydd", though. Aside from old Lev, he was our main competitor for spirit sales. He stuck to selling ye ole firewater, though. No, he didn't sell his 'jack. Brewed a fine applejack, tho'. Smooth. Never would let on how he made it so fine...'
Em was amazed by her old friends. 'I'd no idea, Homer! Seems you both know quite abit about Welsh folk hereabouts.'
'Marion, his brother, too,' Jethro picked up the thread again.'another Keltic name either man's or woman's; 'Meirion' they spell it; usually variants of old Latin,' He relit his smoke. 'Yep, ole Meredith made some fine fiddles and mandolins, he did. Before arthritis got him down.'
'Is he still about?' Em was hopeful.
'Ah, no, he's gone now.' He squinted at Em, 'You be careful up in the hills, Em. Folks like ole Meredith don't take too kindly to strangers.'
'You'll be more likely to meet 'Ole Betsy' up there than anything else, I reckon!' Homer grinned, and grunted as he hoisted himself up and returned to the fire.
Em knew from Ole Betsy and her double-barreled gaze.
Homer clapped his hands, rubbing them together. 'Let's eat!'
. . . .
Night.
Evening skies in the mountains were something Emlyn never tired of. The stars shone brightly as Gwenhwyvar's diadem and the sky seemed close enough to hang your hat on the crescent moon...Diana's footstool, Em recalled.
She, Jethro and Homer were back out on the porch after their dinner which Em declared, 'couldn't be beat'; adding grins to their pickin' whilst Em took hold of Jethro's mandolin and he and Homer played guitars and they all sang some of the old songs they knew.
Jethro had surprised her with a few renditions of old Keltic tunes, which she knew, were the basis for most American songs...some words switched about, perhaps completely different verses, but in sooth, the music here, like the people, all came from the Old Country unless you were of Native American make. Jethro lifted his voice and sang to the stars:
Dark is the evening, silent the hour
Oh who is that minstrel by yonder lone tower?
Whose heart is so tenderly touching with skill?
Oh who could it be but young Ned of the hill?
Who sings, "Lady love, will you come with me now?
Come and live out with me under the bough
I'll pillow your head where the light fairies tread
If you will but wed with young Ned of the hill"
Young Ned of the hill has no castle, no hall
No bowman or spearman to come at his call
But one little archer of exquisite skill
Has shot a bright shaft for young Ned of the hill
It is hard to escape from this young lady's bower
For high is the castle and guarded the tower
But the mind knows the way where the heart holds the will
And Eileen is gone with young Ned of the hill
The last chords died away and they paused in their impromtu jam session, listening to the crickets and frogs take up where the humans left off. 'That's beautiful, Jethro. I'd not heard that one before! You're a right treasure trove, you are!'
'Ah, Em...I try to tell all the girls so...but, they've
yet to believe me, I fear,' he grinned, as he tuned up.
'Oh, now, he's doin' alright, he is,' Homer assured them, pouring more jack around for all. 'Though, haven't seen Sugar about lately...she had disappeared for awhile we thought, but Jack was keepin' her busy--'
'Homer! Don't you have to feed those hounds of yours? Or somethin'!' Jethro scowled at the bungling fat man with the big mouth.
'Awright, don't get yer nighty in a knot, I'm outa here...heh, heh...' Homer shambled off behind the house.
'...make a mess and leave it for me to take care of...' Jethro mumbled to himself.
So. That was the way of it, was it? Em thought. It pained her, but...'Jethro, I've no hold on Jack.' She sighed.
'He's a free agent. And, so am I.'
The bastard, she thought.
Jethro looked at her, his eyes glimmering in the lantern light. 'Glad to hear it, Em.' He began to strum a few chords. He wasn't about to step in that steaming pile Homer had planted. Been there, done that.
'Would you consider a trip up in the hills with me, Jethro? No long trail rides, not like some that we've been on for days on end...just, I don't know...I miss it here. I need to get out of the city...' Em gazed out over the pastureland, noting Pancho's familiar white patches in the gloaming.
'I dunno, Em... We have to get the roof on before any rain gets to it.' He looked up. 'Clear enough now. Make hay while the sun shines, you know...' Jethro knew they were no longer teenagers out for a lark. Emlyn wanted to head off into the hills with him? Did she think he was made of
metal like one of those automatons at the fair? Alas, he was only flesh and blood...need he remind her he was a free agent also? Em regarded him as a brother, but his feelings for her still were far from fraternal.
'What're you two jawin' about now?' Homer had returned.
He picked up his fruit jar full of jack and pointed it at Em,'YOU be careful, missy, headin' up in 'them thar hills'!' He drank half the jar in one go. 'And don't be forgetting that if it's family relations you plan on inquiring after, folk therebouts are a mite 'techy on that particular subject!' He belched. 'Scuse me.'
'Homer...'Jethro shot him a warning glance.
'Heh, heh, heh...'Homer drank off the remainder. 'Yeaaa...the family that lays together stays together...er, was it prays together, I ferget...heh, heh...'
'Enough, old man...!' Jethro put his guitar down. Once Homer got started on the jack there was no telling where it would lead him. He looked up frowning at Homer, 'you about ready for bed yet?'
'Yeah, yeah I'll leave you two be. Well, g'nite, Em! Good to have you back! Don't forget about us when you're back up in your Mansion On the Hill...say, that'd make a good song, wouldn't it?' He gazed off into the gloom, weaving abit as he reached around for his guitar.
'Goodnight, Homer. It was a wonderful dinner, thank you.'
Em was used to Homer's 'moods'. He had a heart of gold she knew, and a hollow leg as well. He'd forget the whole thing come morning.
'You're most welcome, ma'am!' Homer tipped a non-existent hat her way. 'I'm off! Heh, heh...to think we nearly got ole Em to choke the chicken, heh, heh...'
'Jeezusssss....' Jethro put a hand to his forehead, shaking it slowly. He turned, watched as Homer wove his way inside. Sighing he began to play 'I Live Not Where I Love'...
'Don't fash yourself, Jethro,' Em leaned toward him. 'I'm used to ol' Homer's ways, you know...' she took up the tune and picked out some bits of it.
'Uf,' Jethro just shook his head again. Sighing: 'Homer has a point, though he has a heckuva way of making it!' he regarded Em, 'family ties, in the mountains, see...'
'Jethro, I'm not wet behind the ears, you know!'
Jethro blushed and looked down, thinking to himself he was most certain he surely did not know where Em was wet... Don't go there, boy. He swallowed, kept playing.
'...You may not know this, but I was well, stepping out with an earl once, whose family was from the Scottish Highlands...speaking of hill country.'
'Truly, Em?'
'Oh, aye!' Em smiled. 'He had a medical discharge from military service, due to an odd family trait of sweating blood.'
Jethro just looked at her. 'Right. What's the punch line, Em?'
'No, it's true! His shirts were pink 'neath the arms! He claimed that it was due to highland inbreeding. Royals, you know.' She rolled her eyes.
Jethro thought about that. He'd heard of the Russian royal families with hemophilia. 'Most unfortunate, Em.' Not only royal, but a royal pain as well, no doubt, Jethro bethought himself, with an odd satisfaction. 'What became of him?'
'Oh, I don't know...we drifted apart...' Em yawned.
Jethro stood, taking the mandolin from her, and held his hand out. 'Up you go, Emlyn! It's bedtime for us all. We've had a long day, eh?' This Jed from the Hills had heard enough.
'Indeed,' she took his hand and stood. 'I'll think better in the morning.'
'Tomorrow is another day! And, there's work to be done, Emlyn!' Jethro swatted Em's retreating rear with the mandolin's back as they entered the house. Take that, Miss Nob Hill, he thought. It felt good.
'You always were a devil, you!' Em swatted him one back and scooted down the hall before him, hiding behind the door to her room. 'Goodnight Jethro!'
'Goodnight, Em.'
'Shaddup and goodnight already!...And git to sleep!' growled Homer from down the hall.
It was good to be back, thought Em.
. . . .
WATCH HANK LIVE!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BrCk_YckBg
be a bard before he is a priest, for music is one of the keys to the laws of the universe.'
--Mists of Avalon
WATCH AND LISTEN:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dUltGp-UeqM
Chapter 5 - Homecoming
The day was heating up and smelled of green, warming to gold, as Em and Casey headed ever upwards into the foothills. The big, sturdy grey slowed abit, bending his head low to pull them up and over the winding hillsides.
As Em fanned herself with her hat, she hoped that Jethro and Homer would be home...after her debacle at Crowley House, she no longer felt her usual optimistic cockiness would see her through towards her goals. Perhaps a different, more thorough approach. Moderation in all things! Right.
At last, though, they rounded over the rise and not a moment too soon for the day was indeed growing hot, and drove down the lane to the little valley ranch where her friends resided. Not waiting for Casey to assist, Em leapt from the wagon and looked about. Signs of life at last--
she heard a hue and cry and bellow from Homer's hounds
out in the far pasture, and they ran as a pack to greet them.
'Hey, ole Bizness! How are you, old dog?' Em bent to pat the aged dog's head as he snuffled and sniffed at her, creaky tail a-wag. The other hounds wagged a welcome, having sniffed familiar scents from Casey and Co. 'Where's your masters, eh?' Em enquired.
'I bet they're out in the far field workin' on the amphitheatre,' Casey informed her, hitching his horse by the water trough.
'Amphitheatre! Indeed?' This was news to Em.
Casey grinned as they fell in step together, the houndsapack gamboling about them. 'Oh, yeah. They, along with Jack of course, have been working on building a stage and roof, in the little hollow yonder--'
he indicated the far side of the field where, shading her eyes, Em could make out what indeed looked like a wooden frame. 'Sorta Jack's idea, really...he'd gotten them all fired-up about turning their barn dances into a sort of music festival, out here in the hills...I come out and help 'em once and awhile myself.'
'That's brilliant, Casey! It sounds like fun.' Em wondered why Jack hadn't mentioned this.
As they neared, they found Homer holding a tall ladder and staring up at Jethro who was hammering madly upon a 2x4 frame around the edges of what would be the stage. As Bizness 'rowlf'd!' at them, Homer peered around and then his brows shot up and he tilted his hat brim back.
'Waaaaall, now would you looky here! If it ain't Miz Emmeline Page back from La Revolucion!
Viva Villa, muchacha!' Homer grinned at her.
Jethro ceased hammering and gazed down at them. 'Well, now Em, aren't you a sight for sore eyes! What brings you way out here to see your dear old friends at loooong last, eh?'
He began climbing down the ladder. As he reached the ground, Em climbed up on to the makeshift stage and hugged them both, no small feat, getting an arm only half-way around Homer's mighty girth.
'Ohhh, I missed you both so!' Em kissed them both on the cheek. 'I have been wanting to come out for, o weeks now...'
'Uh-huh. Miss-Nob-Hill,' Jethro winked at Homer, 'Well, here you are at last, anyway...so what'd'ya think?' he waved an arm out toward the skeleton of the stage and roof.
'I think it's a grand idea and about time, too! Folks will love it! Why, if you get some name bands here, you might even charge admission!'
Jethro and Homer looked at one another. 'Way ahead of you, Em. Woody even mentioned it to Rob Williams! He's all for comin' out here to play, soon's we get it goin'!'
Em stared about her, smiling, hands on hips...it could happen! 'This is a natural amphitheatre, the way the ground slopes, here, then up behind the stage, with the tall pines behind us! I can't wait to see it, boys!' Williams, Em thought: yet another fellow Welshman!
Jethro wiped his brow and hands on his kerchief, stuffing it in a back pocket. 'Yep. Had to wait 'til the rains were done...alas, all too soon this year! Might get a thundershower here yet though...but, been a dry winter. Bad for farmers down in the valley. Have a seat, Em!' He and Homer and Casey all seated themselves along the steps as Em followed suit and Homer took out his pipe and pouch.
'Yeaah, so! We'll get the frame up, for stage and roof,'
Homer pointed, 'don't think we'll want wall--oh, later, maybe; the trees will act as a natural acoustic barrier and bounce the sound out front, see...' Homer packed his pipe. 'Get the roof up pronto, in case o'rain, and then lay the stage boards. Won't take long.'
Jethro took a slug of water and passed the jar. 'Yeah, we can hang a Jolly Roger behind the stage or somethin'...'
he grinned. 'The actual building doesn't take long. What was hard work was sawin' and planin' the logs,' he took the water jar back from Em, eyeing her closely, 'Jack did the lion's share of work on that, didn't he, Homer?'
'That he did!' Homer drew on his old Meershaum. 'Well, he and I did, mostly. Couldn't'a done it without him.'
'Jack's a good man,' Jethro's gaze bore down on Emmeline.
Em looked up, returned his gaze. 'That he is, Jethro.'
'Well, I have to be headin' back on home!' Casey stood and
saluted them. 'I shall return, and help out again soon;
you'll need help sandin' that floor, I reckon...'
Em thanked Casey effusively, causing the redhead's face to match his hair, and slipped him another payment, patting his hand. Touching his straw hat, he jogged on back to his wagon.
Jethro and Homer just sat with Em between them, smiling and staring at her, saying not a word.
'What?!' she finally had to prod them.
Homer looked at Jethro and Jethro looked back at him. 'Ah, now. Where to begin...?' Homer knocked the ash from his pipe and began chuckling to himself. 'You do know you about drove that poor boy insane, Miss Nob Hill...do you not?' he enquired.
Em folded her arms before her and leaned back, looking from one to the other. 'I do not.'
The men both rolled their eyes and Jethro stood, grabbing his hammer. 'What brings you here, down from Nob Hill, then, Em?' he asked wryly, poking about his toolbox, inspecting nails.
Where to begin, indeed? 'Jethro, I...' Em sighed. She didn't want to 'get into it' with the boys just now. 'Actually, I'm here to pick up Pancho. I'm heading up into the hills, and I need a horse to take me from the station, ah...up aways...'
'Hm. 'Up aways', eh?' Homer narrowed his gaze at her, his eyes disappearing into his round cheeks. 'Y'ever been 'Up Aways' there, Jethro?'
'No, Homer, can't say that I have...'
Em was feeling rather at a loss. 'Honestly, guys...give me half a chance, here, can't you? When did I become the enemy? Is it Boys Against Girls now? Our school days are long gone, Jethro...'
'Heh, heh!' Homer laughed, 'patting' Em on the back and causing her to reel forward, catching herself before she fell from the steps. 'Awww, s'good to see you, Em. You can take a lil' joshin' from your old pals, now can't you?' he looked up at Jethro, to see how he was taking being relegated to the rank of 'pal'. Homer knew Em and Jethro once were quite close.
'Hmmm.' Em knew she was outnumbered, and an uninvited guest. 'Well, it's always good to see you fellows. I missed you, you know,' she gazed up at Jethro.
'Don't have to be such a stranger, Em,' he told her, gazing down; sleeves rolled up over his tan, hard muscled arms, his thick black forelock falling over an eye.
Still a damn handsome man, Em thought; heavier, more muscular than lanky Jack...but 'we' were long ago, now, she recalled, abit sadly.
'Hadn't planned on it. Just happened.' She bit her lower lip.
'Wallll, then, this calls for killin' a chicken, what d'you think, there, J-Ro?' Homer peeked one eye up at Jethro. 'You'll stay for dinner a'course?' he regarded Em.
'Naturally. She'll stay the night as well,' Jethro added.
'I, ah, oh, gosh, I couldn't impose...'Em began.
'Don't go gettin' all Nob-Hill on your old pals, now. You'll earn your keep. Grab that hammer over there, Em...'
and Homer heaved his bulk upwards and blew his nose on his bandana mightily. 'I'm the foreman here, and you're hereby recruited! Now! Swing that hammer, lil' gal, or I'll make you kill that chicken!'
'As if I'd never killed a chicken before...' Em groused, patting her hammer on her palm.
Jethro and Homer just looked at her, silent.
'Well, I could, if I had to!'
'Hammer! Here--' and Homer instructed her where to start pounding nails.
. . . .
A fine soft evening came early up in the hills; Em missed the sunset as the orb dropped behind the tall trees before turning from gold to red. She had put in a couple hours' worth of honest labor and managed to work up quite an appetite.
She hadn't had to finalize the fowl, but she did pluck and cut it up while Homer fired up his bar-b-que and Jethro washed up some potatoes and carrots and did the cooking.
'May I keep the feathers?' Em asked, 'they come in handy for so many things...' she ran her hands through the softness of the white feathers, stained with bloody tips.
'Of course.' Jethro sat beside her on the porch, as they watched Homer squint through the smoke at his fire pit, poking it gingerly, as he turned the bird bits wedged between spits. ('Cook quicker that way.' he said, when insructing her to cut the carcass.) 'So. Em. What's up in the hills then?--'aways'?'
Em grinned, looking down, embarrased suddenly. She'd been long away from her old friends. Took some getting used to.
She cleared her throat, sipping some iced tea. 'Well, I actually am interested in finding out more about my fellow Welsh, and, I heard that many of those who came to work the mines, settled up in the hills, near the old mining towns and claims.'
Jethro took out a cigarette paper and pouch and began rolling. 'Is that so? Well, Em...that's interesting. Didn't know you had a hankering after your roots now. Sure, loads of Welsh about. And Cornishmen. Came for the gold, as most did up there.' He licked his cigaro and lighted it, drawing deeply. 'Was the death of the old ways for the Indians, though. Damn shame, that.' He exhaled and passed it to Em.
She drew upon it lightly and handed it back. 'Yes, it was a shame. The gold rush was a bloody point in our state's history, altogether... I'm glad we were born after it peaked. Rough times, then.'
'Not easy times, now, Em.' He let his smoke go out and it dangled from his lip. He looked at her. 'You put in some good work today, gal! Welsh, eh? You're aptly named, then...'
She looked at him, 'How so?'
'I picked up abit of Welsh, here and there...'Emlyn' is Welsh for 'work', Em! You didn't know that?'
She didn't. 'No! Truly? Dam!' Em sighed. 'Well, it has been the main theme of my life thus far...' She gazed out into the growing dusk, noting the first stars appear. 'I rather like it, though. 'Emlyn'. I'll take it!'
Jethro chortled. 'Really? Well, it is either a man's or woman's name. Many Welsh names are. 'Gwen' is actually a masculine name. Means 'fair' or 'shining'.'
'Where did you learn all this, Jethro?' Em stared at her old friend as though she'd just met him.
Homer took a seat beside them on the porch, the floorboards creaking beneath him. 'Old Meredith, waaay up yonder,' he poked the end of his pipe stem up over the ridge. 'He spells it "Meredydd", though. Aside from old Lev, he was our main competitor for spirit sales. He stuck to selling ye ole firewater, though. No, he didn't sell his 'jack. Brewed a fine applejack, tho'. Smooth. Never would let on how he made it so fine...'
Em was amazed by her old friends. 'I'd no idea, Homer! Seems you both know quite abit about Welsh folk hereabouts.'
'Marion, his brother, too,' Jethro picked up the thread again.'another Keltic name either man's or woman's; 'Meirion' they spell it; usually variants of old Latin,' He relit his smoke. 'Yep, ole Meredith made some fine fiddles and mandolins, he did. Before arthritis got him down.'
'Is he still about?' Em was hopeful.
'Ah, no, he's gone now.' He squinted at Em, 'You be careful up in the hills, Em. Folks like ole Meredith don't take too kindly to strangers.'
'You'll be more likely to meet 'Ole Betsy' up there than anything else, I reckon!' Homer grinned, and grunted as he hoisted himself up and returned to the fire.
Em knew from Ole Betsy and her double-barreled gaze.
Homer clapped his hands, rubbing them together. 'Let's eat!'
. . . .
Night.
Evening skies in the mountains were something Emlyn never tired of. The stars shone brightly as Gwenhwyvar's diadem and the sky seemed close enough to hang your hat on the crescent moon...Diana's footstool, Em recalled.
She, Jethro and Homer were back out on the porch after their dinner which Em declared, 'couldn't be beat'; adding grins to their pickin' whilst Em took hold of Jethro's mandolin and he and Homer played guitars and they all sang some of the old songs they knew.
Jethro had surprised her with a few renditions of old Keltic tunes, which she knew, were the basis for most American songs...some words switched about, perhaps completely different verses, but in sooth, the music here, like the people, all came from the Old Country unless you were of Native American make. Jethro lifted his voice and sang to the stars:
Dark is the evening, silent the hour
Oh who is that minstrel by yonder lone tower?
Whose heart is so tenderly touching with skill?
Oh who could it be but young Ned of the hill?
Who sings, "Lady love, will you come with me now?
Come and live out with me under the bough
I'll pillow your head where the light fairies tread
If you will but wed with young Ned of the hill"
Young Ned of the hill has no castle, no hall
No bowman or spearman to come at his call
But one little archer of exquisite skill
Has shot a bright shaft for young Ned of the hill
It is hard to escape from this young lady's bower
For high is the castle and guarded the tower
But the mind knows the way where the heart holds the will
And Eileen is gone with young Ned of the hill
The last chords died away and they paused in their impromtu jam session, listening to the crickets and frogs take up where the humans left off. 'That's beautiful, Jethro. I'd not heard that one before! You're a right treasure trove, you are!'
'Ah, Em...I try to tell all the girls so...but, they've
yet to believe me, I fear,' he grinned, as he tuned up.
'Oh, now, he's doin' alright, he is,' Homer assured them, pouring more jack around for all. 'Though, haven't seen Sugar about lately...she had disappeared for awhile we thought, but Jack was keepin' her busy--'
'Homer! Don't you have to feed those hounds of yours? Or somethin'!' Jethro scowled at the bungling fat man with the big mouth.
'Awright, don't get yer nighty in a knot, I'm outa here...heh, heh...' Homer shambled off behind the house.
'...make a mess and leave it for me to take care of...' Jethro mumbled to himself.
So. That was the way of it, was it? Em thought. It pained her, but...'Jethro, I've no hold on Jack.' She sighed.
'He's a free agent. And, so am I.'
The bastard, she thought.
Jethro looked at her, his eyes glimmering in the lantern light. 'Glad to hear it, Em.' He began to strum a few chords. He wasn't about to step in that steaming pile Homer had planted. Been there, done that.
'Would you consider a trip up in the hills with me, Jethro? No long trail rides, not like some that we've been on for days on end...just, I don't know...I miss it here. I need to get out of the city...' Em gazed out over the pastureland, noting Pancho's familiar white patches in the gloaming.
'I dunno, Em... We have to get the roof on before any rain gets to it.' He looked up. 'Clear enough now. Make hay while the sun shines, you know...' Jethro knew they were no longer teenagers out for a lark. Emlyn wanted to head off into the hills with him? Did she think he was made of
metal like one of those automatons at the fair? Alas, he was only flesh and blood...need he remind her he was a free agent also? Em regarded him as a brother, but his feelings for her still were far from fraternal.
'What're you two jawin' about now?' Homer had returned.
He picked up his fruit jar full of jack and pointed it at Em,'YOU be careful, missy, headin' up in 'them thar hills'!' He drank half the jar in one go. 'And don't be forgetting that if it's family relations you plan on inquiring after, folk therebouts are a mite 'techy on that particular subject!' He belched. 'Scuse me.'
'Homer...'Jethro shot him a warning glance.
'Heh, heh, heh...'Homer drank off the remainder. 'Yeaaa...the family that lays together stays together...er, was it prays together, I ferget...heh, heh...'
'Enough, old man...!' Jethro put his guitar down. Once Homer got started on the jack there was no telling where it would lead him. He looked up frowning at Homer, 'you about ready for bed yet?'
'Yeah, yeah I'll leave you two be. Well, g'nite, Em! Good to have you back! Don't forget about us when you're back up in your Mansion On the Hill...say, that'd make a good song, wouldn't it?' He gazed off into the gloom, weaving abit as he reached around for his guitar.
'Goodnight, Homer. It was a wonderful dinner, thank you.'
Em was used to Homer's 'moods'. He had a heart of gold she knew, and a hollow leg as well. He'd forget the whole thing come morning.
'You're most welcome, ma'am!' Homer tipped a non-existent hat her way. 'I'm off! Heh, heh...to think we nearly got ole Em to choke the chicken, heh, heh...'
'Jeezusssss....' Jethro put a hand to his forehead, shaking it slowly. He turned, watched as Homer wove his way inside. Sighing he began to play 'I Live Not Where I Love'...
'Don't fash yourself, Jethro,' Em leaned toward him. 'I'm used to ol' Homer's ways, you know...' she took up the tune and picked out some bits of it.
'Uf,' Jethro just shook his head again. Sighing: 'Homer has a point, though he has a heckuva way of making it!' he regarded Em, 'family ties, in the mountains, see...'
'Jethro, I'm not wet behind the ears, you know!'
Jethro blushed and looked down, thinking to himself he was most certain he surely did not know where Em was wet... Don't go there, boy. He swallowed, kept playing.
'...You may not know this, but I was well, stepping out with an earl once, whose family was from the Scottish Highlands...speaking of hill country.'
'Truly, Em?'
'Oh, aye!' Em smiled. 'He had a medical discharge from military service, due to an odd family trait of sweating blood.'
Jethro just looked at her. 'Right. What's the punch line, Em?'
'No, it's true! His shirts were pink 'neath the arms! He claimed that it was due to highland inbreeding. Royals, you know.' She rolled her eyes.
Jethro thought about that. He'd heard of the Russian royal families with hemophilia. 'Most unfortunate, Em.' Not only royal, but a royal pain as well, no doubt, Jethro bethought himself, with an odd satisfaction. 'What became of him?'
'Oh, I don't know...we drifted apart...' Em yawned.
Jethro stood, taking the mandolin from her, and held his hand out. 'Up you go, Emlyn! It's bedtime for us all. We've had a long day, eh?' This Jed from the Hills had heard enough.
'Indeed,' she took his hand and stood. 'I'll think better in the morning.'
'Tomorrow is another day! And, there's work to be done, Emlyn!' Jethro swatted Em's retreating rear with the mandolin's back as they entered the house. Take that, Miss Nob Hill, he thought. It felt good.
'You always were a devil, you!' Em swatted him one back and scooted down the hall before him, hiding behind the door to her room. 'Goodnight Jethro!'
'Goodnight, Em.'
'Shaddup and goodnight already!...And git to sleep!' growled Homer from down the hall.
It was good to be back, thought Em.
. . . .
A Mansion on the Hillrecorded by Hank Williams written by Fred Rose and Hank Williams C G7 C Tonight down here in the valley C7 F C I'm lonesome and oh how I feel C7 F As I sit here alone in my cabin C G7 C I can see your mansion on the hill G7 C Do you recall when we parted C7 F C The story to me you revealed C7 F You said you could live without love dear C G7 C In your loveless mansion on the hill G7 C I've waited all through the years love C7 F C To give you a heart true and real C7 F Cause I know you're living in sorrow C G7 C In your loveless mansion on the hill G7 C The light shines bright from your window C7 F C The trees stand so silent and still C7 F I know you're alone with your pride dear C G7 C In your loveless mansion on the hill
WATCH HANK LIVE!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BrCk_YckBg
Monday, May 13, 2013
May Daze in Pictures
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It's May! The Lusty Month of May! |
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| North Wales is looking better all the time... |
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| Urien's Son |
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| The Merlin advises |
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| Sam Neill's Merlin |
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| Filmed on location in Wales |
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| Arthur |
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Clive Owen's ARTHUR |
Wales forever! Cymru am Byth! |
| Trebuchet!! |
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| Woad Warriors |
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Curly and Horatio Hornblower lay siege to Saxons (My hovercraft is full of eels) |
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| This Merlin? |
 ...or this? My vote's for the blue guy |
My People!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Now THERE'S a Welshman!) Colin Morgan's MERLIN  
Cherokee, CA
Just one of many Natives of Wales
 Cherokee Cemetery May 2013
...day after 5.7 earthquake in Greenville
Christopher Lee as the May Queen - Wickerman
Rhys Ifans
A Welsh guilty pleasure!
Rhys as Capt. Hook with Peter in Neverland
  ...until he meets a lady pirate |
Some like it hot...
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