Chapter 16 - Wild Thyme on the Riverbanks

Chapter 16 - Wild Thyme on the Riverbanks

.:I know a bank where the wild thyme blows
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows
Quite overcanopied with luscious woodbine
With sweet muskroses with eglantine
There sleeps Titania sometimes of the night
Lulled in these flowers with dances and delight:.

Shakespeare
A Midsummer Night's Dream


And the wildest dreams of Kew
Are the facts of Katmandu

-Kipling
                           . . . .
'Jethro, it looks wonderful! Fit for a festival!' Emlyn nodded at the finishing touches the men had done to the stage site.
They had even added wooden benches to sides and in back for musicians to sit and tune before the show.
 'I especially adore the roof decorations! It's reminiscent of Vikings somehow!' Em regarded the crossed dragon-head gables. 'Could be Olde Welsh too, though...'
Jethro smiled. 'That's mine. I actually did it for Homer. You know he, and I, have Scandinavian blood, like yourself, Em. Our people were Danes, ah, mostly,' he grinned. 'On the distaff side. Scots-Irish make up the rest of us... So, anyway, I took the rooftops from the old longhouses of the Vikings. Ole Homer was sure surprised when he saw that!' Jethro looked well-pleased with his work, as he should be.
'It's beautiful, Jethro...' Em gazed up at the twin entwined dragon heads that crossed in an X at stage center. 'Did the carvings yourself?'
'That I did. Well, young Casey here did fashion the drawings and I carved from their patterns. He's a good artist, that lad,' Jethro smiled Casey's way, who was working sanding the floor boards onstage and pretended not to hear, but his red face matched his hair again and was a dead giveaway.
'I can't wait!' Em looked up at Jethro, her face split in a grin.
                          . . . .
Later that afternoon, the two sat upon the stage front, swinging their legs as they munched on new apples.
'Bit green yet. Next month they'll be on,' Jethro pronounced.
'So. Midsummer soon.' Emlyn prodded.
'Aye.'
She stared meaningfully at Jethro. 'So...?'
'Hmm? So...what, Em?' Jethro was determined not to make this any easier.
Em sighed, and tossed her apple core across the fence into the horse pasture toward Pancho, who, ever easygoing, was out-maneuvered by Charlie who snapped it up in a blink. 'Honestly, Jethro! Don't go all I-could-care-less on me! I know you are just as curious as I, regarding our Mayday friends and if they'll be back on the 21st!'
Jethro just munched and swung his long legs. Casey stood then and swept off his sawdust from the floor. 'Well, I'll be heading back soon, Miss...'
'Please, just call me Emlyn, Casey!' Em smiled at the lad who had come to be such a help to her and to them all of late.
'Sure, Miss...ah, Emlyn,' Casey removed his cap and wiped his forehead with a kerchief. 'But, well, begging your pardon and all, but you change it so often, it's hard to keep up!'
Jethro laughed hard then, sending bits of apple flying. He looked back at Casey, 'Go on home, lad! She's staying on here...' he reached in a back pocket and extracted some bills. 'And take any apples you might like...'
Casey pulled his cap down tight and grinned, pocketing the payment. 'I'll be back next month for those apples,' he promised, and headed to the barn for his horse and wagon.
Jethro just watched him go and then slid from the stage and took his apple core over to Pancho, hiding it behind his back. Charley wasn't fooled though and made sure to get to him first, but Jethro just held his halter fast and away from poor Pancho who got a bite of apple at last.
Her mouth set tight, Emlyn jumped from the stage, finding it rather farther from the ground than did Jethro and, jarring her kneecaps, limped over to him. 'Ow...Poor Pancho,' she said, petting her time-travelling pinto pony. 'My old Gypsy Traveller...'
'Not a bad ole hoss,' Jethro agreed, patting his nose, 'He's a goer. Not fast, but he stays the course.'
'And so he will, come tomorrow,' Em looked dead at Jethro.
Sighing, Jethro shook his head, 'Em...you're chasing after shadows. Who knows if they'll be there? All that long way to go...'
'We know the short-cut! Unless you feel like another swim...it'd be much warmer there now in the faery pools...' she hinted.
Jethro turned and began to walk back to the house, Em following, 'Ah...I'm not even sure I could still find that trail...'
Emlyn knew her friend, though, and as her gaze bore into him, she suddenly saw he was full of beans as a Mexican fiesta. 'You've been there already! You went back!' She nodded sagely. 'Don't you lie to me, Jethro Bodine!'
Jethro just grinned.
                             . . . .
Gathered once more about the picnic table beneath the big oak later, Jethro, Homer and Emlyn were admiring the sunset view still visible betwixt the stands of trees. 'With summer now, the trees cover more of the sunset...' Em noted, 'but I love all your trees here, Homer. The apple crop looks good this year!'
'Ye-aahh, I guess,' Homer frowned. 'Been dryer than the Sandman's shinbones this year, though. Good thing our well's deep. Alot more work, though, waterin' without rain. Nothing in the cache at all to work with.' Homer used to fill his rainbarrels full, but not in recent years, Em knew. 'Lotta apples, but they're smaller than usual, not as juicy, all sorta shrunk in upon themselves, conserving moisture.'
'We need to make a raindance,' Em nodded, determined to do so.
'Well, you just get right on that, then, lil gal!' Homer grinned at her.
'I said, 'we'.' Em drank her iced tea, squirting more lemon juice in, 'So, Jethro. Do tell. What did you find on the hill, then?'
'Nothing.' He drank all his tea, chewing ice bits. 'Yeah, Em, you got me...I did find the short-cut. And I followed it all the way to the top of the ridge. But, all was quiet and peaceful there. I even roamed beyond where we were, and checked out the surrounding area. Nada. No houses, tipis or
tents even.' He looked at her, narrowing his gaze, 'Gypsies, Em. Like I said.'
Emlyn knew Jethro was a good tracker, she believed him. 'That doesn't mean that there aren't folk who still have their seasonal celebrations at that place! You just didn't go up at the right time.'
All were quiet awhile, listening to the evening breeze and the frogs begin their croaking in the pond at the bottom of the pasture.
 'Waall, I'll just head on in and see how our marinade is doin'...' Homer ambled off inside the house, letting the screen door slam behind him.
At last, Jethro sighed. 'I can see you'll just keep at me until I give in. As usual,' he looked at Em.
'Lord and Lady, Jethro! It isn't a death sentence!' Emlyn attempted a small smile.
'I guess not. It'll be hotter than blazes up there now, though!' He shook his head. 'You'll be one to regret it this time, Em!'
'We'll see.' She smiled wide.
'Right. We'll be heading out early. Very early. Bed, then, directly after dinner.'
'Aye, aye, Cap'n!' Em saluted.
Homer stood behind the screen door watching all. 'Heh, heh, heh. He never could say no to ole Em. Heh heh.' He fiddled with his pipe. 'I wonder if it's ever the other way 'round?' he mused to himself.
                          . . . .
Yeats mused also.
Back in the library loft at the Massachusetts house, he sat upon his daybed, pillows at his back and long shanks stretched out before him, with several books, notebooks and papers scattered about him.
After his visit with Thelene in Alta-Eire, Yeats felt quite at a loss. He'd decided to simply let things be for now. Obviously, they'd progressed far beyond his ken.
He shut the book he held on his lap and gazed at it with a photo of his ancestor, Willie B., on the cover, thinking that the Yeats men did display a fairer visage with age, somehow, once their dark locks had gone pale with time. So Shane liked to believe. Or perhaps he was merely trying to keep up his flagging spirits.
He had been reading of Will's long and doggedly persistent courting of Maud Gonne, that lovely and hard-headed lady who stubbornly refused all his patient entreaties for her hand.    Maud, who had married only Irish nationalists, and who lost them to that fight; Maud who was as fierce in her beliefs about what was right and necessary in the battle for liberty...as indeed was his Thelene.
And he read:
"...She refused many marriage proposals from Yeats, not only because she viewed him as insufficiently radical in his nationalism but also because she believed his unrequited love for her had been a boon for his poetry and that the world should thank her for never having accepted his proposals. When Yeats told her he was not happy without her she replied,
“Oh yes, you are, because you make beautiful poetry out of what you call your unhappiness and are happy in that. Marriage would be such a dull affair. Poets should never marry. The world should thank me for not marrying you.”
Romantic nonsense, Yeats told himself. And yet...
deep within, he knew there was a silver nugget of truth in her words. A truth he resolutely turned away from.
He compared her to his Thelene, who always refused him, and stayed married to her post within the High Council. Well. That would all be changing soon, thought he. Soon as they'd wind of her treachery, she would be exiled. At best.
  Yeats sighed, and tossed the book on the bed with the others. And what of his own post?
He had been pondering on his turbulent past and how he had come to the Order...remembering his own youth and it's attendant follies. Back when he was a young man, he had turned his back upon what he had then viewed as the delirium of the Irish; on the one hand, their priest-ridden narrowness, and on the far other, the wild fancies of poteen-addled poets prattling on about the wee folk and witches. He nay-sayed his ancestor, filing him away on the same shelf as such.
He'd gone to Dublin, studied at Trinity, and travelled about the world then, and after having experienced a thing or two beyond his old tunnel-visioned view of how the world spun, he had realized that much and more did lie beyond his ken. Indeed, there was more to life than such was found in old Horatio's philosophies...
How he came to be where he was now, at the Head of the Order, had happened in such a whirlwind, that hardly had he time to realize it, before he was swept away by events beyond his reckoning. He had ever been the one for seeking arcane knowledge and so was, he had to admit, like his ancestor in that, and too, like Daryl and young Jack.
So, having climbed quickly through the ranks and degrees, he had come to be living his life for and through the Order, so much so that, when his old mentor and benefactor, O'Brien, had passed into Summerland, he suddenly found himself Head of said Order.
Cold comfort, that, Yeats found now. He had made a bid for knowledge, and found it sat uneasily upon his shoulders.
He was not young, and he felt all the weight of his long years and found them heavy indeed.
 For his Thelene, the years fell light and gently as a morning mist; but upon his back they hammered like torrents of hailstones in a driving thunderstorm...
Yeats picked up a different volume from the bookpiles beside his couch then and read:
  "...in the autumn, there came a shadow of old troubles. One evening, Sam came into the study and found his master looking very strange. He was very pale and his eyes seemed to see things far away.
  'What's the matter, Mr. Frodo?' said Sam.
  'I am wounded,' he answered, 'For though I come to the Shire; it will not be the same, for I am not the same. I am wounded with knife, sting and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?'"
Yeats closed the book and closed his eyes a moment. Ah, if only I could find those Grey Havens, and go at peace, into the West...
  He sighed deeply into the evening gathering about him.
Thinking of Thelene, he decided that that Lady Arwen would not wed this Aragorn. This Fionn would ever chase the sun-goddess A'ine.
For there now was to be great change to come, perhaps needed, he allowed, to this world he must live in for awhile.
The inconvenient truth of that had come at the most inconvenient of times, for Yeats now found himself wondering if he had the heart to meet such change...

                          . . . .
'Do you hear that?' Emlyn reined in Pancho as they crested the next-to-last ridge before gaining the river they sought upon this hot Midsummer's Day in the dry foothills.
Jethro pulled Charley Horse up beside her, and took his already sopping kerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. Although the short-cut would have saved them time, he had determined that they'd be best off, climbing upwards, if they could stop at the pools and water the beasts, and themselves, and cool off from what already was a scorcher of a day.
 'Hear what, Em?' I can barely hear the river, finally, over my blood boiling...' he held out the dripping bandana away from him. 'Mercy, but we'll get to the pools none too soon for me, or Charley,' he patted his mount's hide wet through and thick with horse sweat.
Em said nothing, but urged Pancho onward and upward. At last, though, Jethro had to admit, he thought he heard singing, and voices. Em turned around and smiled at him. 'See? Midsummer! And revelry!'
That could be a good or bad thing, Jethro thought, reluctantly. 'Hold up, Em.' She let him catch up to her, and noticed he had his rifle ready. 'I'll go first, here on.'
Emlyn let the man do his job. But neither she or Pancho seemed to think that the sounds they heard meant anything threatening...how could such voices raised in harmony come from any but a fair throat?
As they came out of the stand of birch which opened onto the river, the song of both river and those enjoying it's cool refeshment rose clear and unmistakable. And, as Jethro rounded the pile of large boulders tumbled about the falls, he pulled up short and put his rifle away, Em stopping just behind him.
'"Every elf and fairy sprite
  Hop as light as bird from briar
  And this ditty after me, sing
  And dance it trippingly,
  First rehearse your song by rote
  To each word a warbling note
  Hand in hand, with fairy grace
  We will sing and bless this place"'
'--Shakespeare...' Em breathed...
It seemed a scene from a myth revealed before them: where before there had been only the two of them, plus ponies, now a veritable landscape of elysian pleasures delighted their tired eyes...men, women, children and elders, swam and played about the watercourse and falls; limbs pale and pink and nut brown, roasted by sunrays, were bared to the elements and decorated with leaves and flowers in leis and garlands about head and neck, some cavorted in chemise and
shorts, and some frolicked as nature intended. All engaged in song and sport of one means or other, and Emlyn's hungry eyes took in baskets of apples, peaches, cherries and plums piled high.
Jethro said nothing, but as he turned back to Em, his wide smile said all: We Are Arrived!
He and Em dismounted and led their horses off to a side pool to drink the clear water, undisturbed by thrashing swimmers.
As they still were under the afternoon shade of the surrounding trees, no one gave them much mind as yet. After
they unsaddled their mounts and haltered them, tying them loosely they let the horses graze and then saw to their own comfort.
Jethro nodded to Em, and they approached a nearby group. 'Greetings! This looks a fine Midsummer celebration!'
A fair blond young woman in a sheer chemise and garlanded round the neck with strings of jasmine, held her hand up to shade the sun away from her gaze and greeted them, 'Failte! Merry Meet, and Welcome!' in the traditional salute of Children of Gaia everywhere. 'Come, and refresh yourselves!'
Jethro needed no prodding, Em noticed, smiling. 'Merry Meet, indeed. It's been a long hot ride,' she sat beside Jethro and the women, and began to remove her boots.
 'When we last were here, back in May, the water was cold as fresh snow-melt...'
'It's much warmer now, you'll soon find,' the blond girl said, 'but refreshing still. I'm Shannon, and this is Jeanne,' she nodded to the woman beside her, with long dark auburn braids, clad in a chemise not quite so sheer, but bedecked all about her neck, arms and legs with jasmine and ivy betwined. 'Cheers and Slainte',' she greeted them, raising a flask, and drinking a sip, passed it to Em.
Emlyn sniffed the flask, recognized apple juice and drank a sip. 'Iechye da! Diolch yn fawr,' she said, handing it on to Jethro, now wearing only his shorts and a smile.
'Cheers! Much obliged, ladies! My name's Jethro by the way, and this is my friend, Emlyn.'
 He handed the flask on to Shannon, hoping she noticed he had introduced Em as a friend only.
'Well, cool water waits for no man! I'm off!' Nodding to the ladies, he took to his heels and the falls.
Emlyn sighed, as she slipped out of her hot sticky clothes down to her chemise, free at last; and noticed the two women eyeing her intently. She smiled, and opened her saddle pack, which contained a dozen apples from Homer's orchard.
'First Fruits! Do help yourselves, I chose the ripest I could find, although they won't be at their peak until end of next month...'
Shannon and Jeanne looked meaningfully at one another and each took a small apple. 'Tapadh leat,' and 'ta', they said repectively.
'We haven't the Welsh, piuthar,' Jeanne addressed her as 'sister' had she but known, 'but have you Gaelic at all?'
Em admitted she dinna. 'But I would love to learn! Actually, I only know afew Welsh phrases...but I try to use them whenever I may, for practice.'
The women sat smiling her way, occasionally glancing at one another. At last, Jeanne nodded to Shannon.
 'We've been expecting you,' she told Em, curiously.
This rather took Em by surprise. But, perhaps they had been here last May. Perhaps they knew Gwydion, who Em had not seen about as yet. Indeed, as she had watched all who splashed and played about the river, she didn't recognize any from their past May Day revels.
  'Oh? How so?' She asked.
'Perhaps you may guess...' Jeanne was enigmatic still, but nodded to her young blond friend, 'Shannon, as her name denotes, is of Irish descent. While I, am Scottish, in the main...'
'...And a lengthy mane it is, too!' Shannon teased her, catching hold of a braid.
'Cuilean!' Jeanne jerked her braid away, but smiled.
'What's that?' Em asked.
'"Puppy!"' Shannon shook her head as if miffed, tossing her blond locks behind her. 'I'm old enough for most things...' she narrowed her gaze at Jethro, who was out of the water now and heading their way.
'Come,' Jeanne stood, holding a hand out to Emlyn, 'I know of a calm, quiet pool nearby, where we may cool ourselves away from this happy riot!'
Gratefully, Em followed her Scottish sister down the path along the river's edge til they came at last to a small lagoon of sorts, with birch trees close upon the bank for shade should they wish it, and tall tufts of grass made a soft bed to dry off and rest upon. It was secluded, if not exactly quiet, for it was near enough to hear the songs and splashing of the merry band they'd left around the river bend.
Emlyn watched as Jeanne glided forth into the calm water, her white skirt and long auburn braids trailing along with her, and with her floral adornments, she looked like a woman out of myth or a painting. "The Lady of Shallot", Em thought to herself, as she slipped behind Jeanne into the shady shallows and rejoiced in their cool and welcome enfoldment.
They flowed and floated and swam and dived about the pools, at home in the water as two otters, and Emlyn was grateful for the relative privacy of this lagoon...she could be herself here and give her attention wholly to the moment and lose herself in the gentle slither of the water about her skin...
At last, though, once the heat of her ride had cooled, she was beginning to feel chilled, and reluctantly abandoned the pool to seek a sunny patch in the birch glade and dry.
Toweling off, she set it down and lay upon her side,
watching Jeanne's movements full of grace as she dipped down and under and back up again, a free spirit unfettered by civilization and so regaining her own wholeness. She smiled at Em as she came out, shaking her hair and squeezing the water from her braids.
Just then, they heard approaching footsteps, and Em was surprised to see Shannon, carrying a covered basket and a dark green cloth over her arm. She shook this out and spread it down before them, and sitting to the side she began to unpack from the basket new figs, a jar of something creamy and white, assorted nuts, and a loaf of dark brown bread.
Jeanne took a seat in the sun beside Em who was greedily inspecting the impromptu picnic goods. Shannon smiled up at her as she cut into the loaf, 'I like your Jethro well!' she said, in answer to Em's unspoken question, 'but, he is a carnivore!' She shook her golden head, 'and,' she sighed, 'he is sharing meat with the men and talking of venison and the hunting in autumn.'
'That's Jethro!' Em said, 'But he has a great heart, and loves all animals as his brothers. He never hunts for sport, but only for food, quickly and humanely as possible, and uses every bit, leaving nothing to waste.'
Shannon looked relieved. 'Glad I am to hear it.' She opened the jar lid, and spread the contents upon the bread and figs. 'Do you like goat cheese? Soft curds are these...kept cool in the river, but gone more to cream, by now.'
Emlyn couldn't be happier...all thought of Gwydion having taken flight in the incomparable shining beacon of goat cheese before her...'Ooohh...I ADORE the Delectable Cheese of the Goat!' All laughed at her genuine veracity and they proceeded to make quick work of the humble but delicious spread.
Dried well enough, and tasting their picnic daintily now, save for when they blasted away at nuts with rocks... having satisfied their hunger, Emlyn's thoughts returned to something the women had said earlier.
'You mentioned that you had been waiting for me. How do you mean? I'm quite curious,' Em raised her eyes to her new-found sisters and Daughters of Gaia.
'That is good. Curiosity is a fine attribute, and a boon for women. The story of Pandora's Box is just something men have used for centuries to keep women from roaming!' Jeanne told her matter-of-factly.
'But surely you see, Emlyn!' Shannon sat up, spreading her arms wide, 'Us! Together! We make the triad, the triskele, the Triple Goddess!' Em looked at her, although smiling at the young lass's infectious enthusiasm, she still was not convinced of being a goddess, or one-third of anything, really.
Shannon looked to Jeanne, and nodded. 'There is Jeanne here, a Scot, and you, of Welsh descent, obviously! And then there's me! With the luck of the Irish!'
'Make that "pluck",' said Jeanne, teasingly, '...or today, perhaps Puck!' Shannon with her fair rosy cheeks and freckles looked altogether the part.
 But then Jeanne turned to Em, her smile replaced with a searching look. 'But you must see it is meant to be, this merry meeting of ours today! We three here, Nymph,' she indicated with outstretched hand, Shannon, who dipped a bow, 'Maid,' she spread both hands about Em, '...and I, myself, of course, the voice of Wisdom,' she winked saucily, '...am Crone!'
Em nearly laughed aloud, but didn't wish them to mistake her meaning. 'You are hardly that, Jeanne! Why, you must be no older than myself.'
'I am Eldest among us.' Jeanne nodded sagely, leaning toward Em, she whispered, 'I am nearly 29!'
Emlyn bit her lip to hide a smile. 'That is hardly Crone-worthy, dear Jeanne...besides...I have always looked forward to Cronehood, and finding some respect at long last! I weary of being thought simple-minded and caring only for fluffy dainty so-called 'womanly' pursuits. Oh, to be thought Wise!'
'This is what I would wish also!' Young Shannon piped up. Both Em and Jeanne only looked at her and her fresh eager spirit and said nothing.
   At last Jeanne remarked, 'That is what we all would wish...any woman with a brain in her head.' She took Em's hands in hers then, 'We have been desiring our third partner for long and long, Emlyn. But, you must be the Maiden, the middle sister in this triskele. It is your role, and your dan, your destiny.'
Emlyn felt rather at a loss. Surely it couldn't be her role to play, how could they be so certain that it was she they had sought. 'But, how do you know...? I mean, I must admit, I feel so at home here, and, oddly, I also feel as though I've known you two before, you seem somehow familiar to me...' Em's blue-green-grey gaze sought Shannon's green eyes and Jeanne's of an amber-fawn color. 'How can you be so sure of me?'
'That's easy,' Jeanne answered, taking Shannon's hand, and placing it upon hers which held Em's own, 'You, are the Nexus.'
                             . . . .