Chapter 23 - Of Lairds and Ladies

..::The 1701 broadside song "Captain Kid's Farewell to the Seas, or, the Famous Pirate's Lament" lists "Two hundred bars of gold, and rix dollars manifold, we seized uncontrolled".

This belief made its contributions to literature in Edgar Allan Poe's "The Gold-Bug"; Washington Irving's "The Devil and Tom Walker"; Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island and Nelson DeMille's Plum Island.

It also gave impetus to the constant treasure hunts conducted on Oak Island in Nova Scotia; in Suffolk County, Long Island in New York where Gardiner's Island is located; Charles Island in Milford, Connecticut; the Thimble Islands in Connecticut; Cockenoe Island in Westport, Connecticut;and on the island of Grand Manan in the Bay of Fundy.

Captain Kidd did bury a small cache of treasure on Gardiners Island in a spot known as Cherry Tree Field; however, it was removed by Governor Bellomont and sent to England to be used as evidence against Kidd.

Kidd also visited Block Island around 1699, where he was supplied by Mrs. Mercy (Sands) Raymond, daughter of the mariner James Sands.
   The story has it that, for her hospitality, Mrs. Raymond was bid to hold out her apron, into which Kidd threw gold and jewels until it was full. After her husband Joshua Raymond died, Mercy moved with her family to northern New London, Connecticut (later Montville), where she bought much land. The Raymond family was thus said to have been "enriched by the apron"::..

.....

The evil that men do lives after them, the good is oft interr'd with their bones.

William Shakespeare
                                                                          

.....

Emlyn looked out from her second floor window onto the pear orchard and big oak tree just outside her boudoir, noticing the dark and light greens here  shading into red and gold. Decidedly a different view from either Nob Hill or Massachusetts. Neither fog nor storms here, but a clear fall day of bright blue and white.

She liked it rather well.
It was a different room from her last here, which had looked out front upon the drive and big barn. Here she was situated in a corner bedroom facing the rear of the house. Oddly, she found a second window in her large walk-in closet. Handy, that.

Mrs. Murphy had been welcoming, although busy when they had arrived the previous evening, pressing pears for cider.
  'Many do become rather bruised, yet they're verra good still,' her landlady explained. 'We bottle the juice and keep it til it hardens.' She winked at Em, 'And, just a bit of ginger and lemon spices it up nicely, eh?'

And so after unloading the waggon, Em had taken her things upstairs and then turned her hand to cider-making with the others. It felt good to move about after her long trip on the road. She slept well that night after a late supper of cob corn and chicken and dumplings.

Today...was a Friday, she supposed. Thinking she would pay a visit to Jeanne's old shop in town, now become Shannon's, she washed and dressed for 'town', thinking what a relief it was not to have to dress to the nines just to go outside, as was de rigeur on Nob Hill.
  A simple summer frock with her hair plaited in a single braid should do well enough for Arcadia. Em rather liked that as well.

. . . . .

Was this the place?
Emlyn thought she could recall the small burg easily; not much to it, really. She remembered The Bear's Den, there at the other end of town near the park. That was the neighborhood public house, where the ceidlih was held at various festivals celebrating the wheel of the year, as well as hosting the usual wakes and weddings.

A small tea shop and cafe was found farther on beside the post office, then a dry-goods shop and general store, MacAfferty's, which took pride of place in the midst of town, a large two storey building with plenty of storage room. Beyond this was a dentist and doctor and vet, all being the same person, Dr. Markham, who kept rooms above the barber shop.  
  There were disturbances rarely; what there were, then went to the sheriff's office in the next county. Somewhat beyond the edge of town stood the village smithy, near the creek which ran beside the town proper. This also served as the makeshift fire department when the kirk bell rang the alarm. The kirk itself, a simple white building with steeple and Celtic cross, was at the side of the smithy, off upon a wee rise.

Emlyn thought she recalled Jeanne's shop had been situated somewhere near the cafe'...she decided to take some tea and inquire.
                                                                                 

........

The light tinkle of small bells announced her arrival to the tea shop, Pomona's, she saw. The apple goddess, Em thought; how very apt.

An apple-cheeked young girl was behind the counter, adding fresh hot water to the coffee pot. Emlyn perused the glass baker's case which held a variety of delights:
apple fritters, apple tarts, pear tarts, and, oh, a rarity in the City, fresh hazelnut scones. Emlyn hesitated not.

'May I try one of your scones? And a cup of Earl Grey, please?' As the girl was pouring water for tea, Em asked, 'Do you know of a small shop selling herbal sachets and soaps and such? I thought it was near by...'


'Ah.' The girl lidded the teapot, and added a scone to a rose-befested plate. 'That t'would be Miss Shannon's place, just 'round the corner. 'Tis next door, but facing Hazel and not Main.'


Em took a window seat and smiled at the girl as she delivered the tea. 'Smells lovely, thank you.'
  The girl hesitated but a moment. 'Would you be visiting here then?'
  Em wondered. Was she? Or would she stay on this time? 'I'm at Mrs. Murphy's place. I'm not yet certain how long I'll be staying.'

'Ah. Mrs. Murphy is a grand lady. She has the pear orchard.' The girl turned and cloth in hand, began dusting the already clean window sills.
   'Yes. I helped with the pear pressing last night.' Em took a bite of scone. Light and moist, currants and hazelnuts; a dream come true.

Emlyn and the girl, Maggie was her name, chatted as she finished her tea, then she decided she would see if Shannon had opened her shop next door.

Rounding the corner, Em thought the place looked somewhat familiar but not entirely; there were window boxes of geraniums and marigolds which brightened the shop front now. A new wooden and iron work bench sat beside the door.

Emlyn peeked in the window, but the bright late morning sun made it too hard to make out much within. The tinkle of faery bells sounded as she opened the door.

''Morning! May I help you?' Shannon's voice. But where was Shannon?
  'Where are you?' Em asked, turning about.

'Emlyn?! That isna you, is't?' A blond head poked up suddenly from behind the back counter. 'Ah!' Shannon it was, grinning wide. 'Tis Herself! Back from the Beyond!'

'Shannon! Oh, it's good to see you! You don't know how right you are,' Em admitted, embracing her young friend.

'So. Back at Mrs. Murphy's now are you?' Shannon stood hands on hips, sharp eyes accessing Emlyn carefully. 'And for how long this time?'

Em sighed softly.
'I'm not sure. But, I am hoping to stay on a while.'

'Are ya now?' Shannon's tone was a bit accusatory.
'Well, things have changed here a mite.' She glanced about her. 'Ah, help me take these pots outside, then we'll have a wee chat on the bench, eh?'

Emlyn gathered pots of herbal starts of rosemary, thyme, parsley and basil, setting them down upon a scrollwork trolley outside beside small pots of mint and lavender.

'So! You're running Jeanne's old shop now? It looks grand, Shannon. The flower boxes really brighten up the storefront.' Em took a seat in on the bench.
                                                                                

Shannon cranked out her green and white striped awning for more shade then joined Em upon the bench.
  'Thank you. Yes, I have done a bit of work on it! Fairly happy with it, for the most part. I'm thinking of enlarging it a bit though; there's plenty of yard in back. I may turn it into a flower garden there. Now I sell flowers from my home garden, but having it all here would be ever so handy. Perhaps come spring. So. What brings you here from the City, then?'

'Just, tired of the City life, I think.' Emlyn glanced down, wondering where to begin. 'I was staying at the Massachusetts estate a while. It's nearly winter there now!'

'That place always storms on and on.' Shannon looked pensive. 'And Daryl? Don Diego, or whatever he is? Still kicking then?'

Emlyn wasn't sure. 'I suppose,' she huffed. 'I've rather given up keeping tabs on the bugger.'

'Ha!' Shannon barked a laugh. 'That sounds more like you, Em.' She shook her head. 'That one is a bit more bother than he's worth, I'm thinking. But, to each their own...' She broke off a head of dried lavender from the large pot beside her, and held it to her nose.
  'I'm keeping myself free and easy.' She handed the lavender to Emlyn. 'I've enough on my plate at the moment wi'the shop and all. The single life suits.' She sighed shortly. 'Not so, for our Jeanne.'

'I heard something about that from Mrs. M.!' Emlyn twirled the flower head in hand. 'Well, do tell! What is he like, then, her new mister?'

'Indeed; Mr. and Mrs. Kidd, so they are. And no Kidding, either!' Shannon shook her head ruefully.
'Well...'tis Friday. Mayhap we'll just take a run over there and say hello later, eh? Are ya busy, then?'

'...As you see,' Emlyn spread her hands, indicating her availability. 'I must confess to some curiosity. The name Kidd has some rather piratical connotations.'

'Ah, Em...' Shannon chuckled. 'Aye, it does. And I truly don't know what to think there...the man denies having anything to do with "pirates", yet he claims that he is related to THE Captain Kidd. He refers to his ancestor as a "privateer" and with letters of marque from William III, etcetera; oh, I fear ya will hear all about it.'

'But, Shannon, what is he like? Old, young, and is he a nice man?' Emlyn was fair on edge with curiosity.

Shannon sat still a moment. 'He...seems very nice, indeed.' She fussed about her lavender pot, pulling small grasses from it. 'He is very, oh, expansive, is the word, I suppose.
  'They have a large house, and he owns rather a lot of acreage, with orchards, almond and walnut mostly.
So he does come by some money, somehow. Claims to have holdings back in Scotland as well, even alludes to an "earldom" of sorts.' Her eyes rolled.

'Hm.' Em was not impressed thus far; hearing only what the man owned, rather than who and what he was. 'I suppose that Allyn was not pleased.'

Shannon slowly shook her head. 'No, indeed.' She tossed the small weeds and grasses she'd pulled over the picket fence into the wood beyond. 'And we all liked Allyn well, ya ken.'

'So...this partnering with Mr. Kidd sounds rather sudden?' Em guessed.
 
'Umm.' Shannon seemed disinclined to elaborate. 'Weel, you'll find out more y'rself soon enough tonight. How about meeting me around five-ish and we shall journey forth from here?'
  Shannon stood, brushing her skirts. 'And now, I have some transplanting to see to.'

'Of course,' Emlyn took the hint. 'Five it is.' She smiled then. 'And it is grand to see you again.'
  Shannon relented, smiling in return. 'Aye, well, don't be such a stranger, then.' The two friends parted with a brief hug.
  'I won't. Promise.' Em then turned her toes in the direction of Mrs. Murphy's and headed off.

Shannon gazed after her, wondering. Just pops in and out whenever she feels like it, she thought. Must be nice.
                                                                                         

.......

Emlyn spent the afternoon getting to know the other lodgers that were about, helping Mrs. Murphy with the cider making, collecting eggs from the hens and even milking the nanny goat, before she was summoned to the house for "tay" or tea, as Mrs. Murphy referred to the early evening meal. (Lunch was "dinner" here, and then came the "tea", which was a high tea with an entree', salad, rolls and such and later, "supper" which was sometimes leftovers from dinner with dessert and drinks.)

After informing her good landlady that she was off with Shannon to Jeanne's, she set off to town and found Shannon hitching up a bay mare to a wee cart outside of her shop.
   'Aye, a cart was needed when I took over the shop. Sommat to transport stock and such. And Artemis is a grand mare! She is ever so willing, anytime.'
 
Em patted the sleek bay neck. 'Seems a young horse.'
  'She is...four now.' Shannon replied. 'She does become excited at times, but she's steadying. She lacks nought in get-up-and-go, though! Ready?'
   Em nodded and they hopped up onto the driver's seat and were off with a 'Walk on!' from Shannon.
                                                                         

Emlyn could tell as they headed into the high hills that it had been getting cooler nights here now; the leaf tops of sycamores were tinged with yellows and orange. Fall was not far away.

After about a half hour, Shannon turned down a dirt road headed east and into a stand of almond trees.
  'Now we're coming onto the Kidd's estate,' Shannon informed her. Almonds here. There are walnut trees farther down, behind the house itself. He also has some fine horses, Thoroughbreds for the racing, mostly.'

'I see.' Emlyn wondered, though. Had Jeanne changed much herself with all this great largesse to hand? Or perhaps she'd always been fond of the grand life and Em hadn't known her that well after all.

Once past the orchards, Shannon steered the still willing Artemis down an oak lined drive which bordered a small creek. They climbed over a wee stone bridge as the creek changed direction and at last they came to the Kidd residence.

A proper Scottish hunting lodge it seemed; built of stone, redwood and cedar, it was fashioned on a large scale. Although it seemed to be only a two storey dwelling, with acreage to spare, it rambled into more of a spread; 'ranch' style, as Californians preferred.

Red and yellow lions flanked a herald of sorts and beside this flew the blue and white flag of St. Andrew's Cross. Emlyn was slightly disappointed not to see the Jolly Roger as well.

Shannon drove past the mansion to the yard in back by the stables and they disembarked. Emlyn wandered over to the stalls whilst Shannon spoke to a couple of grooms.
  The stable was nothing less than gorgeous. White wood with black trim, it was spotlessly cleaned, the hay was green and fresh and all smelled of new wood and old leathers. She sauntered into the tack room and fell in love with the array of polished bits and bridles, saddles of various sorts, cruppers, martingales, and all the lines and fittings for driving, row upon row of saddle and horse blankets, clean and freshly laundered.

As she strolled down the rows of stalls, she saw a few noses therein and she gingerly made acquaintance with those who seemed gentle and willing. Emlyn was never sure of any strange horse, and who knew if some were not there but to recuperate from some injury or other.

But she found one dapple grey gelding who seemed as curious about her as she was of he, and after breathing into each other's noses, he snorted softly and allowed Em to stroke his neck and scratch under his chin til he stretched his neck and groaned with pleasure.

'I see you've made a friend.'

Emlyn turned about to find one of the grooms approaching. He was a tall, lanky man with auburn hair tied back in a ponytail, dressed in hunter green and sporting riding boots and jodpurs.

'I assure you, sir, he made the first overture...' Em gave the gray a last pat.
                                                                       

'Old Geordie? Aye, I'm sure he did,' replied the groom, fishing out a thick short carrot from his pocket and handing it to Em. 'See how he likes that.'

'He likes it fine,' Em smiled as Geordie made quick work of carrot. 'Such a wonderful stable here!' She stretched her arms wide. 'I think I would be happy to stay here myself. Lucky beasts!'

The groom smiled gently, hands in pockets. 'You like it here, eh?'

Em nodded, and returned to her trek down the stalls. 'I thought that for a Scottish laird and all, he might be keeping at least one Clydesdale or twa.' She stopped suddenly.
  'Where are my manners! I'm Emlyn.' She offered her hand to the groom, who took it in his.

'And you may call me Alex.' He didn't shake her hand but only held it for a time in both of his, smiling all the while. At last he dropped it and taking her elbow, he gently guided them outside and over to a great barn beside the stable.
  'So it's the Clydes that interest ye? We need a bigger stall for a bigger harse, then, eh?'
                                                                               

Inside the big barn Em was equally impressed. 'Oh, this is grand...'

Through the large double doors, both front and rear, she noted, they walked the cement floor, clean but strewn with straw about, to the rear where, in answer to the groom's short whistle, a great brown and white head came up over the stall and released a great neigh of stentorian strength. Em imagined the very walls shaking.

'Sounds like someone knows you there.' Emlyn followed the groom up to the great "harse". She had found that, on the whole, although the beasts were epic in proportion, they were usually the most gentle of giants.

'Ah, noo...keep it down, ye great wee babbie.' The groom went to a row of wooden barrels and scooped up a portion of oats. 'This is Bruce. He's an easy lad for the oats. Open both yer hands,' he told Em, as he poured it in.

Holding out her hands as flat as she could whilst not spilling grain, Em made her offering to the big Clyde, who accepted heartily, munching down and whuffling off half the oats with his excited breath.

The groom made soothing noises to the heavy horse as he ducked under the 'gate' which closed the stall's opening, and began patting the titan as he lifted his big feathered feet and checked his hooves, keeping up a running babble to the beast to settle him.

Em wandered about the huge barn, envisioning what a grand barn dance they could have here! Feeling her oats, she whirled about and found her feet sketching a wee jig upon the cement floor.
  'Ever had a barn dance here, Alex?'
                                                                          

'Eh?' The auburn head came up over the stall. He ducked beneath the gate and gave Bruce a goodbye pat. 'A barrn dance, is it?'

'You've certainly the room!' Emlyn fairly skipped about the barn floor. She studied the hayloft above.   'I always have to hold myself back from leaping into a new pile of hay. It just looks so...as if made just for the leaping!' Em climbed part way up the ladder, and studied the piles of fresh hay in the big rack below.

'Help yourself to the leppin'.' Alex focused a half grin at her.
'No!' Em shook her head. 'I couldn't! Well, I'm certainly not going to be the only one!'

Alex came up the ladder behind her. Before she knew it, he had 'helped' her over and into the hay pile with a wee tip-over!
  However, he hadn't reckoned on Emlyn's quick grab of his arm as she tumbled and, as gravity obliged, the both of them went down and into the hay.

'Ya right daft booger, you!' Emlyn spat hay as she floundered, pulling the stuff out of her hair. But she was smiling.

Alex was chuckling, seemingly fair pleased with himself. Em had thought him to be rather shy and a bit reserved at first, but there seemed to be a devilish side prone to the odd bit of mischief there too.

'And just whit the devvil iss this, then?!'

Emlyn and Alex righted themselves and gazing toward the doorway, found Shannon and Jeanne standing there. Even in silhouette, Jeanne seemed to be eminating a sort of frisson of irritation.

'Ah. There you are, cariad.' Alex stood and brushed himself off, holding out a hand to Emlyn who was struggling to right herself and appear less of a beggar maid fresh from a pilfered bed of straw.

Like a pair of naughty children, Emlyn and Alex, shedding straw and hayseeds, approached the women.

Emlyn noted that while Shannon seemed grinning fit to burst whilst narrowly holding her tongue, that Jeanne had raised her chin on high and looked down upon the both of them like an offended empress.

'Emlyn!' Jeanne spoke at last. 'So...interesting to see you.' She coughed and waved away some of the straw dust hazing the air.
  'Do allow me to introduce my husband,' Jeanne's narrow gaze shot to the tall, auburn haired "groom": 'Alexander William Hamish Douglas Kidd. My DEAR husband.'

'Earl of Grennock, at yer service...' Alex bowed low, -- The great daft booger.
                                                                       

                                                            
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Hector Berlioz- Rob Roy Overture 1831

         

Chapter 22 - Prescient Memory


In the philosophy of the later Bards all truth was expressed through the operations of Triads. In the Three, which they traced in every conceivable sphere of experience, they discovered the key to the understanding of the creation of the material Earth.

from:
The Three and The Seven
The Flaming Door
Eleanor C. Merry
.......

English Freemasonry eventually included among its members Major General Jeffery Amherst, who played a dominant role in the American Revolution and, along with the duke of Cumberland, would be infamously linked to the sacking of Havana on August 12, 1762, and to the speculation that the treasure seized there was deposited in existing vaults at Oak Island. (Nova Scotia)

... . ... . ...



Nil nisi clavid deest

- Nothing is wanting but the key -

Clavis ad thesaurum

- A key to a treasure -

Theca ubi res pretiosa deponitur

- A place where a precious thing is concealed -

........

The uprising over, Bonnie Prince Charlie had become a hunted figure. From the Isle of Skye, the Clan MacKinnon helped the prince make his way across the English Channel. For their part in aiding his escape, it is said that the clan received the prince's secret recipe for Drambuie.

William H. Mann
The Templar Meridians

........

"Good memories are lost jewels."

Paul Valery                                                                                                                                                                             
.......................

Emlyn was awake early.
Staying over at Nob Hill house, in her old room, already seemed odd to her. A feeling of displacement came over her, as though she shouldn't be here.
  'Not...my place,' she murmured, as she gazed out her upper storey window at the morning mist, obscuring the reticent sun.

Still, she felt obliged to do what she could for Daryl whilst his health was impaired.
  And so she was rather taken aback when she arrived downstairs to find Daryl up and about; indeed -- he was just shrugging into his overcoat in the foyer when she came upon the scene.

'Feeling better?' Em inquired, wondering: what now?

Daryl glanced her way as he reached for his hat. 'Ah. Yes, just so.' Hat on head, he wrapped a scarf about him as well. 'Seemed to have slept it off! I was just heading out. I'm off to see Conner.' He paused, hand on door knob. 'Ah...will you be staying long?'

'I...suppose not.' Well! So much for that! Em sighed.
'Your papers, books and violin are all in the parlor by the piano.'

'Yes,' Daryl glanced down. 'Eh, thank you, Emlyn. It was good of you to come. And to stay the night.' He looked at her, finally, and stepped over to her, taking her hand. 'I do appreciate your concern, Em. I will be fine now.'

Well, so it would seem. 'If you think so...'

'Yes.' Daryl dropped her hand and pulled his hat down low. 'Rosa is due to return today, and that will be a big help, for me and Manuel. So, if I do not see you when I return, and I cannot say when that would be, any road...I suppose this is farewell. For now.' He paused, then leaned over and bussed a chaste kiss upon her cheek.

'There is hot water for tea on the stove. Adieu, Em!'
And he was away-- !
 ...Shutting the door behind him.

'"Fin", as the films read at the end,' muttered Em, as she made a face at the door, and then turned toward the kitchen and promised hot water...

As she waited for tea to steep, she decided that there was no reason to stay on, really, and she found that she was rather glad she was now free to go...wherever.

'Indeed...where?' Em asked the empty room. Pouring a cup, she thought that now she was here, perhaps she would take advantage of being back on the left coast, and she might head up to visit Aleister, and maybe even Jethro, see if Jack was still there. Why not?

She would take the train to Pankhurst.
That would give her time to think about things, as they now stood.
  Em felt invigorated with this decision and packed a couple of apples, a fair slice of sharp cheddar and a bun, and, following Daryl's lead, stuffed all in her valise and taking her coat, made her exit, once more, away from Nob Hill House.
                                                                         

  ...............


Some hours later, Emlyn had decided to walk from the depot at Pankhurst, to Crowley House. A fair stretch of the legs, but she was tired of sitting from the train.

September, but the morning chill was long gone and Em was carrying her coat now, and thinking her valise shouldn't seem this heavy...
  At last, she spied Crowley Lane and thought she heard an approaching wagon.

Aleister Parsons was driving his Halflinger, Boreson, up the lane and Em quickened her pace, waving and calling to catch him up.
  'Aleister! Ahoy!' Em trotted up to meet him.

'What is this? It can't be...!' Al pulled up on the lines, halting his trusty Boreson. 'Emlyn! Egad you're a sight for these old eyes, indeed! Where did you come from, walking are you?'

Em gasped out a 'Hello, Aleister,' she leaned on the wagon catching her breath. 'I've just come from the train. Where are you off to?'

'Heading up the hill. To see Jack, and Jethro...Homer if he's around.' Al smiled down at her, offering a hand, 'Care to come?'

'That would be wonderful. I was just thinking about those fellows.' Em tossed her valise to Aleister who stowed it in the wagon and helped Emlyn up on the seat beside him.
  Em smiled. 'This is a serendipidous meeting, indeed.'
                                                                                

'Deja vu all over again.' Jack embraced Emlyn.
 She smiled up at Jack. Had it been so very long, then? He looked much changed. A bit heavier, and could that be wings of grey at his temples? He looked...much like Daryl now. Disconcerting, that.

'C'mere, Miss Nob Hill,' Jethro reached out an arm for her and swaddled her in a bear hug.
  'Jethro...so good to see you!' It was. She found she had missed Jethro more than Jack, cypher that he was, still. 'You're all looking well. Where is Homer?'

'Up in the apple orchard. With Sean,' answered Jethro.
'Let's go pay a visit.'

'I'll just be inside with Jack a few minutes,' Aleister told them, as he and Jack hefted a wooden crate. 'You two run along.'
                                                             

   .......

'Sean, now: who is he?' asked Em as she and Jethro strolled hand in hand uphill to the orchard. A cooling wind blew gently here in the shade and Emlyn felt her shoulders relax at last, taking in the rich smells of pine needles and warm grasses. It was good to leave the City life behind...


'You have been gone a while! Don't you recall the dowser who found our well and took you up to Mrs. Murphy's?'
Jethro levelled a quizzical look upon her.

'Sean Monroe!' Em did recall. 'Of course I remember him.
You know, I believe he and the redoubtable Mrs. Murphy may have had a wee...'

'-- Romance?' Jethro smiled crookedly. 'Aye. Perhaps they still do. You know I don't go in for such gossip.'

Em did an eyeroll. 'Since when.' This was indeed a fortunate turn of events...oddly, there did seem to be a pattern repeating. She should take note.

The orchard looked much improved with the advent of new well; leafier, and loaded with large fruit, much bigger than the small water-starved wee apples she had last seen there.

'So, the new well is still working...well?' she inquired.
  'It is.' Jethro offered her an apple. 'Sean has a nose for the springs. He's just here on, other business.'

Other business, with Homer, usually meant applejack.
'I thought you had busted up the still!'

Jethro halted. 'We did. And Homer is, much improved. He is healthy now. Lost some weight...but he's no longer bloated. Can get him to eat less of the lard.'
  

They resumed their walk. 'Jack and I have the biofuel business going strong. And with Woody keeping us supplied with used fryer oil, we have a goodly supply. Thinking of branching out more. Sean comes down to fetch more biofuel from us. And apples...'
   Jethro slowed his pace. 'Actually,' he whispered in her ear, 'we've moved the still to Aleister's barn. There is still good applejack available. But not to Homer.' He winked.

'"They never taste, who always drink"' Em quoth.
                                                                 

......

As Emlyn beheld the flaming hair and tall, slightly stooped form of the dowser, she recognised Sean Monroe at once. Homer, however...looked much older now. He had lost not a few pounds and his face seemed a bit sunken, lines deeper.
But he moved about easily, and appeared to have more energy than she remembered.

'Whoo cud thiss be?' Sean straightened a bit, shielding his eyes from the sun with a hand. 'It's no the lassie I took up yon to the Murphy Hoose?'

'Emlyn!' Homer stood with hands on hips. 'Well! Howdy stranger!'
   Em opened arms wide and went to embrace Homer. 'Homer, you look fine! And, oh my...I can almost get my arms all the way round you now!'

Homer looked at Sean. 'That's near worth starvin' for, a young gal's arms about ya!' He eyed Em closely. 'So what brings you here now? We all thought you had dropped off the edge of the world.'

I did, Em nearly answered.
'Busy. Much, much too busy.' She took Homer's hand. 'And I am that weary of it all! You've no idea how fine it is to be here, among friends with countryside all round. The orchard looks gorgeous, Homer.'

'That it does!' He grabbed a bushel basket and thrust it at Em. 'Get to pickin', then!'

'Do I get to keep what I pick?' She eyed him with a half smile.
  'Naturally.' Homer regarded Sean. 'Why don't you take this lil gal back up the mountain with you when you go?'

'Do ye think I'll get her to come with? T'was you she had her arrms aboot.' Sean smiled a gap-toothed grin.

'What say you, Emlyn?' Jethro, hands in pockets, was enjoying the teasing Em always had at the hands of himself and The Boys. 'You can pay Sean for the ride with a bushel of apples. If you get "busy".'

Em hardly knew what to say. She put it down to sweet serendipity; before she even knew it herself, this was exactly what she wanted.
  'That would...be grand. If Sean doesn't mind.'

'I believe I can manage room in the waggon for ye,' Sean grinned, eyeing Homer and nodding.

......

Sean had decided they were to leave at first light the next day. Em didn't mind staying the night, in fact she had been looking forward to it.
  After a fine supper of freshly caught river trout, potatoes, greens and of course, apple pie, and much catching up between all, Emlyn slept better than she had in many a long moon.

And so, once more, with Sean's heavy horses hitched to his waggon and filled with biofuel, apples and other crates in the back, the two had set off just as the sun came up. A clear day, and Indian Summer was hanging on.
It would be warm, later.
                                                                   

 
The big Clydes kept up a good stride as they headed north and east into the foothills of the Sierra. By mid-day they could see the volcanic Sutter Buttes in the distance, discernible through the valley haze.

Sean wasn't much of a gabber, but he answered Emlyn's queries readily enough.
  'And Mrs. Murphy has kept a room for me, still?' Em had felt great anxiety about that...for the longest time, she'd kept hoping to be able to return.

'Aye, she has.' Sean sipped water from his shepherd's bag, offering some to Em. 'Eh, in a manner of speakin'. To be sure, she's had to do some shifting aboot of things here and there...so mayhap it won't be yer exact room, but 'a room' will still be there for ye.'

Emlyn exhaled with relief. 'I am so glad. You've no idea how often I have wished I could return! But, ah, well...fate intervened.' She hoped that fate would now have a different name: other than 'Daryl/Diego'.

Sean wisely kept his own counsel, saying nought on that enigmatic statement.
   'Weel, we're keepin' a good pace, here. Should be there by sundoon, methinks.'

So much crowded Emlyn's mind...fall soon, October and Samhain. She became anxious once more, wondering about the other two-thirds of the Triad.
  'And, Jeanne MacKinnon, and Shannon Fitzgerald? Are they still about? I recall Jeanne had a wee shop in town.'

A rusty chuckle erupted from some deeply hidden place within Sean. 'Oh, aye; an' it's wee Shannon's shop noo!
She took it over and has expanded sommat. Doing a fair business, so she is. And grows and seels the fresh flowers along wi' the dried and bottled hairbals an' sooch.'
 Fortunately, Em knew that 'hair balls' was Scots brogue for 'herbals'.
                                                                             

   'Oh, that sounds grand, Sean. I will look forward to seeing the new shop. Em paused but a beat.'And, Jeanne?'

Sean was nodding as he answered. 'Aye, she is still aboot. She is a marriet wumman noo, though.'

This was news Em had not forseen in her wild dreams, and very wild those were at times.

'Married! Ah, to Allyn, the musician? They were a couple when I left.'
  'To Allyn, noo...and a bit, weel, disappointed that young lad was, too. Noo, 'tis a grand man she found for herself, or he found her. 'Tis an older gent, and well-moneyed. Cam o'er fae the auld country. From Edinburgh, no less. Although he has holdings in the country,'tis said, around aboot Glenternie.'

Oh, my. Now what, wondered Emlyn. Was there still hope for the Triad, then? With herself gone so long, and now with Jeanne...married, to a a Fine Gentleman, it seemed.

'I see...' Em pondered this unexpected lacuna. Would Jeanne still hold Scotland's place in the Triad?
  'Who is this lucky Scotsman, then?'

'Eh, the mon goes by the name o'Kidd. Not sure o' much else aboot him; puts it aboot that he's an earl o'sorts. Ye'll haff to ask Mrs. Murphy. She knows all that goes on aboot Arcadia.'
   'Not "Malta"?' Em teased.
   'Noo. To most folk who haff lived there some whiles, 'tis always and shall be ever Arcadia, lass. Despite the postal office designation, ye ken.'


Emlyn certainly dinna know, now, just what to ken.
  She lapsed into silence as they journeyed on the last leg of their venture north. Well, it isn't so bad she told herself; Shannon and Jeanne were still about and well, that's the main thing, surely.

Still, she couldn't help but feel some trepidation as they turned east and began to head up into the hills and out of the valley.
  Some sort of earl, eh? With the last name of Kidd. Em wondered if he had a ship. The only Kidd she knew of was that American pirate, Captain Kidd.  
  And he, certainly, had been no nobleman.
                                                               

                                                   Captain Kidd in New York Harbor

CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN:
Overture to the Flying Dutchman                                                 

Chapter 21 - Heyoka Trail

                                                  

                                    

   The fire had burned down to coals.

And there, upon the sofa before the fire, lay Athena, asleep. And all along and about her lay a great mound of strange and lovely smoky grey fur which rose and fell with every soft, slow breath.

The fur slowly unwound itself and raised a wolf's head from beside Athena. Grinning, the wolf nuzzled a muzzle into Athena's hair, making her rasp rather groggily. 'Nooo...' she complained, turning her head and attempting to re-enter dreamland. But her wolfish companion put a great paw upon her shoulder and a cold nose beneath the hair upon her neck.

An eruption of arms, legs, pillows and wolf fur ensued leaving Athena tumbled from the sofa while the great wolf leapt down beside her, tail up, and grinning.
   'Uf! Happy, now?' she asked, running hands through her long silver locks.

The wolf sat before her and raised both paws to her shoulders in furry embrace. Slowly he began to shimmer...heatwaves over hot pavement. When the phenomenon ceased, a Man sat in place of Wolf.

Long salt and pepper braids hung over his shoulders. A finely made man; spare of fat, dark of skin. Lean muscles like a runner. Upon his back, chest and upper arms were finely detailed tattoos of swirls, spirals and sigils. Legs crossed, he sat before Athena, a sly smile lingered upon his lips, mahogany hands gripped her shoulders.
  'It is morning.' A deep voice, only slightly hoarse.

Athena sighed. 'That it is.' She shivered, and glanced at the exhausted fire.
Pulling her to him, they held one another gently.
  'I will make the fire,' he told her, clearing his throat he added, 'Coffee would be good.'



They put their foreheads together then, rubbing noses.
'Coffee,' she agreed, 'would be heaven.'                                                                        

                                                                         


'It is said,' Athena's ManWolf declared, 'that even the eucalyptus trees in the western territories still mourn their lost home back down the Tail End of Turtle Island. They are out of their element here. As are your people, those from across the seas.'

Athena and the ManWolf sat crosslegged upon the sofa, drinking coffee and eating fresh nut and berry scones, fragrant red apples sliced by a long hunting knife.
  'These trees, have become ghosts of their former selves. The best of them, their true spirits, remain back at their home camp, the Turtle's Tail. Everything has its place upon the Great Mother.'

Athena accepted a slice of apple from his knife.
  'This is why we feel lost here at times, without a history of our own,' she agreed, looked down, regarded apple. 'People came here escaping wars, oppression. And then they brought it with them. The oppressed became the oppressors. Orphans of the storm, they became the storm troopers they had fled.'-- Crunch.


It is so.' The ManWolf reached for the enamel coffee pot warm upon the hearth, and poured for them both.
  'And without that feeling of home, without that connection, men become as ghosts also. This is why they kill the buffalo and human beings without respect, without conscience. They have nothing within themselves, no inner...compass. They no longer know themselves. They know not who, or even what, they are. They have lost all connection with their ancestors.

'We,' he put a hand to his chest, 'may have lost our lands, but we still keep our home within us, here! We are not ghosts. We have spirit within, we have heart. We know our tribe. We know our ancestors. We know our history, and the history of this land.'

'You have great heart, mon ami.' Athena put her hand upon his knee. She sighed, and added more sticks to the fire.
  'I feel like a ghost myself, at times...coming not only from across the sea but across the sea of time as well.'

Her companion touched her cheek. 'You, have great heart, ma chere. Your spirit is strong. You have tall, strong spirits which stand behind you, guiding you, and you are in touch with them and with your ancestors. You are not a ghost.' He took her hand then, and smiled. 'It was in the Sea of Time I found you and followed you here.'

'I am glad that you did,' Athena smiled. 'You were the brightness in that dark void for me.'

He covered her hand with both of his. 'This is why I am called Wolf Star.'
                                                                  

Daryl bent to his work in the dirt.
Weeding, not his favorite garden chore, but it needed doing.  Muttering to himself all the while;
   '...St.John and his 'grubbing about for potatoes'...we'll see who feeds better; he with his overflow diet of blubber or my fresh vegetables...we'll see who wins this race...' and other recriminations he worked out as his gloved hands worked the soil, interspersed with snatches of song: '...'Tis a gift to be simple, 'tis a gift to be free...'

Suddenly, a neighboring cat leapt over the fence, landing beside Daryl.
  'Well!' He started. 'I've seen you before, puss! You could help keep the birds out, couldn't you, then?' He took off a glove and held out a hand. The ginger tabby took a tentative sniff, unimpressed, but allowed Daryl to stroke his head, and stretched out his neck when he received some cat-massage neath chin. 'Not a bad puss, are you, old tom? Maybe I could get a cat, now that I'm...here.'
  Here: not only where but when, he bethought, and not for the last time.

Homebound. Earthbound. Timelocked. Grounded.

Sighing, Daryl removed the other glove and slowly stood. Or tried to...
  'Aah! Ah-ah-ah!' He made it only part way up to his full
6-foot and more before he knew he was in trouble. The cat, sensing this, had disappeared. Lucky cat...Daryl wished he could as well.

'Oh, gods...' He tried to sit back down. A squeak of pain escaped him.


'I-cannot-stay-like-this!' he muttered between clenched teeth, caught betwixt sit-or-stand.
  'Just do it!' he ordered, and threw himself erect with a will...
  '--Ullmp!' The pain caught him in its inexorable grip like a red-hot vise squelching raw nerve ends. Tears unbidden streamed down his face. He dare not move. Sweat mixed with tears and he soon began to pant.


'Diego, hola? Que es?' Manuel called, as he approached from the stable. Daryl couldn't move. He tried to call out a: 'Help!' -- but it became strangled.

Luckily Manuel knew something had Diego in its grasp.
  'Hold on...'
Striding up to his employer and friend, Manuel nodded.
  'The back again, is it? Alright. Can you walk, move at all?'

Daryl's eyes pleaded. He opened his mouth to answer, tried to move again --
then his face went white and his eyes rolled up into their sockets. Daryl went down like a 6 foot sack of potatoes...Manuel caught him halfway.
                                                                

.........

Daryl found himself upon the sofa in the parlor when he came to. Manuel, used to these episodes, had him sitting partially up against pillows; a heated flaxseed pillow was pressed against his lower back.

'How is it now?' Manuel was sitting in the wingchair, reading.

Daryl wasn't sure. He tried a deep inhale. Caught his breath. That hurt.
But, '-- Better,' he allowed. 'Thanks.'

Manuel came over to him. 'Okay where you are?'
Daryl nodded.
  'Alright.' Manuel knew if Daryl wasn't talking much, that indeed, things were very, very wrong. 'I have a soup started on the stove. Water is hot for tea. How about some valerian?
Help you sleep, maybe.'
Daryl closed his eyes. Again, he nodded.

Manuel returned with a hot covered mug.
'I'll just set this here.' Daryl noticed then the tea trolley wheeled up beside him. 'Ring this,' Manuel touched a small bell, 'if you need me. I'll be around.' He gazed down at Daryl frowning, thinking that Daryl always fared poorly without Emlyn about.

Daryl was trying to speak, he whispered, '--Top shelf, medicine chest, white bottle.'
Manuel was off.

Just kill me now, Daryl was thinking...oh to be gone from this battered old shell...was he only 58? Surely it'd been centuries...

Manuel clattered down the stairs. He had an armful of bottles. 'Here!--' he set down the white bottle, 'it is. And some others, just to make sure. Muscle relaxers may help, although I understand it is a pinched nerve end. Take whatever you need, mi amigo. I'll be here. But I don't want to try to move you upstairs to bed.'

Daryl shot an alarmed look at Manuel: No-don't-move-me writ large upon his face.
   'Not to worry,' Manuel assured him. 'I'll just be in the kitchen. And, oh! -- Rosa is returning manana! Just in time, eh? So...ring if you need me. I'll bring in some lunch when it's ready, no?'
Daryl nodded, groping for the bottles...

Uncorking the laudanum, Daryl drank. And drank again.
-- Enough. He lay back, panting, desperate for release.
                                                                            

Sometime later, Emlyn appeared, violin case and valise in hand. Stuffing her mobile unit in a skirt pocket, she glanced about her from the front porch of Nob Hill House. Everything looked exactly as before. This seemed rather amazing to her, considering how much had changed...elsewhere.

She hesitated but a moment, then reached to the doorknob and let herself in.
She thought it odd that the door was unlocked. So quiet! She shut the door. 'Hola?' she called tentatively.
No answer.


'...Something smells good,' she allowed as she wandered into the kitchen. She noted a soup on the stove, but no sign of Rosa's baking...still in Los Angeles, it seemed.

She turned and headed into the parlor. She went to the grand in the corner and lay the violin case down upon the bench.
She set down her valise as well, then went to the curtains which had been drawn shut.
  'So dark in here...' she murmured as she opened them. The house seemed changed somehow since she'd been here last. But, all appeared as it had been...she glanced about her.

'Oh!' She breathed. She espied Daryl then, pale and laid out upon the sofa, a tea tray of medicines at his side.
  'Diosa, whatever has happened now...?' She wondered as she sidled softly over to him.

Gazing down at her friend, former fiance' and purveyor of pain and pleasure combined, she shook her head.
  'You simply go to pieces without me, don't you, old thing?'
She whispered to him, noting that he seemed dead to the world, not having heard her moving about.

She knelt beside him on the rug.
  'Diego, mi amor, what have you done to yourself now?'
She bit her lip, wanting to touch him, but dare not. He seemed so still...she noticed him breathing, but very softly, slowly. She took the bottle of laudanum and saw it was empty.

Well, he wouldn't be laid out like this for no reason...no, this wasn't like Daryl. Ever a man of action, finding him upon a couch mid-day was like seeing snow in August...whatever had happened here?

...............

'Just this morning. It is his back. Again.' Manuel was ever a man of few words. But his countenance spoke for him. Em could see worry written bold upon his features as he entered the parlour.

She sighed. 'I'll stay here a while, Manuel. If you have other jobs to see to?'

He managed a small smile. 'Of course. Gracias, Emlyn. He will be glad to see you when he wakes.' He sighed in turn. 'He has never been one for malingering. Diego is a man on fire...you cannot keep him down long.'
  He bent to the tea table and examined the white bottle.
'He may need more. I'll bring some back from the chemist. And lay in some food for later. Rosa will be back sometime tomorrow...and a good thing, too.'

Em took Manuel's hand. 'Gracias. I hate seeing him like this! And I'm so glad you are here.'
  'Of course.' He smiled and put his other hand over hers. 'He is my friend.' He paused but a moment. 'You know he saved my life. Rosa's as well.'


This was news to Emlyn. 'No I did not know this! Oh, Manuel!'
  He patted her hand. 'Many years ago now. A story for sometime later, si?' And taking the bottle, Manuel left upon his errands of mercy.

Emlyn moved one of the wingchairs closer to the sofa so that she may keep an eye upon Daryl. She hardly knew what to think now...obviously Diego needed her here. For now, at least.


'I live to serve.' Em murmured, but of course it was more than that. It pained her to see Diego thus; his enormous ego could oft times be unbearable, but when he was reduced to mortality like all the rest of us, it simply seemed the planets had whirled off their orbit and the world had somehow gone sky-crooked.
  'And so you are mortal man after all, mon amor...'

Emlyn knew not when, but merciful sleep overtook her at some point.
                                                                         

.........

It was quite sometime thereafter that Daryl roused at last from his troubled dreamland. Morpheus had done good work however and he felt less pain and confusion. Still, he wasn't anxious to test himself just yet. Small, slow movements...

He managed to roll to his side, and then he saw Emlyn, fast asleep in the chair beside him.
  This was not altogether the welcome sight it could have been, at some earlier point in time perhaps. But now...he did not care for any more witnesses to his imminent deterioration.

His head rolled  back and he shut his eyes. Damnation...
  He now knew how Dorian Grey felt. Somewhat.

Unbidden, a small tear rolled down the corner of his cheek.
None of that shite; he rubbed it out. But there was no denying it: now that he was out of the time slip-stream, he would begin to age like any mortal man. Any many long years of owing the piper would have to be paid -- in spades.

He threw an arm over his eyes. Didn't even want to consider what all; organs, tendons and such, might be gearing up to throw a monkey wrench into his inner clockworks. And who opened the bloody drapes in here, anyway?

He sighed. One good thing: at least Em had moved out. His deterioration could proceed apace without her here in a ringside seat to witness it all.

An old saying slipped sideways onto his mindscape. Something...was it Kipling, perhaps? -- something about old lions being at their fiercest when they become old, they know their time is soon upon them, and wish to go down fighting.

Daryl decided then he would prefer to be an old lion rather than an old turtle on its back, legs in the air, helpless, as he was now.

'Cara? Diego? Are you awake?' Her voice.
Her voice cut into him like a knife...

He cleared his voice. 'Si, Josephina. I'm here. I'm fine now...'

She came and gently sat beside him, taking his hand.
  'I heartily doubt that, cher.' She kissed his forehead, smiling. 'Again with your fantastic tales.'

Diego smiled. And sighed. Within minutes, Morpheus showed him mercy and sleep took him once more.
                                                                            

                                                                                         

...........................

'It's snowing again.'

Athena stood at the cottage window, gazing out at the gently falling flakes fat as goose down. A slight shiver ran down her chakras.

Wolf Star crept behind her and put an arm about her.
'A good day for hunting. Snow hides. And when you burrow down, hides your scent as well.'

She turned to him then.
  'For whom do you hunt, my Wolf?'

He smiled and took her hand.
  'I have my tribe, and my pack. And you.' His forehead touched hers. 'I know not when, but I will return. I may have venison. And we will share your fire once more.'

'Does your tribe know...who, what you are?' Athena was ever one to speak her mind.

'I am...outside of my tribe. But they know who I am. They accept my gifts. But, I am, hunh...somewhat like you. In between, here and there. So I am considered, ah, different. Do you know of the heyoka or coyote trail? I have spirit helpers, and others. Some, others do not see. Only me. So, I follow my tribe. Watch over them. Help when I can. But I do not share their fire at night.Some tribes have problems with shapeshifters. Usually, I sleep with the pack.'

'You are accepted there?'

'Um. More so than by human beings. But, I am still considered a lone wolf. An uncle, if you will. Accepted. But still apart.'

Athena sighed. 'Yes. Much like me.'

'You, and I. Both the same.' Wolf Star put a warm hand upon her heart, 'In here.'

'That is where it matters.' She put her hand on his. 'Must you leave so soon? I never know when you will return...'

He smiled. 'Ah. Perhaps I do not need to leave just now.'
He led her back to the fire, and made a nest of the pillows still strewn over the rug, and they soon forgot about the snow, and tribes and packs and time and others, and all the world outside...

                                                                         

.......
CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN:
Walela: Warrior

Chapter 20 - Midwinter Songs

"Leave the pain behind and let your life be your own again. There is a place where all time is now, and the choices are simple and always your own. Wolves have no kings."

Robin Hobb

.............

..::The wolves Geri and Freki were the Norse god Odin's faithful pets who were reputed to be "of good omen."
In the Lay of Hyndla, the völva (witch) Hyndla rides a wolf, and to Baldr's funeral, the Giantess Hyrrokin arrived on a wolf.

........


Wolves are the witches of the animal world.

Katherine Rundell

............


Morning came. It was unlike any Emlyn had hitherto experienced. Upon opening her eyes, she was momentarily disoriented, then recalled where she was.
  The light was different. Brighter, whiter.
 

Arising, she went to the window.
  White...everywhere. All was snow-coated overnight.
'...Glory,' she breathed. Wrapping herself in a quilt, she edged into her shoes and headed downstairs.
                                                                                                                                                                   

'Egad, it's freezing,' she mumbled, shuffling about the kitchen. Need to get the old woodstove up and sparking before she could even think.
   'Complete madness, this...quite possibly catching pneumonia here,' and other murmurings were uttered in little puffs of breath which Em could see before her in the frigid morning air.
   'Tea, tea, tea,' she chanted as she filled the kettle with shaking hands, then hugged the old stove against herself as it heated. 'Ahh, mi amigo, si, muy caliente...'
   Speaking Spanish helped her forget the chill as she urged the great iron monster to life.


Eventually it did flame on and it didn't take long before the kitchen became comfortable enough. With her first sip of hot tea, Em's shoulders relaxed and she finally found the stove too hot to hold, reluctantly moving away somewhat.


'Fantastic,' she breathed, edging to the window and gazing at the great shining, pure white sheeting which covered all.
   '"In the bleak mid-winter, frosty wind made moan,'" Emlyn quoted  Rossetti, thinking she'd the right of it, indeed.
   '-- And howl,' she added, recalling the wolfish song of the evening before. Hm. Yes. It's out there the Great White.


Feeling quite warmed now, Em couldn't wait to head outdoors into the Great White Cold. She'd just take a peek out now and see how things stood.
  To the front door she went and unlatching, opened it just enough to poke her nose out...
  ' -- Yeeeooow!'
    The door slammed shut.


'Oooh, no no no...,' Emlyn scurried back to the stove.
More tea and some hot breakfast were uppermost in her mind now. Later, perhaps that dim sun would show his face more.
   'I'm not coming out until you do,' she told him.

..........

That was sooner rather than later, as it happened.


First, Em had managed to scrounge up some heavy dungarees of Daryl's which she tied about her waist with a rope, as belts were all too large for her, then rolled up the hems enough to walk. She also located a thermal undershirt and a heavy sweater of his that would suffice. Staying warm was the main idea, and this was hardly Main Street.


She wore her own boots. A stocking cap and a woolen scarf completed her snow suit, and Emlyn made another attempt to open the door. Edging it wider a bit at a time, she at last managed to squeeze outside, feeling rather like a stuffed scarecrow.

The sun was a welcome spot of pale butter yellow.  She gazed about, a wide grin upon her face.
   Everything looked so pristine and pure without a mark of bird, beast or man. Em wondered how far away the wolves were. They sounded rather far, than near. But they moved like the wind.

Emlyn recalled there was a lake somewhere near the great dark forest. 'The Schwarzwald,' she whispered to herself, not wanting to make any loud sounds, to blend in with the quiet world around her, trying to breathe softly.
  She headed toward the lake.

Entering the great wood of mostly conifer, it was darker, colder. But the sun was growing brighter and soon shot beams of gold through the spaces amongst the boughs and branches. It wasn't all evergreens she found, as she penetrated deeper within the forest, but stands of birch gathered together, denuded and picturesque, white on white. Pine and fir, some spruce, curly-barked beech she found, too, and alder. Snow hadn't covered all inside the wood, and patches of bare pine mulch showed a sort of path. This she followed.


She heard birds about, and occasionally caught a flash of red here and there. Hoping she might actually see a real cardinal, her first, she tried to follow these flickers of red, but found them too fast for her.
    Ahead she spied a broad swathe of sunlight and hoping for a clearing, she stepped up her pace to find, more snow, yes, but also a nice view of the remembered lake, looking fast frozen now, like a mirror of ice. A gathering of birch trees ringed it on this side.
    She recalled the howls in the evening. She could see all the wolves congregated here, circling the lake reflecting the moon...
                                                                 

   Turning from the path, she trundled through the snow drifts down to the lake, lifting her knees high to get through the brush and fallen logs, then she felt herself going down and down into rabbit and gopher holes unseen, but she pushed on and at last found herself lakeside.  Emlyn was desperately wishing she had her old ice skates with her now!


Nicely open to the sun here, Em rested a moment, enjoying the wan warmth on her face as she looked about her. Birds chirped and flitted about the frozen reeds along the shoreline. No red feathers showed themselves as yet, however.
  Moving along the bank, Em crunched her way, seeking signs. And finding them.


Paw prints. Rather large ones. Paw prints were edged around a hole in the lake ice.
  Emlyn stopped and looked about her. Proof positive: she was not alone.


Perhaps she should have brought Daryl's rifle after all, she thought belatedly.
  They were much closer than she'd first thought.
  She gingerly drew nearer to the prints, however, studying them. They weren't very fresh, snow had nearly covered them.
But they were visible enough. Still, only one wolf was here, it seemed. Not wolves, plural. Not yet...
                                                                      
                                                                                                  

She shivered then. And bethought that she'd had enough of adventuring for now.  Although she
had her mobile unit at the ready, and knew it would have her out of any danger in a second, still,
that was only if she could see it coming...
     She turned and began heading back the way she had come, back to the kitchen and the wonders of warmth.
     She was nearly through the Schwarzwald, when she stopped, listening. She seemed to be hearing something heading through the brush farther down and to her right...
  She ducked down behind a fallen snow-covered log.


Willing herself to silence, she slowly poked her head up. There was something. Or, someone?
   Much taller than a wolf it was:  Emlyn spied a dark figure
moving through the trees, followed by another, slightly shorter.
People' But, who? She knew only of Athena, or Manuel, possibly.
Although, Athena had intimated that she had 'friends' who would miss her here.


Still, something kept Em in hiding. She watched as the two figures stopped briefly, then the smaller form took the lead, the taller following. As they moved off, Emlyn slowly stood, staying quiet as she could, watching.


The smaller person in front moved like Athena, but they were still too far away, and in too much shadow, for Em to be certain. Coming up behind, the larger appeared to be male, but although certainly tall, it was not at all like the seven-feet-and-more that made up Axelis.


Em thought she might try to catch them up, but just as she was about to make her move, suddenly, the taller figure was eclipsed by a stand of fir trees...and later emerged as something else altogether:
  It was much shorter now. Although slightly shorter than Athena, its back came rather above her waist. A large broad head, with shorter ears than a coyote, with a thick white coat of fine fur, it followed along after Athena, looking quite amiable, yet fantastically outre': a wolf in place of a man!


Emlyn's mouth went dry. She couldn't swallow; she could barely think. No, she wouldn't think...
  It did not bear thinking of.
But, no one else came out of the trees. Athena, and The Wolf, moved together in line, one after the other, out into the park, and then turned to head toward the gatehouse.
At last, Em shook herself a bit, shivered, really, and moved off, returning to her path through the woods and home, with much on her mind.



What, exactly, had she just seen here? What other secrets did Athena keep? Em knew she had a way with creatures and kept the odd wounded ones, nursing them back to health and wholeness. 
   Axelis had been the oddest of her companions thus far. Em pondered on that word a moment, the etymology which rendered 'com' or 'with' and 'pan' or 'bread' = a companion, someone  with whom one shares bread.
       Wolves would share bread, only if there wasn't meat, Em knew. But, a man-wolf? What of these?
   Emlyn wondered about bringing a rifle, now. It isn't murder to shoot an animal, but...perhaps this being was more of a 'who' than a 'what'.
                                                                      

 Always interesting, Athena had said, about the weather here.

  'And that ain't all!' Em shook her head as she slogged onward, glad, for once, to see the house at last.

Emlyn had returned to the kitchen and built up the fire in the woodstove, making tea. This she took with her, pot and all, into the library.


Good, she thought; wood and kindling awaited by the fireplace. Manuel's welcome touches became evident to her now that she was here on her own...the Lady of the Manor, if she wished. She didn't.


Sighing, she stared about her, hands on hips. This enormous house, grand though it was, was a white elephant, in both size and practicality.
  Em began work on her second fire of the day, building up this one to last a while. She poured tea, and sipped as she strode about the room. Glancing upward, she espied the loft.
   -- And! Yeats' day bed! 'Of course!' Emlyn had an idea.


'I'll simply move everything down to the library...and sleep, live, move and have my being, right here.'
   It seemed a perfect solution. 'Naturally, I'll have to exit to cook, or bathe, but otherwise, I can function quite well in the library...' Indeed, Em had easily fallen into the habit so beloved of old bachelor uncles and other glad lunatics, shut-ins and guests on permanent vacation in the Bastille... talking to herself, inanimate objects, plants and animals, and for no reason at all.

'Let's just give this bed a test rest first...' She scampered up the spiral stairway to the loft, enjoying the view from above.
    'It's perfect.' Her gaze roamed about the floor below; books from floor to ceiling and wall-to-wall. The ideal place to lodge a librarian, indeed.                                                           
                                                            



 Sitting upon the bed, she let herself fall back onto the pillows. Not bad. Could be a bit more firm, for support. Em sighed, and imagined herself going quietly, peacefully mad here...
  'Could be worse fates.'
Suppose the piano will have to stay where it is, she mused, sitting up, elbows on the wooden railing bordering the loft.

'Can always bring mandolin and guitar up here, though.'

She studied the titles surrounding her here; presumably Yeats' and Daryl's favorites of the moment. Much to do with the Knights Templar, and the Cathars; Em knew why Daryl was obsessed with these, she was curious about their past lives as well.
    Books on Ley Lines; the 'dragon' lines of electromagnetism that ran along water courses and such that dowsers followed. Knightly orders and books on heraldry and Scottish clans and tartans. Hmmm...
     To Emlyn's delight, there were also well-used books on Myths and Legends of Olde Europe, Fairy Tales and such. Herbologies, Culpepper's and others, and books on birding and wild edibles of local field and forest.


Soon Emlyn laid hands upon a book which gradually laid hold of her as well, about the goddesses and spirits of the Baltic countries, called a rusalka:
   'The Rusalki live in the depths of the rivers,
    but in the month of May, in the morning at sunrise,
    they come out from there, naked,
    and dance in the rye fields with their pestles and sing.'

                                                                             

  And, wouldn't you just know it, again Emlyn found the story of the vila or vilies, Anglesized as 'willies', as in: 'just being in that place gave me the willies!'
And in that place where the 'willies' danced, they took off their wings, their white chemises and the ivy twined about them, and swam and sang and danced together, as, unbeknownst to them, a shepherd watched, enraptured.


Of course he became greedy and wished for one of them for his own, and so stole the willie's things to keep her from returning with her sisters. And so the shepherd pressed her to come home with him, and to be his wife.


'Typical,' Em sighed, turning the page. Naturally, however, a willy does not change within, simply because they are temporarily bereft of their accoutrements. Although she does bear the man's children, eventually her sacred items were restored to her, when her husband wishes to show off her dancing to his friends...

"Surely you know, Stoyan,
that a willy cannot keep house,
a willy cannot nurture children.
Seek me, Stoyan, there in the forest,
On the peaks of the Rila Mountains,
On the willies' playground,
Beside the willies' lake.'

Then she flew away.
                                                               

 'Ah, at last!' Em congratulated the rusalka, then read on: Apparently, she found, that within the Eastern Rite countries, it seemed these spirits were the girls who had died without issue, 'without becoming ancestors, themselves'.


'Utterly fantastic!' Emlyn could hardly believe her eyes. This made her relieved that she lived in the West. Imagine a world where one was considered  'worthless' for not having borne a child. Nothing was said about men who had not become fathers.


Apparently, as usual, only women were without a soul if they couldn't incubate and produce issue. How convenient that men had written up laws to sanction their Male God who made MEN in HIS image. His-story, indeed.  Em felt rather queasy to her stomach suddenly.


She did come upon, in Greece, however, a single listing of Euripides which points out Medea's conclusion:
'Three times in battle I would rather stand
 than once in childbirth.'

Good on ya, Medea, as her Aussie friends would have said. Following the asterisk, Em read the footnote below which stated the remarkable statistic that: "during World War I, more American women died in childbirth, than American men died in war."


Sobering, that. Em was brought up short to realise how Out Of Time she actually was here...and with war looming on the horizon, for those back in her own epoch.


She closed the book, The Dancing Goddesses by Elizabeth Wayland Barber, and fell back upon the bed, slightly stunned. For here, she was surrounded by Jack and Daryl's Time Lock. With books, from Out Of Time. She did not even glance at the copyright date...it was from Daryl's time, not her own.
  But here she knew that somehow this estate and surroundings were outside of Time. Where was she, then? And all outside of the designated demense, a world of absolute hell reigned...The Future.


If one were a serious student of history, however, the world had always been embroiled in one sort of hell or other; what with plagues, invasions, natural disasters and the like. It boggled the wee mind to think that this one area, was somehow immune.


'Interesting weather, indeed,' Em mused to herself, and interesting creatures here, too. Had Athena brought someone here, to offer asylum, perhaps? A creature, like herself, rescued from Time's Onslaught? 
                                                           

She needed a book on shapeshifters. Perhaps something detailing First Nations and their medicine people. Rising, she sought amongst what was available in the upper loft, surely Daryl would be curious about local tribes...


Noting the graceful artwork on the spine of one book led Emlyn to delve into some writings on wolves, at least, and how they were honored or denigrated, depending upon the area and tribal affiliations:


"Wolves were generally revered by Aboriginal Canadians that survived by hunting, but were thought little of by those that survived through agriculture. Some Alaska Natives including the Nunamiut of both northern and northwestern Alaska respected the wolf's hunting skill and tried to emulate the wolf in order to hunt successfully. First Nations such as Naskapi as well as Squamish and Lil'wat view the wolf as a daytime hunting guide.


The Naskapis believed that the caribou afterlife is guarded by giant wolves that kill careless hunters who venture too near. The Netsilik Inuit and Takanaluk-arnaluk believed that the sea-woman Nuliayuk's home was guarded by wolves.


Native Americans have long seen the wolf as an animal of power. Many tribes credit the actual creator of the earth to be a wolf. The Arikara and Ojibwe believed a wolfman spirit made the Great Plains for them and for other animals. Many tribes consider wolves to be closely related to humans.. The reason for this belief is because of the wolf’s dedication to its pack, a trait the tribes attributed with themselves."                                                                                                                                                          

Em closed the book. Running with the pack. That sounded good to her, pack ethics...far outshone human of late.
   Oddly, she found herself yawning...shouldn't be at all sleepy...it was only mid-afternoon. But, all this reading somehow, and snow slogging, and now having an actual bed in a library...set her mind to dreaming awake, and as she took up the bed quilt, wrapping it about her, she allowed herself to slide fully into Yeats' lofty library world and dreamland...
...........
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In The Bleak Midwinter : Choir of Kings College, Cambridge