Monday, December 27, 2010

The Knight and the Harlet

As they entered the gates that encompassed the gothic, looming castle, Avery couldn’t help but agree with her father, it had been far too long since they had visited their neighbors to the south.  The hum of peasants readying their shops and the streets around them was welcome to her ears.  The winter had forced quiet in their land three months ago and was still stifling the busy patter of outside markets and venues.  Yet here in Courney, people were lively and insistent in hawking their wares.
            Being reminded of the drastic weather change, Avery shifted uncomfortably under her thick fur and leather cape.  She would have liked to take it off, but they had gone too deep into the kingdom for her to take the chance of being seen by a noble.  There was no dress fit for a lady under her cape, but a fine pair of riding leggings and thick tunic that allowed her to keep up with her older brothers on the journey.  Of course, this outlandish attire was only allowed because of how close she was with her three brothers and how each of them had one thing in common, the love for irritating their grandmother.  The fine woman who had helped raise the four Deschain children had taught them everything that they knew about mischief and practical jokes, but had one subject that she put her foot down.  A noble child should conduct themselves properly when involved in social occasions…and this was definitely a social occasion.
            Avery’s older brother slowed the powerful chestnut he rode so that he was next to her.  A smug smile was on his handsome face, which made Avery want to reach over and kick him.  “Oh darling sister, you look so warm in that cape.  Would you like some assistance in its removal?”
            He hadn’t looked at her, but his smile had deepened.  She voiced her apprehension in his demeanor.  “That is very   chivalrous of you Luke, but I am actually still feeling a trifle chilled.  Me thinks I shall keep my cape where it is.”
            Luke was the oldest of the four children and saw it as his place to take the lead when a new prank was to be implemented, but he was the worst out of the lot of them when it came to keeping a straight face.  It wasn’t surprising that he wasn’t able to get through his next speech without laughter escaping his lips.
            “No no, I must protest.  You are a damsel in distress, and my brothers and I wouldn’t be able to think of ourselves as gentlemen unless we were able to help you.”
            As he finished, he let off a high pitched whistle and thin kneed his horse into a canter.  As she watched him ride off, the hair on the back of her neck prickling in readiness for whatever was about to come.  Just then, each of her younger brothers came to her sides, both grabbing the ends of her cloak, and jolted off ahead of her, leaving her with her cloak wrapped around her head.  She couldn’t see.  To make matters worse, Duncan, the brother closest to her age, had gotten too close with his horse and jostled her in her seat.  Before she knew it, Avery was falling from her horse, and in a moment, found herself fighting with a wet cape that was plastered to her face.
            It took her a moment to find her way out of the swath of material, but when she did, she looked up to see that she had fallen right into a watering trough in front of a bookstore. She was outraged enough to want to scream at her brothers, but as she looked in the direction that her caravan was headed, they were nowhere to be seen.  The little cowards. 
            She fumed as she sat in the trough, trying to figure out what her best move would be from here.  Her father would be furious with her if she showed up at the castle looking the way that she did.  It was impossible to salvage her cape as a covering either because the water had now made it too heavy to move around in.  Moving the material aside, Avery prayed that she would find the rest of her clothing wasn’t as wet as the cloak. 
            “Those sneaky, no good, trouble making bastards.”  She grumbled to herself as she saw that indeed, the tunic she was wearing had gotten wet enough to be even more revealing than her thinnest nightdresses.  This was definitely a problem.  And her party had long since left her, so there was no help to be found.
            A light chuckle came from in front of her, and Avery looked up to see a young man smiling down at her with complete amusement.  Her first action was to pull her cloak closed in front of her.  How could she have not noticed that someone had taken notice of her in her revealed state?  Bright red color flooded her cheeks and she thanked God that she was at least wearing a hat so that no one would be able to recognize her later.
            She looked up again to see if the young man was still standing in front of her, and sure enough, he was.  Now that she wasn’t shying away to make sure nothing too revealing was being shown, Avery let out a mental groan.  The man was dressed in fine materials and had Courney’s coat of arms embroidered onto his white tunic.  His eyes were still alight on her and she could see with the help of the blasted sun that they were light green in color.  He seemed more amused the longer she looked at him rather than getting up and exiting herself from the trough.
            With a tone of wonder and pleasure, he held out his hand to her.  “I don’t believe you’ll become any less conspicuous the longer you stay in there, lad.”
            Avery took his hand, and stood up. The water still had a mighty hold on her cloak, so as she stood, it pulled the material down and provided the nobleman a full view of her tragically soaked tunic.  Unfortunately, Avery’s luck didn’t hold out, and the young man’s eyes fell to her clearly outlined chest.
            “Oh my.” His look was only puzzled for a moment before he moved his gaze up to her face, searching what he found there.  His smile widened as he reached around and grabbed her drenched cloak with his free hand and pulled it out of the trough along with her.  Before doing anything else, he removed the lightweight golden cape he was wearing, and held it out to her. 
            It was a quick exchange, and luckily the man was standing in the way of any onlookers so that no one else could get a glimpse of what he had discovered.  As soon as the switch was made, Avery grabbed the edges of his cloak and held them tight to cover herself.
            “Many thanks, good sir.”  She nodded a thank you and looked back up, about to search for her horse.  He was nowhere in sight.  Of course that lousy good for nothing horse had to follow the rest of the group to the castle rather than staying around and waiting for it’s master as it should have.  She felt her jaw locking in irritation.
            The young man, who hadn’t stopped watching her, noticed her anger.  “It seems as though you’re in need of gallantry today, miss.  It would be my pleasure to be of more assistance if you require it.”
            She was beyond embarrassed, but had no choice.  “I apologize, sir, but it looks as though I have been abandoned by my party.”
            “And where are you and your party headed?”
            Avery didn’t want to walk directly into the castle, looking as she did, especially with the cloak of this fine nobleman around her shoulders, but she needed to get close.  “The castle.”
            This caused the man’s golden eyebrows to raise in surprise, so she corrected, “The castle’s stable, really.”
            “Ah, I see.  Then there is no other thing to do but for me to give you a ride to your destination.”
            “Sir, I would hate to pull you away from your chores to take me there.  I’m sure I would be fine to walk, but your offer is very much appreciated.”
            He held his hand out again and didn’t wait for her to offer her own, but reached for it and started to lead her to a tethered black stallion.  It was even larger than Luke’s chestnut; Avery couldn’t help but stare in wonder. 
            “I insist, miss.  The castle’s stable is quite near and in the direction that my next chore would have taken me.”  He walked her over to the left side of his horse and placed his hands on her hips, ready to lift her into the saddle.  She wanted to protest and tell him that she was more than capable of saddling a horse on her own, but she had a feeling it would fall on deaf ears.  Before he lifted her, the young man stepped very close to whisper into her ear, “I believe that I’m going to resent the lord of the castle for allowing his stable to be so near.  It would be a pleasure to be granted more time with you.”
            What was she supposed to say to that?  Before she knew it, she was on the horse and the young man was looking up at her with a confident smile.  His golden curls, the same color as his eyebrows, were being jostled by the slight breeze.  Was he handsome?  She couldn’t tell, and she had a good look at him.  How could he say something in the vein that he had by only seeing her in these boys clothes with her face and hair covered by a hat? 
            As he saddled up behind her and grabbed the reins, his arms coming close to touching her chest, he chuckled again. “No need to be so stiff, my dear.  No matter how clumsy a rider you are, I will make sure that you don’t take another tumble.”
            He reined the horse in and set it on the path her party had been riding before she was separated.  Aghast that he thought she didn’t know how to ride; Avery held her tongue so that she didn’t blast him with the first words that came to her mouth.  It took her a moment to settle herself.  When she did, she turned her head to state calmly, “I apologize for the impression that I gave, but I do not, nor have I ever, had difficulty controlling anything that I have a mind to ride.”
            There was silence for a moment, and then the nobleman had the odd reaction as to not just laugh, but bellow a guffaw.  It took a moment for this to die down, but when it did, he was met with a raised eyebrow and a curious look from the strumpet sitting in front of him.  Her hat was still shading her eyes, so he couldn’t tell what color they were.  He was a bit taken aback by the noble way her jaw was set.  “Might I share in on the joke?”
            This almost sent him over the edge again, but he composed himself enough to smile and also recall something.  “It’s really nothing.  But may I make the assumption that the, oh what did you call them, ‘sneaky, no good, trouble making bastards’ are to blame for your trip into the trough?”
            Her face became red again. She had hoped that no one had heard that.  But, as long as he had heard, she really couldn’t deny it. With a bit of a laugh of her own, she agreed.  “Yes, those are precisely the ones who are to blame.  My brothers, you see, enjoy playing tricks on me.  I should have known what they were up to, but I had other things on my mind.  I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again.” 
            The fact that she said all of this with a smile, even though he could tell she was angry at the same time, convinced him that she was telling the truth.  Only people you loved could make you feel anger and affection at the same time. 
            “Do they play tricks on you often?”  He was amused and didn’t mind the conversation.
            The woman let out a noise of irritation. “They most certainly do, but I must admit that it’s not all their faults.  My grandmother was the one who instilled mischief in us, so our lives have been filled with one trick after another.”
            “Your grandmother?  She sounds like an enchanting and impish woman if ever I’ve heard of one.  I’m used to most elders seeming as though they’ve lost whatever sense of humor they might once have had through the years.”
            This got a laugh out of the woman and another glance back at him, “I’m sure the dear would appreciate being called an imp.  Indeed she would.”  This time he was able to see her face more clearly.  Her skin was white as ivory, but a light dust of freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and on to her cheeks.  Her eyes were deepest brown and they seemed to sparkle with her laughter.  The freckles proved that she had been outdoors enough for the sun to kiss each spot in to place, but the paleness of her skin indicated that she wasn’t out often enough for tans that the village women in Courney wore.  Her destination was the castle’s stable, so she must be wife or daughter to her party’s head stable master.  He hoped that she was just a daughter.   
            “Well, I do hope that you are able to get them back for what they’ve done to you.  As much as it has caused some excitement in my otherwise dreary day, I’m sure it must have been a bit less welcome to you.”
            She turned to him yet again with a half smile.  “You may depend upon it.”
            They trotted down the street a little farther until they came to where the castle and its inner walls distinguished itself from the marketplace.  To the left, there was a light trail that led to an area that was like a meadow where the royal stables were kept and the horseflesh exercised.  Just beyond, there was a break in the wall where a gate sat.  This led to the forest beyond where the King and his subjects hunted. 
            “So, what is your plan?”
            This made the woman jump and stiffen.  “Plan?  For what?”
            “Why, your revenge for your brothers.  You’ve had ample time to think of something.”
            She hesitated.  “I hadn’t been thinking of that, really.”  And she hadn’t.  She was trying to figure out how she could graciously thank this young man for his help and then escape into the castle without him or the servants gawking or wondering what she was up to.  It would be better for her to sneak upstairs and find one of her servants or brothers and make them help her to a room where she could freshen up and become presentable again.
            He sighed behind her and said resignedly.  “Then I suppose it’s good that I’ve come up with something that we can execute right away.”
            “We?  Right away?”  As she started to wrap her mind around what the young man was talking about, he dug his heels into his horse and sent it running the rest of the way down the path, but when they were in sight of the stables, he veered off to run around them. 
            “Sir!  What are you doing?  The stable is right there.  Please stop and let me off.  I appreciate the haste you’ve made in going out of your way to help me, but I really must return as soon as possible.”  As she spoke, brush and small trees filled the area between them and the stable and the wall to the castle was getting closer and closer.
            “Nonsense, miss.  This is a prime opportunity to get back at your hell raising kin.  They won’t expect that it will happen so soon.  It’s perfect really.” 
            They had come to the gate and the young man bounded out of the saddle and led the horse and its captive through the rod iron monstrosity.  “But they will be worried about me.” She called down, having a feeling that her protests would be useless.
            “That is the point, my dear.  And it will make them think twice about pulling such a stunt with you.  This time, you’re safe with me, a knight of Courney, but they must understand that this might not always be the case.”  He continued to lead them into the forest that lay beyond the castle. 
            The young man’s words had awakened a new sense of alarm in Avery.  He was obviously a knight with the finery he wore as well as the splendid steed he rode, but not all knights were trustworthy, especially when they were dealing with what they thought were servants or peasants, as she had given them the idea she was.  He was fairly handsome, seemed kind, and was young enough to seem anything but threatening, but that could all be a charade. 
            Taking inventory of herself under her cloak, Avery thanked God that He had seen fit for her to keep the dagger hidden in her boot and the short sword at her side after her fall.  Neither had been dislodged.  As the young man continued to lead them on and talk about things of nary any importance, she scooted back on the saddle and tentatively felt in the small saddle bags.  She felt food, a skin of water, and nothing else besides some hard object wrapped in leather.  Good, she felt confident in contending with the young man and his sword as well as anything else he might have concealed on his person.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

The Beauty of Winter


            The white of the snow looked like it was stretching out the twilight so that night would never come.  I love watching the snow fall, but driving in it is a different story.  Especially driving up the winding trail to my house through the woods, but now I’m just about there.
            The street and trees around the road are scattered with snow.  I can see my mailbox just up ahead. I smile to myself and congratulating my little old car for making it all the way home without incident.
            I’m turning into the long driveway up to my little hidden cottage, nestled between the trees of the surrounding forest, and I feel the tire to my right start to slide.  I turn the wheel and slowly press on the brake to keep the car for sliding any farther.  It doesn’t work. 
I keep moving.  The wheel balances over the edge of the ditch to the right of my mailbox, and then the car tips.  It’s all over now, we’re going over the edge. 
It’s an oddly subtle spill.  I’m jostled a bit, but the car eases into the ditch and is surrounded by a soft pillow of snow.  The car has nowhere else left to move.
I sit for a moment, making sure everything has settled, including myself.  Taking a deep breath, I say a little prayer of thanks that this was the worst of it. 
The car is tipped on its side, but it shouldn’t be too hard to get out of the car.  I pull the handle of the door and push it up and open.  The sky is already dark, but the moment is absolutely beautiful.  As I prop elbows up on up on the outside of the car for leverage, I take a moment to look at the contrast of the white snow and the dark sky.  It reminds me of millions of falling stars.
“Thank you Jesus.” I whisper into the creation that He made.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a dark figure shake. Then I hear a groaning and clumping sound.  Looking quickly to my left, I still don’t have time to make out what’s going on until something heavy and prickly falls on me.
I feel bones break in my arm and something snap in my shoulder.  The side of my face is on fire and a throbbing surrounds my head as I lay crumpled against the passenger side door. 
I try to turn my head, but it won’t move.  That’s alright.  It doesn’t really matter.  I’m hurt, but I’ll be ok.  I can just call my husband from the cell phone in my pocket and have him come home and dig me out. 
At that thought, my heart starts to race.  No, I can’t all him.  He’s going to be angry.  I won’t have his dinner on the table, and he’ll have to actually dig me out.  The animals won’t be fed and the car is going to need to go to the mechanic.  No, I can’t call him.  I need to take care of this myself, now.
I move my hand, pushing against the window below me, to shift onto my knees.  The pain shoots through every part of me and I feel like I’m going to pass out, but I don’t have the option.  I need to get out and get all of this taken care of.
I manage to get myself into a semi-standing position.  Looking up, I see the branches of the tree that fell on me sticking through my open car door.  There’s no wiggle room to get out through there.
The only way I’m going to be able to get out is through the sunroof.  Thank God I let Matt talk me into getting a sunroof.  And thank God the latch to keep it closed broke years ago.  I’m going to be able to get out!
I pull the sunroof open and am hit harder with the cold air from outside.  It is snowing even harder now.  It’s high enough now that I’ll be able to crawl out onto the snow that has already reached the sunroof.  I guess it’s a good thing the car fell on it’s side or else this would be a lot harder. 
Sliding through the sunroof, I get halfway out before the dizziness takes over.  I can’t tell which injury is hurting the most.  I feel like a giant ball of pain. 
Instead of the white spots of snow blinking in front of my eyes, I see dark spots that overtake my vision.  I sink down, my face resting against the snow, and the last thing I think before completely blacking out is, “Now Matt’s going to be really mad at me.  He’ll have to clean up my frozen body along with the car.  But thank God for the beautiful snow!”

Friday, November 5, 2010

Mr. Deitz


            The colors and the flashing lights are exactly what I need right now, but what’s even better is the action.  Who cares about Monday story time when there’s so many people running around and actually DOING things? 
            As I’m getting more and more into the movie or television show or whatever the visual brilliance is that is in front of me, she is blocking my view, tisking.  She starts to crouch down so she can look into my pathetic excuse for eyes and I can’t help but squeak out a groan.  At least I can still see the colored lights flash around her head, mocking me.
            Fingers snap in my face to get my attention.  With her this close, how can she not have my attention? I want to scream at her.  Her bow of a mouth covered in bright red lipstick starts to open and I cringe on the inside.
            “Mr. Dietz?  Mr. Dietz?”  She does her snapping again, which is somehow more annoying than the ridiculously loud volume of her voice.  “Mr. Dietz, pay attention, sir.”  She uses the word sir as a badge of respect when she doesn’t have any measure of respect.
            After glaring into my droopy eyes for a bit longer, she seems resigned to continue talking with me but doesn’t smug tone from her voice. “You’re not going to be allowed to watch any more television, sir.”
            And who says? I respond.
            “I have decided that it isn’t good for you.  You’re eyes are too bad to see anything useful and it will excite you too much.  Instead, we’re going to be taking you outside to sit in the sun.  Won’t that be nice?”  There is no real cheer to her voice.
            If my cotton-picking eyes aren’t good enough to see a television, then what the heck am I supposed to see outside?  I am irate.  I have no use for sunshine because the glare makes my retinas burn.  At least, I think they’re my retinas.
            Lips pursed for a moment, she studies me again. “The fresh air will do you good, and it wouldn’t hurt to get a little vitamin D to you through your skin.  I hear it’s all the rage in nursing homes in England.”  She stands up and starts to move to my back, taking a hold of the handles on my wheelchair.  She’s done explaining things to me.  I get one last glance at the television and the vibrance of the picture before she turns me around.
            It takes me a moment of speaking until I explode, England?  ENGLAND?  You, madam, are a liar.  Next time you use that line, say somewhere like Australia or Japan, but not England.  Do you even understand how little sun they get in the first place, let alone enough to sit their old codgers outside to soak up? Use your fancy cures on someone else, I’m not buying. 
            She pushes me quickly, apparently foreseeing what is going to happen, which wasn’t a hard guess after I had outsmarted her.  The only reply that I received was a gentle, almost melodic humming.  It wasn’t a song I recognized and I was glad.  That would have given us something in common. 
            Hold everything!  The door that we were approaching led outside.  It was just wide enough for a wheel chair to fit through.  Anything bigger would get stuck.  With the strength of a malnourished three year old, I fling my arm out as she shuttles me through the door just in time for it to catch and for me to feel my arm wrench out of socket. 
            To her credit, she stops immediately and backs up so my arm isn’t wedged between the door and my chair anymore.  My sleeve is caught on a stray piece of wire that had once held some sort of decoration next to the door.  She carefully unhooks me, and places my hand back in my lap.  “Mr. Dietz, don’t do things like that.  You might hurt yourself.”  She mumbled in a less than concerned voice.  With the way my shoulders stoop, she must not notice that the shoulder is completely out of socket and just hanging in the vortex of my skin. 
            As we get through the door without incident this time, a young man who was about to enter stops and looks at her.  His smile shows that he thinks she’s attractive.  Son, how can you think that this harpy is attractive?  Instead of going through the door, he turns and follows us.  They talk and catch up on each other’s weekends, neither caring that this old man wants to go back inside and see the television.
            She finds the brightest spot in the whole damn yard and parks me there, pulling the break on my chair back far enough that I can’t reach the break to loosen it.  The light here is more than blinding.  I have to close my eyes, which sting behind my lids, and lower my head even more to get a bit of shade.  She snaps her fingers in front of me again, calling my name.  I don’t take the time to lift my head or to open my eyes. 
            With no response, she pushes back on my shoulders and then lifts my head so it is tilted to the sun.  She’s found the angle in my neck where it sticks, so there is no way escape from the fire burning through my lids. 
            “There we are.”  She sighs happily and I can hear her turn to walk away.
            Why do you hate me? I cry, trying to understand the injustice.
            The only answer I get is not to me, but to the young man who had followed us out.  He has asked my nurse if I am alright.  “Of course.” She replied.  “Old crabby Mr. Dietz is just asleep, thank God.  I hate it when he’s awake because I have to talk to him.  He can’t respond, lost his vocal chords to cancer a long time ago, but I swear, the few times I can get him awake enough to look at me, I get the feeling he doesn’t like me.”  They both laugh and crunch off on the grass to find shade inside.
            Cancer?  I never had cancer, did I?  I call out to them.  Neither comes back, but I am given a reprieve to the sun when what must be a cloud moves over me.  The outside breeze is nice, but not as nice as the television screen inside.  As I open my eyes to see if there is anything I can see, a droplet of water lands of my cheek.  After that comes another until I am soaking wet in the middle of a downpour.  I call for help, but no one comes to rescue “old crabby Mr. Dietz.”

Thursday, November 4, 2010

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