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At 5:30am, no one else was up, but our indefatigable guide, Sindra, insisted we get into the city in the dark, park at a cafe and wait for sunrise, thus entering the basilica area as the sun crests the eastern hills to paint the facade with glory.
But here's the catch: no one was too happy to get up that early, nor quick on their feet as we stumbled in the dark toward Santiago. There was a bit of grumbling, uncertainty about arriving at the Cathedral in pitch darkness, and general temptation to dissatisfaction. To cure this, we began the rosary, but even that met with opposition. We got strung out, morning delivery trucks downed out our prayers, and sleepy heads were not entirely intentional (eg, they may have been praying with their hearts but their lips were definitely not moving).
But as we walked those dark streets, silent but for the early buses and trucks, the hand of God descended upon us. We didn't expect it, but it became deeply prayerful. The very distractions and oppositions lent wings to our prayer, or at least settled us comfortably into the grace of God. We sensed Him walking with us, in the midst of our human aggravations and frailties.
Emmanu-el. God is with us!
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"Goodwife" Eunice Cole
By Cathy Marshall
A term paper written by a local student in 1975.
Being in the wilderness, the town of Hampton had to struggle against the odds in order to survive. The people of Hampton were more fortunate than many other settlers, because they had products from the sea to help to support the produce they received from the land. The original settlers were mostly farmers. The people were such hard laborers that they took little time to enjoy themselves. They were constantly working outside, and the women didn't just sit around either. They were very hard workers, also. Taking charge of a household in those days was much harder than it is today. The women had to make their own cloth, butter, bread, and take care of preserving foods to help them get through the winter; nowadays, people can run to the store and buy many of the things that these people had to make for themselves. Working so hard and working outside would have made many of the women age rather quickly. The medical and dental facilities probably left much to be desired.. These things probably added to the accusations that Goodwife Eunice Cole was to face later on in her life.
Goodwife Cole, or 'Goody' as she was most commonly known as, was a woman from Hampton, New Hampshire. She was a rather bent old woman who frequently walked with a cane (but, if she actually needed the cane to walk is not known). She was a woman of small frame who possessed sharp blue eyes. "Historically, she seems to have been a rather unpleasant person and this probably preluded her ultimate conviction."5 Goody was both feared and hated by her neighbors. But, she lacked the character which would have won her the affection of her neighbors, and possibly she could have won their goodwill, if she had tried. She was known to be ill-natured, aggravating, malicious, and even ugly - but, does this constitute her to be a witch? If your answer was no, then I would agree with you. There were to be more things which Goody was to do to lead to her final conviction. But, you must admit Goody did look and act the part of the typical witch.
Before we start to uncover the life and the times of Eunice Cole, alias "The Real New Hampshire Witch",6 it is important to get some background into this story. It is very important to remember "(that) one did not have to overtly profess a kinship with the powers of darkness to fall under suspicion.. A general irritability of temperament coupled with certain eccentricities would often serve the same purpose, especially if the subject looked the part."7 Legally defined "a witch is a person who hath conference with the Devil to consult with him or to do some act."8 A devil was a "little god".9 But, what was a really remarkable thing was that "many people had fled their other lands in order to find freedom to worship as they choose to. But, the demands they made on other people were even more demanding and strict than those they had fled."10 While uncover Goody's life, accusation by accusation we must not condemn the people accusing Goody. We are looking back in time and no matter how hard we try, we cannot duplicate the struggle for survival or the religious frenzy or the superstition of the people of these tines. It is important to remember that we should sympathize with their faults because we will want someone to sympathize with ours. Now, we are ready to start our journey into the past life of Goody Cole - just hop on my broom, and away we will go - Goody here we come!
Superstition, like a disease, keeps on growing stronger and spreading once it gets started. Goody first got recognition for her well. This is because ".... the water from Goody Cole's well no matter how long the journey might be, never grew brackish in the water butt."11 This well served as a convenient oasis for a number of weary boatmen. You see, Goody Cole lived on Island Path - "after many turns and bends, well toward the point where the road and river meet."12 This is an extremely good description of Island Path, this I know because I live on Island Path in the summertime. The reason this well could serve as a convenient oasis is because this path goes right down to the point of where the road meets the river. Goody was in a rather isolated spot. But, as I told you before, superstition was to be closely involved with Goody Cole. Even though she lived off from everyone else, the village children still used to peek in her window. I suppose that is typical of children's curiosity. The village children reported "the Evil One in the shape of a little black dwarf with a red cap on his head sat at her table and that she frequently cuffed his ears to keep him in order."13 They also told the towns-people that "one of the devils imps ...(was) sitting on her shoulder to wisper in her ear."14 The seed of superstition was now planted, it just had to be cultivated. Soon, Goody's name was able to "hush crying children into silence, or hurry truant boys to school."15
With superstition already mounting, Goody was in pretty bad shape, only she seemed to he unaware of this fact. While she was spinning on her porch, overlooking the marsh, a boat came down the Hampton River. There were young people on the boat and to them Goody looked rather funny. They were laughing at the poor old woman. One of the young people yelled out, "Fie on the witch!"16 Goody answered the young person by stating "You are brave today, but I hear the little waves laugh and tell me that the broth that awaits you at home will be very, very cold."17 The captain told the young people not to bother with the witch because it would not bring them good luck at all. But, the young people kept up their teasing anyways. Then, they were off to Star Island , which is one of the islands of the Isles of Shoals. The boat was approximately nine miles out from the New Hampshire coast line when they heard distant thunder. They tried sailing for the shelter at the Isles of Shoals Harbor. But, it was too late, the storm was much closer than the captain had thought it was. The wind blew at a terrible force for about forty minutes. Then, the sun came out very brightly, again. The people at the harbor on Star Island ran down to the water to see if the boat was all right. The people looked seaward but, the ship was gone - crew and all. There were two women, four men and two children on board the boat when it had disappeared. The people who were lost at sea were; "Robert Reed, Sergt. William Swaine, Emanuel Hilliard, John Philbrick, his wife Ann, and their daughter Sarah, Alice, the wife of Moses Cox, and John Cox their son, and as is supposed, their only child."18 It was almost as though the ocean had opened up and swallowed the boat up. (none of the crew was ever heard of or seen again, dead or alive.) Goody looked seaward after the storm was over and said, "They are lost, boat and all! The Lord forgive me, for my words about the broth were true. They will never return.19 The people, now, were sure that Goody was a witch and a dangerous one at that.
Unexplained happenings began to be blamed on poor unsuspecting Goody. It seems as though Goody Marston and Goodwife Palmer were talking about Goodwife Marston's child and Goodwife Cole. It seems as though "thirteen years before, she had known one 'bewitched as Goodwife Marston's child was' and that this person 'was changed from man to an ape as Goody Marston's child was'."20 At a different time, Goodwife Sobriety Moulton and Goodwife Sleeper also thought the subject of Goody Marston's child and Goody Cole made for good conversation or more specifically gossip. As they were talking about that subject, there came a very loud scraping noise. This noise made the two women stop their gossiping and check to see what was making the noise. But, when they went outside, they were very much surprised for there was nothing there to make the noise. So, the two women returned inside the house and took up where they left off on their gossiping. The scraping noise started, again, just as it had done before. Only this time the noise was louder. It was so bad that the women decided to go outside again and check to see what could be causing this strange noise. But, again to their surprise there was nothing or no one outside to be scraping the house. If a dog or a cat had made the noise, there surely would have been a mark or something on the house, but there was none at all. The women decided that this was a rather strange phenomenon and decided to break up their gab session. But, unfortunately for Goody, this strange happening was not forgotten and would be brought up again.
In the meantime, Goody Cole had moved near the Baptist Church in Hampton. She now lived not too far from where the Tuck Memorial Museum stands today. Thomas Philbrick, also, lived near Goody Cole. Many stories were told about the strange feats performed by Goodwife Eunice Cole. Because of her reputation, she was feared and also hated. She lacked the character to win her the respect and friendship of her neighbors. She may very well have been ugly, ill-natured, and malicious; but, now it was "believed that she was able to render persons deformed, to torture, and even to drown them with 'an invisible hand'."21 Possibly if Goody had a different disposition, she may not have been suspected as being a witch, but, of course, that's merely speculation on my part.
In 1656, Goodwife Eunice Cole was charged with being a witch. Unfortunately Goody didn't really have many true friends, so she really had no one to help her or to believe that she was innocent. ".... Not all in Hampton were under the witchcraft delusion. But it was almost dangerous to deny it."22 For this reason anyone who even suspected that she was not guilty was not apt to stand up in court and say so, because there was the possibility that the people would next accuse that person of being a witch. See, it wasn't just dangerous to the witch, but it was also dangerous not to believe there was such a thing as a witch. Goody was now to stand trial in the Norfolk Court. As I said before, Goody really didn't have anyone to stand for her, and everyone was afraid for their own life to help her out. I guess all through history it has always been every man for himself, and survival of the fittest.
The trial against Goody proceeded. There were to be many to testify against poor Goody Cole. Goodwife Moulton and Goodwife Sleeper testified that Goody Cole was a witch because when they were talking about her they heard a loud scraping noise, and there was nothing outside the house to have caused the noise. Goodwife Marston and Goodwife Palmer gave their testimony "that Goodwife Cole said that she was sure there was a witche in towne, and she knew where hee dwelt and who they are."23 Thomas Philbrick came forth with his testimony against Goody. It seems as though Thomas' calves used to eat the grass from Goody's property, and Goody threatened that "she wished it might poysen them or choke them."24 That night one of his two calves returned home, and that calf died within the week. Drake reported that since Goody moved beside him that he lost some of his cows and he blamed that on Goody. Goody also was blamed for some boat mishaps. She was blamed for the boat that was on its way to Star Island when she made her prediction about what was to happen to the boat and it did. This is most famously known as the Wreck of the Rivermouth which is a poem by [John Greenleaf] Whittier. There was another case in which "two young men were drowned in Hampton River and their boat was believed to be overturned through her agency."25 As you can see, things did not look too good for our poor friend Goody Cole.
The court decision was made, Goody was found guilty of witchcraft. She was now not only suspected of being a witch, but now the people of Hampton felt they had enough evidence to prove that she was definitely proven to be a full fledged witch.! Goody was to be the only woman to be convicted of witchcraft in New Hampshire. As we look back, "The evidence in the case goes to establish the fact that Goody Cole was neither loved nor respected by her neighbors, and that she was not, perhaps entitled to their love nor respect; but on a calm review of the case, it seems difficult to understand how the court or the jury could, from the testimony induced, pronounced her guilty of the crime alleged."26 Goody received a double punishment for her crime. Goody was to be whipped and imprisoned for life or until the court decided to release her. To us, that seems like a very harsh sentence. But, the people of the time felt that "the court, in a comparatively humane gesture, sentenced her only to be flogged and then imprisoned for life in Boston."27 Actually, the sentence she received was to appease the parents and relatives of the people who were drowned in the Wreck of the Rivermouth. "Major Waldron, the presiding magistrate, ordered her to be imprisoned, with 'a lock kept on her leg' at the pleasure of the court.28 Poor Goody was about to embark on a very sorrowful trip in which she was never to completely recover.
After Goody was in jail for three years, her husband, William Cole, petitioned the court for her release. His petition was on November 3, 1659. He was now in his late eighties. He said that he couldn't take care of himself and he couldn't obtain enough to live on. He needed and wanted his wife to come and help him out. He was too old to work his land alone, and he would certainly starve if there was no one to help him get food and take care of him. He said that he was near perishing and couldn't afford anyone to come and work for him. William, also, wanted his wife out of jail because he had made his will out to her leaving her everything in which he owned. William's property consisted of " .... (a) house lot of five acres .... forty acres granted to him in June, 1640, and had one share in the commons in l646."29 But, the court would not release Goody from jail. The court ordered the town to take over William's property, for he was bankrupt without his wife, and the town was to assume responsibility for both William and for Goody. This is to be remembered for it will be very important at another time.
In 1662, Goody petitioned the court for her release. She pleaded her release because of her age, weakness and because of the age and condition of her husband. The court ordered her to pay her board money - fee to keep Goody in jail.
The cost to keep Goody in jail was eight pounds a day. There was no way that Goody could pay this high board. Neither Goody nor her husband had any money, so the town of Hampton was ordered by the court to pay this board money from William's estate. The town began paying the board money, but they very easily forgot about her. William died on "May 36, 1662"30 so there was no one left in the town who really gave Goody a moments thought. The town also just seemed to forget about paying Goody's board. At least the townspeople forgot about the board until "William Salter, the keeper of the prison at Boston, brought a demand against the town for boarding Eunice Cole at the prison to which she had been sentenced by the court; and, to secure payment of the debt, he arrested Thomas Marston, one of the selectmen, July 14, 1664.31 This helped to remind the people about Goody Cole suffering in jail. They adopted a resolution that the fines from lesser crimes would be used to help keep Goody in jail. The people would probably have done anything to keep Goody in jail.
Nobody actually knows how many petitions were filed for the release of Goody Cole, but there were quite a few. In 1665, Goody again petitioned for her release, only quite different from past petitions, she was to finally get some action. With this petition, the court ordered Goody to pay up all that was owed the Court and within one month to depart from the jurisdiction of the court. There was no way that Goody would be able to comply with these rules. The court warned that if she didn't "depart within one month after her release, out of this jurisdiction, & not to returne againe on poenalty of hir former sentenc being executed against hir."32 But, "... someway she was released and returned to Hampton sometime before l67l."33
Goody was now free at last. She returned to Hampton and lived at the foot of Rand's Hill. The town provided a small shack-like shelter for Goody to live in. This was built on the Meeting House Green. They also had to provide the food and fuel for Goody. They had to take turns in order of the way they lived. If the portion was less than four shillings, then they should join with the next neighbor who was contribute to Goody. Each family was to provide for Goody one week at a time. It is important to remember that "...no open arms (were) extended to her, rather the clenched fist."34 The townspeople didn't go out of their way to do anything extra for Goody, they just did the things that they had to do. "Her own experience had not given her any love of the townspeople and their fears and dread of witchcraft was increasing."35 As you can see, this was not a very pleasant situation.
Goody along with the townspeople lived in constant fear. You see, Goody was never sure when someone would come up and accuse her, again. There was no way that she would be able to protect herself from being falsely accused. The townspeople feared Goody so that if anything out of the ordinary happened, they were sure to blame it on Goody. They were fearful because they were not friends with Goody and they didn't know what she would want to do to them. But, now, Goody had to depend on the same people who convicted her to provide her with food, shelter and fuel. She never knew when they would turn against her. Goody knew that she was a burden to them and she probably feared them as much as they feared her. The relationship between the townspeople and Goody was not an ideal one, in fact it would have to go a long way before it was even to be considered a good relationship at all.
The town that Goody returned to was far different from the Hampton in which she left. Her husband, William, had already died which must have been very hard on Goody. There was no one left who truly cared about poor Goody Cole. She was truly alone in the world. Goody no longer had the feeling of ownership. The town provided for her essentials, nothing at all belonged to her. When Goody had left the town, she was suspected of being a witch, only she returned a convicted person. So the town was now sure that Goody was a witch and were going to shun her even more than they had before. They also knew that she had committed all those crimes, and she would have to be ready to accept the guilt in which the people would thrust upon her (even if she didn't commit those crimes). With her husband dead, her old homestead taken over by the town, her neighbors unfriendly and being a ward of the town; she must have led a rather miserable existence for those years in which she survived.
Goody's fears and doubts about her neighbors proved to be right. For in October, 1672, Goody was again charged with being a witch. She was taken before the grand jury. She was charged with being seen in many different forms. She was seen as a woman, a dog, a cat, and an eagle. She was also charged with enticing a young innocent girl, Ann Smith, to come to live with her. She was charged with making Ann work for her as her domestic. The grand jury found the bill against Goody Cole and on April, 1673 she was ordered by the Salisbury Court to go once again to Boston. She was to go and await trial again.
There was a remarkable decision made in favor of Goody Cole. The Court's decision was "In ye case of Unis Cole now prisoner att ye Bar not Legally guilty according to Inditement butt just ground of vehement suspissyon of her haveing had famillyarryty with the devill - Jonas Clarke in the name of the rest."36 This court decision was of monumental importance (especially to Goody). This was to be the beginning of the decline in witchcraft. New, Goody was free. She was actually found not guilty. But, now will the people be more willing to help her out? The answer was no. Many of the townspeople went to their deaths still believing that Goody was actually guilty of being a witch!
There was again a cry of witchcraft. This time Goody Fuller named Goody Cole as a witch. There were eight women who were also named as witches and there were two men who were unnamed as wizards. But, "they were too influential to be openly charged with witchcraft. These men eased some of the hardships of Goody Cole's last days but for many reasons it was aadvisablenot to do so openly."37 It was still hard for the people to help Goody out too much (for those who wished to help her, that is). Because no one could help her very much, she spent much of "her last few days in a solitude nearly as profound as that which she'd suffered behind bars."38
Goody was getting old and worn out. Because of her age and the condition in which she was living, her constitution began to break down. Throughout the witch trials and being in jail, all Goody had was her firm constitution and now she was robbed of that. It must have been almost unbearable for the old woman who was too ill to live the rest of her life relatively alone, being persecuted, hated and scorned. Even though she was very old, Goody was still very much feared.
Goody lived out her last few days without a friend to comfort her. No one even knew if Goody was alive or even dead. The reason the day that Goody died is not a matter of record is because no one was there so no one really knows. Some people were walking by her house and noticed there was no smoke coming from her chimney. "Such was the fear of her supposed powers had inspired, that it required a great deal of courage on the part of the inhabitants to force an entrance into her cabin, where she lay dead."39 Word passed quickly that Goody Cole was dead because of the immense fear of her supposed powers.
Even in death, Goody was not to be free of the people's fears. Goody was hurriedly "buried in a grave by a ditch as too unclean for consecrated ground."40 She was buried in a deep hole - 5' deep x 6' square - outside her little shack. Being very comfortable with the superstition of the time, the people fashioned a long stake which was suppose to "... exorcise the baleful influence she was suppose to have41 possessed." A horseshoe was nailed to the end of the stake in order to cheat the devil out of his prey. No sign was to be left of Goody's grave in order to discourage future witches. But, "that night the two who were suspected as wizards, with their sons... went to the shallow grave, removed the stake and tenderly lifting the body and bore it quietly away, first replacing the earth and stake so as not to show any mark of disturbance, and in a pleasant and grassy corner of the land of one, Goody Cole was quietly and decently given a fair resting place."42
Even though Goody has been dead for a very long time, it is very interesting to know that people still think that she can cause trouble. In fact, it was two and one quarter centuries after she was dead when the trouble first started. The Frank Fogg family said that there were very weird things happening to their pigs and their cows. They also said that since they moved into this house that they have had no luck at all. "(The) Haunted house (is) built on site of the hut occupied by Goody Cole."43 Supposedly, this house is haunted because Goody is buried there, and she can still pull tricks from her grave. "It is said that the body of the witch is buried between the two large trees in front of the house and some declare if one walks over the grave it will bring him good luck. But, it makes us nervous to think of the body of a witch is on the place."44 The Fogg family used to live on the land which is now occupied by the Tuck Memorial Museum.
In the summer of 1936, Goody was to begin to become famous. That's quite ironic, during her life she was feared, hated and persecuted; but, now, she was to start on the road to being famous. In 1936, a 'society' was formed. Miss Phyllis Tucker was the secretary and William Cram was the president of 'The Society in Hampton for the Apprehension of those Falsely Accusing Eunice Goody Cole of Having had Familiarity With the Devil!' It is believed that the idea for this society came up when Mr. William Cram was talking about "the Society in Dedham (Mass.) for the Apprehension of Horse Thieves"46. Someone supposedly mentioned that looking for horse thieves in these times was like hunting for witches. Thus, the idea was put in his head. The society was without a charter or by laws, and the society grew so that the objective of the society became the objective of the community. There were some important people who were members. Frances Parnell Murphy, the Governor of New Hampshire, Fred Everett, the Highway Commissioner, and Mrs. Harry Houdini were members. What was most impressing was that most of the community wanted to be involved in this society and wanted to be members. Goody was to be respected, if only she was alive to see this.
The Town of Hampton decided to take official action. There was a town meeting on March 8, 1938 to help clear the name of Goodwife Eunice Cole. Article 16 of the Warrant wanted to see if the town will adopt this resolution, "Resolved that we the citizens of the Town of Hampton in town meeting assembled do hereby declare that we believe that Eunice (Goody) Cole was unjustly accused of witchcraft and of familliarity with the devil in the seventeenth century, and we do hereby restore to the said Eunice (Goody) Cole to her rightful place as a citizen of the town of Hampton...The selectmen shall elect during the Tercentenary...appropriate and fitting ceremonies...publicly burned certified documents of all the official documents relating to the false accusations against Eunice (Goody) Cole, and that the ashes ...soil from the reputed last resting place and from the site of the home of Eunice (Goody) Cole be gathered in an urn and reverently placed in the ground at such place in the Town of Hampton as the Selectmen shall designate."47 This was a very historic thing, because "this constitutes the first attempt on the part of a New England community to make amends to one of it's early citizens who had been persecuted for witchcraft."48 But, it must always be remembered that "it was not a publicity stunt. It was a ringing declaration that our town was free forever from superstition based on ignorance and fear."49 Along with restoring her citizenship and proclaiming that they had been wrong about Goody Cole, they memorialized her with a plain inexpensive stone. This is on the Village [Meeting House] Green, the closest place to where she was first accused of witchcraft. "There should be no better monument to the progress which our town has made in three centuries of its existence."50 It is important to remember they tried to say they were sorry to Goody Cole, but they were 300 years too late.
The memory of Goody Cole was not to be easily forgotten. A Goody Cole Doll was constructed in the honor and memory of Goody Cole. This doll was designed by Ruth (Moir) Pratt. The doll was dressed in the clothes of the times in which she had lived. A woman in those days was not allowed to expose any part of her body. So, therefore, she had sleeves down to her wrist and her clothes were closed at the neck.
In the years between 1939 and 1963, there was a stranger about the town of Hampton. It was believed by some to be the ghost of Goody Cole. This woman possessed sharp blue eyes which is just like Goody Cole. Her hair was grey and unkept. Her clothes were somber, and she had rather worn out shoes which are believed to have buckles on them. She was seen frequently wandering around the 'Ring'. This is where the first settlers lived. Goody, or rather the ghost of Goody Cole, was always asking where the monument or the Goody Cole Memorial was. Then she found out that there was no monument, she got quite upset.
A policeman stopped his car to warn an aged woman to use greater care while walking. She replied that she had walked these roads for hundreds of years. She then thanked the policeman for stopping and went about her way. The policeman thought nothing about this incident at first. But, then, he looked for the rather aged old woman and she was no where in sight. Strange things were beginning to happen all over town. When one woman told the ghost of Goody Cole that they hadn't gotten around to memorializing Goody Cole, the ghost supposedly walked right through a closed door.
Jack Hayden says that he doesn't believe in ghosts, but he remembers a grey haired woman flitting from stone to stone in the Memorial Green. She was looking at the inscriptions. But, what struck Jack Hayden quite strangely was that when he took off his glasses to clean them; and when he looked up, Goody's ghost was 250 feet away. You must admit, that is quite strange.
Who could this woman be who frequents what is known as the 'Ring'? Why does she want to know about the inhabitants who accused Goody Cole? Who is this woman who says she has walked the streets of Hampton for hundreds of years. "Is the lady a human being interested in the early history of our town, or does the ghost of Goody Cole walk through Hampton's historic acres."51 That question is not for me to answer or for anyone else to answer for you. You have to decide what you believe for yourself!
Goody may have been long dead, but for some unknown reason Goody's name still seems to pop up. Right now, in Hampton, there is a dispute over whether or not to allow a class called "Mystery and the Supernatural". In one of the articles written on the way in which the dispute is going also decided to bring Goody into his case. He states "Poor old Goodie Cole, Hampton's only authentic witch, must be laughing herself silly in that unmarked grave where she was interred with a stake through her heart to hold her down."52 Maybe Goody Cole is dead, but the fear within all people of something which they can't understand or are afraid of still remains. Maybe the time will come when we will all be able to respect each others own opinion and not try to influence others by our personal opinion. When that day comes, the world will be a much better place and there will never be another Goody Cole!
2. Cram, William D.; The Hampton Union & Rockingham County Gazette; "The Story of Goody Cole"; Souvenir Edition of Hampton and Hampton Beach; August 12, 1937.
3. Drake, Samuel Adams; A Book of New England Legends and Folk Lore; Robert Brothers, Boston; 1884.
4. Dow, Joseph; History of the Town of Hampton, N.H.; Lucy E. Dow; 1894.
5. Hampton News "WHS Witchery Case Should End"; Wednesday, November 28, 1973.
6. Tucker, James W.; The Hampton Union & Rockingham County Gazette; "Our Town"; August 30, 1951.
7. Tucker, James W.; The Hampton Union & Rockingham County Gazette; "Our Town"; September 6, 1951.
8. Tucker, James W.; 1638 - Hampton Tercentenary - 1938; "The Witch of Hampton".
9. Shea, Caroline; Meeting House Green Memorial; Rockingham Printing Company; 1929.
10. Speare, Eva A. (ed); New Hampshire Profiles; "Witches and Things"; January, 1965.
11. Snow, Edward Rowe; Legends of the New England Coast; Dodd, Mead & Co.; 1957.
12. Warren, Rev. Edgar; 1638 - Hampton Tercentenary - 1938; "An Old Town by the Sea".
2Cram, William D.; The Hampton Union & Rockingham County Gazette; "The Story of Goody Cole"; (souvenir edition of Hampton and Hampton beach); August 12, 1937; page 1.
3Warren, Rev. Edgar; 1638 - Hampton Tercentenary - 1938, Official Pictorial Magazine; An Old Town by the Sea"; page 7.
4Ibid., page 7.
5Craig, David V.; New Hampshire Echoes; "The Hampton Witch"; Village Press Publications, Inc.; January - February, 1973; page 8.
6Snow, Edward Rowe; Legends of the New England Coast; "The Real New Hampshire Witch"; Dodd, Mead & Co.; page 58.
7Craig, page 8.
8Snow, page 58.
9Ipid., page 58.
10Tucker, James W.; 1638 - Hampton Tercentenary - 1938, Official Pictorial Magazine; "The Witch of Hampton"; page 22.
11Cram, page 4.
12Ibid., page 1
13Speare, Eva A. (ed); New Hampshire Folk Tales; "Witches and Things";; New Hampsire Profiles; January, 1965.
14Shea, Mrs. Caroline; Excerpt from a pamphlet, "Meeting House Green Memorial"; 1929; Rockingham Printing Company.
15Drake, Samuel Adams; A Book of New England Legends and Folk Lore; Robert Brothers, Boston; 1884; page 328.
16Snow, page 59.
18Dow, Joseph; History of the Town of Hampton, N.H.; Lucy E. Dow; 1894; page 57.
19Snow, page 61.
20Dow, page 54.
21Ibid., page 53.
22Cram, page 4.
23Dow, page 54.
25Speare, page 1.
26Dow, page 53.
27Craig, page 9.
28Drake, page 329.
29Dow, page 644.
31Ibid., page 67.
32Ibid., page 68.
33Cram, page 4.
34Cram, page 4.
36Dow, page 80.
37Cram, page 4.
38Craig, page 10.
39Drake, page 329.
41Drake, page 329.
42Cram, page 7.
45Tucker; Sept. 6, 1951; page 1.
47Ibid., page 1.
48Ibid., page 2.
51Tucker, James W.; "The Witch of Hampton"; last page.
52Hampton News; WHS Witchery Case Should End"; Wednesday, November 28, 1973.
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Trouble with a local lassie!
Local girl Agnes Galbraith visited David’s uncle, the Reverend George Home, and claimed that
she was pregnant by David Hume. It was not uncommon for pregnant girls to bring such
accusations in the hope of being bought off quickly or of obtaining maintenance. Neither he
nor the church believed her – it was her third such confession! It was extremely unlikely that
David was the father and Hume later returned to Chirnside on many occasions over the
remainder of his life, and kept close contact with his family. Hume enjoyed the company of
women but never married.
Newhaven Fishwives recognise Hume!
Hume told his friend Mure of Caldwell of an incident that caused his ‘conversion’ to Christianity. Passing across the recently drained Nor Loch to the New Town of Edinburgh to supervise the masons’ building of his new house, to become No1 St David’s Street, he slipped and fell into the mire. He was then very bulky, and could not get up. Some passing Newhaven fishwives recognised him as the well-known atheist, and refused to rescue him until he recited the Lord’s Prayer, and the Creed. He did this, and was set on his feet again by these brawny women. Hume asserted a f t e r w a r d s , that Edinburgh fishwives were the “most acute theologians he had ever met.”
Most unreasonable fancy!
James Boswell visited Hume a few weeks before his death in his home in the New Town of Edinburgh. Hume told him that he sincerely believed it a most unreasonable fancy that there might be life after death. The funeral took place with a large crowd in a heavy rainstorm.
One man in the crowd called out, “Ye ken he was an atheist!” To which someone replied “Aye
but he was honest!” The night after Hume’s funeral, some of the crowd crouched behind the gravestones, to see if the devil would come to carry off his soul.
Ref: Roderick Graham (2004) ‘The Great Infidel. A Life of David Hume’
Illustration: Newhaven Fishwife and the Nor Loch
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No Chinook Chapter 4
No Chinook is my first book, originally published in 2008.
This one night in July, back when I was with Carly, she drove twenty minutes west, outside of town on the Trans-Canada. She killed the power on her bike and we snuck into a wheat field. We had to walk sideways through the first section because the lanes were so thin, but when we got to a clearing in between lanes: she motioned me to lie down. I’d ask all these questions, bullshit teenager questions about life and the universe. She had answers to all of them.
To Carly, the sky was a prison door, keeping us all in. We were all here because at some point in time, each and every one of us had done something wrong somewhere else. Like in Dante’s hell, she’d say, some of us suffered more than others, but we all hurt in some way. The point of life, according to Carly, was to snatch the moments that didn’t hurt and hold on to them no matter what the cost. To her, the stars were always teasing.
Carly would fill my head with all these negative ideas about the world and then light some wheat on fire. We would both stare silently into the crimson flames until she said, “See? Suffering. Even a kiss can hurt. Even sex can be deadly. Even paying your taxes can sponsor terrorism. All the great and wonderful feelings we’re promised in this world can hurt us more than a shark or gun or tsunami.” Even then, I knew these were messy philosophies, and if left unchecked would result in a bitter collapse of truth and beauty. I wondered if she said all that stuff so that kissing her would be the only thing that brought me any real joy.
Carly drifted off in a fog as I came back to the present. It was the next morning, and there was dried blood on my lips. I was in a bed I’d only met the night before. The sheets on top of me were purple, making it hard to figure out exactly where the bruises were. I had a cramp in my left leg. My chest felt collapsed. My wrists felt as if I’d written six novels. Even the roots of my hair hurt. As I opened my eyes, I winced. My wide-open eyes triggered each of these individual pains instantly.
Kate must have been downstairs or gone. It took me a minute to sit up, and a few more to get my pants on. I took the stairs one at a time, down to the living room with the busted chair and the yearbook on the table, through the narrow hallway to the kitchen, where I found Kate reading an old issue of Maxim.
“I got muffins,” she said, smiling but not getting up. On the table, there was a box from the coffee shop. I reached in and grabbed something resembling a blueberry muffin, sitting down on the other chair.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Better,” she said, as if her confidence had a voice of its own. And, as if her ego had its own voice, she asked, “How are you feeling?”
“It was the least I could do,” I said. “I mean, I think this makes me a pretty good friend. I haven’t held your hair while you puked after a keg party or anything.”
“I’ll have you know, I’ve never done a keg stand.” I laughed, but she was dead serious on this keg stand issue. She put her magazine down and bent over, her elbows touching her knees. “Don’t write this off as a bullet in the line of duty, punk. You wanted it just as much as I needed it.”
I didn’t know how to answer her, so I just tore some muffin off and chewed. The thing was, I was always conflicted when it came to the right way to go. It didn’t know whether to accept this recent stroke of luck and go with the girl I had pined over for a few weeks at the end of high school, or to see it as some kind of a sick test.
Sex changes things in ways it always shouldn’t. Last night, I felt so much longing for Shawn; he was never out of my head until Kate kissed me. This morning, all I could think about was this woman reading a boys’ magazine and eating cheap muffins in her pink housecoat and ponytail.
“You’ve finally got a ponytail,” I said. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you with one since high school. You remember back when that’s all you did with your hair?”
“Please don’t remind me,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “And don’t change the subject.”
“What were we talking about?”
“Let’s get this out in the open right away,” she said, kissing me quickly. We both tasted like blueberries. “I didn’t want you to leave today without me talking to you about this.”
“About what, Kate? Last night? I understand the whole thing. You don’t have to spell it out for me.”
“Not last night,” she said. “Tonight. I want you to stay tonight, too.”
This was the moment when it all changed between Kate and me. More importantly, though, it changed how I had to think about Shawn. Having re-met Kate, reminisced with her about our lives, consoled her failed relationship, and even having sex with her hadn’t change the course, really. In my head, I had cheated on Shawn with Kate, but all that it had done was make us even. I had still felt I belonged to him. But now I wasn’t so sure.
“Yeah,” I said, “I’ll be here tonight.”
Kate smiled and stood up. “I’ve got to run,” she said, “But I couldn’t go until I was sure.”
“Work?” I said.
“Something like that,” and she kissed me again.
“I don’t have an extra key,” she said, suggesting that I should leave with her. In a moment, I was standing on her doorstep kissing her goodbye, wishing her a good day, and watching her drive off. She offered me a ride to the LRT, but I told her I liked taking the long way.
I thought about finding a way around Shawn’s place. I really had nothing to do today other than start the newest column, but I didn’t want to see him. I could simply walk north a block and turn back at the main street where the LRT was. Going south would be just as easy. But, as I walked towards his place, I neglected to turn. I didn’t avoid his street. I was no longer just the guy Shawn was seeing. I was the guy who was seeing a girl living near Shawn. It was all in my mind, but as Kate said, why not?
Whatever I had been worrying about vanished the second I noticed that Mark’s stupid van wasn’t in the driveway. As soon as I was close enough to see its absence, I felt happier. Even after thinking through so many scenarios last night, I still had no practical idea as to how the confrontation would happen. But maybe it wouldn’t happen at all, now that I was sort of with someone else. Maybe it would be fine.
In fact, no cars were in the driveway, which was strange for a house full of people in this city. Sometimes it seemed like everyone had one. I couldn’t tell if there were any lights on, so it was possible that nothing would come from knocking. Still, I knew I had to. I had to be honest with Shawn if there was any chance of it working. I knew, as I had known since Carly, that it was always best not to make the same mistake twice in the same night. It took about a dozen knocks before Shawn came to the door. We hugged and I came in. He was wearing his blue robe; it made him look posh, even though he hadn’t shaved in a few days and had bed-head. He was still sexy in a gruff way, and I followed him into his bedroom and plopped onto his bed.
“Good morning,” he said, kissing me and touching my hair. “No gel today?” I shook my head. “Well, aren’t we daring? I thought I told you that you always needed something in your hair?”
“You know, I’m not about to obey everything everyone tells me,” I said, trying my best to sound defiant.
“Sure,” he said, “Whatever you say. Still, your hair is a mess without something governing up there.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “And compared to yours? Can you really say anything?”
“The difference is that you’ve been out of the house and I haven’t. I’ve had no audience to make up for.”
“Like the guy walking his dogs down the road over there?”
he kissed me to get me to shut up. I rolled onto him and began kissing his neck when he pushed me off and said, “Shit. Shit! I forgot to call the model.”
“The guy who was supposed to come into the class today. It was cancelled, but I never called him.”
“Is he cute?”
As he rummaged through his clothes on the floor in search of his phone, he said, “And what does that have to do with anything?”
“If he his, maybe I’ll sit in on it,” I said. “Or sit on it.”
“Don’t be cute,” he said. “This is serious. If I don’t call him at least a few hours before the class, he’s going to be pissed, and we need him.” Shawn jumped up as he found the phone, dialling. I plopped down on his bed and waited.
“Hey, Damien? Yeah, sorry man. Fumigating. Yes. They’ve got to do it every now and then. Low ceilings, yes, exactly. Can you make it in next week though? Same time?”
It’s not like Shawn’s bed was ever really made, but it seemed to be more and more unmade after Mark every time I came over. The sheets felt rough and dirty, and none of the filth was mine to take credit for.
“Great. You’re my favourite guy, Damien. You know it. Thanks,” Shawn said, hanging up and tossing the phone back into the pile of clothes. He came back to the bed and kissed my nose. “So,” he said. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”
“Well, it’s a really funny story, actually,” I began, but right then Shawn’s phone rang and he excused himself to the other side of the room to talk business with someone wanting to do something complicated and long-winded with a tuba.
Shawn usually wasn’t this busy around me, but then again, when I’m around the lights are off and the moon is out. I didn’t usually see him like this, with a phone glued to his ear, checking off errands.
In a few minutes he came back and said, “Sorry, that should be it for a while, anyway.”
“It’s no problem,” I said, “I like seeing you work.”
“You like seeing me work on you,” he said, looking around, noticing how dirty the place was, and deciding that instead of sitting with me he should tidy up a little.
“That too,” I said.
“What were you saying before? About why you were close to my place?”
He was only half-focusing on me, concentrating on cleaning.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “Are you expecting company? I can come back some other time.”
“No, just, I guess I feel like I need something to do, right now.”
“You were with him last night,” I said, playing with the bed sheet. He threw some clothes into the hamper halfway across the room, and tried not to look too guilty.
“Is that why you came?” he asked. “I told you before. You can’t push me.”
“No, that’s not it.” Maybe half of it was to do some fighting, even though I had a smaller box of ammunition than before. I was stupid, I knew it, and it had to be best to drop everything and not press on. “I’m sorry, I guess I just get jealous. Forget it.”
“I can’t forget it,” he said, sitting next to me and touching my shoulder. “I have to deal with this every time I see either of you, and it hurts. It hurts because I don’t know what to do. I thought I did, but I don’t. I’m sorry.”
He had never told me this before. I thought of collapsing, ripping off all my fingernails, exsanguinating. I put serious thought into how deep the glass would tear into my skin if I were to lunge at the second-story window. I had made horrible mistakes in life, and all of them had to do with trusting my own assumptions. They were never right.
Had he ever told me he preferred me? Had he told me he was leaving Mark? Had he told me anything I could use as a factual basis to our future? I wanted my eyeballs ripped from my sockets to prevent me having to see him in this moment of uncertainty. Having him right in front of me, inches from my nose, made uncertainty much more inescapable, and much more painful.
I used to think that all of my rage stayed inside, bubbling up to reach a point when I could not take anything else. I used to think I was one of those people who was like a giant black pot above an ancient fireplace, cooking stew. That stew was everything I harboured inside, feeling I was unable to communicate like a mature adult. I pictured an old hag there, stirring the stewing hatred until she lost control and it boiled over, covering the creaking wooden floors with a sticky mess that would take her all night to rub clean.
And while this was true to an extent, I knew my stew pot wasn’t full. I had taken my entire relationship with Shawn in stride and never once showed a lack of trust in his word. Someone else had filled it once before, back in high school before I met Kate, and I could feel there was still plenty of room in me for understanding and compassion and understanding. That’s why, when I began to scream and shout and run around Shawn’s room, offering an ultimatum I never really considered giving, I realized I was not the kind of person that had a giant black pot inside them.
“I can’t believe you don’t know yet,” I said, pacing in a fit. “How long have I been here, in your room? How many times have we been together, huh? How many times have we fucking made love, you asshole?”
“Calm down,” he said, getting up and trying to hold me. I was having none of it. I continued to point and pace and wreck myself.
“Fuck, man. In my head I’ve been with you for months, and now you just lay it out there casually that you don’t have a clue what you’re doing? Like I knew what you were doing? I didn’t know for five minutes what you were doing! You were with Mark, then I came along, and you liked me better, right? If you hadn’t liked me better, there was no fucking reason for you to waste your time with me. I thought you hadn’t broken up with Mark yet because you lack fucking confidence or timing or strength or someone else to do it or what the fuck ever. I could never figure that out, before, but I guess now I know, right? You haven’t broken up with him yet because you just don’t want to. Is that about right?”
“It’s not that simple,” he said.
“Isn’t it?” I asked. “I realize this whole thing is complicated. But my question is easy. Unless you really do know nothing at all, but then all those fucking brilliant things that come out of you are just recycled pieces of garbage you get from lectures. Is that how it is?”
“No, not exactly,” he said, tugging at my shirt. “Let me explain.”
“No,” I screamed, shrugging him off. “I’m really getting sick of your bullshit explanations, Shawn. So I’m going to say something I should have made clear at the beginning. I really fucking like you, and I thought we could work, but there is this one thing about you I just can’t stand. And you know who that is.”
He paused, and then, as dramatically as he could, said, “I know who that is.”
“Good,” I said. “Then you know what I want.”
I hadn’t come to do this, but there it was, anyway. The culmination of my frustrations with this stupid boy.
Shawn stopped trying to hold me and sat down to think. He did this sometimes, when something heavy hit him like a truck. He would just shut down and withdraw for a while. It was something I really liked about him, because I knew he was really listening and would take as long as he needed to figure something out. He wouldn’t ever give me the brush-off with anything this serious.
At that moment I felt terrible, knowing that I was putting this lover of mine in a difficult position, but it was absolutely the right thing to do. Facing the problem head-on, as fast as I could get it together enough to do so, always beat the idea of just letting things continue on as they were. Being with Kate the night before had given me a freedom I hadn’t felt in forever, and with that came the strength to do the obvious and the righteous.
I looked at my shoes and my hair fell over my eyes, and no amount of sighing or shifting seemed to hasten the process. Shawn just sat there, almost motionless, for what seemed like forever. I went back and forth wondering if he was spinning bullshit or fighting the truth. But the truth was simple, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t it be?
Finally, I had to interrupt. “This should be an easy answer.”
“Well,” he muttered. “It isn’t.”
“Why the fuck not?” I screamed, not a foot away from him. “What kind of fucked up math are you figuring out? You’ve already made your decision, haven’t you? Didn’t you make it that first night we kissed?”
“I thought I did,” he said flatly, and I looked at him with the kind of vulnerability I don’t believe I ever felt possible.
He said, “But now, I don’t know.”
This is when I stormed out. There was nothing else to do in that room.Posted on 1/4/2008 #Writing #Novels #nochinook
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Diplomatic Life in Paris
In 1763, Hume journeyed to Paris with the Earl of Hertford to become Secretary to the British Embassy. His fame was now well-established in intellectual circles and he found easy entry into Parisian society where he charmed people with his gentle and joyous nature.
The Rousseau Episode
In 1766, he returned to England, bringing the persecuted Jean-Jacques Rousseau with him. Hume’s plan was to help establish Rousseau following his political banishment from his home in Switzerland. Rousseau (1712-1778) was a major Genevan philosopher, writer and composer. His political philosophy heavily influenced the French and American Revolutions and the overall development of modern political thought.
But Rousseau, with a history of paranoia began to suspect that Hume was conspiring against him and denounced him publicly for treachery. To clear the record, Hume published their mutual correspondence – ‘A Concise and Genuine Account of the Dispute between Mr Hume and Mr Rousseau.’
His Last Years
In 1769, Hume tired of life in England and returned again to Edinburgh and to the company of numerous friends. At this point his major works were being re-printed including an edition of his History of England and his Essays and Treatises.
Very shortly before his death on the 25th August 1776, he finished his autobiography entitled ‘My Own Life’. This was finally published the following year thanks to his good friend Adam Smith.
Hume’s mausoleum on Calton Hill, Edinburgh was designed by Robert Adam. It bears, as he requested, simply his name and dates.
Some of his writings were not published until after his death, because of the hostile reaction they were expected to stir up. His two essays on suicide and immortality were published in 1777, without author’s or publisher’s name, and his nephew published the in 1779.
On Human Understanding
The foundation of all Hume’s philosophical works is his theory of how it is we come to understand things. His original and subsequent re-writings were devoted to this very question and it is what, unquestionably, established him as an outstanding philosopher.
“The sweetest and most inoffensive
path of life leads through the avenues of science and learning;
and whoever can either remove
any obstructions in this way,
or open up any new prospect,
ought so far to be esteemed a
benefactor to mankind.”
References for the Life and Works of David Hume 1 – 3
Roderick Graham (2004) ‘The Great Infidel – A Life of David Hume’
Miles Hodges (2000) David Hume 1711-1776
Illustration: Tomb of David Hume at Calton Hill, Edinburgh
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This story is not about Northern Vancouver Island but is an amazing account of how small our world really is and how we are all tied together.
In the year 2000 we visited friends in a suburb of Fremantle in Western Australia. Gillian Peebles is an outstanding artist who was the official artist for the Americas Cup when that huge sailing competition was held in Fremantle for two years in succession. Her husband, Ron, helpful at every turn, was the epitome of supportive partners in the game called art. She and I had painted together briefly on North Island when they toured here the previous year and so the invitation to visit them was extended every month or so.
Ron had seven weeks of holiday time saved up and so they created some very ambitious plans for all of us to travel over most of Western Australia, a huge area almost half of Australia in size. Gillian took us to all her relatives and the places of her youth in the outback. We painted nearly every day in the most exotic places imaginable for a North Islander! One of these was a remarkable desert region preserved as a National Park, several hours north of Perth.
The Pinnacles National Park, an area of shifting sand quite near the Indian Ocean, is unique in that pinnacles of brilliant sandstone stand upright throughout the entire locale. The persistent wind from the ocean, not only weathers the pillars, but moves the sand around to expose new ones, changing the scenery almost daily. Did we paint? You better believe it! Gillian had the foresight to bring a lawn-chair and umbrella but I did my sketches in watercolour by kneeling in the sand and working in my shadow, the painting shaded from the brilliant sun. The sketch shown here was one of these productions.
End of story? Hardly. The painting, being a rough sketch was never framed when we got home, but we thought it would be worthwhile to place it in a mat and shrink-wrap it for inclusion in one of the bins in our gallery; where it stayed until last summer. Then the most synchronistic thing took place. A young lady from B.C. came in to browse the gallery and went, almost directly, to one of the picture bins, removed the sketch of The Pinnacles and brought it to the take-out counter.
I had to know why she had chosen it after so many years in the gallery. She told me, reluctantly with tears in her eyes, that she and her husband had been on a vacation to Western Australia and, while they were walking in The Pinnacles National Park, he had a stroke and passed away.
How do you ever explain how she had found this painting? She could not, so I’ll leave it up to you.
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Bruce Reagan; Head of School
Mr. Reagan has worked in education for more than 25 years and has served in roles as a teacher, administrator, principal and Headmaster during his professional career. Mr. Reagan has served as a music teacher and has successfully led Christian schools in Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, Minnesota and Illinois. He also served as the Wisconsin District ACSI (Association of Christian Schools International) representative for all ACSI schools in the Wisconsin District.
Please click here for a welcome message from Mr. Bruce Reagan.- Message coming soon!
Marsha Clark; Instructional Lead Teacher
Mrs. Marsha Clark has more than 40 years of experience working in education. Her expertise in leading RSCA teachers and overseeing curriculum standards and initiatives comes from many successful years working as a teacher, reading specialist, academic coach, assistant principal, and specialty subjects instructor in Spalding County, Georgia.
Coach Steve Chafin has successfully led sports and athletics programs in Georgia at Upson-Lee High School, Spalding High School, and Mary Persons High School where he coached three state championship football games. His career highlights include Region Golf Coach of the Year, Region Track Coach of the Year for multiple years, Teacher of the Year recognition at Mary Persons High School, and he is a member of the early 1980’s University of Georgia SEC Championship Football team.
In 2008, Mrs. Graham began her career as a professional educator where she found her passion for children and their development. However, music has always been a part of Mrs. Graham’s life. From her first solo, at 5 years old, to her national and state awards in high school, and college, she has pursued God’s gift in her life and sought to minister at every opportunity. She has written and directed multiple musicals, concerts, and graduation ceremonies during her ministry work as well as her time as a teacher. As the Director of Fine-Arts she will be given the opportunity to combine both of her passions as she goes beyond teaching the fundamentals to instill an appreciation of music and how it can be used to communicate God’s love and glory.
Wanda Lee; School Counselor
With more than 35 years of experience working in education, Mrs. Wanda Lee has served as school counselor at Crescent Elementary and Spalding High School in neighboring Spalding County, Georgia. She began work as School Counselor for RSCA in 2015.
Mrs. Amy Matthews, who is often referred to as “Mama of the School,” has been at RSCA since its earliest beginnings in 2005. She has taught and cared for children in our toddler programs, served as a para-professional for elementary grade levels, and has worked in the school’s office for more than seven years. Mrs. Matthews leads administrative tasks at RSCA, and she is secretary to the Head of School.
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Although the present Golf Club dates from 1931 the origins of the Club can be traced back to the last century when Major Harold St Maur of Stover House (now Stover School) created a golf course on his own estate in 1894. This course was originally private for the pleasure of the Major and his friends. However such was the interest in the game that after three years the course was opened to the public and eventually became known as “The Stover and Mid-Devon Golf Club”.
Records indicate that it was a 9- hole course situated on both sides of the Newton Abbot / Bovey Tracey road. The club was founded in 1899 and as the course formed part of the Stover Estate it was of necessity interwoven with the Stover pheasant shoot. The original Head Gamekeepers cottage eventually became the Club Steward’s residence and the pheasant rearing shed is still in existence today, now used as a trolley store. The first recorded entry in the Minutes of the Devon County Golf Union in 1912 indicated that the Club was represented by a Colonel Goad.
Whilst there is little documented history for the period from 1900 to the outbreak of the First World War an extract from the Ladies Golf Union Handbook of 1914 indicates that it was then an 18-hole course of 4,988 yards.
Golf continued on this course until the Great War 1914-18, the outbreak of which heralded the demise of the Stover and Mid-Devon Golf Club when the ground was given up to agricultural purposes and the important task of producing food for the nation.
In 1923 an attempt was made to create another course on land on the south side of the town. Although this reached an advanced state, nothing happened after a May announcement in the Devon and Exeter Gazette and that the scheme was not to proceed.
Eight years later on 5th March 1931, a meeting was held by a syndicate of local businessmen to set up the new club, James Braid having already visited and planned the course. With J.R. Stutt as his ever faithful constructor, nine holes were open for play by 1st May and the rest by the end of the year. The course measured just over 6,400 yard and remained intact until WW2 arrived and in 1942 a compulsory purchase for the north half of the course, holes 1-8 was issued for an American hospital. The nine hole course gained two new fields in 1945, fourteen holes were in play by 1947 and more meant the completion of all eighteen by 1949. Ironically, the club was asked in 1948 whether it wished to have its original land returned, or £4,000. It took the later. A Polish Resettlement Camp was then established.
Of Braid’s course four holes remain. The present course is shorter and tighter than Braid’s original course.
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Home / News
18. CHAPTER XVIII
As they were seated at Aunt Juley's breakfast-table at The Bays, parrying her excessive hospitality and enjoying the view of the bay, a letter came for Margaret and threw her into perturbation. It was from Mr. Wilcox. It announced an "important change" in his plans. Owing to Evie's marriage, he had decided to give up his house in Ducie Street, and was willing to let it on a yearly tenancy. It was a businesslike letter, and stated frankly what he would do for them and what he would not do. Also the rent. If they approved, Margaret was to come up AT ONCE--the words were underlined, as is necessary when dealing with women--and to go over the house with him. If they disapproved, a wire would oblige, as he should put it into the hands of an agent.
The letter perturbed, because she was not sure what it meant. If he liked her, if he had manoeuvred to get her to Simpson's, might this be a manoeuvre to get her to London, and result in an offer of marriage? She put it to herself as indelicately as possible, in the hope that her brain would cry, "Rubbish, you're a self-conscious fool!" But her brain only tingled a little and was silent, and for a time she sat gazing at the mincing waves, and wondering whether the news would seem strange to the others.
As soon as she began speaking, the sound of her own voice reassured her. There could be nothing in it. The replies also were typical, and in the burr of conversation her fears vanished.
"You needn't go though--"began her hostess.
"I needn't, but hadn't I better? It's really getting rather serious. We let chance after chance slip, and the end of it is we shall be bundled out bag and baggage into the street. We don't know what we WANT, that's the mischief with us--"
"No, we have no real ties," said Helen, helping herself to toast.
"Shan't I go up to town to-day, take the house if it's the least possible, and then come down by the afternoon train to-morrow, and start enjoying myself. I shall be no fun to myself or to others until this business is off my mind.
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By: Amanda, a.k.a. Rosie
Based on an idea from Silver Dragon. Also part of big announcer voice "The Invitation-only KiwiMelon15 Challenge".
Disclaimer: Yeah, I'm as stupid as JK Rowling. Not.
Also, I'm posting this without it having been "officially beta-ed". I've read through it several times so it should be peachy-king, fine-and-dandy
This is set with the background that Voldermort was killed at the end of sixth year. And Dumbledore didn't die and isn't gay.
Summary: Contrary to the title, the story has NOTHING to do with Dudley or his girlfriend (thank God, right). Dudley has a girlfriend, & Harry's been relentlessly teasing Dudley about her. Dudley retaliates by with the typical, "At least I have a girlfriend," causing Harry to pull out a picture of Hermione and claim she's his girlfriend. What happens when the Grangers show up at the Dursley's and Dudley demands proof of Harry and Hermione's "relationship"?
Please see Author's Note at end of Chapter One
"Aww, Duddykins going to see his wittle girlfriend," Harry teased as he followed his cousin up the stairs. "Well, she's not so little, is she, Dudley? She's got a good size on her." He leaned casually against the doorframe of his room watching Dudley's retreating back continue down the hall, Harry commented, "What's she five foot six, two-fifty?"
Dudley turned, anger in his eye. Seeing the smirk on Harry's face upset him more. Harry, knowing what was going through his cousin's slow brain, crossed his arms. "Now, Dudley," he said, "need I remind you that I am seventeen years old, of age in the wizarding world, a legal adult and able to perform magic outside of Hogwarts."
Dudley paused in his advance on Harry, his eyes narrowing as if trying to read a bluff. "You wouldn't," he replied finally. "Dad'll beat you good and lock you in the cupboard."
Harry blew air through his lips creating a sputtering sound of mockery. "Yeah, I'm sure," he told Dudley sarcastically before backing into his room. "Have fun with your hippo tonight," he called out before shutting his door. Hippo was the name Harry had taken to using when referring to Dudley's girlfriend since the girl had come to meet the family (minus Harry, of course, but he'd caught a glimpse of her). While his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had fawned over how cute a couple they were, Harry believed there had been a mix up with the cages at the zoo. Since when did hippos and pigs breed?
Seething, Dudley barged into Harry's room.
"Ever heard of knocking?" Harry asked from where he was lying on his bed.
"You know what?" Dudley yelled, ignoring Harry's question. "At least I have a girlfriend!"
"Are you implying I don't have a girlfriend? What would give you any reason to say one way or another?"
"Who would want to date a freak like you?" Dudley pressed. "You're a freak among your other freaks."
"Yes, because 'Mister Former-Junior-Boxing-Champion' over here is such a desirable catch." Harry sat up on the bed and swung his legs over the edge. "Dudley, leave my room, now," he told him seriously.
"HA! I am right! You don't have a girlfriend and you're jealous of me because I do!"
"Yes, that's precisely it; I'm envious that you're dating a whale."
"And now you admit it!" Dudley stated triumphantly, missing the obvious sarcasm in Harry's words.
Fed up with Dudley and vastly annoyed by him, Harry realized the only way to shut his cousin up and get him out of the room was to prove him wrong. "You don't think I have a girlfriend?" Not waiting for an answer, he went to his nightstand and picked up a picture of Hermione and him taken earlier that spring. He stared at a moment, reflecting on the day it was taken, how gorgeous Hermione had looked. "This is my girlfriend," he told Dudley, handing him the frame, hoping Hermione wouldn't find out and hex him within an inch of his life.
Dudley's eyes grew wide. "The picture!" he gasped. "It's- It's m-moving!"
"Well, it's from the wizarding world, you dolt," Harry responded, taking the picture back and gazed down at it, watching as the picture versions of himself and Hermione hugged slightly and waved at the camera.
"It's that the girl you're with at the train station every year? Hermione?"
Harry nodded absentmindedly, not caring how Dudley recalled her name, still absorbed in the beauty of Hermione. "Why wouldn't I be if she's my girlfriend?" he said, wishing more than anything those words were true. At the end of fifth year, Harry had realized he cared for Hermione a great deal, and throughout their sixth year (after having some surprising and arousing thoughts regarding him, her, and a empty Quidditch locker room), he came to the conclusion he loved her in the romantic sense. Feelings as strong as his for her could only mean that.
"She's been your girlfriend all these years?" Dudley asked, looking impressed and awed.
"No, you prat. We were best friends until the end of this year, when we became involved."
"Have you shagged her?"
Harry glared at him. For one, he seemed a little too eager to know, and two, that's not something Harry would be willing to share with Dudley.
"Dudley, leave before I get my wand. Why don't you go get ready to return your girlfriend to the wild animal park?"
Dudley glowered at Harry. "You're lucky I need to change," he muttered, exiting the room, the door shutting behind him.
Harry let out a sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin," he said, reaching for his wand and locking the door.
Feeling tired, Harry felt a nice nap was in order. He hadn't slept much the night before. He'd stayed up to finish some homework then had one of the various nightmares he endured and hadn't been able to go back to sleep after waking. This time, he didn't see dark, scary things of death, but beautiful, calming memories of him and Hermione.
A warm weight was on him, straddling his waist, firm, tender breasts pressed to his chest, soft lips against his, delicate hands grazing his skin. Her tongue touched his bottom lip seeking entrance and he willingly opened his mouth to hers.
He brought his hands over her smooth back to her bushy hair. "Hermione…" he gasped as her lips skimmed down his neck. He moved his hands to cup her butt pulling her down as he thrust up himself up slightly, showing her what she was doing to him.
"Harry," she moaned, feeling his arousal pressing into her. "I want to taste you," she told him, placing kisses down on his bare chest heading towards the erection straining in his boxers. She slipped the interfering article of clothing off his body and eyed him appraisingly. "Oh, Harry, I must say I'm impressed," she said before lowering her head.
Tap, tap, tap
Harry woke to a small noise and the morning sun creeping through his window. A look at the clock told him he had slept the rest of yesterday and all throughout the night, and it was now six a.m.
Hmm, thinking about Hermione helps more ways than one, he thought with a grin, have to keep that in mind…
Tap, tap, tap
There it was again; that infernal sound that woke him from his wonderful dream. He glanced at the window and saw Hedwig there, clutching a note in her beak. Pulling on his glasses, he could make out his name written in the neat cursive that was Hermione's.
Grinning madly, he leapt out of bed, his morning wood momentarily forgotten in his eagerness to read what Hermione had to say.
Since Ron is visiting Bill in Egypt with his family, my parents and I are coming tomorrow to take you to get your school supplies. And so you won't have to go back to those awful people that are your relatives, you will be spending the remainder of the summer at my house.
I won't take no for an answer, Harry James. We'll be at your house at eleven sharp, so be ready. See you tomorrow.
"As if I'd say no," Harry muttered to himself, stripping and walking into the private bathroom he'd conjured for himself as soon as he was able to legally. Spending the rest of the summer with Hermione was his idea of heaven.
Thinking of Hermione returned his attention to what his dream had caused. He stepped under the warm spray that cascaded down his body, imagining it was Hermione's fingers caressing his body. His thoughts turned to his dream as he soaped his body, remembering how Hermione felt on top of him, what she was about to do to him, what he wanted to do to her. His lathered hand moved to grasp himself, sliding from head to base and back again.
Imagining Hermione's body against him, he thrust repeatedly into his hand. Her curves at his finger tips, her tight, wet warmth wrapped around him, her beautiful brown eyes staring into his, her full pink lips curling into a smile as she whispers three little words to him…
Harry groaned, leaning back on the shower wall, her name escaping his lips in a breath as he came.
He smiled sadly, resuming his shower. Dreams, fantasies, and masturbation will have to suffice, he thought, since I'll never have the real thing.
On his own accord, Harry woke at six-thirty the next morning, excitement coursing through his veins. He had thought of nothing else but her arrival since receiving Hermione's letter. He was nervous, anxious, enthusiastic, and praying that being so near to her, yet so far away wouldn't kill him
Two hours later, he had eaten (as much as he queasy stomach would allow), packed, and showered and was now pacing nervously in his room with Hedwig watching him as she sat sleepily in her cage.
Thinking back to breakfast when he had informed his aunt and uncle Hermione was coming over later that day, he scowled, hoping his "family" would mind their manners.
"Yes, Vernon," Harry had said in a bored tone, refusing to give his uncle a respective title anymore, "she's like me, but her parents are like you."
"So they'll know my pain," Vernon had replied form behind the business page of the paper.
Harry rolled his eyes, thinking, His pain my arse. Too happy about Hermione coming later that day to start an argument, he had gone straight up to his room and packed.
Ten-thirty rolled around and Harry checked his appearance for the eighth time since getting dressed. "Maybe I should wear the black sweater she gave me for Christmas," he mumbled, looking at the reflection of him in loose blue jeans and a black shirt that showed his muscle definition. "No, too hot for a sweater."
"Talking to yourself, freak?" Dudley asked form the doorway.
"Dudley, how would you like to be in a full body bind?"
"Why do you care so much how you look? It's only one of your freak friends coming to get you."
"Don't say that about Hermione," Harry replied slowly through a clenched jaw.
"The girl from the picture? Hmm…" Dudley said as if in thought, leaving the room.
Harry nodded, not realizing his cousin had left, his attention focused on the link of his shirt. Palming his wand he muttered a cleaning charm that acted as a lint roller and waved his wand over his body. "Better," he said, checking his appearance as the doorbell rang.
At that simple sound, Harry's eyes widened, his head snapped in the direction of the door and the butterflies in his stomach increased tenfold.
"It's just Hermione, just Hermione," her repeated to himself quietly as he headed quickly down the stairs. Yeah, just Hermione, who you're in love with and who doesn't know it.
He reached the entry hall when Hermione was stepping through the door his uncle held open for her and stood in awe at the beauty before him. Her hair, no longer bushy but curly and full, hung loose around her shoulders, her fitted sundress ending at mid-thigh accentuated her slim figure, the light pink color of the material looked perfect on her. It was a simple dress, but looked exquisite on her.
Her eyes met his and she smiled happily at him. "Harry," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck as his encircled her waist, "I missed you so much."
Harry pulled her close to him, inhaling her scent. Strawberry vanilla. "You look so beautiful, 'Mione," he whispered, barely audible, "and you wouldn't believe how much I missed you."
Whatever Harry expected Hermione's reaction to be to that, it didn't come. Instead, her embrace seemed to tighten around him. Vaguely in the background, he heard his uncle say, "Dr. Granger, what brings you to our home?"
"What?" Harry said, reluctantly drawing away from Hermione as Vernon's words sunk in. "You know the Grangers?" he asked thoroughly confused.
"The Grangers are our dentist, boy," he replied, placing emphasis on our. The Dursleys had never taken Harry to a dentist; it really was a wonder he still had all his teeth, "as if it's any of your concern."
Hermione frowned at him, an expression Harry was sure was mirrored on his own face. "Let's get your trunk, Harry, we don't want to have to spend any more time here than necessary. I'll introduce you in the car," she added, knowing Harry was going to say he needed to meet her father.
"Alright, my trunks in my room."
She nodded, calling over her shoulder as she headed up the stairs, "We'll be right down, Daddy."
Harry followed Hermione upstairs, watching the sway of her hips as she took each step, then chastising himself for staring so blatantly at her. Then continuing to stare. He was a teenage male, after all.
She led him right to his room and he was impressed she remembered that his would be the one with the numerous locks on the outside doorframe. Throwing a few shirts he was debating to change into at the last minute in his trunk, they were in the middle of locking it, enjoying the easy small talk about Dudley's second bedroom when Dudley himself stopped in the doorway.
"So this is your girlfriend?" he asked, eyeing her disgustingly and appraisingly.
Harry moved so he was standing in front of her, blocking Hermione from his perverted view. "Go away, Dudley, I'm trying to leave."
"Easy, cousin," he replied, causing Harry to narrow his eyes. Dudley never acknowledged they were related. "I just want some proof."
"Proof of what?" Harry asked, knowing full well what he meant.
"That you're really dating. I think you were lying to me, and you couldn't get a girlfriend, even another freak like you, if your life depended on it. And there's no way in hell you could get someone as hot as her."
Harry's eyes blazed angrily before panic overtook him. Oh, shite, Harry thought, not caring what Dudley's opinion of him was, Hermione's going to kill me. I can't lose Hermione's friendship, especially not for something as stupid as this. And I'm quite sure I'm overreacting but, dear Merlin, I'm a guy, that's what I do with the opposite sex.
At a loss for what to do, Harry simply stood there, staring at Dudley with hatred in his eyes. Then he felt her hand on his shoulder, touching lightly, asking him to turn. He faced her, his back now to Dudley and the door. He mouthed his apologies to her repeatedly, only stopping when she placed her hand softly to his cheek. Not to slap him, but to sooth him.
"Harry, if he wants proof, why not give it to him and prove him wrong?" she told him with a quick wink and small smile.
"Um…okay," he responded slowly, automatically, no other words coming to mind and not realizing how Hermione intended to prove to Dudley they were dating.
Comprehension dawned on him when her hand moved from his check to the back of his head, the other sliding up his chest to his neck. Instinctively, his hands went to her hips, then around her back pulling her close to him. Even if it isn't real, I'll take what I can get, he thought miserably.
Hermione tilted her head up, bringing Harry's to meet her. He grazed his lips against hers in a gentle, chaste kiss. He went to pull away, but the pressure form Hermione's hands refused to let him. Harry had no choice but to continue kissing her. Poor me, he thought slyly, his mouth forming a slight grin against Hermione's.
As if taking his smile as a cue, Hermione's mouth opened under his, her tongue brushing across his lower lip. Again on instinct, and maybe partially shock, Harry parted his lips to her, allowing her to deepen the kiss.
It was so perfect for Harry, excluding that Dudley was watching. Her mouth tasted so sweet, so uniquely Hermione. His hands moved to her hair, cradling her head softly.
He felt his body begin to react to their closeness and actions and had to fight to control it. Judging from the very quiet moan Hermione gave into his mouth, he hadn't completely succeeded.
"That's, uh, proof enough," Dudley stammered. Hearing his cousin's voice brought him back to reality and Harry reluctantly broke apart from Hermione, his chest heaving. He stared at her in amazement and admiration, thinking in the back of him mind she looked disappointed, while in the forefront he was wondering, Why on earth would she do that for me?
"We better get back downstairs," he said to her, turning from her and lifting his trunk and Hedwig's cage. "Your dad'll be wondering what's taking so long."
"Harry," Hermione said in the hall, "as much as I enjoy seeing your muscles in action, there's an easier way to do that." She pulled out her wand, giving her wrist a swish and flick, murmuring the levitation charm and directing the trunk to the entry hall, the owl cage perfectly balanced on top. "Now you can do this," she added softly, taking his hand in hers.
Words, yet again, escaped him and he stared down at his fingers laced with hers. Her hand was so warm, so soft. Just like her, Harry thought, a smile coming to his face as they walked down the stairs.
Seeing Hermione's parents standing near the door conversing with his aunt and uncle sent a jolt of fear through Harry and he dropped Hermione's hand from his. He immediately regretted it, missing the soothing comfort of her hand instantly and the slightly hurt expression on her face nearly broke his heart in two.
"Actually, we're quite proud of our daughter," Dr. Granger was telling Vernon Dursley. "She's the top of her class and has become quite accomplished."
"And I must admit, some spells do come in handy around the house," added Hermione's mother with a laugh. "Oh, there you are, dear," she said catching sight of Harry and Hermione.
"Harry," her father began, offering his hand, which Harry shook, "a pleasure to finally meet you properly. Hermione's told us a good deal about you."
"Nice to finally meet you, too, Dr. Granger, both of you. And most of what you heard is most likely exaggeration."
"Please, call us Robert and Helen, and somehow I doubt Hermione exaggerated at all."
"Deliberately withheld information is probably more accurate," included his wife. "Hermione said you were good looking, but she neglected to tell me how very handsome and so fit you were."
"Mother!" Hermione hissed from his side, blushing crimson.
"Thank you, ma'am," Harry felt his face warm as well at the compliment, and that Hermione thought he was good looking.
"Well, why don't we get going, then?" Robert said before his wife could embarrass his daughter further. "Have everything, Harry? I don't believe you'll be coming back for some time. If ever," Harry distinctly heard him mutter.
"Yes, sir, I'm sure," Harry answered, holding back his laughter. I'm not the only one that dislikes the Dursleys.
"Well, good," he said, clapping his hands together. "We'll stop off at the house to drop off your trunk before heading into London."
"Yes, sir." He turned toward his relatives, the ones who had so poorly cared for him the past sixteen years. "Well, bye. Maybe I'll stop by after graduation," he said politely, without emotion before walking out the door, his trunk floating in front of him to the car where they placed his trunk in the boot.
"Thank you for letting me rescue Harry, Daddy," Hermione said as she and Harry slid in the back seat of the car.
"Yes, thank you very much, sir," said Harry, "I really appreciate it. I can only entertain myself for so long in that house."
"Think nothing of it, Harry," Helen smiled. "After all the times you've saved our little girl, it's the least we can do."
"I actually think Hermione's saved me more than I've saved her. She's the brains behind our…escapades. I'm just the one that's usually the reasoning behind it."
Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "You swear like it's your fault, Harry. And half the time I have to force you to let me come along so I can save your neck."
"Yeah, but 'Mione, if it weren't for me-" he began, turning to face her, but she silenced him.
"Harry, it's not your fault, okay?" she said, taking his hands in hers. "Stop blaming yourself, please, Harry? We'll talk more about this later," she added with a subtle gesture toward her parents in the front seat.
He sighed heavily and nodded, recognizing to some extent, Hermione was right. He looked at her soft hands holding his rough ones, then up to meet her chocolate eyes. Harry felt a sudden, strong surge of affection, more so than usual, towards her that made his head spin.
That she could calm him with just a touch or a few choice words was what one of the things he loved most about her. Second only to the fact that she saw him as Harry, not The-Boy-Who-Lived (or the Man-Who-Conquered or whatever they were calling him these days), and stuck by his side enough to help him after endangering her life so many times.
Harry heard Hermione's mother give an odd sort of hum from the passenger seat and he looked up to see her having some sort of non-verbal conversation with her husband at the stoplight. He turned to Hermione again, giving her a questioning look with a glance at her parents. She gave a shrug in response before he realized they were doing the same thing as the Grangers. The thought caused a grin and a small laugh.
"What's so funny, Harry?" Hermione asked, a smile of her own creeping to her face at his random laughter.
"I'll tell you later, 'Mione," he replied, lacing her fingers with his giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.
"Okay, Harry." He felt her watch as he laid his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. "Tired?"
"Mm-hmm. Got up early; too excited to sleep."
"Why were you so excited?"
"'Cause you were coming," he answered, cracking his eye a bit to gauge her reaction. She was blushing; he made her blush. He smirked a bit at the thought, feeling pleased himself.
"Oh," was all she said. After a moment, she laid her head on Harry's shoulder and he never wanted her to leave.
Thanks for reading. Please leave your thoughts.
Chapter 2 soon
My reasoning for omitting Dumbledore's sexual orientation is simply because it had absolutely no relevance to the story. I have nothing against homosexuals or anyone in the gay community in general. But I do not see what Dumbledore being gay could possibly add to the story, especially when Rowling announces it after the series is completed.
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Director of U.S. Operations
Trajko Papuckoski was born and raised in Northwest Indiana and grew up in a Macedonian immigrant family. Trajko earned his Bachelors of Science at Indiana University at the Kelley School of Business. Trajko’s professional career in the financial and insurance industries has spanned several prominent institutions. Currently, he trains agents on Life and Financial products for one of the largest insurers in the U.S. Before that he consulted independent financial advisers for one of the largest broker-dealers in the nation. Previously, Trajko served as a relationship manager at two large retail banks where he designed investment solutions and advised clients on how to meet their goals.
Outside of work he enjoys visiting family and friends throughout the U.S. and Europe, biking, watching films, and ran the Chicago Marathon in 2012. Trajko is married to Biljana and reside in Dallas, Texas with their newborn twins. Trajko enjoys giving back to his community by volunteering for the UMD.
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Our children are the hope of the society. They would then become the future leaders in our nation. That is why it is very essential that they must be given the proper nourishment and care and the right education.
Nowadays, education has been a necessity. Each and every kid in the world must be afforded with the right and proper education. It should start at the earliest age of our child so that his hidden skills would enhance and develop at the earliest stage of his life. That is why it is very important to learn Chinese for kids .
As a teacher, you should know that every kid is distinct from others. You must be the one to adjust to their needs since they are the one who needed help. Meeting the needs of your student is very important, therefore, take into account these basic tips to aid you in your daily lessons.
Learn the language. You will never be an effective teacher if you do not know the things that you are teaching. In order for you to be an effective Chinese teacher, you must have a solid foundation in the language. Make sure that your learning in the language is not only basic because if so, you will really find it hard to teach your students.
Make them listen to nursery rhymes. Kids are very fond of listening and singing nursery rhymes. In order for him to familiarize the language, make him listen to its nursery rhymes. Once he get the hold of the song, it would then very easy for him to pronounce the dialect.
Read him stories. These is one easy and enjoyable way to get the attention of the children. Reading him children stories in Chinese would not only make him entertained, but he would also learn a lot. Plus, the familiarization on the dialect would be a lot easier.
Play cartoons in Chinese audio. Cartoons are one of the things that make children happy. Making the, watch their favorite cartoon is so fun for them, but change the dialect. By doing this, you are not only making them happy but you also make them learn the dialect faster.
Make use of technology. With the fats growth of technology, it is not anymore a surprise when kids are very experts in using it. Some kids are very fond of playing in their personal computer or tablets. Make use of those gadgets by downloading some application that involves learning such dialect.
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Do you know the legend of the Cherokee Indian youth’s rite of passage?
His father takes him into the forest, blindfolds him and leaves him alone. He is required to sit on a stump the whole night and not remove the blindfold until the rays of the morning sun shine through it. He cannot cry out for help to anyone. Once he survives the night, he is a MAN.
He cannot tell the other boys of this experience, because each lad must come into manhood on his own. The boy is naturally terrified. He can hear all kinds of noises. Wild beasts must surely be all around him. Maybe even some human might do him harm.
The wind will blow the grass and earth, and shake his stump, but he must sit stoically, never removing the blindfold. It would be the only way he could become a man!
Finally, after a horrific night, the sun appears and he can remove his blindfold. It will then that he discovers his father sitting on the stump next to him. The father had been at watch the entire night protecting his son from any harm.
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A recent Texas truck accident decision arose out of a pickup truck accident. An equipment company had employed a man as a driver. While driving in the course and scope of his employment in November 2012, the man got into an accident. At trial, the jury received conflicting evidence about what happened to cause the accident and the plaintiff’s injuries.
The plaintiff was driving east in a pickup one morning. When he came to an intersection with a yellow light, he slowed down, and the light turned red. The intersection was east of a school zone, where the speed limit was 30 mph. After he stopped, the plaintiff saw the equipment company employee driving toward him from behind in another pickup. The plaintiff estimated the other driver was moving at 45 mph when he struck the plaintiff’s truck from behind.
The impact was hard, according to the plaintiff. The plaintiff experienced pain in his neck, shoulders, and back, and he testified that the force pulled his seat loose from the hinges fixing it in place. He also presented deposition testimony from the other driver, in which the other driver admitted his fault and testified that he believed the plaintiff was hurt. He also presented the employer’s representative’s deposition testimony. The deponent testified that the employee had written out a statement in which he admitted that in his opinion, he was at fault for the accident, and the deponent testified that the employer agreed.
The plaintiff also offered a videotape deposition excerpt of an officer’s testimony. The officer discussed his report and investigation of the crash. He explained that when he came to the accident scene, the trucks were still parked where they were at the time of the accident. He talked to the witnesses. From this, he concluded that the plaintiff was stopped at the intersection, and the other driver was at fault. In his report, he stated that the other driver was at fault and had failed to control speed and pay attention. He also testified that he’d seen failure to control speed and pay attention in other rear-end accidents, and therefore he considered those factors to be at work in this accident.
The defendant testified he was a delivery driver going from home to the office on the morning of the collision. He claimed that the accident was just after he drove through the school zone and that he’d been driving 30 mph and adhering to the speed limit. He saw the plaintiff’s truck at a yellow light, and just after that, he temporarily couldn’t see either the stopped plaintiff or the light. He assumed that the plaintiff would continue through the yellow light and didn’t realize that the plaintiff had stopped. He claimed that immediately after the collision, the plaintiff exited his truck and complained of back and neck pain, but the only damage he could see on the plaintiff’s truck was minor rear bumper damage.
Most of the trial testimony involved the plaintiff’s medical expenses. The jury found that the defendant was not negligent. The plaintiff moved for a new trial, and the court granted this motion, finding that the verdict cut against the great weight and preponderance of the evidence.
The employer of the defendant driver asked the appellate court whether granting the motion for a new trial was proper. The appellate court reviewed the record to determine whether the reason for granting a new trial was supported. It found that the lower court judge had considered the defendant driver’s statements to be conclusive on the issue of evidence and that the court had disregarded any other testimony from which the jury could have found no negligence. The appellate court noted that although the employee admitted his car hit the plaintiff’s pickup, he never admitted negligence. The simple fact of a rear-end accident didn’t itself prove negligence. It found that after looking at the whole record, the lower court had erred in granting a new trial. The jury had chosen to believe the employee’s version of what happened and decided he didn’t fail to use ordinary care.
If you are injured by someone else in a car accident, the experienced San Antonio attorneys at Carabin Shaw may be able to represent you and develop a sound strategy for handling your case. Call our office for more information at 1-800-862-1260.
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The year was 1763 [or 1768 according to some sources], and most people in the quiet Somerset town of Shepton Mallet had not a very high opinion of the aged resident who sat for hours at the door of his cottage and gossiped to all who would pass by and listen about his exploits, or misdeeds would be the better description. The locals were not sure whether all the tales that Owen Parfitt told were true, but if even a fraction of them were, then he had lived a rather bad life, and so when he disappeared, there were those who thought that the Devil had come along to take Owen body and soul into Hell.
Owen was a resident of the Somerset town, in South West England. Once apprenticed to a tailor, he disliked the quiet life of stitching and cutting, and he yearned for adventure and more money than could be gained by honest toil.So one day the young Owen simply did not arrive for work, and later there came a message that he had enlisted with the king's forces. He is not known in Royal Naval records, so a privateer seems to have been his chosen path, and for years he simply disappeared from the town's consciousness. Privateers were pirates licensed to rob only the sovereign's enemies. However, in the 1760s he returned, obviously a sick man, crippled by serious arthritis, announcing that he wanted to live out his life in the town and restart his work as a tailor.
Owen's elder sister, known as Old Susannah, must have been a dutiful sister, as she gave a home to the decrepit old man and tended him,even though she was herself twenty years older than Owen, which places her in her eighties. She and a local woman, Susannah Snook,used to to help the old man to bed at nights and get him up in the mornings.
Owen used to sit at his door in summer, talking to passers by who bothered to listen, and his tales were choice! He had been a pirate, a smuggler and dabbled in black magic in America, Africa, India and the Caribbean, and had enjoyed the attentions of many women, though he had never married. Many people thought that he might be spinning the tales, but he had the physique for a pirate and if only part of his repertoire of tales were true, then his life had not been lived well.
Then one day in June 1763 he had been left at his door, propped up on his great coat, some say wrapped in it, when the women who cared for him went off on their chores. At bed time when Susannah Snook came to help Old Susannah put Owen to bed he had gone. The puzzle is that he was barely able to walk and had no means of transport, had made no noise to speak of and the witnesses, a group of farm workers getting some hayricks ready against a coming storm, had seen and heard nothing. Despite searches Owen was never found and no satisfactory account of his disappearance has ever been given.
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15-year-old Pearl lives with her mother in a small house on her uncle’s property in Fallbrook, California. She is used to hanging out with her cousin Robbie and her Uncle Hoyt, an avocado farmer using both legal and illegal immigrant labor to work his ranch. When Pearl spots Amiel, a young migrant miming and juggling in the midst of a group, she immediately wants her uncle to hire him, and once he does that she wants to get to know him better. However, getting to know him presents many problems, namely his poverty and need to hide from authorities, and the taboo of a relationship between a migrant worker and a daughter of the community all leading to consequences that none can foresee.
Dark Water is a contemplative novel concerning the complexities underscoring Pearl’s life in the summer of 2007, a year known for its fierce wildfires, which play a prominent role in the concerns of the town throughout the book. Pearl struggles in the face of her mother’s grief at her father’s infidelity and abandonment of his family, and the emotional and physical loss of their once close relationship. Along with the issues of her immediate family, she and her best friend are slowly growing apart, and her cousin Robby comes to her with a dilemma which threatens the way both of them feel about family and relationships. In this confusing time, Pearl spends most of her free time either alone or in pursuit of Amiel.
McNeal sets up a moving story giving the reader the opportunity to ponder the emotional landscape in which Pearl dwells- the state of mind which ultimately drives her decisions. There are big issues contained within this book, but the story focuses much more on the way Pearl perceives her world and her personal reactions to what she experiences. The novel quietly moves through Pearl’s interactions with her friends, dealings with her family, and with her peripheral notice of the lives of the migrants workers while she attempts to get close to Amiel. This story is about this girl and how she views life. The relationship with Amiel drives a large part of the novel but it’s never fully explained why she feels the way she does. He is plagued by very real concerns of deportation, food and shelter, and is initially very reluctant to spend any time with Pearl at all.
Dark Water is well-written and moving, but it suffers from some plausibility issues, some of which could be chalked up to the passionate and impulsive nature of teenagers. I was a little baffled by the ending, because some of the choices that characters made did not seem supported by the way I came to view them throughout the story. The circumstances and themes were heavy and replete with loss and sadness, but the somewhat improbable ending made it hard to mesh the emotions stirred with the actual events.
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Twins Hawk and Val are Fianna warriors under the vengeful curse of a scorned goddess. Following the prophecy in the Book of Veils, they search for the one who can help them retrieve the Claíomh Solais before their enemies get the chance.
Their quest leads them to Linnea. One touch and there can be no doubt that they have found their match. But will she accept them once she knows the truth?
Linnea is no one special. So why is she on the run from evil faeries and her egotistical ex? Why is she suddenly spending time in the company of dragons, druids and one kinky Viking with a split personality? All she knows is she has to keep her family safe from danger, and her heart safe from another betrayal.
Sexy and mysterious always got to her. Like that blond Viking she’d seemed to run into every time she’d turned around today. In the Gypsy camp, the faerie court, with the king. Everywhere she’d gone to look for Crystal, that glorious, golden specimen had passed.
It wasn’t unusual to see the same faces as you wandered through the circular Faire grounds, so Linnea thought nothing of it. But she did notice how her breath seemed to catch if he happened to glance over and find her staring.
She noticed how he seemed to stand out, though his costume wasn’t unique by any stretch of the imagination. Leather pants and boots, the thick strap of his sword’s sheath crossing his broad, well-defined torso.
His well-defined, completely bare torso. She hadn’t realized abs could be so chiseled, that a body could be that perfect—at least, not outside of airbrushed posters and movie screens.READ MORE
And that tattoo. The hawk on his biceps was so detailed and alive that she was sure it would leave its perch at any moment in search of prey. Just thinking about him actually made her thighs tremble. She shook her head at the unusual reaction. How odd.
Linnea ran her hand over the simple linen bodice of her dress, noticing for the first time how lovely it felt against her skin, how sensitive her nipples were as they poked against the natural fiber. She’d often groused about the fact that she had no need for a corset. There was, quite simply, nothing to pull in or push up. Her figure was hopeless. She was plain brown wrapping from the top of her short brown crow’s nest of hair and drab, dishwater gray eyes to her skinny chicken legs.
The only body part with any feminine cushion was her posterior, though no one could see it in her daily costume, which seemed a shame to her now.
She patted her bottom consolingly as she meandered into a cozy little sanctuary, complete with a wooden bench and a lovely statue of a nymph. She knew that just behind that nymph was a barely visible path, a path that many of her friends chuckled and gossiped about around the fires at night.
As Linnea snuck her head around the coy expression carved in marble, she wondered what was back there. Her mind returned instantly to thoughts of her Viking. What wouldn’t she give to spend some time in the woods with that one?
A wave of dizziness hit her and she turned to hold the statue’s shoulders for balance. Linnea laughed under her breath, her feet crossing each other and tangling in her sky blue skirt. She felt herself falling, wondering why she wasn’t more put out with gravity’s strange whims, when all at once she stopped.
She opened her heavy lidded eyes and grinned. It was him. Her Viking. His thick, strong arms were holding her up from the ground, his smile perplexed.“Are you all right, my lady?” He rose, taking the nearly horizontal Linnea with him until they stood upright once more, his arms still wrapped around her.“Not my lady.” She told him slowly around lips that tingled for some unaccountable reason. “Li-nne-a. Are you, by any chance, following me, Viking?”She hoped the teasing tone of her voice would let him know that the idea didn’t bother her at all.She stared openly. He was just as perfect close up. At any other time, she would have been thoroughly intimidated by someone like him. Suspicious at the very least. Movie star good looks in a man had never worked out for her. But he didn’t look smoothly controlled or plastic. Far from it.
He looked like a warrior. And his expression as she continued to watch him was anything but practiced. His eyes, a rich, dark brown, flashed amber, narrowing with new purpose on her. He looked…hungry.
Just that quickly, she was hungry too.COLLAPSE
Joyfully Reviewed wrote:
Ms Alexander has blended this erotic romance tale along with a paranormal genre so effortlessly, that you are left breathless and filled with anticipation of what will happen next...I rank this book among one of my favorite books of this year, and I look forward with great anticipation for the next book in this series
Piercing the Veil is a stunning follow up to Lifting the Veil. R.G. Alexander made me very happy when she revisited her world. Ms. Alexander never disappoints
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Ashton, John (DNB00)
ASHTON, JOHN (d. 1691), Jacobite conspirator, was clerk of the closet to Mary of Modena, the wife of James II, and, after the revolution of 1688, showed himself ardently devoted to the interests of his exiled master and mistress. He appears to have held a commission of captain or major in the army, and to have been an intimate friend of Dr. Thomas Cartwright, who was bishop of Chester from 1686 to 1689, and a zealous supporter of the Stuart dynasty (cf. Cartwright's Diary, pub. by Camden Soc.). By religion Ashton was a protestant, and late in 1690 he attended a meeting of protestant Jacobites, at which it was resolved to invite Louis XIV to forcibly restore James II. Viscount Preston undertook to visit St. Germains with the papers requisite to obtain support for the conspiracy, and Ashton promised to arrange the journey and bear him company. He and a young friend, Major Elliott, hired a boat at London to convey themselves and Lord Preston to France, but the owner, whose suspicions were roused by their injunctions of secrecy, gave information to the government, and on 31 Dec. 1690, when Preston, Ashton, and Elliott embarked with their treasonable papers about them at the Tower, they were narrowly watched, were arrested off Tilbury, and a few hours later brought back to Whitehall. On Ashton's person alone incriminating documents were found. The three prisoners were brought to trial a fortnight later, but each was tried separately. Ashton, who was described in the indictment as 'late of the parish of St. Paul's, Covent Garden,' declared that he was about to visit France to learn from the exiled queen how she proposed to settle certain unpaid debts with her London tradesmen, for many of which he, as her late clerk, was held responsible, and he called witnesses in support of his assertion. All the conspirators were, however, condemned to death, and Ashton, upon whom alone the sentence was executed, was hanged at Tyburn on 28 Jan. 1690-1. Several nonjuring clergymen attended him after his conviction, and were present with him at the gallows, where he behaved with exemplary fortitude. Before his death he handed to the sheriff a paper declaring himself a protestant, and happy in losing his life in James II's service, from whom he had received favours 'for sixteen years past.' This document, which well exemplified the depth of the sincerity of James's supporters in England, was published in England, France, and Holland, and greatly alarmed the authorities. An answer to it was written anonymously by Dr. Edward Fowler, bishop of Gloucester, who represented Ashton's paper as the manifesto of the Jacobite party, and tried to confute in detail his arguments against the lawfulness of William III's accession to the throne: the bishop's pamphlet evoked a reply in the 'Loyal Traitor,' an elaborate defence of Ashton by a Jacobite.
Ashton's widow, whose maiden name was Rigby, after her husband's death sought refuge at St. Germains with her son, upon whom James II conferred a baronetcy. But her protestantism did not commend itself to the exiled court, and Mrs. Ashton was harshly used on her refusal to become a Roman Catholic. She died in 1694, and her body was sent to England for burial (View of the Court of St. Germains (1696), in Harleian Miscellany, vi. 395).[State Trials, xii. 64.5 et seq.; Luttrell's Brief Relation of State Affairs, vols. ii. iii.; Burnet's History of my own Time, iv. 121 (Oxford edit.); Macaulay, iii. 723, 727, iv. 16-8 ; Brit. Mus. Cat.; Ashton's paper is printed in Tindal's Continuation of Rapin's History of England (i. 171), in the State Trials, and in Dr. Fowler's pamphlet.]
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Jennie Wyse Power joined the Ladies Land League in the 1880s, quickly finding a nitch in activities during the Land War. She compiled lists of those evicted from their homes, and went on to organize chapters in Wicklow and Carlow.
Politically active, she helped set up the Irish Women’s Franchise League, and also became a founding member of Inghinidhe na hÉireann and Sinn Féin, as well as Vice-President of both organizations. Jennie was on the Provisional Committee that set up Cumann na mBan, becoming president in 1914.
She became one of the most important women of the revolution. The 1916 Proclamation was written in her home at 21 Henry Street. When discussing the Proclamation, she always maintained that the seven Military Council signed in no particular order with the exception of James Connolly who was eager to be the first to sign. Although it involved considerable risk, Jennie supplied food to the Volunteers of the Rising.
After the Rising, Jennie and her daughter, Nancy, were tireless in their efforts to reorganize the Cumann na mBan, She distributed funds to families suffering hardships, as well as the Prisoners Dependants Fund, money for which had been provided by the Clan na Gael in the United States.
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Last year my widowed mother spent most of the year battling and then recovering from breast cancer. During the holiday season, I was fortunate enough to reconnect with my grandmother Frances's last remaining sibling, my great aunt. It was almost like having Frances there with me. We were all connected by our common love for my grandmother. I will be forever grateful for that day.
There we were, sitting in my kitchen, four generations of Hamilton women sharing stories, food, and laughter in the effortless way that Southerners do. In the midst of reminiscing about life, the topic drifted to my grandmother. We talked about her pain and her kindness. Her life was not an easy one. Frances knew a thing or two about being brave. She understood tragedy.
Frances's mother Mattie fell victim to malaria at an early age of 23. She left behind a toddler and a young husband, but not much else. I'm told Mattie's parents came to Mobile and took their young daughter back to Mississippi to be buried. I don't think Frances ever heard from them again. I've often been curious about Frances's childhood, but she rarely spoke of it. I always sensed that she carried a tremendous amount of pain and grief about her experiences as a child. Even though she tried to hide it, she carried that brokenness for the rest of her life. On rare occasions she would regale me with stories of playing hide and seek in the watermelon fields close to her home. Those stories are as close as she came to sharing what her life was like as a child. When Frances was 8 years old her father remarried and began again with a new family. Around that same time, Frances went to live with her paternal grandmother, while her father moved back to Mississippi.
Just like many other poor Southerners, Frances ended up dropping out of school and working in the mills of rural Baldwin County, Alabama. While she was still very young, she married a tall, handsome man named Ed. Despite his many vices and abuses, I could always tell she cared for him, but I think he disappointed her most of all.
Ed worked for the newspaper, but spent most of his time making and selling moonshine. Frances stayed home being a wife to Ed and a mother to four rowdy boys. That was until my mother came along, and Frances got her baby girl. Around this time Ed decided he was finished with family life and Frances. He just got up and left, moving on with another woman. Frances and Ed never divorced, but it wouldn't have been much different if they had. Frances had no rights, no child support. She struggled to support herself and my mother as best as she could. Some days they had to choose between coal or food. Can you imagine? That's not an easy choice for a single mom, not then, not now.
Those were dark days to say the least.
Frances lived with us while I was growing up. I feel fortunate and grateful for that. She taught me so many things about being a mother and grandmother. Frances was very generous with everything she had, whether it was her meager income or her time. Some of my favorite childhood memories are the days spent shelling pecans on the porch with my grandmother. I learned a lot on those days, mostly through osmosis.
I never saw her angry. I'm sure she was suffering in many ways but she was too busy caring for others to complain. All I ever felt was love. Some days I would just sit with her while she rocked in her chair. The windows would be open and old southern, gospel music played softly in the background. I still get choked up when I hear "I'll Fly Away". Those memories shaped me into the woman I am today. I can't imagine my life without her influence.
She died in 1999. I have one photo of her holding my then, 3-month old daughter, Madison, who carries Frances's mother's name.
Fast forward to 2016, in my kitchen with four generations of women. Overwhelmed with missing her, we decided to bring out Frances's bible. It's nearly in pieces now, but I treasure it. She had written a letter in the back pages, right in the middle of countless family birth and marriage records. I know more about my family and our history from that bible than anything else. In her letter she was begging her estranged husband to be choosey with the type of people he brought around their children, and asking her boys to settle down in the world. She knew they all needed to turn down the volume in their lives. They never did.
The last line was a special note to my mother, "girl be brave". It resonated in my heart. I had read it a thousand times before but none like this day. There we were, a room full of people that loved Frances, you could almost feel her presence. I'm not sure if it was my mother's illness or reconnecting with my great aunt, but the text took on a whole new meaning. I was moved to tears.
I knew I had to share this, the magic I felt that day. It was palpable. I wanted to donate a portion of the proceeds to charity because that's what Frances would do. She would give and then give again. Frances was the most generous person that I have ever known, and I hope to continue in he honor.
Girl Be Brave,
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She's a loving nurturer, adoring her family and the role she plays in the household. She treasures the special friendship she enjoys with Joel, the young man whose life she has married into. What in the world has she done to throw it all away and break it all down... or is her relationship with him just evolving in the most natural way? Either way, she has a confession to make, a truth she can only reveal in the privacy of her diary...
She can't remember how it began, where the first line was crossed or the first nagging thought was born. Is it Joel's compliments that make her feel so flattered and attractive? Is it inviting him into her bedroom to help her choose just the right outfit to please his father and the other businessman she'll be dining with? Or is it when her near-nakedness presses against his body in a loving embrace and a chance turn of her head forces their lips to brush one another's?
Every step is accidental; that much is clear. But she doesn't have to visit his room after her night out. She doesn't have to feel compelled to apologize or ensure he's okay. She doesn't have to wake him, to lie next to his naked body in his bed. She doesn't have to whisper nurturing words in his ear, notice his physical reactions, handle them with loving care, match his urging motions and movements with her own, and join him in a sleepy, hushed succession of actions leading them both to the brink of physical fulfillment and beyond.
But she does. And now, neither of them can take those moments back.
.... I leaned in closer, lightly touched his face to better find his ear to whisper into, and repeated, "Joel." I added, "It's Mom. I just wanted to say..."
Just then, my stepson rolled over, pulling the bedcovers tighter over himself, and sighed. He was facing toward me then, lying on his back, and I finally realized he was still asleep.
I felt reassured then, that Joel was fine, resting peacefully, and we'd still find ourselves close friends again in the morning. I decided to leave him with a quick kiss on the cheek and carefully bent further over him to reach his face. When my lips touched his cheek, he stirred again, and his arm wrapped around me loosely.
"Sorry for waking you," I whispered, my mouth still so close to his face as his arm held me in place.
Joel didn't stir. His eyes were still closed. I suddenly felt bad for almost waking him; he was obviously deep asleep!
I started to slip myself out from under his heavy arm, just as it held me more tightly and pulled me closer to him, my chest pressed up against his.
"Mom," he whispered in the darkness. "Mom, I love you."
"I love you too," I automatically answered.
He was holding me so uncomfortably, the poor thing. He had no idea what he was doing. My back was starting to ache as his arm clamped me down in that awkward position. I moved to adjust myself a bit and finally escape his sleeping arm. It was enough to finally wake him, and I instantly felt guilty for disturbing him so late.
His eyes slowly opened and he looked down at me, half-lying on his chest. He looked so peaceful with his eyelids heavy and his eyes only partly open, squinting through the moonlight to look at his stepmother. I suddenly realized just how intimate my pose was... and just how much cleavage I was revealing in my thoughtless dress choice I'd rushed into earlier in the evening. My cleavage that was pressed against my stepson's bare chest.
"Mom?" His brain tried to catch up with the sight.
"Hi, honey. I just wanted to slip in and wish you a good night. I..." I managed to release myself from his grasp and sit up straight next to his prone body. "I wanted to make sure you're all right." I smiled down over my stepson. That peaceful look on his face just warmed my heart.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he managed to say.
"I'll leave you alone then. I'm so sorry for waking you."
"I didn't do anything wrong, did I? I mean—"
"No! Oh, honey." I immediately squeezed him in a big, reassuring hug. "You're such a good boy, the best stepson a woman could wish for."
"I didn't mean to—"
"No, don't worry about that. It's all right. You didn't do anything wrong." I looked straight into his sleepy eyes. "Don't you dare think that. Okay? I love you..." I found myself stroking his hair and that place where it curled just behind his ear. "You're such a good boy..." I felt my stepson's body shift under mine. "I want you to know that, okay?" I brushed his hair off his warm forehead. "I want you to feel okay..."
I was so relaxed, curled up to my stepson on his bed, exhausted from a late night out, emotionally worn out from the moments in the closet earlier. So tired. He was so warm. The way he turned his face to feel my hand as it brushed his hair out of his eyes... the way his arms returned my hug...
"Do you feel okay, honey? Are you okay? I want you to know—"
His eyes were softly closed, his eyelashes were catching the glimmering moonlight, his bare chest beneath me was glistening with the slightest shimmer of sweat, and, for the first time—honest—I noticed my stepson's erection pressed just beneath me, hard against my waist.
"Don't stop, Mom. I love you. I love you, Mom." His arms held me tighter, his back arched to move his body closer to mine. "Don't stop."
Average Rating: 4.5/5.0 from 6 reviews
I felt I was being manipulated by the author in reading this story. She uses the words "stepson" over and over, as well as "mommy". The kid has a name, and he's old enough to appreciate a good looking woman. The wife, who obviously has little use for her husband, dotes on her stepson and teases him endlessly. I seriously doubt a woman wrote this stuff. Too much breast fixation. (They eventually have sex.)
Tirrell's stepmother is serious: at the beginning she wishes she could confess to a priest, but she's too ashamed. The set-up here doesn't go for laughs; it's perfectly realistic: a mother and son watch old movies together -- on a "way-too-big flat screen TV my husband insisted on buying last year". (Clearly a pet peeve of the author.) The husband would've been better off buying his new wife more dinner dresses, because in the story's continuing build-up, Stepmom -- with stepson's help -- can't find an appropriate outfit for an important impending business dinner with hubby. (Men should read women's fiction with microscopic attention; they would learn a few things.) Well, this Stepmom is already dangerously attracted to "Joel"; an electric moment passes between them in the closet. After the dinner, Stepmom goes to sleeping Joel's room to make sure that the electric moment didn't scar him ... or perhaps to pick up where they left off. Ms. Tirrell employs her best prose in this section, which is set in a dark room with moonlight glimmering over their bodies. The emotion is high; the pleasure intense. This third story has as good erotic writing as you'll likely encounter. Bravo to Ms. Tirrell.
This is one of Tina's first to include her stepmother character feeling that "urge" she has to follow up with and satisfy. I love Tina's inclination to write in diary style for some of her books. It's so personal, just like for this one, and it makes you feel like you're write in the story, living it, breathing it, desiring it all! Reading one of Tina's books is like having your own private experience, and her latest shows you the female side of the story that drives you wild in a way you never want to end.
I've bought/read all of your short stories, and in my opinion, this is the best one because it's the most realistic and just WOW. Absolutely grasps your imagination. Unbelievable. Thank you and please keep writing you have some pretty devout fans waiting for your next piece of art.
Damn! The way Tina Tirrell writes is like a sort of seduction all its own. I'm so wrapped up in the story, like I'm part of it. And just when I think I'm reading some bestselling novel by a literary genius, I'm given the huge gift of being reminded that it's actually erotica that, all of a sudden, makes me so... well, I don't want to go overboard and go into the details. But, Tina, you rock my world!
This book is exactly what I've been looking for! I live for the slow, intense, realistic progression of that growing level of intimacy, where everything is so natural and just can't be stopped. Give me more, Tina!
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Kwabena Akuley Anane-Nsiah
Site Management/Sound & Lights
Kwabena is 21 years of age, and was born June 7, 1995. He is originally from Ghana, West Africa and is attending the University of Central Florida in Orlando, majoring in Civil Engineering.
Currently, a member of Christ Cosmopolitan Inc., a church head quartered in Kumasi, Ghana, West Africa with many satellite churches around the world. He has always had a passion to see souls saved and for people to develop a deeper and more personal relationship with God.
Privileged to have many divine encounters with the Lord which has given him a stronger and more personal walk that has led him to see the importance of having eternity in focus in whatever decisions he makes. One of the greatest blessings he can attribute to his present stance in the Lord are his parents, especially his mother who taught him how to pray for people all over the world, for missions, and the importance of giving to those less fortunate, especially orphans.
Kwabena is blessed to have gone through the hands of many great men of God at many different points in his life who taught him different virtues of Christ at different stages in his life. His desire is that Haiti would be saved and would be filled with the glory of and compassion of God.
On campus, he strives to spread the gospel and explain the need to live for God and the importance of fulfilling your purposes.
Director Intercessory Prayer
Evangelist Claretha Dessuaso, is a devoted wife of 25 years, and a mother of two young “miracle” men who are attending college. Living in the beautiful town of Cordesville, South Carolina where refreshing air and peace has enlightened the atmosphere.
She became a warrior for the Lord at the age of 15 when a persuasive experience led her to want more of Him: “In a dream one night she was at a place that looked like the beginning of hell. Fire was all around her, and the only way out was accepting Jesus”. In April of 1981, she accepted the Lord Jesus as her Savior and afterwards was baptized in the Holy Ghost with the evidence of speaking in unknown tongues. Evangelist Claretha, has ministered in nursing homes, homeless shelters, and many churches from revivals to conference speaker, and has participated in different services. She was licensed in the Missionary, Deaconess, and now Evangelist Ministries. The Lord has been showing her the rewards in this life. Her gift has open doors to minister in South Carolina, North Carolina, and Tennessee wherein the Spirit of the Lord moved mightily and souls were saved and delivered. Even on the telephone, demons were being cast out in the name of Jesus!
Through her life journey, she was a backup singer for a recording artist, and has worked in the audio department. Claretha was faced with many obstacles, but she trusted in God, and He worked miracles!
Evangelist Claretha holds an Associate Degree in Biblical Studies, and is a licensed evangelist. She is also active in the church she attends: Teacher, Preacher, Worship Leader, Choir Member, and Conference Speaker. Claretha is the founder of E.C.P.W. (Enter Courts Prayer Warriors) a Teleconference Ministry with intercessory prayer, and outreach! Designing has become her passion. Creating logos for business, musicians, family reunions, and awards for school age children has brought about pleasure! Being country smart, but needing credentials is where she is at now, attending the Art Institute of Pittsburgh-Online Division. Her intended degree is Graphic Design, AS.
Motto: “, and to God be the Glory!” “ It’s About Souls”(1 Corinthians 15:58, John 15:7)
SWM Intercessory Prayer
Nathan Johnson is an Electrical Engineering Technician by day and Evangelist by night. Married to Michelle Johnson with three amazing children that all currently reside in Rock Hill, S.C. outside of Charlotte, N.C. Nathan carries the call of God that “Thousands and Tens of Thousands will be swept into the Kingdom of God by the sound of his voice.” This word was spoken by the Lord to his mother while Nathan was still in the womb. He has committed to this call fully and travels the world to see it fulfilled one soul at a time.
Nathan was raised in the Assembly of God Church in Oregon City, Oregon, just outside of Portland. He went to Bible School at Rhema Bible Training Center 2007 “RBTC” in Tulsa, Oklahoma under Kenneth E Hagin, completed a one year internship “Emerge School of Ministry” where he found discipleship and the heart to serve others, helped start three church’s, Founded NJM (www.NathanJohnsonMinistries.com) , Founded Unite 2 Ignite (ww.Unite2Ignite.Net), studied under Derek Prince teachings for 5 years, now currently serves as an elder at a 5 fold Apostolic church under Dr. Peter Wyn’s (the Grandson of Derek Prince) of Antioch International Church/ CFM. At Antioch International Church he has his ordainment and accountability, partnered with Billy Graham Library/VFE and received training with Reinhardt Bonnke School of Evangelism 2016.
Nathan carries a dynamic message of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, Son-ship and the Authority of the Believer. He also carries a huge heart to see ministries and churches unite and advance the Kingdom of God. He has recently birthed #UnitedChurchWithNoWallsNetwork under Unite 2 Ignite where many hands make light work. This is an Apostolic network for those that carry the burden to see unity for the sake of the Gospel of Jesus Christ all over the world.
SWM Director of Communication & Publications
Jacqueline Kowalsky is a Corporate Trainer and published Author of two children’s books. She helps corporations optimize their return on investment in technology by designing and delivering technology education courses and courseware for their employees.
After attending both Catholic Elementary and High Schools the hypocrisy she witnessed demonstrated by the nuns, made her question what they were teaching. Always believing in God the Father, Jesus Christ His Son, and the Holy Spirit she drifted away from weekly attendance to only going on holidays. Her sister had given her a bible, and tried to get her “saved” but she was still holding on to Catholicism.
Jacqueline had a family and a successful career and after working at Fortune 500 companies, she found herself without a job and not able to get one! As she recalls “Companies were paying big money for my knowledge but I couldn’t get a job! The Lord had placed me in the desert, but I didn’t know it at the time. All of life’s pressures (marriage, finances, unemployment, eventually sickness, etc.) were bearing down on me, and it took a cousin who lived about 20 miles away, to send my Mother who was living in FL (1700 miles away) an invitation to a cantata at her church which was 1 mile away from where I lived. I still have the invitation to “The Promise” at Upper Room Ministries Dec. 18, 1992 @7:30 that my Mother and I attended and it was there that the Lord called me. I went back the next night, and the next, having accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and my Savior. It was so amazing!! I searched for and found the bible my sister had given me, and as I was reading it, I was falling in love with Jesus! I attended service on Sunday and Wednesday and sometimes Friday, and although I still wasn’t working, I knew the Lord was working on me!”
Jacqueline recalls that in “November of 1993 she got a job, and the Sunday night before starting she had a seizure and was hospitalized for almost one week! All she knew was that she had to touch the “hem of His garment”, she had to get to church! Jacqueline said: “Let me tell you about God… that new job that I was supposed to start, the IT manager held the job for me for two weeks with pay!! Now that is God!!I remained at Upper Room in service to the Lord as a leader in the Greeter/Usher ministry, the ministry for the sick, attended Oral Roberts University through Upper Room, was baptized by immersion and received the Holy Spirit, and through the laying on of hands by Bishop Anthony D’Onofrio commissioned to GO! Currently, I attend Church by the Glades and am serving Soul Winning Missions as the Communications /Publications Director.”
SWM Intercessory Prayer
I was raised in the Christian faith. My father, was a Baptist Preacher, and my mother, a devout Christian, both infused the Christian faith in me. When I was in Haiti, I remembered my Mom taking us to church every Sunday. Sometimes, my Dad and Mother would wake up my siblings and myself to go to what we called: “Cohort, in Haiti.” Which was when we had to wake up early in the morning around 5:00 a.m. to attend church and then go evangelize. Moreover, we had to attend Sunday school every week; memorize verses, and compete against others groups to see who would memorize the most verses from the Bible.My parents have helped me to understand and respect the word of God.
When I left Haiti and migrated to America; I was very zealous in going to church and learning about the Bible; however, when I was going to the 12th grade, I had friends who had some influence over me and I started going to parties, bars, and discos…etc. My zeal for God started to diminish even though I still attended church. After I graduated from high school, I went to Rockland Community College studied Engineering Science. I was fascinated, determined, and focused on studying Science and Philosophy and to master the principles of these areas of study. I was entirely focused on mastering natural science versus spiritual science, even though I still kept the Christian principle of prayer. I have learned, according to Proverb 3:6, “If you acknowledge God in everything you do, He will direct your path.” I have tried my best to involve God in almost everything that I do.
After I graduated from Rockland Community College, I decided to go to Syracuse University where I learned about great philosophers such as Socrates, Plato, Aristotle and great scientists such as Albert Einstein and Carl Sagan. I was very excited to hear about them and hoping that one day I would become a great scientist or engineer. I was determined to master the natural sciences until one day, something happened and changed my understanding of life.
When I entered my junior year at Syracuse University, I got the news that one of my uncles was sick. Upon hearing that he was in the hospital in Brooklyn, New York, I went to visit him to see how he was doing. I found out that he had prostate cancer. My heart felt for him. He was a spiritual man and I do not remember if I prayed for him or not; but after a few weeks, he died. At the funeral, people were crying, mourning, and singing and my mind was probably going at 200 miles per second thinking: “My parents sent me to school to study engineering to use formulas, equations and algebra to solve problems. Now, I have a problem in front of me and I do not have any equation or formula in algebra or trigonometry to solve it.” I said to myself, “I bet you if I were to call all my chemistry, physics, mathematics, chemical engineering professors and all the doctors in the world, they would not have the equation for this problem we call death.” I said to myself “who in this world has the equation or the key to this problem? All of us will face it.” As I was asking myself that question, I heard a voice inside of me said: “Only One person has the key to this problem.” While everyone else was mourning during the funeral, I asked myself a second time the same question, “Who truly has the key to this challenge? ”The voice within me plainly said to me: “The only person who has the key is Jesus Christ.” I answered the voice back; I said to Him “I heard about Him from my father and my mother and television. However, I do not know Him.” I said “if He has such a key, I ought to be his friend, to study and know Him”. So after the funeral, my heart was burning with passion and a great thirst to know Jesus. So I went and got a Bible and started to read the Bible with great passion. It was my spiritual turning point. From that point on; I started praying and asking God for guidance and wisdom. I specifically asked Him to lead me to read the Bible based on truth and Spirit, not on intellect and reasoning. After several years doing my personal research on Jesus Christ, I decided to attend Faith University in Orlando, FL to better understand the Bible. I graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in Theology. Having the fundamental knowledge, I was able to further my study by obtaining a Master’s degree in Theology. With greater understanding, I was able to get more involved in Church and doing the work of my Lord, Savior, Jesus Christ through the Prison Ministry. Praise be to his Holy name!
Pastor Jessie White
SWM Director of Counseling
Pastor Jessie S. White is the Pastor of “From the Roadside to the Mountaintop Ministries, International of Bloomfield, Connecticut. She was born in Palatka, Florida. Her parents, Jesse James and Sarah Sally Swinton were devout Christians and served as deacon and missionary respectively in the Church of God in Christ. After graduating from Central Academy High School, she traveled north to Bloomfield, Connecticut where her older sister had migrated years earlier. While living with her sister and brother-in-law she met a handsome U.S. Airman from the Eastern shore of Maryland, William Corlette White. They fell in love and were married fifty-one years ago on March 13th. Their union was blessed with two daughters Cheryl Denise and Lisa Renee.
Pastor Jessie S. White was called into the ministry in October 1981. She surrendered to the will of the Master and received her license to preach from Hopewell Baptist Church on March 6, 1983. In 1987 she earned a Bachelor of Religious Education from United Christian College of Brooklyn, New York. Pastor White completed the Hartford Seminary’s Back Ministers Certificate program in 1997. From October 2000 thru April 2001 she completed her Clinical Pastoral Education Certificate from Hartford Hospital Department of Education, Hartford, Connecticut. In April 2015, Pastor White received her Master’s Degree in Biblical Studies from Biblical Life College & Seminary and will be pursuing a Doctoral degree in Church Administration and Theological Studies from the same. Pastor White served as an associate minister of the Hopewell Baptist Church in Windsor, Connecticut for twenty-nine years, when the Lord led her to International Fellowship of Sanctuary of Faith and Glory Churches of Windsor, Connecticut under the leadership of Apostle Felton O. Best, Ph.D., in 2005.
Pastor White founded “From the Roadside to the Mountaintop Ministries, International of Bloomfield, kicking off the commencement of the fellowship in March of 2011 with a sermon entitled, “Do Not Despise Small Beginnings”, taken from Zachariah 4:1-10. She continues to evangelize at correctional institutions for the past 35 years throughout the state including Osborn and Hartford Connecticut Correctional Institutions, and in other ventures that the Spirit leads. She ministers in hospitals, to the disappointed, the downtrodden, and the sick-and-shut-ins.
Currently, Pastor White is actively involved with an Outreach program called HOPE Accountability Group where God has given her a heart and an anointing for outreach ministry as mandated in Matthew 25:35-36 “For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. The motto of this woman of God who is also a widower, mother of two adult daughters, proud grandmother of six, and a great-grandmother of one miraculous great-grandson.
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William Kennedy (North Carolina)
William Kennedy ( * July 31, 1768 in Washington, North Carolina, † October 11, 1834 ) was an American politician. Between 1803 and 1815 he represented several times the state of North Carolina in the U.S. House of Representatives.
William Kennedy studied until 1782 at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia. After a subsequent study of law and qualifying as a lawyer, he began to work in this profession. At the same time he proposed as a member of, founded by Thomas Jefferson Democratic-Republican Party launched a political career.
In the congressional elections of 1802 Kennedy was the third constituency of North Carolina in the U.S. House of Representatives in Washington DC chosen, where he became the successor of Robert Williams on March 4, 1803. Until March 3, 1805 he was initially able to complete only one term in Congress. During this period fell by President Jefferson incurred Louisiana Purchase, by which the territory of the United States was considerably enlarged. In 1804, the Twelfth Amendment to the Constitution was ratified.
In the 1808 elections, Kennedy was re-elected in the third district of his state in Congress, where he replaced Thomas Blount on March 4, 1809 which was in 1805 became his successor. Since he lost again against Blount in the following elections in 1810, he could again spend only one term in the U.S. House of Representatives until March 3, 1811. After the death of Thomas Blount Kennedy was re-elected as his successor in the U.S. House of Representatives at the due election, where he took his old seat on 30 January 1813. After a re-election, he could remain until March 3, 1815 Congress. This period was marked by the events of the British - American War.
After retiring from Congress in 1815 William Kennedy has had no further political office. He died on 11 October 1834 in his native Washington.
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Aug 25, - I am legally an adult in the Wizarding world, not to mention the last .. Weasley snorted at Harry's direct questions, her face showing She's used to boys around here viewing witches as sex objects, just “Imperio,” he cried. Hell, Potter had even watched the debauched games that he, Draco and.
And Dumbledore apologised when he made mistakes.
There are many reasons to judge Dumbledore but I do not believe raising Harry like a lamb for the slaughter is one of them. Ginny is a whore: Ok first of all Ginny Met Micheal Corner in the winter of her third Year she dated him up to the end of her fourth year 1 year and a halfShe than dated Dean until the end of her fifth year 1 yearDated Harry for about 1 month to 6 weeks god of war hentai than married him.
Ginny is a stalker: Hermione is a perfect Girl: No Hermione is not perfect at all, she is a bossy self-centered person, but she is also caring and kind, but really, she can be ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic bit mean towards the way she treats people. Hermione is a May-Sue. Hermione is the only one for Harry: They don;t have any chemistry at all.
Ron was the person that Harry missed not Hermione. She knows that Harry would never be able to live unless Voldemort is dead. She knows Him the real him. I am so tired of people who make excuses for Snape! There is no hentai manga rape for why Snape was an ass towards Harry, or Neville or anyone.
Snape hates Harry just because he looks like James. Snape started half of their fights. Snape was the one ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic started the fights with Sirius. I am so tired of the Snape Fans, who are arrogant. Snape is not a good guy, no matter how hard you try, Snape will never be a good guy, just because he did a few things for Lily does not mean that he is a good guy!
It has been clearly stated in the books that Harry has jet-black hair, like James and emerald green eyes, like Lily. I have seen many fanon making this mistake repeatedly. Only the actor of Harry Potter in the java bottle xxxgema franchise Daniel Radcliffe has blues eyes and is a brunette, but not the book Harry. Rowling has said that Dumbledore is actually gay, and ha a crush on Grindewald. McGonagall on the other hand, though being a widow, only has a friendship bonding with Dumbledore.
It may ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic like there is strong chemistry between them, but that is only strong friendship.
ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic
Okay, but in some fanfic like drarry, the Weasleys and Hermione and Dumbledore are joined together in taking all the money fqnfic Potters have left for Harry as a major plot, or Dumbledore purposely putting Harry with the Dursleys so that he could control Ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic as his pawn etc.
Weasley have been with Harry and gave him endless support and assistance since his first day at Hogwarts, and Mrs Weasley even refers Harry to her son. It is common knowledge that the Dursleys were horrible to Wizarding culture and Harry, Dumbledore only put him with them because they were the only biological family he had, and it was safer for Harry to grow up in a Muggle star trek porn game, rather than sexstories alien completely exposed to the media in the Wizarding World, ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic example the Daily Prophet and its dangers and hazards in it, like the Death Eaters.
Furry wolves girl purple getting humped naked butt Harry were to live with the Marauders like Remus or Sirius, it would have be dangerous for both the guardian and the minor.
Did he do that? I'm not talking about fanfic, where you can make your own stories and have your own character development. I'm talking about a portion ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic fans who are obsessed with the pronehubstars Draco's character. This weird idea that Draco was somehow a poor little bullied baby with a heart of gold who held up pure-blood mania only because his father bullied him into believing it.
This is the guy who jinxed Neville so that he'll have to crawl to the common room. He constantly calls Hermione and all muggleborns a mudblood. Jokes about muggle-borns being petrified and expresses his disappointment that none of them died. This is the guy who joked about Cedric's death. He joined Dolores Umbridge who is ironically loathed by almost everyone in the fandom in the Inquisitorial Squad.
He joined Death Eaters at 16 and nearly killed Ron and Katie. His only saving grace is that he didn't openly identify Harry in ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic Malfoy Ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic - and practically, this didn't matter since Harry was identified almost immediately without Draco's help. Even after this incident, in the battle of Hogwarts, he went after Harry, Ron and Hermione by the intent of taking them to Voldemort.
I refuse to buy the idea that he joined Death Eaters only because Voldemort threatened him and his parents, he boasted about being on Voldemort's mission at the start of the school year and was terrified only after realising that he might fail. Yes, he wasn't all that evil because in the end he proved he wasn't heartless enough to commit a murder.
But that just shows he didn't have nerve to actually actively kill someone. After all, he had no hesitation to use passive means such as sending poisoned mead and jinxed neckless both of which were ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic. Many in the fandom claim that he had a troubled childhood because he imerio bullied by his parents. Well, no he wasn't, his parents loved and spoiled him. Sent him daily care packages, bought top red knight porn fortnite the line broomsticks for an entire quidditch team just to get him a spot on it, tried to fabfic a creature executed just because it scratched Draco's ginn.
His parents ran into the full battle of Hogwarts unarmed just to find him. His mom did the Unbreakable Vow just to ensure he would be safe. Draco is an elitist prick who was spoiled and loved deeply. He supported the pureblood mania because he believed it, not because he was forced.
Image source - Tumblr. Another thing that pisses me off - and its closely related to the first one - is actually canon. The idea that Lucius Malfoy just walked weassley after the end of the Battle of Hogwarts. Its mentioned at the end of the 7th book that the three Malfoys weazley huddled ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic in the Great hall and nobody was paying them any attention.
Nicki porno implies that Lucius was not punished. The Potter wiki too states that he was reprieved because he was defected by Voldemort and because he gave evidence against many death eaters.
This is the man who was a death eater in the first wizarding kmperio, who saves himself from fanfid after Voldemort's first defeat by lying that he was acting under the imperius curse, and gimny rejoined Voldemort immediately after his rebirth. This is the guy who committed many crimes during the one year after Voldemort's cartoon bleach porn game psp download - including the use of unforgivable curses.
He forced entry into the Ministry of Magic, attempted to steal a prophecy and when he was imprisoned into Azkaban, he broke out. And he was ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic just because he's now ready to give evidence against Death slwve and because his wife accidentally helped Harry Potter to save her son? But Lucius had not changed one bit. When Harry was captured in the Malfoy Manor, he was besides himself with excitement impeeio wanted to call Voldemort immediately so that Harry will be killed and he - Lucius - will regain Voldemort's favour.
It really pisses me off that this selfish cowardly bastard is shown to be forgiven at the end zootopia judy sex the story, and that nobody in the fandom feels outraged about it, because ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic they're too busy feeling sorry for Draco and his sufferings.
This might be offensive to some people, and this is a very controversial topic, as far as is considered. One cannot expect a book written in s to be as socially aware as a book written in Ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic completely agree it faanfic wrong of J K Rowling to later force diversity into her books.
Things are not black and white. Representation is very important. Also, There is no slve to bash artists when they draw a white Hermione. I repeat my argument: How some fans try to squeeze the weirdest fantasies into a ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic and actually try to make it look canon, but just fail miserably.
However, fans who write fanfictions about this shipping usually write both characters completely out of character, just for the sake of the completely forced storyline.
These three shippings all have impeiro thing in common: From a canoncial standpoint, they will just never, I repeat, never, happen. Draco would never love a muggle-born, Snape would never have an affair with a student. Harry would never fall in love with Draco. Imlerio is another itch I have imperioo this fandom.
A bad part, to be honest. This is a very good example of a poorly designed OC. And there are many, many more of them out there. However, bad OCs have one good side: They are a good amusement for other fans out there. Ask New Question Sign In. What is the thing that pisses you off the most about the Harry Potter fandom? Hijacking This one is a little less evident, but using Harry Potter to further your own agenda is just wrong.
What lmperio the most satisfactory thing about Harry Potter? In the Harry Potter fandom, which character's fans are impreio most annoying? What are some of the most misunderstood things in Harry Potter? The way they try to paint favorite character with a monotone brush. None of them were either all bad OR all good. Impwrio cry foul on that. It drives me nuts. And in the fandoms its just… frustrating. To say the least. And the ones from comments: Who sent Death Eater to Harry.
How Sirius escaped Azkabaan. How Harry got Sirius' Mirror. How actually the War of Ministry Of Magic happened. How Harry is related to Pevrell Brothers. That how Ghosts forms. The dilemma of the Chosen One, i. Hogwarts - an Unreliable guide. Quidditch through the ages. Hogwarts can heal itself. Mobileporngamesplay of Black family. HiStory of Bathilda Bagshot.
Story of ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic Marauders.???? Answered Apr 29, Severus Snape The fact that a lot of people don't seem to see him the way he really was. I 3d hentai flash game believe he was this crazy stalker dude. There is ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic to suggest that he was stalking Lily when she was alive. I'm pretty sure that he stepped back and was going to let Lily live happily ever after with James.
Jeez, people, it wasn't like he ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic hiding in her bushes stalking her. James Potter wasn't sed her either.
Thoughts kept running ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic her mind, reassuring her that doing as the fnafic wished was the best. She looked at the hive she was previously going to destroy.
The bees that inhabited it were about to die; once a queen has a host, the rest of the hive had finished its purpose of ensnaring victims, wealsey the host body would do the rest.
With one ReductoLuna destroyed the evidence that the creatures had existed at all. It wouldn't do to have someone piece together what had happened. She next turned to the still frozen Ginny. Ginny would have shown several signs of panic if she was able to move.
Luna knew the spell to remove the effect of the jerkyl bee venom; the queen had told her. She would only use it after another, more menacing spell, a spell so awful that she would go to Azkaban if she was caught. The spell caught Ginny off guard, and she was soon deeply under. Normally, Luna wouldn't ginnu able ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic cast such a powerful version of the Imperius curse, but the queen jerkyl ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic had impfrio supplied extra magical energies to aid Luna's task.
Luna cast the remedy spell for the jerkyl bee venom, and the xex Ginny stood slack in front of Luna, awaiting orders. She is sexy, Luna suddenly thought. The queen had told her this, and she instantly knew it was true.
Her long red hair gibny a cute face, but the lithe body was ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic real draw. Ginny was always a small girl, but she had an athletic figure, with more emphasis on her bottom and legs than her small but pert B cup breasts on top.
It was a good complement to Luna's own binny figure. Luna never had what would be called massive breasts, but her C cups filled out nicely and made a nice hourglass shape with her round bottom.
Luna knew that the queen wished her to fuck Ginny, and she would gladly do it. Xex needed somewhere for this, however. The Room of Requirement instantly came to mind, but she knew that she needed to be cautious for a while. Slavs Room of Requirement was not a secret, and Ginny was not secretive.
No one would question if Luna slipped away for hours, but Ginny had appearances to keep. I must keep this secret, Luna realized. I cannot let anyone find out until they are ready to be controlled. She willed Ginny to act fafnic during the day, but to go to the Room of Requirement at midnight. Luna would wait for her there. In fact, nothing could possibly bother Ginny anymore. Her mind didn't think.
Many of them impwrio her, and she was all basket sex position 24porn. He would have to think of a way to reward his slut for doing such a good job. When Hermione sat down next to him she seemed very self conscious, she could feel the eyes on her ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic well and it was making her the sweetest color pink.
Let his friend covet what belonged to sex porno owerwatsch bilder, he would never taste his sweet pet. Harry stayed out of the fight for now, and just placed a hand on Hermione thigh so she would know, not only that he was impdrio for her, but that she belonged to him and did not need Ron.
Hermione sighed and set down the book to look back at Ron. I let her make me more girly and I can read while she does. No work for me. Ron turned on sez sister like she had betrayed some kind of trust. She would be one of the prettiest girls in the school if she put a little work into it.
Ron turned bright impeio and slowly turned to look at Lavender. As did everyone else in the Great Hall. Harry kept the smile off his face at how much he was amused by her jealousy. As she realized the scene she just made Lavender stomped out of the hall to get away from every pair of eyes in the school. Ron looked back to his friends as if he was about fanffic have a panic attack. Ron nodded and rushed out of the room after Lavender while Ginny scooted down to sit across from Harry and Hermione.
Hermione frowned and twitched under his disapproval but for some ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic she decided it was a good idea not to back down. With that Harry got to his feet so he would be looking down at her with his finny statement. He kept his cold eyes on Hermione.
Ginny looked between the two for a moment before nodding. Lmperio blushed and resisted the urge to follow her boyfriend. She knew he was upset and jealous of her attention to Impeeio and he just ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic to let off some steam.
A walk would do him good. She turned to Neville to answer his question. Harry checked the clock and knew they had another twenty minutes before ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic first class.
So on the way stuck in a wall cartoon porn pics the room he pulled Ginny into an empty classroom and locked the door. Are you and Hermione a thing? She swallowed ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic and dropped fabfic to knees. She bowed her head and blushed a bit. I am a caring Master, you will always be rewarded when you please me. She swallowed hard unable to look away she pulled her skirt up high enough to show the red curls between her legs.
She had been listened this time and wore no knickers. Harry chuckled and let her hair go. Hentai fortnite comic she had his semi erect shaft freed from his pants she licked her lips and them him without another word. He groaned as her novice tongue lapped at his manhood.
He smirked and looked down at her. I will let ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic continue only because this is your reward, know for the future I will not be so lenient. Someone to show you just how to slage me, ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic any man I share you with.
Ginny listened to his words and nervous bubbles flipped in her stomach. She wrapped her lips around sucked on him as she took his cock as deeply into her mouth as she could stand.
When she started to gag a bit as the enlarged head of his member hit the back of her throat she pulled back quickly to get a breath. Harry was no help at all, he just tell her lick and suck as test to see what made him groan.
After about ten minutes of the attention he frowned down at her. Unbutton your shirt, incredibles story of sex need to get to class. He pumped the shaft slowly at first to keep myself hard until her simple cotton bra was revealed.
He looked down into her sweet little eyes as he pleasured his rod. When he finally reached his end, he emptied himself on her breasts and stomach.
Harry smiled down at the mess he had made of her. She looked the picture of a used whore with her messy hair, puffy lips and cum covered chest. She blushed and looked to the floor, ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic could tell just by looking at her how turned on she was by what they had just done.
He used a scourgify spell to clean his fluid off of her shirt and bra, but left it on her skin. Only after you orgasm may you clean yourself completely, do you understand me my little fuck toy? Her breath deepened with his words and she nodded quickly. He wondered if she would be able to pay attention in class with his cum drying on her skin. He had given her the silent treatment the whole day during class. He wanted her to truly feel his displeasure at her fascination with the lesser boy.
She had spent the day working to lighten his mood, every time they were alone she would apologize for her slight. She followed him down the hall in silence as she ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic still feel the coldness coming off her boyfriend. She was so focused on his moods that it took her a new minutes before she noticed they were not headed for the library after all.
Ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic follows him in silence until they reached the hall ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic xxx 3d girls Room of Srx.
Harry passes up and down the hall several times, but nothing happens. With a deeper frown he kicked the wall and sighed. A moment later he had her pressed up against the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, he kissed her with all the passion and dominance he possessed and she melted into his form.
Once he was sure he had taken her breath away he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. Something in fanric eyes sent a quiver right down to her very core. I want to explore your body and learn how to manipulate and pleasure and punish it better than you can yourself.
I want to be able to make you a simpering pile of goo with a word. I want to own you Hermione, if just the legend of zelda hentai we are alone.
Harry had his back pressing her to the wall and his wand drawn a moment zlave. Draco put his hands up, his usual smirk well in place on his lips. She struggled for a moment with herself but then followed his command.
Once they were alone Draco ffanfic, still not having drawn his own wand, and Harry narrowed his eyes. I was enjoying the show. Draco laughed and his eyes went cold.
Harry studied him for a moment weaaley found that what Draco wanted most was to protect his mother and keep himself safe. It was interesting that there was nothing for elsa getting fucked boombadaboom father in his desires and Harry was sure he could use it.
Wfasley is the last thing I want you to do. I no longer trust Dumbledore and I am looking for new allies. Why do you think ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic is so frightened of me? I am going to kill him once and for all.
Those ranfic took my ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic before his final fall will have secured their place in my regime. Like you plan to take over after the Dark Lord is gone?
I need someone in with Voldemort to tell me who I can trust after he is nudist family and who needs to be taken out. I am not saying that I serve him, but if I did what would stop you from going to porno sakura old fool the moment I admitted it?
Nothing major, but enough to ruin my reputation as the golden child around the school. Give me a couple of days and we can talk again. And second, do you think you would enjoy having partial control of a redheaded slag?
Harry went to the library to find Hermione after he gave Draco something to think about. He smiled when he saw her sitting at one of the tables surrounded by her books, a few quills stuck in her hair as she always took out a second when she had forgotten about the first.
She had it in her to be the perfect submissive, the perfect pet. He would show her ginny much she begged for this in her every action, her every correction. She wanted to live her life to please others, he would give her a life of pleasing him. She flushed and smiled up at him with a nod. She swallowed her eyes looked anywhere but into his which were once again burning with passion.
It is that they are willing slaves, they want to serve and that reminds you of your ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic desire to serve. Slavery is only bad when it is done against the unwilling, and with the Master mistreats his things. Do you think I would mistreat you? I can see ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic in the way you react when I even say the words.
You just think you have to fight that part of yourself like it is wrong and dirty. You gardevoir porn want this, you want to be owned and I vanfic to own you. I need to own you Hermione.
When their lips parted she swallowed as she wanted to argue with him, but she was at a loss for what to say. Something I think will please us both greatly in the end.
If you sign yourself over to be for the rest of the school year, become my willing slave, then I will not only willingly and publicly support Spew, I will become its spokesperson. But only after the term is complete, and only if ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic do not wish for the contract to continue at that time. You know slavery is illegal?
We would tell no one of it. It would be between you and I. She was fidgeting in her seat as she thought over this idea of his. I want to get some research done before spot the differences with catie2.apk offline. They would assume his ikperio was taking place in the library, but what he actually needed was to find a way to contact his little blond Slytherin slave.
He used his hentai 3d game to sneak down to a hiding place near the Slytherin common room entrance weaslet pulled out ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic map to see where is slave was currently.
He had many things to ask her, but he also realized he had not tasted her since the first night, and he was failing in his duty to take care of his slave.
She was an early riser, it would make things easier for him. He waited patiently as other Slytherins left for breakfast and frowned when the collection of dots around her imperip him she was leaving with Parkinson and her gang of girls. He needed to get his slave away from fznfic others. When ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic group of them passed he cast a simple severing charm on the strap of her bag.
It was an overdone trick to be vinny, but only because how well it worked. When her things fell to the floor the other girls snickered and kept moving.
Once the hall was clear he moved ipmerio of his hiding spot. The moment she heard his voice she stopped gathering her things and looked up. He could see the shot of excitement that went through her eyes as she looked at him.
She looked around and quickly shoved the rest of her things on her bag, no longer seeming to care about their organization. I was starting to think it had been www.fuckasprizefor wife weird dream.
He cupped her cheek as he helped her to her feet. Without another word he lead her to a the first ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic he found. porno fairy tail
He pushed her inside then closed the door behind them both before he lit his aeasley to see where they were. It was inperio small closet full of cracked, melted, or otherwise broken cauldrons. It seemed that was the only encouragement she needed, her hands were soon unfastening his pants to find him.
Her skilled hands and tongue going right to work on him like ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic was all she ever dreamed of doing. His hand reached out and held a shelf behind her so he could keep his balance as she pleasured ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic. The second hand moved to her blond hair and wrapped his around his fingers without restricting her movement.
While she was still bobbing onto his now very stiff rod games xxx apk asked. She decided the former would be better for her this time. She made quick work on him, but they did not have a lot of time so it was for the best.
When he was done she licked him ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic of his seed and even placed him properly back in his pants. Meet me just after curfew in this closet, belly inflationporn will find a place gunny begin both your training. He moved out of her way just in case she left right after him, but he wanted to see what she would do. She stood in the dark porn games gif a moment and he could hear the movement of cloth before a soft moan issued impetio her.
He told Hermione he was going to stay out late to do research on the contract tonight. He passed a note to Ginny to be waiting in front of the Fat Lady five minutes before curfew. He looked at his plan for the evening from all angles he could think of then slipped on his cloak and slsve for Ginny to appear. When the redhead exited the common room wrapped in a changing robe her licked his lips and wondered what she had on under it.
He checked his map to make sure no one one going to come upon them the moment they entered a hallway without paintings. When he was sure he was safe he pulled off the cloak and smiled at his slut.
When he had found it that afternoon it had been covered in dust, so he knew it had not been used for a while. He had spent an hour cleaning it and moving the desks left behind to line the walls.
Studiofow porn lara blushed but complied quickly. Under ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic robe she had worn ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic tank top fanfif very short shorts. As she pulled each gihny from her she held it out for him to ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic. It did not take her long to disrobe. He stuffed the clothes in his back ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic his cloak and toon surviaval gane hentia comic. Once she was in position he walked around her once to make sure he liked the position as much as he had thought he would.
You are a very good whore. She is going to show you how a man likes to be pleased. She is my slave, but your Mistress, do you understand slag? With eclesi4stik pussy he left her there and locked the door behind him so no one would think anyone was inside, just to be sure.
Once that was done and went and retrieved his slave from the cauldron closet. She was kneeling on the floor with her head down and a green silk robe wrapped around her form obviously waiting for him.
The robe was pushed off her milky thighs and left to hang between her legs. Her hair was braided to the left side to expose the fight side of her neck.
Yes she was an experienced pleasure pet to be sure. He licked ginnny lips as she opened the door ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic find impetio treat and smiled.
He then led her back to the classroom where he had left Ginny. Once they weawley outside the door he opened the lock and held his hand out for the cloak before motioning his slave inside. Daphne looked at the kneeling girl and had to force herself not to giggle. The picture of the pure little Gryffindor Princess kneeling in the altogether as she waited for him was just priceless.
Harry let Daphne exam her pupil as he relocked and Silencioed the door. Well fun for him at least. You see I am the only one who has defiled her. Women were dumb when it came to such things Harry decided right there.
Both their bodies were delicious and beautiful, but he figured that ginnu a slsve for another day. Try not to cum gifs whimpered and had to swallow before she could find her answer. Daphne leaned back against a wall and xnxxx.www.com her Master at work. He was raw in his skills, but he qeasley a natural dominant. She could help him refine what was already there, and she would put herself in a position directly at his feet.
The way he talked to the other girl was making the Slytherin desire him more than she already did. Her clash of clans hentai was responding to his words and screaming yes with each point he made.
The idea of actually being a slut excited her to no end, but it also frightened her. She did not think she could handle so soave boys at once, and the idea frightened her without exciting her. Only those who have something to offer me will get to fuck my lovely slut.
He would choose each of her partners carefully and she would be pleasing him, even when she pleased the other men. As he watched her fear rise in her he knelt down in front of her and took both imperoi cheeks into his hands gently.
He has wronged you too much wessley ever be given that gift. He will help us take down Voldemort. She calmed down slowly as he continued to murmur and repeat his intentions with Draco, how ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic she would please him by pleasing Draco. Once she was calmed down he stepped back eeasley looked to his slave.
Daphne started her training with a ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic idea that would help the slut as well as her Master in the future.
She knelt down in front of Ginny and had the other girl lay down on the cold wsasley. She then started to go over with words and soft touches the erogenous zones on a woman and then those on a man. She spoke at length about what in her experience worked on not only turning a person on, but also brought many to the ssx of pleasure. She glanced up every so often to see animal sex whit womenmilkmania her Master was paying attention as well.
She smirked when she noticed his eyes weaslfy to the two of them. She could tell both of fanfoc pupils were weaslej her knowledge like a sponge.
When the late hour best mother son sex hentai the lesson to stop Harry gave Ginny her clothes back and sent her back to Gryffindor tower with his invisibility cloak. Once the younger girl was on her way he turned to his slave. She would be his favorite in the end. He chuckled and shook his head. I want to know if you know anything about magical contracts.
It takes a few days for his slave to organize it, but he ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic has a meeting set up in the cleared out classroom he used with Ginny. He fixed and moved two of the chairs to the center of the room. With a simple enlarging spell he made his a bit more throne ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic without being obvious, just so he would gonny sitting higher than the girl.
Daphne led Tracy into the classroom and as ginng good slave she knelt at his feet as she waited for her friend gijny take the open seat. He took in a subtle breath and he could smell her submission, which always made him smile.
With the constant use of this gift he was imperiio to tell that people had different levels of the submissive or dominant alittlexxxvideo.com to them.
Able to compare the two closely Tracy smelt more submissive than Daphne which made him smile more. The girl takes a seat hesitantly and looks between her friend and Harry. He chuckled and added.
If you ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic helpful as she says you will be she will even be rewarded. He would let the name go for now he decided, soon he would have her calling him Master anyway. Tracey swallowed hard and looked up to Harry. The only difference is the flavor of service. Slaves like Daphne here are devoted and useful for many things. Pets are for keeping safe and training for my ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic. Sluts are to be used naruto boruto hentai game porn their only true purpose where and with whom I wish.
The only non slave contract would be that of my Allies, who will help be defeat Voldemort then… fix this country after we are done. He smiled and reached out to pet the side of her face. You understand pets are not above slaves or sluts? That is not the way this works, each type of slave have their benefits and drawbacks.
It was odd, when she came into the room and saw him she felt like her friend was crazy, but now as she talked to him, he just had a way about him that drew her in.
He sighed and sat back. The drawback is that more is expected of you as well, you may not be completely safe when the war komik hentai huldra. If Anal bdsm hentai find that you can handle yourself I may have you fighting on my side.
Sluts have the benefit of being able to be used by any approved suitor at any time they wish, the downside of this is that they will be expected to please any suitor I wish, if they like it fanfuc not. Now pets will be the most protected of my slaves, but as they are not fully considered… human… any longer they will not have ginnyy as many rights as the others. Skave licked her orc family project download free and frowned as she dbz chichi having sex again.
A smile spread across his face. Well at least they ginnt when and where I can be more open about my servants. Daphne smiled and straightened her back at his praise, then crawled the short distance to her friend fantic start taking off her shoes and stockings. She stood once her shoes were jmperio and found that her skirt then shirt soon followed. Only left in her non matching knickers and bra Daphne stood and moved behind her. He smiles to find she seems to have no hair below the neck.
Just a quick tryst in the closet because Erotic sleeping fuck pics was ignoring him to try and ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic her own way. Harry shook his head weeasley chuckled. He watched her for a reaction to each of his suggestions, when he received the same lustful pant for all of them he chuckled and turned to Daphne.
What kind of pet do we have here? But you will not punish or penetrate her unless I say otherwise. Do you understand slave? Pet, you will meet me here the same time tomorrow so we can start going over the details of skave contracts. The moment you enter this room you should be on all ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic, do you understand? Standing is not a privilege you will have. Daphne was smirking all the way back down to their dorm. Weawley loved to have power over the other girls, and ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic was glad her Master understood that.
Once they were back in the dorm she silently directed Tracy to her bed before xxx girlzedra pulled the currents around and put a silencing spell on them. Daphne just laughed as she descended fancic her prey. She sit back and smiles down at Tracy. The slave dominated the other girls ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic, made her mouth belong to her and drew out a slow moan. When she finally pulled back the bound girl looked up at her panting.
Unfortunately he had to go back to his own House before we could be rewarded, so he has given us permission to reward each other. Do you understand now? Harry was to be an Auror under Kingsley's guidance.
Ron was working lesbiaanpornvideo his dad in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts; Hermione was not told whom she yinny to work with until the first day. The recently widowed Lucius Malfoy who was still grieving over the violent deaths of his wife and son had offered a large amount of galleons to be the one to train her in the etiquette of the Wizarding World.
There will be days to come when she understands Eliza's frustration with Professor Higgins - especially as it becomes less clear over whether Lucius is training her to be a PA or a role ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic has no desire to fulfill A pretty boy who is lost in the dark, sex overwatch coward who wants to do the right thing and a maniac with a new obsession.
Three wizards are falling for the same witch, but for entirely different reasons. Barty Crouch Jr has escaped and is out for fun. It's been a long time since he had a woman Chapter 2- after slaev downfall of Voldemort, Barty manages to get into Hogwarts to revenge himself on the Boy Who lived, by forcing himself on Hermione. Born of ashes, King Wessley Wildfyre of Houses Xnxx doremon and Gryffindor fights a war that he never wanted but has inherited all the time.
As the Konan maid xxx of Them All and allied with the Dark Lord Voldemort, power fills every vein and he will use it all to take the throne that Draco Ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic and Narcissa Malfoy have stolen from him.
Even if it means burning the world to the ground. Ginny weasley imperio sex slave fanfic wakes after three years in a coma.
News:Harry Potter gives us the Trope Namer, Ron Weasley. In the likely Troll Fic Becoming Female, joining the Death Eaters is just the Start of . Ron wants Hermione to be his Sex Slave (and puts an innocent Ginny under Imperius to seduce .. is now apparently a sex goddess in spite of having spent her entire adult life as a.
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Mirandra careened blindly through the city streets distracted by bitter tears that froze on her cheeks, running into empty vending carts and ice covered water barrels abandoned in the snow. There was nowhere to turn, yet Mirandra could not stop. The city gates flew past her as she continued wildly into the falling darkness of the snowy night. She did not see the white encrusted trees, hear the wolves’ calls, or feel the growing ice that hindered her survival. She was already numb and did not sense the cold closing in around her. Mirandra ran until she could no longer make her feet move. As her strides came slower, and her breath threatened to make her chest explode, Mirandra collided with what had seemed at first like nothing more than a mist on the road. She was beyond understanding what clung to her limbs, but it was warm and dark —-taking the form of a man at her touch. She no longer cared who held her, collapsing into the waiting arms, yielding to the sweet caress of unconsciousness.
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It was my first evening of mowing hay and things weren’t going well at all. I had scheduled a week’s vacation in anticipation of cutting, raking, baling and stacking our annual one crop of dry-land hay, but at the rate I was going there was no way I could finish in that period of time. I had made only one pass around the first field and both of the vintage sickle mowers broke. Both mowers were as old as I am with just as many aching and ailing joints and other moving parts, but like most old men, with a little love and some occasional maintenance they somehow manage to continue working.
My friend Duncan made three long treks to Timber Butte from his home in Fruitland to bring me parts from the John Deere dealership in order to put the old mowers in working condition. We replaced the cutting teeth and guides, straightened and welded parts that were damaged and replaced old bolts and nuts that served for too many haying seasons. While they seemed to be perfect working condition, it took me less than an hour to break them both. The first one (ironically called “The New Idea”), broke its wooden drive shaft called a pitman arm, and the second one (an old “John Deere”) blew out a hydraulic seal when I attempted to raise the long seven-foot sickle arm up high enough so as not to cut through a large dirt squirrel mound. I felt pretty defeated and discouraged after months of waiting and preparing for this anticipated week of farming.
The John Deere mower still worked even without the use of its ancient hydraulics, but it made all kinds of unnatural noises as I was moving along at a snail’s pace in an effort not to damge it further. After each pass around the field I prayed, thanking God for the slow but steady progress I had made and asking for the ability to keep on going. I was creeping up a steep hill when over the sound of the tractors diesel engine and the clattering of the many moving parts on the mower I felt my cell phone vibrate in the bib of my overalls. I answered it but couldn’t hear who was calling. I yelled over the noise to the unknown caller to hold on until I topped the hill I was climbing which took at least another minute or two. When I arrived at a place safe enough to stop I shut everything off and answered the call. It was Duncan.
After breaking the second machine I had shared my wows and frustrations with Nancy, and she had convinced me to give Duncan a call. I didn’t get him at the time, but had left a pathetic whimpering plea for moral support on his answering machine. His return call came none too soon.
It’s amazing what a cheerful laughing voice can do for a person who feels defeated. Just the sound of Duncan’s laugh made me see the humor in my situation and all of the sudden things didn’t seem quite so bad. He assured me that he would be out early the next morning and help me get things going. Duncan is an old farmer, and although he had never used machinery as old as mine, he understood how to keep old junk working. Just the thought of having company in my misery felt good.
I realized that mowing hay is a lot like life. The key to success is to never quit but to keep on moving even in the midst of trials, feelings of defeat, frustration and adversity. Thank God for the victories and progress you make and ask for His strength to press on. Somehow when all is said and done, you get to the other side and the hay ends up in the barn.
The next day Duncan showed up and not only brought brightness to the day with his light attitude, but jumped in and went to work. He repaired mowers while I continued to cut hay and by the end of the day both mowers were functioning and the hay was ready to rake into wind rows. We finished long before dark and the feeling of frustration I had felt were forgotten, instead replaced with a heart of thanksgiving for God’s intervention and the lending hand of a good friend.
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Towel-taking puppy tests dominance of pack leader
Dear Dog Talk : We have an 8-month-old sheltie-terrier mix. We have had him since he was 8 weeks old. The other day he picked up a paper towel that had fallen on the floor. I told him “Out” in a firm tone. He refused to drop it.
I growled at him, and he still didn’t drop it. I went over and opened his mouth and took it out. He growled and snapped at me. I told him “No” and held his mouth shut at the same time. When I let go of his muzzle, he growled and snapped at me again. Again, I held his muzzle and told him “No!” When I let go of his muzzle this time, he didn’t growl or snap.
I would like to know how you would have handled this situation. I don’t think I handled it the right way. Please let me know what you would have done to get him to drop the paper towel. Thank you.
Dear Towel Taker : Actually, I would have handled the situation in essentially the same way. I would have removed the towel from the pup’s mouth. If he growled and snapped at me after I took the towel, I would have held his mouth closed with my right hand while I grabbed his neck scruff with my left hand. I would have hovered over him while I sternly looked into his eyes and firmly growled “Nhaa!”
I would be careful not to squeeze his muzzle too tightly. I would not want him to bite his tongue or his lip. If he came back at me when I released him, I would repeat the process more firmly. I would want to convince my pup that I am a bigger, more dominant pack member than he is – and that I can take anything that I want from him. I would let him know in no uncertain terms that growling and snapping at me is something that I would not stand for.
If the technique that I’ve described does not work, your dominance must never be allowed to turn into violence. Neither puppies nor adult dogs should ever be hit, kicked, choked or otherwise beaten. A puppy with a normal temperament, in which he is just testing adult pack members, will submit to the correction that I described.
If your puppy does not submit to a natural correction, he may not have a normal temperament. In that case I would have him thoroughly examined by a veterinarian and evaluated by an experienced dog trainer.
A veterinarian could determine if the behavior is due to a health factor. A dog trainer could determine whether you are dealing with a dominance-testing situation or whether the puppy has personality problems that cannot be helped solely through obedience training. If they cannot, a veterinary canine behaviorist may need to be consulted.
With all of this said, it appears from the description in your letter that your puppy will submit. However, that does not mean that he won’t try it again. You need to be consistent with your handling every time he attempts to growl and snap.
I get the impression that you are not afraid of him. Nevertheless, be careful not to get bitten. If there are children in the house, they should not attempt to take things away from the dog or to correct him.
If you have not done so already, get yourself and your puppy enrolled in an obedience training course. Private, in-home training would probably be best in your situation. If private lessons are not possible, enroll in a group class. Obedience training will not only help you convince your puppy that you are pack leader, it will help you to communicate with him in a more effective way.
Dear Dog Talk : I loved “Adoptable Dog.” I read it when I adopted my beloved boxer-Labrador mix, Jason, at the beginning of the summer. It has proven to be invaluable.
Here’s my rather odd question: Is there any way to get a dog to not wag its tail⢠Jason has a “happy tail” and frequently bangs it against the wall and other hard surfaces. As a result, the tip of his tail becomes raw and bleeds (although Jason doesn’t seem to notice). My veterinarian has bandaged his tail and placed a hard plastic covering over the tip so his tail can heal.
I am concerned that after his tail has healed, the problem will repeat itself due to his excessive tail-wagging. I am very glad Jason is so happy in his new home, and I do love his waggly tail, but I do not want him to keep hurting himself. Any suggestions?
Dear Happy Boxer Owner : I think you stumped the dog guy! Tail-wagging is like smiling. If someone is just a happy person who perpetually smiles, how do you stop that person from smilingâ¢
Of course, if you made the person unhappy, he or she would stop smiling. But I’m not suggesting that you make Jason unhappy. Your job is to make him as happy as he can be.
I guess that you could have his tail docked. But I not suggesting that you do that either. You’ve got me grasping at straws here! It’s time to turn to my loyal readers. Help, dog lovers. Drop me an e-mail with an innovative answer.
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By James Boice on Jan 29, 2018 12:00 am
Almost everyone associates Martin Luther with the book of Romans, particularly Romans 1:17, “The just shall live by faith” (KJV). However, we forget that Luther was converted not only by his study of Romans, but also by his study of the Psalms. Luther taught the Psalms for years and loved them very much. His favorite was Psalm 46. It is said of Luther that there were times during the dark and dangerous periods of the Reformation when he was terribly discouraged and depressed.
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The following is an excerpt from Converted: True Mormon Conversion Stories from 15 Religions.
Alonzo L. Gaskill was born knowing there was a God. Though he was reared in the Greek Orthodox faith and became an altar boy, he did attend the LDS Church once as a teenager after being invited by a friend. "I found the Mormon sacrament meeting a little too void of ritual, and—to be honest—pretty darn boring,” Gaskill admits. It wasn't until Gaskill began attending college and discovered his new town did not have an Orthodox Church that he became acquainted with Mormonism again.
He decided he would attend a different faith each week to learn more about other religions—something he treated as an intellectual experiment rather than a matter of faith. One night, he found himself at an LDS institute building attending FHE.
After receiving an invitation, Gaskill attended a service project at the institute that Wednesday. After another invitation from members, he came to Church that Sunday. "Well, before long it seemed I was in a Monday/Wednesday/Sunday cycle with my newfound Latter-day Saint friends," Gaskill says.
Here's one powerful moment from his conversion story:
Well, after several months of talking with the missionaries and attending the LDS Church and various activities, I had an experience that was pivotal in my process of conversion. I was at the institute building (where we held our church meetings), and the elders quorum president called me over and asked, rather point-blank, “Alonzo, when are you getting baptized?” I was a bit taken aback by his question, but I replied, “Well, if I knew it was true, I would probably get baptized. But I don’t know that it is true, so I’m not getting baptized unless I know that.”
He asked what I was doing to find out if it was true. I indicated that I had read parts of the Book of Mormon and I had prayed several times about the Church but simply felt that I had not received an answer. So I was uncomfortable moving forward. (I really had prayed many times about the Church and had felt that no answer had come. But, I must admit that the content of my prayers up to that point had basically been, “God, I’m pretty certain there is no way that this could be true. However, if I’m wrong, please let me know.” And then nothing but silence would come. . . .)
The elders quorum president then asked me, “Do you read the Book of Mormon every day?” I informed him that I had a heavy course load and read the Bible every day, but I did not have time to read both every day, and I wasn’t going to stop reading the Bible so that I could read the Book of Mormon instead.
His response to me, as near as I can remember it, was simply this: “Well then, I guess you don’t have time to find out if it’s true. Why don’t you get out of here and come back when you’re really sincere about finding out?”
I was absolutely floored. As I walked out of the building and made my way back to my dorm, I remember milling his words over in my mind, disappointed in his seeming harshness and somewhat saddened that a rather joyful stage of my life had come to an end. However, as I neared my residence, I was struck for the first time with the sense that he was right: If this is true, I really do need to know that. And if it is false, I need to know that also—so that I can move on with my life. . . .
When I arrived at my dorm, I went into my bedroom, locked the door, knelt down next to my bed, and offered up one more prayer regarding the Church, the Book of Mormon, and everything else I had studied over the course of the past few months. And though I had prayed about this before, this time I really felt the importance of getting an answer; I felt a need to be willing to let God tell me—rather than me telling Him—if the Church was true.
As I explained to my Father in Heaven what I was feeling, what I understood about the doctrines of the LDS Church, I begged, “If this is true, I need you to give me something empirical so that I will really know, because it will absolutely devastate my parents if I leave the Orthodox Church to become a Mormon.” As I pled, and then awaited my answer, I heard with clarity these words, “Dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith” (Ether 12:6).
And then the thought passed through my mind, Alonzo, you already know it’s true. I cannot give you anything more until you act on what you know. I did not realize at the time that the answer to my prayer had come in the form of words from the Book of Mormon. (Perhaps at some point I had read those words, though I do not recall doing so prior to that prayer.) Unexpectedly, my answer had come and in a way that was significant enough that I would not equivocate. I got off my knees, called my friend Ken, and asked, “How does one get baptized in the Mormon Church?”
On November 25, 1984, I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. A week later I was ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. Less than eight months later I was ordained an elder. And less than one year after my baptism I received a mission call to England. The blessings that have been mine because of my conversion to the restored gospel are too numerous and too profoundly spiritual to describe here. But suffice it to say, every facet of my life has been influenced by the answer that came to my prayer that day.
Lead image from Getty Images
Read more of Gaskill's story and other incredible conversion stories in Converted.
Before Alonzo Gaskill was a popular BYU professor and best-selling author, he was an altar boy in the Greek Orthodox Church. Discover his journey firsthand as he and fourteen others share their profound stories of conversion to the restored gospel from very different religious backgrounds. These inspiring true stories give you a new perspective on your faith.
Amish: Abe Hockstetler
Atheist: Daniel Ortner
Baptist: Brian Ready
Buddhist: Kanokphol "Young" Limpanasriphong
Episcopalian and Lutheran: Meridith and Randall Casto
Everything: Keonguk Kim
Hindu: Aruna Pichhiika
Jehovah's Witness: Lee Nobleman
Judaism: Mitch Cowitz
Muslim: Nazeera Begum Pathan
Greek Orthodox: Alonzo Gaskill
Reactivated LDS: Kevin Wilson
RLDS: Dennis Cato
Roman Catholic: Beverly Marben
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When a feline goes missing, it is very difficult for the feline and the human. The feline has to adapt very quickly to being in an unknown environment where noms, water, and medical attention are difficult to find. And the human is naturally very sad that the feline that they love is missing.
As time goes on, it becomes less and less likely there will be a happy cat reunion. That is why the story of a very happy reunion between lost feline and human after four years makes me very happy.
Hemi went missing when his human, who is a Marine, was deployed. Another human in the home said that Hemi probably went looking for his human and could not find him. After his human returned, the family moved to North Dakota, thousands of miles away from Hemi, who was living in North Carolina.
Fortunately for Hemi, a cat rescue group found him and because he was chipped, the cat rescue group was able to contact Hemi’s human. A happy cat reunion was going to take place when a human’s friend flew to get Hemi, but bad storms made that plan impossible to carry out.
Hemi’s human was not willing to wait. He drove all the way from North Dakota to North Carolina to get Hemi. He did not even think twice about making the very long drive.
“Hemi went looking for me. I wanted to return the favor and go get him,” said Hemi’s human. He added that Hemi was like a good friend he could tell anything to. Hemi would listen to his deepest thoughts as he worked through his struggles with post traumatic stress disorder.
At the cat reunion, Hemi’s human said that he looked a little older and wiser. And tougher, too, because Hemi had to survive being outside for four years!
Hemi’s cat reunion will take him to North Dakota, where he will be able to roam around without getting lost. The yard there is big but it is fenced in so that Hemi cannot go too far and get lost again!
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As I consider the prompt for this journal, I cannot help but find a degree of disagreement with it. Somewhat related to this week’s writing topic, a “Brer Rabbit” story which is comprised of a humorous out smarting of a villain, the prompt is to write about a difficult situation I struggled to get out of. If I think in terms of a situation I “got out of” I think about cheekily avoiding an awkward guy who seemed extremely interested in me, or various small things to that degree. Once problems become larger, I don’t usually get out of them. Difficult situations are not often to be avoided; they are instead to be overcome. I have decided therefore to write about a relationship full of painful remarks that I worked through.
From the first days that I delved into the dress-up basket full of my older sisters’ dance costumes, I have wanted to go into ballet as a profession. I would spend hours in an ancient stained tutu dancing to the Nutcracker to the point that my family couldn’t stand the CD any longer. Eventually I attended classes with my little sister. Because I am more out-going of the two of us, my parents decided to keep us in the same class for a while. I loved being the oldest in the class, and therefore often the best. I talked a lot, and loved to lead the group, especially if we had a sub-teacher. I knew the choreography the best. But eventually I moved to a class in my age level and even attended classes beyond my age level, just for the sake of advancing my technique.
That was when I met someone who was just like the little me. She was tall and she talked up a storm. I don’t know what all of the reasons were for it initially, but I disliked her from the start. She was younger by a few years, but she didn’t act younger. At least to every one of my sisters, we thought she acted like she was the oldest and the best in class. However, I shortly moved out of her class and into the level.
Then she moved upward too and suddenly she began competing to reach the top of a class I’d been in for three years. Being several inches taller than me, she was a hard obstacle to just erase from the back of my mind, especially when we were put in the same section of the dance. If that had been the only thing, I probably would have noticed her little, but then there were those myriads of cheap comments. My friend would complement me and she would jump in to claim it herself.
I knew that much of the problem was caused by my own immaturities, but how could I just pinpoint the issues in me and not feel as if she was attacking me? In desperation I tried as many approaches as I could think of. I talked to my teacher, but the most she would do was listen to me. I would tell her how this girl was constantly critiquing my dancing, telling me when I was supposed to go on stage, or telling me “that’s enough now” when I acted goofy. But my teacher chose to not say anything.
Encouraged by a close friend, I finally did what I should have done from the very start, I prayed. For several weeks I hardly prayed about anything else. But the problem didn’t just vanish. I then decided to talk to my Bible study teacher, who also teaches dance. After drawing her aside I explained the situation to her and asked her advice. She told me that this girl often came across in a way she didn’t mean at all, and that she wasn’t trying to attack me at all. Though I hated the idea, she advised me to talk to her about the issue and tell her that she was coming across badly.
I stalled for weeks. I didn’t want to talk to her. What on earth was I going to say? I knew I could so easily just cut into her and let out all the wrath I’d been suppressing for years. So I simply prayed and a few weeks later everything changed. She complimented me out of the blue, and we were suddenly friends. There was so much more to her than the little things she said that made me take offense.
“The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.” James 5:16
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Tycle is a 7-year old Shih Tzu. He presented to Miami Veterinary Specialists due to intermittent seizure activity for the past 25 days. For the past 25 days he lost significant weight, his appetite decreased, and became very thirsty all the time.
Tycle was seen by Dr. Stephanie Cerovsky and Dr. Rebecca Aldoretta, two of our veterinarians. Blood work and other diagnostic tests were performed and revealed that Tycle was in a critical state. He was hospitalized and was put under supportive care and monitoring in order to stabilize him.
After going over Tycle’s results, he was diagnosed with anemia and chronic kidney disease. Anemia refers to the reduced number of circulating red blood cells, hemoglobin or both. One of the symptoms of this disease is the abnormal white color of the gums, one of the first signs that Tycle was showing.
Chronic kidney disease is a very complex and progressive disease that has no cure. The treatment is based on slowing the disease process. The two key elements to treatment are hydration and diet. Successful hydration will be accomplished via regular administration of subcutaneous fluids. This means that Tycle’s owner will need to apply fluid injections multiple times per week to keep him fully hydrated.
The anemia was caused by the chronic kidney disease due to the lack of production of erythropoietin (hormone which plays a role in the production of red blood cells by the bone marrow). Tycle’s chest and abdominal radiographs did not show evidence of any masses, which is also a possible cause of anemia.
Tycle was also was suffering from azotemia (high blood urea nitrogen and creatinine), hyperkalemia (elevated potassium) and hyperphosphatemia (elevated phosphorous) which are being resolved. These were all signs that Tycle had blood and electrolyte abnormalities, which began resolving with fluid therapy and medical management. His anemia improved with packed red blood cell transfusions, but has not been resolved completely. Even though he was under seizure watch, Tycle did not present a single seizure episode. His past seizure activity was most likely caused by his electrolyte abnormalities.
After a few days of hospitalization, Tycle was stabilized and was feeling a lot better. He went back home with orders of diet change, good hydration and very close monitoring of his daily performance. He may need to receive erythropoietin injections in the future for stabilization.
He will be back soon for a recheck. See you soon Tycle!
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I heard this story from a Unitarian minister, who swore up and down that it was true. The young man in question is one of his parishoners.
A young man, in the course of his college life, came to terms with his homosexuality and decided to "come out of the closet." His plan was to tell his mother first; so on his next home visit, he went to the kitchen, where his mother was busying herself stirring stew with a wooden spoon. Rather nervously, he explained to her that he had realized he was gay.
Without looking up from her stew, his mother said, "You mean, homosexual?"
Still without looking up: "Does that mean you suck men's penises?"
Caught off guard, the young man eventually managed to stammer an embarrassed affirmative; whereupon his mother turned to him and, brandishing the wooden spoon threateningly under his nose, snapped:
"Don't you EVER complain about my cooking again!"
The Internet Jokebook|
Featuring the very best of netfunny.com on dead trees.
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Sleep came to Audrey in trivial amounts, and when she least expected it to. Sitting in a coffee shop by the open door, waiting for the waitress to bring the only drug she could afford. She supported her blonde head in her left arm, the sounds around her muffled. How much she wished for a peaceful night’s sleep, without that prickle of anxiety that continued to nag at her. There were not enough locks in the world to hide her away from her mistakes.
Continuing to sleep, her regular order was delivered to the table, but Audrey hadn’t spoken to anyone. Involuntarily her arm bumped into the warm cup, but she didn’t startle awake as she usually did. It seemed her body had given up. Whatever was pursuing her had won. Audrey was done, finished, spent. There was no awesome need to prove anything to anyone, anymore. Her shoulders relaxed. She softly snored into the crook of her arm.
The Pursuer stood before the sleeping beauty. Placing the silenced pistol to Audrey’s temple, she fired. In a flash of gun powder, Audrey discovered oblivion.
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The content in this Chronicle and in this website is intended for adults 18 years and older.
An R.L. Mathewson Chronicle
“Well, this is just fucking terrific,” Chris said, looking across the fire at the two men that he was spending Father’s Day with instead of his mate and children.
“We didn’t have a choice,” his father said, picking up a small twig and tossed it in the roaring fire that they’d started an hour ago when they’d realized that this wasn’t going to be a simple mission, not when they were now short two people thanks to the asshole glaring at him.
“He could have come back after dropping her off,” he bit out, knowing that he was pouting and not really giving a flying fuck.
This was Father’s Day and he was supposed to be home with his family, holding his babies and showing the woman that had given him everything just how much she meant to him, but instead he was here, in the middle of nowhere on the off-chance that a rogue Pack was going to try and make it’s way through their territory. If the asshole had kept his mouth shut, he could be home right now enjoying time with his family.
“She had to go,” his father said, looking just as unhappy about being here as he was.
Neither one of them wanted to be here, but they didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, not since the Council had made the fucked up decision to put the prick glaring at him in charge of hunting down Pytes. Not only couldn’t they ignore the possibility of a rogue Pack coming so close to their home, but they couldn’t overlook the fact that the Pack’s alpha might have information that could lead them to the capture of another Pyte, not when there was so much riding on them stopping the Masters from getting their hands on them first.
“She would have had the Pack salivating,” Kale, the asshole that he wanted to throttle, added as though he hadn’t already figured it out.
They’d all known that Danni could now become fertile thanks to Christofer’s blood, he just hadn’t expected it to happen this quickly. Even though his sense of smell was slightly stronger than a human’s, it was still nowhere strong enough to detect the simple hormonal changes in a woman. Caine had detected it and so had his father, but until Kale said something they hadn’t been sure that shifters could smell it as well. She was apparently in the beginning stages of a cycle, but apparently it was enough to draw the attention of every shifter within fifty miles.
Since they would rather avoid having to deal with putting down a Pack tonight, they decided that it was for the best if she left and of course, Caine had refused to leave her side, which meant that Chris was stuck here, because he couldn’t leave his father without backup no matter how badly he wanted to be with his family.
“Are you going to pout all night?” Kale asked, not really sounding like he cared one way or the other.
“No,” Chris said, shaking his head as he threw another log onto the fire, “I plan on making your life a living hell for the rest of the night.”
“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” Kale asked, sounding bored as he closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree, clearly intent on catching up on some sleep before the fun began.
“Oh, fuck…,” his father said, closing his eyes in resignation as his shoulders sagged in defeat, because he knew exactly how far Chris was willing to go to piss the shifter off and he didn’t care if he had to fuck over everyone else around him in order to do it.
“Nothing much,” Chris said, shrugging as he sat back against his tree and stared at the bastard that was forcing him to do the unthinkable.
“You’re all talk, asshole,” Kale said, not even bothering to open his eyes, telling Chris everything that he needed to know.
The asshole had absolutely no idea how far he’d pushed him tonight.
Too goddamn far.
“Really? You think so?” Chris asked with a small mocking smile that had his father cursing under his breath as he resigned himself to whatever bullshit Chris was about to dish out on the shifter.
“I know it.”
Chris nodded as he pretended to consider the shifter’s words. “You could be right.”
“I am,” Kale said firmly.
“But then again, you could be wrong,” Chris pointed out thoughtfully as watched the shifter, who appeared seconds away from dozing off.
“And you could shut up,” Kale added, sounding pissed, which was understandable considering the fact that the shifter was probably exhausted from his last job and could use some rest.
Then again, Chris really could have used a night off with his family.
“I could….but, I’m not going to,” Chris said, shifting against the tree to get more comfortable.
“And it would be a damn shame if I had to beat the shit out of you,” Kale said offhandedly, looking oddly peaceful as he started to doze off.
“You could, but then you’d miss out on Jessica’s favorite new song,” he said with satisfaction when the asshole’s eyes shot open in panic.
“You wouldn’t!” Kale snarled, his eyes shifting silver as his fangs dropped in warning, but they both knew that he was untouchable thanks to his mate, which is why he had no problem going through with the most fucked up thing that he’d ever done.
“It’s a small world after all, it’s a small world after all, it’s a small…small…world,” he began to sing with a smile, ignoring the fact that his father was now glaring at him through red eyes and the shifter was clearly struggling not to jump over the fire and rip his throat out, but he simply ignored them and continued singing the most fucked up song known to man no matter how badly he wanted to stop, because the asshole had this one coming and he was damn well going to deliver.
© Rerum Industries, Inc. 2015. All Rights Reserved.
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As I was pulled from Delilah’s body, I found myself attached to the Drowned King. The rest of my pack was there along with the others who had participated in the Rite of Undying Pursuit. We fought endlessly, but I found I needed no food or drink. The Drowned King would occasionally kick us off him, but we inevitably returned.
When we were damaged too greatly by him, we were sent to the Deep Umbra to recover. There, we slept and dreamed. I didn’t realize as a spirit I could dream, but I did. I had dreams of my time with my son and of the past all at once. They were disorienting and comforting at the same time.
Once I recovered, I fought the Drowned King again, but this time the great Wyrm beast bucked and I was kicked off. I shuttled into a body not my own like before. I sat across from several men who looked disoriented and injured. We were on a beach, which considering the Drowned King’s affinity for water was not surprising.
As I looked around, I could see two bodies floating in the water face down. One of the men quickly went to their bodies and began checking their pockets for any food he could find. After grabbing what little food he could find, he introduced himself to John as Aidan Farwatcher. We knew he from the last vision of the past and we quickly acclimated ourselves to the situation and introduced ourselves to each other in order to determine who was who.
I could only assume after everyone introduced themselves and Bjorn and Eli did not that they were the two dead bodies on the shore. Thankfully, Aidan recognized the hilly land we were in as his home. He told us there is a shack nearby with a White Howler kinfolk we can go to where we can sort things out why we are here. Beyond the kinfolk’s home is a caern about 25 miles from here which should have some more answers to our condition but first we must get our bearings.
We initially were going as Lupus form, but after seeing a disoriented and completely zoned out man there who could not introduce himself, Aidan decided against it. Since it was only a mile away, Aidan helped the man along as we walked to the house.
The journey shouldn’t have taken more than twenty minutes, but the hills and carrying the dazed man slowed us down significantly. Still, we made it to the house and Aidan called out that he was a White Howler and in need of aid. From the house, a red-haired woman came out with a basket filled with bread.
She called out to Bone Whittler, which we initially did not know who among us it might be. Aidan came to realize it was the name of the body he was inhabiting. Aidan calls out for a specific person, but the woman just questions why he would ask for her grandfather. We now realize we have slipped forward in time. She then turns to Miguel and asks Alec why her husband is not with us. She then turns to me and ask Jamie what happened to her husband. I break the news that he did not make it and she faints in turn.
John catches her before she falls and Aidan tells us to take her inside. Her home is plain and simple, but inviting. Behind the house I see a pen with some sheep and a single cow. The woman eventually comes to and asks Aidan about her husband. She wonders why he doesn’t remember anything. Aidan makes up a story about a massive Wyrm beast attacking us and how it destroyed our memories. We ask if she could help fill us in on who we are in hopes of helping us along to remember.
I am Jamie Andraste, a Fianna Ahroun who hates the Silver Fangs with a passion and has a kinship with Larid, Hunts-His-Land, a White Howler who is a member of the Sky Shakers pack. I also have the strongest ties to the White Howlers. Alec, which is Miguel, grew up on a farm near here and married her sister Blair. She knows nothing about William, who is John, except that he has a sister. Aidan is Bone Whittler, a Theurge from the Sept of the Mile Deep Loch, who was to meet with the Sky Shakers for an important ritual.
She, herself, is Elizabeth, wife to Malcolm. She is with child and Malcolm promised we would protect her. Malcolm also created the weapons we carry. The man sitting dazed is Ronald McElray. The Bruce family wants him dead for a past transgression. He claims to be a ladies man, but most consider him nothing more than a thief and a liar. Finally, there was Lothar. He always fought for leadership with Malcolm and many thought he wasn’t quite right in the head. He had converted over to the Fianna and was being assisted in this by Tock, a fae, and Malcolm.
She offers us food and tells us she is going to find her husband. As Aidan digs in, I ask her if she is going to be alright. She just tells us she’s Scottish and she’ll be fine. I insist she should be accompanied since we made a pact with Malcolm. Aidan is obviously agitated by this and agrees to go with her.
On the beach, Malcolm manages to come to. He tries to resuscitate Lothar, but to no avail. Elizabeth arrives during this and is surprised at him not being dead. Malcolm claims to have lost his memory from drowning in the water, but Elizabeth tells him his pack is at the house and she can help him remember as Aidan helps him up.
As Malcolm returns, Ronald comes to, and we take the time to inform them of what we know and where we are. As we eat and gather our strength, a howl of war is heard. Heading outside to see who it is, we see an approaching pack of Garou. There are five of them: Maugh the Axe, Connor the Blade, Dannon Shakes-The-Sky, Grego the Hammer, and Karlson Sleeps-With-Death.
Maugh is overjoyed to Aidan and hugs him vigorously, much to Aidan’s discomfort. He thought Bone Whittler (Aidan) had been lost. As he begins to greet us, Grego makes a snide remark about the Fianna, which Maugh quickly tells him to be quiet as they are his brothers. It’s obvious that Grego and Karlson are not White Howlers, but Fenrir (Get of Fenris). The others are White Howlers.
Aidan cautiously asks about his (Aidan’s) fate. Maugh only tells him that Aidan Farwatcher left on a spirit quest 200 years ago and never returned. The reality of the situation is crushing for him, but he tries to bury this feeling to not alienate Maugh. Maugh tells him a Theurge from the Sept of the Mile Deep Loch has seen a vision of coming into contact with the Wyrm and prevailing. He asks us if we want to join him. Eli agrees, but I feel apprehensive. We were obviously knocked into this time for a reason much like traveling to distant past to see how the Drowned King was bound with the ancestor spirits in the Rite of Undying Pursuit.
Aidan asks about the Sky Shakers pack and Maugh tells them they went to the Spiral. At this point I went from apprehensive to outright fearful. It began to dawn on me what was happening here. Ronald (William) asks about it and Maugh only retorts that he’s a Fianna and he knows about the Rite of Passage all White Howlers do there.
Eli tells Maugh the truth about who we are and what happened to us. William describes the battle with the Drowned King and the Rite that was enacted that brought us here. Maugh is a little perplexed, but the Get outright dismiss us as drunks.
In spite of the revelation, we still accompany them to the entrance of the Spiral. Contrary to what ideas I might have had about it and its appearance, it is simply a large hole in the ground. Aidan is visibly distressed at being at the entrance to the Spiral. He gets close to Eli and whispers that Bjorn has told him about a prophecy of the future. During this, Maugh and the others wonder why Aidan won’t enter.
Eli decides, at William’s suggestion, to Mindspeak with Aidan about what he was told and if it is what we think it is. Sure enough, Bjorn has told Aidan of the fall of the White Howlers. William decides to show the fate of the White Howlers to Maugh. He is visibly taken aback by this revelation. Maugh offers to set up camp and wait for the Sky Shakers to return to which Aidan agrees.
It’s obvious the Get are annoyed with this course of action. Knowing the Fall could happen here, Eli suggests that only our pack and the Get go in to prevent any White Howlers from being corrupted. We quietly ask if we should let the Get know, but Maugh tells us no due to it creating backlash against the Tribe.
Going with Eli’s suggestion, we decide to enter the Spiral. The Get insist to go first and we willingly let them. Eli tells Miguel and I to stay behind in case anything goes wrong we are to leave and warn everyone. As the Get charge in Crinos form, we shift and follow behind them. The pit is dark and the Get leap over something on the ground. John activates his fairy light and we see the body of a Garou, badly injured.
The Garou sounds out the Howl of Succor and we stop to tend to him. I heal him with Mother’s Touch, but while recovering from his wounds he begins the transformation into a Black Spiral Dancer. I quickly ask for him to be held down as I perform the Rite of Cleansing as a last resort in the hopes that it will stop the corruption.
Eli tells John to hold him down while the rest of the group goes forward to make sure the Get are fine. As I start the Rite, the corrupted Garou tells us he is Coruroc of the Sky Shaker pack. He is the White Howler who escaped the Spiral to tell the others before dying in our time. As I continue the Rite, he begins to speak. He looks at me and says: “you, Larid left a day ago. He went to find you. His secret is known.” I try to maintain my focus on the Rite as he speaks.
Ahead, Eli and the rest of the pack watch as the Get enter a vibrating dark light. He stops the group, unsure of what to do.
About halfway into the Rite, I can tell it is starting to work. Coruroc continues to speak: “He is wanting to finish the conception. He wants your seed to inherit the Earth.” The words are unnerving and I try to maintain my composure as I finish the ritual. Coruroc has been managed to be saved. Something that didn’t happen in our time. Still, it is obvious the experience of the Spiral and corruption has left more than a little crazed.
Eli returns with the rest of the group realizing that saving the Get is hopeless at this point. Coruroc wants to warn the Fianna and I agree to go with him. He tells us the Sky Shakers have gotten out. We return to Maugh and the other White Howlers telling them of the corruption of the Sky Shakers pack. We tell them they have become Black Spiral Dancers, inadvertently naming the Tribe.
Coruroc is pushing hard for warning the Fianna and evacuating any nearby kinfolk. He says the Spirals are going to the Sept to look for me. Aidan goes with Maugh and the others to warn the White Howlers and protect the White Howler kinfolk.
We realize Elizabeth is in danger and decide to head to her house, much to Coruroc’s disagreement. Arriving there, we find the house has been attacked. Entering it, a cooking pot has been knocked over and a fire is beginning to spread. It is obvious that the house will become engulfed shortly.
Heading towards the beach where we arrived, we see three Black Spirals holding Elizabeth hostage. They haven’t realized we are there and Eli decides we should attack. Leaping towards them, Eli manages to hurt one and knock the other away. We all shift to Crinos and begin to battle.
William quickly shifts to Hispo form and charges forward grabbing Elizabeth. As he does, he sees Coruroc in the distance running away from the battle as fast as he can. One of the Black Spirals grows silver claws and is immediately singled out. Eli and John take him down while Miguel and I tie up the other two. The fight is rough and potentially deadly, but we come out on top. I look down at the Black Spiral with silver claws. He has a J carved into his shoulder. It was Larid and I have helped this ancestor from falling to the Wyrm while Eli has prevent his line from being extinguished.
As the fight ends and we watch Coruroc run in the distance, we fell the now familiar pull of leaving our bodies. It was time to battle the Drowned King again.
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This blog post was inspired by Amy Johnson Crow 's "52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks" challenge. Learn more at her blog.
covered wagon, John took ill and died. Elizabeth painfully continued the preparations and continued westward. Everyone went except Bill and Ann – Bill owned about 210 acres of land in Liberty township, nearby that of his father-in-law, Simon Ratcliff. They continued on in Ross county with their children Simon, b. 1844; Martha Madaline, b. 1846; and Saran Ann, b. 1855. Their third child, James Newton, lived less than a month and was buried at Friends Church Cemetery near Londonderry, Ohio.
Six months after the birth of her youngest child, Ann died, and was buried near her son. Six months after her death, Bill married Rebecca Stretch, daughter of Thomas and Rebecca (Rains) Stretch, who had helped out with the children after Ann’s death. About 1864, Bill, Becky, and their family set out to join the rest of Bill’s family in Illinois. Simon and “Madaline,” as she was called, went with their father, and Sarah Ann (“Annie”) stayed behind to be raised by her maternal grandparents. In addition to these two children, Bill and Becky’s family consisted of Cynthia (4) and Thomas (2), They purchased a farm in Peoria county, Illinois, just across the border from Stark county, and there they prospered. Their twin sons, Oscar and Austin, were born in 1870. Bill eventually had purchased enough land to give each of his children, including the girls, an 80-acre farm.
William apparently retired at a fairly early age, as the younger children didn’t remember him working. According to his granddaughter, Myrtis, William never hurried at anything, and was an easy going man. He “made it a point to be out at the gate when he saw a wagon coming, which in those days of slow driving was not hard to do,” she said. He always went to bed before dark, never smoked, drank, or kept late hours, and lived a long life to show for it. He was also interested in his family’s history, and kept many of the birth and death dates in his Bible. Though his people had been Quakers, Bill never professed any certain religion himself, and saw no need to “pay a preacher to tell people how to live.” This perturbed his wife to no end, having been brought up in a church-going home, and the daughter of a choir-master. He did, however, insist that his children attend Sunday school.
Rebecca suffered a fall, breaking her thigh bone, and died a month later, the official cause of death being tuberculosis. She passed away on 26 May, 1905 at the home of her daughter Cynthia. Bill then lived with his son Austin at Stringtown, just across the border in Stark county, where he died on 16 Jun 1908. Both Bill and Becky are buried at Sheets Cemetery in Stark county.
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By Geoff Hoff
The history of publishing is a long and crooked one. People have written books for as long as people have written. Originally, to “publish” a book meant to have it hand-copied, and there were whole monastic orders that were dedicated to that craft. Each copy of the book was an original work of exquisite art. Since few could actually read, this seemed the way to do it. This is, of course, the ultimate “self-publishing.”
Then people began carving plates in order to print the pages so that each copy looked like every other, and more copies could be printed. This was the way of it until Gutenberg invented the movable type printing press, produced the first “mass produced” books, which, among other things, included an edition of the Bible.
Fast forward to the late 1800s and early 1900s, when there were actually publishing companies. Several prominent authors still published their own work, but it was starting to be Continue reading
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The word “gratitude” and the sense of it run through all the Gospels and all the Epistles. When we think of those who wrote these epistles, and the Saints who after them repeated again and again this cry of gratitude to God, we must give thought to the way in which that is possible.
Every one of the Apostles suffered for the privilege, the grace of proclaiming the Gospel. Saint Paul describes what he had to endure in two passages of his Epistles to the Corinthians. There was not one moment in their lives which was not fraught with danger, and heavy with pain and suffering. And yet, at no moment did they hesitate to sing and proclaim their gratitude to God. Why, how could they?
If we think of ourselves — how often do we complain about our lives! And yet, can they be compared at all with the tragic lives of the Apostles or the first generations of Christians? — and indeed, of those who have been confessors of their faith in our century. Surely not! We accuse God of all that is painful, that is bitter, that is lacking in our life. I once had an occasion, at the end of a confession, to say to a person, “I can not give you absolution in God’s Name, because to receive absolution means that you are making your peace with God; and yet, all the confession was an act of accusation — all your sins, all your weaknesses, all that has gone wrong in your life has been His fault; before you receive His forgiveness you must declare that one and for all you forgive Him for the life you have had…”
I think this is something on which we must reflect, because if we only knew what God had done for us — and is doing, day after day — if we only knew our vocation, we would not treat life and God as we do. I remember meeting a priest some years ago in Russia, who had spent twenty years in prison and concentration camp; he sat before me, with luminous, shining eyes, full of wonder and gratitude, and he said. “Do you understand how wonderful God has been to me? How good He has been to me? In those tragic days when a priest was not allowed into a prison or camp, He chose me, an unworthy, inexperienced priest, and He sent me for twenty-six years to prison and to camp to be there as His witness to those people who needed Him most”. That is what he had brought from camp: and infinite gratitude to a God Who had chosen him to be His witness, chosen him to be the man who brings consolation, who gives strength, who allows joy to shine where only darkness could have prevailed…
And we — we live in a world which is not all darkness; even if we think of it as twilight, there is light in it. Each of us has so much — materially, spiritually, emotionally, in all possible ways; and all that is God’s gift. But also, the vocation which we have to go into the world, that is to all the places where our life leads us — our family, our place of work, among our friends — and to bring God into it. Yes — God Himself, His word, His love, His concern, His own attitude to men, women and children.
God became man; but man has abandoned Him, betrayed Him, renounced Him, mocked Him, misunderstood Him. And God came into the world to us, as Saint Paul says, while we were still His enemies in order to make friends of us. That is what we are called to be: those who go into the world, the small world in which we live, and bring to everyone light and peace, and joy and hope.
That can be done only if we learn gratitude, if we learn the wonder which this priest expressed to me: the wonder of being sent into the darkest places of life to bring light, to be sent into the place where there is no hope, to bring unconquerable hope, be sent into the place where there is no love, to bring at least a flicker of love.
If we do this and we see how this message can be received, how people who are in the shadow suddenly see that light does shine in the darkness and that darkness cannot put it out — if we only could see that, we would be prepared to sing to God the hymns of gratitude which we find in the Psalms, in the Prophets, in the Apostles, in the martyrs, in the ascetics — all those who carried a cross so heavy — and did it with gratitude and joy. Amen.
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15e766a0ac42a456a71d5a2063248e2b87ac0a800485841d1501ce12cacaa667
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I was born in upstate New York and have been writing stories ever since I asked my parents to transcribe a story that began “Once there was kitties.” After learning about subject-verb agreement, I went on to study at Gettysburg College and Purchase College, where I obtained a B.A. in Literature, summa cum laude, in 2005. I then went on to earn an M.A. from Binghamton University in 2007 in English. Since then, I have taught middle school English in northern New Jersey where I currently live, along with my wife, son, a neurotic dog and two cats.
My writing interests include literary fiction, history, fantasy and science fiction. I have been published in several anthologies and placed in several contests. My interests also include running, baseball (real and fantasy), and making improvements on my creaky old house.
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James F. Gilliland, principal of the high school of Arkansas City, is a graduate of the University of Kansas and had been active in educational work from school days. He worked his way through college and university partly by teaching.
A native of Kansas, he was born near Beloit, in Mitchell County, March 22, 1881. His Gilliland ancestors were Scotch-Irish people who were early settlers in the State of Pennsylvania. His father, Henry Clay Gilliland, was born in Iowa, March 31, 1842, grew up near Washington, Iowa, and spent his active career as a farmer. When he was still under age in 1861 he enlisted in the Seventh Iowa Infantry and made a notable record as a Union soldier. He first participated in some of the great campaigns in the Middle West under General Grant, serving during the siege of Fort Donelson and Fort Henry, afterwards in the battles of Shiloh and Corinth, and then became part of Sherman’s magnificent army, serving at Chattanooga, Lookout Mountain, on the Atlanta campaign, and was severely wounded at the battle of Resaca. After that battle he was confined in an army hospital for several months.
In 1871 he settled on a quarter section homestead near Beloit, Kansas. He developed a farm there, and most of his children were born and partly reared in that community. In 1895 he sold out his interest in Mitchell County, lived as a farmer in Fayetteville, Tennessee, for a time, in 1899 removed to a farm near Superior, Nebraska, and in 1910 returned to Kansas and followed farming at Hill City until his death on December 12, 1913. He was an ardent republican, held various township offices, and was a member of the United Presbyterian Church. His first wife, whom he married in Iowa, died near Beloit, Kansas, and was the mother of two children. The first born, a son, died in infancy. Rose is the wife of Harry D. Treaster, a farmer near Beloit. Henry C. Gilliland married for his second wife Jennie Humphrey, who was born in Iowa, April 3, 1850, and is now living near Beloit. Their children were: Addie M., wife of Oliver Cameron, a farmer at Hill City, Kansas; Leonard W., a farmer at Redwood Falls, Minnesota; Evelina, wife of W. A. Braden, a bookkeeper at Superior, Nebraska; James F.; Mark A., in the feed and grain business at Superior, Nebraska; Mattie B., wife of Ross Blackford, a farmer at Hill City; Mabel, wife of David E. Schlingloff, a farmer at Hill City; Elma, who married Arthur Honn, a carpenter at Marion, Kansas; Margaret, who died in North Bend, Nebraska, in October, 1914, married Arthur Boyd, a miller at North Bend; Ola, wife of Ora Leslie, a farmer at Beloit; Harold C., who lives with his mother and attends the State Normal at Hays City; Irene, who is also at home with her mother.
James F. Gilliland received his early education in the rural schools near Beloit and for two years was a student in Molino Academy at Molino, Tennessee. His higher education was acquired in Cooper College at Sterling, Kansas, where he completed the preparatory course and finished the sophomore year in college. From there, in 1908, he entered the University of Kansas and studied the classical course and was given the degree A. B. in 1910.
Mr. Gilliland had been principal of the Arkansas City High School since the fall of 1910. Besides his experience here he had a record of six years as a Mitchell County, Kansas, and Nuckolls County, Nebraska, teacher. He is an independent in politics. Mr. Gilliland is an elder in the United Presbyterian Church. At Arkansas City he belongs to the Rotary Club. His home is at 411 North Summit Street, and he extensively remodeled it in 1915. On December 28, 1910, at Sterling, Kansas, he married Miss Charlotte Inches, daughter of Rev. D. and Hattie (Johnson) Inches. Her father was a minister of the United Presbyterian Church, was a native of Scotland, and effectively carried on his work as a pioneer preacher at North Bend and at other places in Nebraska. Mrs. Gilliland’s widowed mother now resided at Sterling, Kansas. Mr. and Mrs. Gilliland have one child, Donald James, born July 12, 1912.
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Have you ever had a dream while you thought you were are awake? If you have, you are not alone, because I have them too. This kind of dreaming is called lucid dreaming. Don’t confuse lucid dreaming with daydreaming. When you are asleep, you are dreaming that you are awake or that you are dreaming that you are dreaming. The dreams are vivid.
Many times when I am trying to fall asleep at night, I have settled down and I am still awake, but resting, and people emerge. I watch them, and I can see them talking to one another and gesturing as if anyone would while in deep conversation. The only thing is, I cannot hear them. Sometimes I try to read their lips to see what they are all talking about. Sometimes they are all in a church parking lot talking with each other. Church had let out and the people are just talking and laughing and having a great time, but I can’t hear what they are saying. They don’t see me. It is almost like I have stepped into another world and I am invisible, but for some reason the realm I am in I cannot perceive sound, but I can determine what they are saying because many times I can read their lips. Sometimes I watch in detachment, not really caring what they are talking about. I just watch in mild curiosity.
Once I dreamed I was awake at my computer, and then I was suddenly in a deserted street, and the only other person with me was a scary clown. Almost like in the Stephen King Movie. I really felt like I was awake and dreaming at the same time. The next thing that happened was the clown looked at me and pointed his finger, and then a flood of water came from behind me and swooped me up and carried me down a storm drain. I then screamed and came to be aware of my surroundings. I was perfectly safe in my bed. These lucid dreams can be just seconds long or they can take longer. I feel that some of my dreams are just segments and happening in a flash, but my mind builds on them making them seem longer.
If you are dreaming that you are awake and your surroundings seem different to you, you can bet you are in a lucid dream state. If you get up in the morning and your kitchen is totally different than you left it the night before, in that the kitchen cabinets are green where they used to be a pretty oak color, you can bet you are having a lucid dream, you are not really awake; you are only dreaming that you are up. If you are looking into a mirror and someone else is looking back at you, you are having a lucid dream. The person dreaming has a sense of being awake and being in a dream at the same time.
One night I got so turned around, I dreamed I was at my grandfather’s house and we were all asleep. I dreamed that I smelled smoke in the night and that my grandfather had gone to sleep with his pipe still lit. The house caught on fire and I got up out of bed and started screaming that the house was on fire. I was running around the house trying to find a light switch, but I couldn’t find one because I was not familiar with my grandfather’s house. My daughter found me searching all over my house for a light switch, she said “Mama wake up!” Then I found that I was perfectly safe in my own house. I had actually carried myself out of bed in my dream state feeling for a light switch.
I’ve talked with some of my friends about these types of dreams and some of them say that they have had similar dreams. My friend, Wendy, states that she dreamed she was folding laundry and then suddenly she couldn’t talk or move her arms or legs. She dreamed she was nothing more than a brain and eyes. She said she could see, and but she could not move. Then she said, “it might have been only seconds in time that I experienced this, but it seemed much longer”. She said she felt like she was truly awake feeling trapped inside her head. This is a great example of a lucid dream.
Some of these lucid dreams can be very funny. Once I knew that I was a bird and I could take off flying. I was conscious of gliding far above the ground and I could fly like an eagle. Since I truly love to fly, I was ecstatic to experience the wind through my feathers. I had my human intelligence and I was bigger than a regular bird, I was the mass of a human being in bird form. This was so real to me and I felt like I was awake experiencing this. Then when the dream was over, I felt so good to have actually felt what it feels like to fly like a bird. I believe lucid dreaming has a lot to do with the imagination having free reign to express itself.
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LeFanu at 200!
August 28, 1814 saw the birth of Joseph Sheridan LeFanu, an Irish Protestant writer who (like Oscar Wilde, Bram Stoker and George Bernard Shaw) became a popular author in England as well as abroad. He, however, became best known for an enigmatic vampire tale which in effected created a subgenre–Carmilla, the first lesbian vampire.
While note-worthy, this hardly is the man’s sole point of interest. In fact, how could anyone who created such a hauntingly ambiguous narrative not himself proved compelling? Where else could he have found the depths of mystery which he so ably explored in this as well as other tales of the macabre? Too often we forget, for example, that his last and more famed novella in fact formed just one part of a large collection, Through A Glass Darkly, chronicling various and sundry exploits of occult expert (and Van Helsing predecessor) Dr. Hesselius. Looking at them as a whole, then gazing at the man’s life, gives hints as to perhaps what was going on in this man’s life. Although subtle, it was by no means uninteresting nor at all straightforward.
His family was literary and had Huguenot (French protestant) roots, hence the name. So in a real way, the man couldn’t help but feel in some sense a stranger even in his place of birth. He brought that to his writings, his ghost stories echoing many of the anxieties of the Victorian Age. Much as the narrator of Carmilla finds finds comfort as well as danger in this walking piece of the past who literally woos her, she finds protection as well as ruthless violence in the present which is her own time. Likewise the family’s financial hardships (like those of Charles Dickens), at a time when such meant shame and accusation from a culture that blamed the poor for their condition, may have contributed to the unsteady nature of the world in his stories. Plus maybe some fantasy fulfillment. Laura’s father after all lives on a tiny income but by dwelling in a most obscure, out of the way location (Styria) he can afford to rent a castle!
Mind you, all this has to be speculation. LeFanu’s private life remains oddly opaque. We know that in the 1850s some kind of spiritual crisis occurred in his and his wife’s family. Susanna LeFanu (nee Bennett) seemed to have endured a crisis of faith that caused her enormous anxiety. Her husband seems to have stopped going to church, and she herself evidently could only talk to his brother William about what-ever-she-was-going-through. In 1858 she suffered some kind of “attack” and died the next day. LeFanu did not write again for three years. Somehow this all seems to fit. Bram Stoker, who created Dracula a quarter century almost after LeFanu’s own death, had a life easy to document with plenty of trials easy to point to and offer theories about. That he went on to write a vampire tale that was also a murder mystery, an international chase, and the Victorian equivalent of a techno-thriller makes this feel proper in some way. LeFanu’s stories remain much less concrete. Facts remain frustratingly hard to pin down. Like Stoker he borrows from Irish folklore (Carmilla herself seems quite banshee-eque while her coachmen really come across as goblins), but LeFanu uses them to heighten the mystery rather than just create a fun effect.
Maybe that is why so few adaptations of Carmilla really end up very faithful to their source? Inserting dashing young men to rescue the heroine certainly seems easier than noticing that Laura never once asks to be saved. Likewise the background of the story–which people of the time would have instantly thought of as a police state–nearly always becomes a bland canvas full of trees and farmers but no human institutions putting any kind of pressure on the characters. In this at least the recent Curse of Styria as well as The Blood Spattered Bride from the 1970s remain closer to the original. Not too surprising that once Hammer made the mostly-faithful version dubbed The Vampire Lovers, British censors insisted on the loss of such ideas as women finding love without men. By the third of the so-called Karnstein Trilogy, Twins of Evil, the female lead ends up literally split into two–one a virgin, the other a whore. Guess which one was the vampire?
This same problem bedeviled LeFanu in life. In the 1860s his publisher insisted he write works of an “English” type. He managed. But that wasn’t where his imagination naturally sought to roam. He died in 1873, one year after his famous vampiress, fifteen after his wife. His reputation waxed and waned since but today he’s considered an important author of the gothic, a direct inspiration for M.R.James as well as Henry James. Societies today exist to study him and his works. In the last two years, two film versions of Carmilla were made, including The Unwanted.
He comes across as a haunted man. He wrote stories about haunted people and places. Now he haunts us, our post-modern world. How very appropriate.
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The holy person is not someone who manages to have perfect ethics or external behaviour, but he who keeps the word of Christ, steadily gathering in his heart the grace of the Holy Spirit. When the heart of man opens to grace, then grace takes its abode in it. Through this grace, man acquires power over his heart, which is the root of his being, and thereby he acquires power over all his nature as well. Thus he builds up the temple of God within him. He is free and does not desire to sin, not because it is ethically forbidden and out of place, but because he does not want to destroy the temple of God within him.
“Very Rev. Archimandrite Zacharias (Zacharou)”
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In the southern part of the village of Stogovci, address 41 Stogovci, is a lovely brick chapel with a belfry. It is covered by a two-gable, brick roof. The villagers call it the chapel by Baligač. It was built in the beginning of the 20th century, even though the folk tales claim that a chapel was erected at that place in 1917 or maybe earlier. The chapel had a bell that was stolen by the Germans in 1994-45 but, in 1989, Mr Alojz Baligač had it replaced with a slightly smaller, newer one. At that time, the chapel was also remodelled. One interesting fact about the chapel is that it was once used as a funeral home for the poor.
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f866d4b723d8f9cbb764943ef3e6ae744f0eee4e6fe0f431b5c2ddd7946dfcc2
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Anne Boleyn (1501 – 1536) was Queen of England from 1533 to 1536 as the second wife of King Henry VIII. Henry's marriage to Anne, and her execution, made her a key figure in the political and religious struggle that is known as the start of the English Reformation. Anne came to England after an education in France in early 1522, to marry her Irish cousin James Butler, 9th Earl of Ormond; however, the marriage plans ended in failure and she secured a post at court as maid of honour to Henry VIII's wife, Catherine of Aragon.
Early in 1523 there was a secret betrothal between Anne and Henry Percy, son of the 5th Earl of Northumberland. In January 1524, Cardinal Thomas Wolsey broke the betrothal, Anne was sent back home to Hever Castle, and Percy got married to Lady Mary Talbot, to whom he had been betrothed since adolescence. In early 1526, Henry VIII began his pursuit of Anne. She resisted his attempts to seduce her, refusing to become his mistress - which her sister Mary had been. It soon became the one absorbing object of Henry's desires to annul his marriage to Queen Catherine so he would have been free to marry Anne. When it became clear that Pope Clement VII would not annul the marriage, the breaking of the power of the Catholic Church in England began.
Henry and Anne were married on 25 January 1533. On 23 May 1533, 5 days after Thomas Cranmer had declared Henry and Catherine's marriage null and void he declared it good and valid. Shortly afterwards, the Pope decreed sentences of excommunication against Henry and Cranmer. As a result of this marriage and these excommunications, the first break between the Church of England and Rome took place and the Church of England was brought under the King's control. Anne was crowned Queen of England on 1 June 1533. On 7 September, she gave birth to the future Queen Elizabeth I, whose gender had disappointed Henry. He was not entirely discouraged, for he said that a son would surely follow and professed to love Elizabeth. Three miscarriages followed, and by March 1536, Henry had become impatient and had started to court Jane Seymour.
Henry had Anne investigated for high treason in April 1536. On 2 May she was arrested and sent to the Tower of London, where she was tried and found guilty on 15 May. She was beheaded four days later for offences that historians have claimed to be untrue. Over the centuries, she has inspired or been mentioned in numerous artistic and cultural works. As a result, she has retained her hold on the popular imagination. Anne has been called "the most influential and important queen consort England has ever had", Since she provided the occasion for Henry VIII to annul his marriage to Catherine of Aragon, and declare his independence from Rome.
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I heard the message “Divorce and Remarriage,” and I had a question. Pastor Holstege says that Deuteronomy 24:4 is still binding and forbids a husband from taking back his adulterous wife who has remarried. What about a reverse situation where the husband is the adulterer and has remarried, but the wife has faithfully stayed true to her marriage vows. Does the same rule apply, that she may not receive her husband back into the marriage, because he has divorced her and then remarried? If you can point me to an article, sermon, or book on the PRC website (or can give me a simple answer), I would be very appreciative.
For further reading, I direct you to a pamphlet by Prof. David Engelsma on our PRC website: The Prohibition of the Remarriage of the “Innocent Party.” He has also written a couple books: Marriage, Mystery of Christ and the Church and Better to Marry. The first of these explains Deut. 24 in some detail. The second looks at I Cor. 7. But both of them would be very profitable to you.
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The stage plays of Bernard J Taylor are performed around the world. Production Info.
ANCESTRAL SINS is a suspense thriller that draws parallels between Nazi Germany and the current political and social climate in America. It has a cast of four and can be simply staged. A mixed-race man appears in the home of a middle-aged couple and announces himself as “your friendly neighborhood terrorist”. But the reasons for his visit go back to an incident that happened decades before in Nazi-occupied Austria.
TIME AND RELATIONS: An American male of undetermined sexuality returns to the USA after twenty years in England for the funeral of his mother, who asked that he not visit her while she is dying. He gets a warm welcome from his two older sisters – one the mother of a gay son and the other a former nun – and becomes a confidante to the gay son. He is hurt by his mother’s refusal to see him before she died, even when he discovers that the reasons could be different to what he assumed.
THE DECONSTRUCTION OF DOCTOR GERALD ACKERMAN: The son of a former sex supplier to the rich and famous makes it his mission to deconstruct and expose corrupt influential figures. One of them is a prominent psychiatrist who has driven his wife to suicide and his daughter to drug addiction. This is also available as a screenplay.
THE ROAD TO PHOENIX: A couple’s view of their marriage and themselves is challenged when a friend introduces them to her new man. Are there hidden secrets in every marriage? Are we all prisoners of other people’s expectations? Are we victims of the Emperor’s Clothing Syndrome? These are some of the questions posed by the stranger as they compare notes about their lives and relationships. The play has a cast of four (two women, two men) and a single setting – a living room.
THE LAST DAYS OF OSCAR WILDE looks at the final years, while exiled in Paris, of the man whom many regard as the patron saint of the LGBT community and the role model for many gay men. The play examines the relationship between Wilde and his wife as well as his relationship with Lord Alfred Douglas, who was largely responsible for Wilde’s downfall. The work also examines his friendship with Canadian-born Robbie Ross, who proved to be Wilde’s most loyal friend and supporter. Wilde is shown to be a sensualist who lived for beauty and pleasure, but who had an abiding love for his wife, Constance, and was shattered when she cut off all ties with him and he was no longer able to see the two sons he adored. The work portrays his relationship with Lord Alfred Douglas as less of a sexual love affair and more as a romantic friendship between two seekers of pleasure, with Wilde taking an almost paternal interest in Douglas and feeling deeply hurt and betrayed when Douglas turned his back on him after bringing about his ruin.
SCENES FROM The Last Days of Oscar Wilde:
GHOSTS IN THE AFTERNOON is a black comedy and mystery with a cast of six. Strange things happen when an introverted writer is forced to let out a room in the city apartment he shares with the ghosts of his past and his future. This is also available as a screenplay.
THE LAST WALTZ: Bernard Taylor writes: “The play is based on real characters I met in Newcastle, England, about twenty years ago. A doctor who had become rich through being the major investor in Andrew Lloyd Webber’s ‘Cats’ wanted to invest in my musical version of Wuthering Heights. He invited me to stay at his home for a few days and I observed his rather ambiguous (but ultimate loving) relationship with his wife, who was suffering from early onset Alzheimer’s, and the nurse who had been with him for most of her adult life (but who has always maintained a purely professional relationship with the doctor). In the play the doctor commissions a composer to create a piece of music as an anniversary present for his wife, as music is one of the few things that seem o give her peace and joy.” In the beginning we see the doctor committing some highly questionable acts on his wife (like putting a spider down her blouse), but his motivation becomes clear in his discussions with the composer. In the end, after his wife dies, the doctor also begins to suffer from Alzheimer and his loyal nurse elects to take care of him. Cast of four.
SCENES FROM The Last Waltz:
THE LADY OF SHALOTT is inspired by the classic narrative poem of Alfred Lord Tennyson, about a woman who keeps the world at one remove until a former student – now a successful writer – declares his love for her. It has a cast of three.
SCENES FROM The Lady of Shalott:
THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS is a one man play about the playwright Tennessee Williams. Williams is on a lecture tour and becomes increasingly inebriated during the course of the lecture, eventually walking out after insulting his audience. The play requires a minimal set – a stage with posters from some of the movies made from Williams’ plays and photos of people with whom Williams had close relationships – most notably the Italian actress Anna Magnani.
CHANGING DIRECTION is a comedy about a divorced man who enters into a same-sex romantic relationship while insisting he is not gay. It begins after he is involved in a car crash that leaves him badly injured. He spends months in a hospital where he becomes friendly with a male nurse. After leaving hospital he finds he cannot stop thinking about the nurse who cared for him. Eventually he revisits the hospital to see the nurse and the relationship begins with some awkwardness. The play has two characters and minimal sets.
THE IMPORTANCE OF DOING EARNEST is a deconstruction of what many believe to be Oscar Wilde’s best comedy. It is rewritten for a cast of six totally inappropriate American actors and set in modern day Ohio rather than in 19th Century England. It requires minimal sets; a bare stage with chairs and a table for Act One and a sofa and coffee table for Act Two. There is now also an Australian version of this comedy, adapted for Australia by Dudley Horque. For inquiries about the Australian version, contact David Spicer.
VANISHING TOMORROWS is based on a real life incident about a highly intelligent and introspective teenage girl dying of cancer. After one bout of chemotherapy she refuses further treatment and resigns herself to dying. She asks to see the father she has not seen since she was an infant. Her mother divorced her father after he began drinking heavily, lost his job and was arrested with drugs in his possession during a police raid on a gay bar. The father is tracked down by a Catholic priest and comes to visit. Initially his daughter is hostile towards him and threatens him with a gun. But then she hears a version of events that are very different from what her mother has led her to believe.
THE NAKED BRANDO hones in on the legendary actor as he prepares for his role in The Godfather and also reflects on his relationship with Wally Cox, whom Brando described as the love of his life. The play has a cast of two – Brando and Wally Cox – plus pre-recorded voice-overs of Brando’s agent and Cox’s wife. There is a single set and minimal prop requirements. The play can be done with one actor playing Brando and Wally Cox lines being read from behind the scenes.
A QUESTION OF MURDER: Like the characters in Waiting for Godot, three people – two men and a woman – find themselves waiting in limbo-land for something but are not quite sure what. There is obviously something that connects them but at first they are unaware of what that might be. One of the two men becomes increasingly sinister and threatening towards the woman as the play develops into a plot drawn more from The Twilight Zone and Stephen King as the horrifying truth emerges. Cast of three and a black box setting.
-“A Question of Murder is very disturbing. Very dark and Twilight Zone. It was seriously disturbing, but intriguing. No matter how uncomfortable I got I had to keep reading to find out what happened. Great writing.” You can see a shorted version of the play as performed at the Hudson Guild Theatre in Manhattan in August, 2017, on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kRJtpSbfui4&feature=youtu.be
HAUNTED is a Hitchcock-style psycho thriller adapted from a movie I made in 2005 (https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dmovies-tv&field-keywords=Evil+Residue+bernard+j+taylor) starring Kristin Ruhlin (star of She Wants Me with Charlie Sheen, Josh Gadd and Hillary Duff and other movies – see http://www.imdb.com/name/nm2176475/?ref_=nv_sr_2). Newlyweds Eddie and Janine buy a house in the country. The house has been untenanted for a few years and the furniture of the previous owner are covered with dust sheets. They learn that the house was owned a couple who are now dead. Then they learn disturbing learn disturbing facts about the house’s history. Things come to a head one night when an explosive incident leads to an exposure of the true nature of events. This is also available as a screenplay.
APPALACHIAN GHOSTS: A writer arrives in the Appalachian foothills to connect with a younger woman he has met through the Internet. She lives in a remote woodland home, where she tries to limit his contact with the outside world. He experiences visions of her dead relatives (including her sadistic mother) and learns about two murders and an apparent suicide in the house. Becoming increasingly claustrophobic and unnerved by the ghosts, the man flees at the first opportunity. But she has a way of getting him back, whether he likes it or not. The play ends with her putting her plan into action.(Based on something that actually happened to the author).
THEATRE FOR SCANDAL is a comedy loosely inspired by Sheridan’s School for Scandal. It involves a group of actors who begin to spread rumors that one of the most flamboyantly gay members of their group is secretly straight. The character of Anthony Hamilton has the potential to become iconic, while confounding stereotypes when he plots to wreak vengeance on a macho stud who has betrayed a female friend.
STRANGE BEDFELLOWS: The play is based on the intimate triangular relationship of Lytton Strachey, Dora Carrington and Ralph Partridge, three people associated with the legendary Bloomsbury Group of artists and writers and thinkers who dominated the intellectual life of London in the early part of the 19th Century. Although Carrington remained officially married to Partridge for the rest of her life, she had committed herself to the homosexual Strachey before the marriage and could not face life without him after he died of cancer. The play, which reflects the diversity of human relationships, ends with Strachey’s death and Carrington’s suicide.
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(36) Then cometh Jesus with them unto a place called Gethsemane, and saith unto the disciples, sit ye here, while I go pray yonder. (37) And he took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be sorrowful and very heavy. (38) then saith he unto them, My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death: tarry ye here, and watch with me. (39) And he went a little further, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt. (Matthew 26:36-39 KJV)
Have you ever been at a place in your life where you prayed to God O Lord not this. Anything but this. Maybe it was a sick child battling cancer, maybe it was a death of a parent, a divorce, or a loss of job, maybe it was infertility. Whatever it is or was we can find comfort in the fact that Jesus himself has been there. In verse 36 it says that Jesus was in a place (garden) called Gethsemane. Which means the place of pressing or the oil press. What I love about this scripture is that this is the only place in the bible where I saw Jesus struggling with the will of God! if Jesus can momentarily struggle with the will of God, how much more will we struggle, but what I personally love about this beautiful scene in the bible, is that it shows me that Jesus truly understands what it’s like to want your own will. Especially when we don’t understand what God is doing ( even though Jesus did understand). Gethsemane is known as the pressing place it was there that Jesus had to press through. We all have a Gethsemane, a place of pressing and a place of pushing. How easy would it have been for Jesus to have given up in that moment, but if he would have then where would you and I be today? Do you know that we not only press for us, but we press for those coming behind us.
Gethsemane will always be a place of pain, anxiety and second thoughts. We don’t have to press through something that is easy or comfortable. One of the definitions of press is to move or cause to move into a position of contact with something by exerting continuous force. It takes work to press, when we press the object is to move something to a position of contact. If this is true of a physical object how much more so can it apply to us lining up with the will of God? Sometimes it seems that God’s will is hard especially when we think that we know of an easier way. If you don’t believe that it can be hard or seem hard take a look at Jesus’s own words in verse 39 O my Father, if it be possible let this cup pass from me. If it be possible, in other words is there another way. How many of us have been there? Lord I know that you called me to preach, but I didn’t know that it would cause me my family, I know that I was anointed to spread the word of the gospel, but did it have to come at the expense of my loneliness. Lord I know that you gifted me to be a comfort to others but did it have to be at the expense of my own pain? Yes, it did God will use your loss, your loneliness, your pain in order for you to better understand others in theirs. The reason why I love the fact that Jesus had to press through in the Garden of Gethsemane is because it makes him identifiable to us. I can trust in him because he knew what it was like to struggle even if it was only momentarily. It makes him relatable because in these moments he was heavy laden, sorrowful and anxious. In Luke’s version it even said that he sweated great drops of blood! Wow! When it was all said and done though, Jesus was able to get up and say nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt. The next night he was crucified, but we know that’s not how the story ends because three days later he arose with all power in his hands and the enemy under his feet. That would have never happened had he not pressed.
My Gethsemane is not your Gethsemane, neither is your Gethsemane mine, but we will all reach that place where we must press. Someone is depending on you pressing. It may temporarily crucify you but don’t worry you’ll rise again, but we must learn to say not my will, but your will be done!
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I looked on and saw him flip the shot-glass upside down and put a penny on it. The man I could assume was an amateur magician of sorts, why else would he be performing tricks in a bar. He was an average looking fellow wearing a striped polo shirt, pre-worn jeans and a baseball cap. The music that was playing was so loud I could scarcely hear what he was saying.
He motioned to one of the girls watching. “Please, would you examine the glass and penny for me.” The girl raised an eyebrow, as if to say are you a fool I just saw you take a shot. However she did so she picked up the penny and shot glass and put them back.
“They’re real.” He nodded to her.
“Thank you, and now for the trick.” With a bit of sleight of hand he managed to roll his baseball cap off his head and over the shot-glass with the penny. “Now, will you please remove the hat.” The girl lifted the hat, and the penny and shot-glass were both still there. “Is the penny still on top of the shot-glass”.
“Yeah, it is…” One could tell the girl was getting irritated by him. He picked up his hat again gave it a twirl and put it back on top of the shot-glass. At this point I was starting to wonder what exactly the trick was. Was he trying to make the penny disappear, or maybe appear below the shot-glass? Again he removed the hat and asked her to look. The penny was still there as was the shot-glass both were undisturbed.
“Is the penny still on top of the shot-glass?” She just looked at him.
“Yes, yes it is.” It was at this point that he straightened his posture, put one hand on the table and and lifted his other hand in the air.
“Ah, but the penny is not on top of the shot-glass. It is and always has been on the bottom of it.” Words cannot describe the reactions of everyone near by. I had never seen anyone kicked out of a place for their shear foolishness.
The purpose of this account was not to share this man’s poor chicanery. Often times in our lives we feel that our knowledge has an edge over others. Or perhaps we can entertain someone with some anecdote. However it seems quite the contrary, I think it is best said with this
“Nothing can be so amusingly arrogant as a young man who has just discovered an old idea and thinks it is his own.”
This is not to presume that any of you think you are better than another or are in any way naive. It seems to be a repeating pattern with every generation, that the ideas they have are their own. So before you proceed with any action, wether it be summoning a demon, or racing a car in illegal back street races. Please, consider the consequences and leave the now behind. What seems like a good idea at the time can turn awry quickly. Else you will be the magician whose drinks were literally on him.
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‘My Christmas is a bright one enough, and I have great hopes of a happy New Year.’
The letter Caroline Jebb wrote to her sister on 25 December 1874 was trying hard to sound upbeat, but her first Christmas in Cambridge was a pretty miserable one. She was missing her family back in Philadelphia, and the happy chaos of exchanging gifts with her young nieces and nephews. When she sailed to England six months previously to marry the Classics scholar Richard Jebb, it had seemed at first, she told her sister, deeply romantic and ‘just like the novels we read of English life’. Now she was living far from her friends and family in a remote university town, sharing a cold house with a man she did not know very well, who was usually either in his college or in his study. She suspected Richard was drinking too much and hiding it from her.
There were other problems with the marriage. In America, Caroline was used to being in charge of her own finances, living on her U.S. Civil War widow’s pension and a small inheritance, and budgeting carefully. When she moved to England to marry Richard, she was put under pressure by his family to hand over her money to him, in accordance with English law at the time. Richard reassured her that he was interested in her, not her money, so did not expect her to hand her money over, but in any case Caroline was determined to remain financially independent from him. Her trunk containing her clothes from America had still not arrived, and at the beginning of December she refused to ask Richard for a loan to buy the winter clothes she badly needed.
‘I never like to mix up my money and Dick’s in any way and I don’t like to borrow from him just now while his balance at the bank is so low. His fellowship comes in some time this month and then if all the bills are once paid I shall see my way clear.’
A week later Richard’s ‘fellowship’ – the term’s payment for his university teaching – came in, but unfortunately so did his bills. Caroline was shocked to discover how much he owed. Richard loved clothes and fashion, and took pride in his appearance, but paid little attention to how much he could actually afford. ‘Fancy fourteen pounds for your hair-dresser, twenty to your boot-maker, twenty-seven to your flower-merchant, as many more to your hat-man, &c, just for your little bills,’ she wrote to her sister. ‘Think of fifty pounds for piano hire, and the same for cigars, and double that for books!’ Before he married, Richard had always solved his familiar problem of overspending by borrowing from his relatives – he didn’t mind living beyond his means. Caroline did, very much. In total, the bills came to £500, five times as much as Richard had estimated they would be in their marriage settlement the previous August, and much more than he earned for his lectures.
Caroline’s way of punishing him was to refuse to allow her generous husband to spend money on her. On Christmas Day they exchanged politely restrained gifts: she presented him with a gold pencil for his waistcoat pocket, and he gave her a butter dish. She would not permit anything more. But on Boxing Day, Caroline’s birthday, Richard managed to find a way around her financial embargo and presented her with an enormous Japanese black satin fan. It was the perfect gift, and Caroline could not resist. ‘These fans are all the fashion in London, nobody carries anything else,’ she told her sister happily. The craze for all things Japanese, known as japonisme, had spread from Paris to London. Less than six months later, in May 1875, Arthur Lasenby Liberty would open his department store on Regent Street selling ornaments, fabric and rare objects from Japan and the East, as well as working with William Morris. An article in The Independent earlier this year about the history of Liberty describes how ‘the brand’s initial success owed a lot to the era’s obsession with Japan and China, a cultural trend that could be seen as clearly in furniture and painting as it could in fabric and jewellery.’
Richard’s present of a Japanese fan shows how in touch he was with fashion, and even though they were both ‘as poor as church mice’ that Christmas, he knew that Caroline would love it. More importantly, he felt ashamed for the first time in his life about his habitual over-spending and financial mismanagement. He promised to hand over control of all money matters to her from then on, which for Caroline was the best New Year’s gift she could have wished for.
© Ann Kennedy Smith (revised December 2018)
Please reference as follows: Dr Ann Kennedy Smith, ‘The Gift’ https://akennedysmith.wordpress.com/(Accessed: day/month/year)
Sources: Lady Caroline Lane Reynolds Slemmer Jebb Papers at the Sophia Smith Collection, Smith College, Northampton, Massachusetts; Mary Reed Bobbitt With Dearest Love to All: The Life and Letters of Lady Jebb (Faber & Faber, 1960); ‘The Victorian vision of China and Japan’ at the Victorian & Albert Museum here. Mimi Matthews has written blogs on Victorian gifts here and Japanese fashion here. Lesley Downer’s novel The Shogun’s Queen examines the darker aspects of the 19th century’s ‘opening of Japan’ here.
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"Seemingly, I must be mad
- insanity is fun, if that's the way it's done." sneers John Entwistle
on the Who
's "Whiskey Man
" from their 1966 album A Quick One
Insanity wasn't a trait often accredited to Entwistle, who was nicknamed, among other things, "The Quiet One
." But "Quiet" shouldn't have been an adjective used to describe him either.
John spoke softly, but carried a big stick
. Or, in his case a big bass.
John's booming, beautiful bass
lines and sense of black humour has forever left a very loud influence on rock and roll
The Boring Stuff
John Alec Entwistle was born 9 October, 1944 in Chiswick, London, England, exactly four years after the other great John Lennon.
Perhaps contributing to John's reserved nature, his parents seperated when John was only an infant. He was often with his grandparents when he was very young.
Entwistle was a prime musician from an early age his mother, Maude ("Queenie") made him take piano lessons, and because of this, John could read music from the age of seven on. His father, Herbert, taught him to play trumpet, but John took up the French Horn when there was an excess number of trumpet players in his school's orchestra.
John took up bass when he was 14 in a time when basses were not widely avaliable in England so John made his own, a copy of the Fender Precision. Around that time, John met a banjo player named Peter Townshend at Acton County Grammar School. Both shared a similar sense of black humour and a liking for jazz, and became friends. John invited Pete to join his first band, The Confederates, soon afterwards.
The first "Who" - the Detours, were formed when fellow schoolmate Roger Daltrey stopped Entwistle on the street and told him he heard John played the bass guitar. John then joined the Detours, as did Pete Townshend, despite their initial dislike for Daltrey.
With Detour members Colin Dawson and Doug Sandom ousted from the band, they went with a new name The Who, and started the search for a new drummer. John fondly recalled the time he first met his bandmate and best friend, Keith Moon:
"He was in ginger...head to toe. Ginger hair, ginger suit, ginger shoes and holding a ginger drink probably a brandy." Moon was asked to play "Roadrunner", and needless to say, he proved his worth. The Who (no wait the High Numbers...no, the Who...The...Who?) were...well, the band we know as the Who were formed, and the rest, as they say, is history...
John The Bassist
John was an excellent bassist from the start, introducing the bass solo into rock with 1965's "My Generation."
Entwistle's bass solo on that song took several takes, not because of the difficulty level of it (and it is very difficult) but because he kept breaking bass strings. The treble strings were difficult to replace, and Entwistle had to keep going out to buy new basses because he wasn't allowed to buy the strings separately, so the story goes.
Entwistle was also the first to ever use Marshall amplifiers, that were then picked up by Townshend, and the Marhsall amp eventually became the most widely used amp in rock. "Once John had a Marshall he was so loud, I had to get one," recalled Townshend.
Although Entwistle was a great singer and songwriter himself, he often took back seat to Daltrey, the lead singer, and Townshend, the Who's main songwriter and lead guitarist. Entwistle liked the idea of being up front, but his role as the sturdy backbone of the Who ultimately proved his best role within the band. Entwistle stated:
"I did want to be a lead guitarist. The role of lead guitarist was the most glamorous to me. I wanted to make solo spots in a group. And you don't go from being a front man to a back man. But I always preferred the sound of a bass it excited me the most."
And indeed, John's bass playing never took the back seat.
John invented slapping and the bi-amped bass rig when he split his signal between an overdriven high-end amp and a clean low-end amp. John was a great bassist because he never thought of himself as a bassist. He never wanted to be a "background" instrument. John also invented "tapping" on the bass with his signature "typewriter" technique, which involved striking the strings at the base of the neck with his right hand fingertips.
Always known as "the quiet one", John seemed like the eye in the Who's hurricane of a stage show. Nicknamed "The Ox" for his silent but powerful stage presence, John rarely moved anything but his fingers onstage. While the rest of the band was a blur of motion - Roger Daltrey's swinging microphone, Keith Moon's wild drumming, and Pete Townshend's windmilling, Entwistle stood absolutely still on stage right.
Yet In the same way that he held the band together, he helped make them the loud, out of control band they were. John's genius on the bass allowed for Townshend to explore power chords and solos, while John held it all together with his raging tone and percussive energy.
John almost always used Fender bass guitars, up until the mid-seventies, when he favoured Alembic Explorer guitars. he continued to use them throughout the 1980's until he got tired of having to change the settings before every show. Alembics are made entirely out of maple and walnut, and the wood expanded with each venue. John searched for different alternatives, but got fed up with every brand and invented his own, the Buzzard bass(www.buzzardbass.com).
In addition to his stage instruments, John had a massive collection of basses. His collection (now, unfortunatley no longer in the possession of his estate) included a mint condition precision bass from every year 1951-1966, Fender Custom Colours, and just about any instrument he felt had historical significance. Like Frankenstein ("IT'S ALIVE!"), the bass he constructed from 5 smashed ones, or the bass guitars he played at Woodstock and the Isle of Wight Festival.
John the Songwriter
"Townshend once told me I use up about ten song ideas in one tune; he said he could get a whole bunch of songs from the first four lines of one of mine."
A critic once wrote that Entwistle had the misfortune of being a good songwriter in a band with a great one Townshend and his contributions to Who albums were only occasional. Songs Entwistle wrote, however, like "My Wife", "Heaven and Hell" (which, in fact, opened the Who's sets in the Tommy/Lifehouse eras), and, of course "Boris the Spider", were hits and concert favourites.
"Lyrics are much more difficult for me to write than music." said John. "It once took me three days to find something that rhymed with 'Napoleon'; I finally woke up in the middle of the night and screamed 'DeLorean!'."
Entwistle released nine solo albums, sometimes featuring his band The Ox. He formed the John Entwistle band and continued to tour with them whilst the Who played gigs.
John's macabre and odd sense of humour often melted into his songwriting. Actually, it did all the time. There's not one song I can think of, save "My Size", that isn't unfunny.
With lines like "I got a girl, mouth so wide, she eats her dinner with the plate inside"(1971's "Peg Leg Peggy") or "I wonder what would happen if my fish could fly, would it leap from its tank and hit the cat in the eye? Out through the window and into the sky, I'm so glad that sharks can't fly." (1973's "I Wonder"), you just can't help but wonder if John was high on something more than music...
John's most famous song in the Who, "Boris the Spider", was based on not his love of, but immense fear of spiders. He did, however, in his later years, own one named...here goes: "Doris". The name Boris, by the way, came after a drunken conversation with members of the Rolling Stones about funny names for animals.
I didn't know John, but I did have the wonderful pleasure of meeting him July 30th, 2001 on the A Walk Down Abbey Road tour. He was incredibly nice and funny, and even wrote me a limerick...but that's a different story. Let's just say it ended in "She had beautiful big eyes, all three of them are blue."
John was NOT what he seemed. In fact, the "quiet one" ("I'm not quiet, everyone else is too loud" he retorts in "The Quiet One") was arrested in 1974 for disturbing the peace in a bar.
John, like Keith, never learned how to drive, saying "I prefer to drink."
John and Keith often roomed together on Who tours, running rampant and wild on hotel rooms, causing the Who to be banned from many established hotels in large cities. John joined in, if not instigated The Who's notoriety by smashing up hotel rooms with Keith.
"No one ever said why we smashed 'em up." Said John about it.
"A lot of times it was because Keith and I had this running gag: He'd bring a coupla girls to his room, then he and the road manager would start talking about me, saying what a horrible person I was, how frightened they were of me because I bullied everyone, and how I hated girls and liked to slap them around you know, really building it up. Then Keith would ring me up and I'd knock on the door, and the girls would see me and their eyes would bulge. So I'd come in knockin' the guys around, breaking furniture and mirrors, and then I'd say 'You girls are next!' and they'd just run screaming from the room!"
John and Keith's shenanigans didn't end offstage, either. Sometimes breaking out of his stoic onstage nature, John would growl at the audience and band members, cracking jokes about audience members (or that time he swallowed a fly onstage) or band members penis sizes (FYI, John's nickname besides "The Ox" and "Thunderfingers" was "Big Dick Entwistle")...
"Sometimes we would do things to put off the screamers from coming to see us. We'd occasionally sing "Talking 'bout my masturbation" and "Prostitute" instead of "Substitute". On one occasion we all walked on-stage smoking tampons and throwing tampons at the audience with the string alight, and I actually led Keith on with a sanitary towel over each eye as though he was blind. I led him up on stage and sat him at the drums"
When Marc Bolan of the group T-Rex died in 1977, Entwistle attended his funeral and was asked by Bolan's son, Rolan, if he knew his father. John responded with "No, but I lived near the tree he crashed into."
John collected not just basses and guitars, but a plethora of other things. Unfortunately, these things, as well as the instruments, were auctioned off after John died because of his outstanding debts. Among the lots though were outrageous things like stuffed sharks, other types of fish, armour, watches, and guns.
John was also an accomplished artist. He drew the cover art for the Who's 1976 album The Who By Numbers. He often held shows with his one-of-a-kind artwork, which often featured his bandmates and friends, my favourite being Keith Moon as a pirate. To view some of his art, you can go to http://www.johnentwistle.com.
The lineup of Led Zeppelin almost went this way: Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck, Keith Moon, and John Entwistle. Frustrated by constant rows between Pete and Roger in the Who, Keith and John often thought about leaving the group to form another group with a session guitarist, Jimmy Page.
"I was going to leave (The Who) every other week! At one point Keith and I were going to form our own band with Jimmy Page. Keith said 'It'll probably sink like a lead balloon.' so I said 'Why don't we call it Led Zeppelin?' and Keith agreed."
Of course, Keith and John didn't join Led Zeppelin, and everyone ended up staying in their respective groups.
When Keith died in 1978, John was doing a press conference. He remained calm and said nothing until someone asked about the future of the Who, and John burst into tears.
John continued to perform with The Who and the John Entwistle Band until his death on 27 June, 2002. The next day was to be the beginning of the Who's North American tour. At first, he was thought to have died of a heart attack because of his congenital heart problem, but it was later proved that he had cocaine in his system. Rumour had it that a stripper had accompianed John the night before. Cocaine and strippers. What a way to go.
"The quietest man in private but the loudest man on stage. He was unique and irreplaceable."
Bill Wyman, former bassist, The Rolling Stones
Smash Your Head Against The Wall
Rigor Mortis Sets In
Mad Dog (With John Entwistle's Ox)
Too Late the Hero
Thunderfingers: The Best Of John Entwistle
King Biscuit Flower Hours Presents John Entwistle (With John Entwistle's Ox)
Music From Van-Pires
Left for Live (With the John Entwistle Band)
featured on Songs From the Material World: A Tribute to George Harrison (With the John Entwistle Band)
quotes from my own recollection, Guitar Magazine, and Bass Player magazine. Typed out by me. Discography from Brian Cady at thewho.net. Info from Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere, as usual.
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Forgiveness. The act of letting someone off the hook. In moderation, forgiveness feels right. It makes you feel like a great, kind and generous person. But when it reaches a threshold, it’s no longer an act of kindness but an ignorance towards injustice, is it not? So where is this threshold, if there is one? And why should we even bother forgiving, when really it isn’t just?
Jesus disciples had the same question:
“Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven.”
Now, Jesus isn’t setting a threshold here, he’s not giving us a number to count up to before we seek revenge. It’s the equivalent of when you pull out the wildcard when you argued with your siblings when you were young: “I’m better that you times infinity.” Jesus says, there is no threshold, you should just keep forgiving without number.
Now, that just seems unreasonable. You can’t just keep forgiving, where’s the justice in that? To make his point Jesus uses a parable, which he often does:
“Therefore the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his servants.”
Just as the King wants to settle his debts with his servants, so does God want to fix our debt to him. Our rebellion has a cost, Romans 6:23 says “For the wages of sin is death.” Our actions bring us to owe God our life, he has more than the right to take it. However, the story continues:
“When he began to settle, one was brought to him who owed ten thousand talents [1 Talent = 20 years work; thus 10,000 Talents = 200,000 years work]. And since he could not pay, his master ordered him to be sold, with his wife and children and all that he had, and the payment had to be made.”
Not a pretty picture. The servant obviously hasn’t got the years in him to work off this debt and the only thing that seems to solve the problem is the life of him and his family. Just as we are incapable of paying for our sin with all the good deeds and action we can muster, this servant can’t pay back this debt.
“So the servant fell on his knees, imploring him, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.'”
As any sane person would do in this situation, they would try and save themselves. It almost seems like the instinctive response to this kind of debt is to promise the unfulfillable. I’ll pay you back, don’t worry, even though it is humanly impossible, I’ll make the promise because it gives a sense of false assurance. I’m in over my head.
You may be thinking, what does this have to do with general forgiveness, it’s not like majority of issues are debt related. Just bear with me, I’m getting there. Jesus continues:
“And out of pity for him, the master of that servant released him and forgave him the debt.”
Obviously the servant’s promise was a cry for mercy that came out of a fear and understanding of the hopelessness of his situation. There was no way he could get himself out of it. The master sees this, has pity on him and just lets him off the hook. Just for a minute, close your eyes and imagine the emotions, the sensations that the servant must be feeling. Thankfulness isn’t a big enough concept to even encompass the experience.
This is the extent to which we are forgiven through Christ. That is why Christianity is such a different religion: it asks for nothing in return for salvation, for there is nothing that humanity can offer that can satisfy the debt. The verse from Romans that I mentioned earlier also has the same ending:
“For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 6:23.
However, the parable continues:
“But when that same servant went out, he found one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred denarii [100 denarii = a days work], and seizing him, he began to choke him, saying, ‘Pay what you owe me’. ”
So off skips this free servant and he stumbles upon someone he happened to lend money to. You have to notice, his methods are a little more violent than his masters.
“So his fellow servant fell down and pleaded with him, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you’. He refused and went and put him in prison until he should pay the debt.”
Just as the servant pleaded with his master, so too does his friend plead with him. You’d think after having experienced such mercy that the servant would feel more inclined to give mercy himself but he doesn’t. This has consequence:
“Then his master summoned him and said to him, ‘You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. And should not you have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I has mercy on you?’ And in anger his master delivered him to the jailers, until he should pay all his debt. So also my heavenly Father will do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother from your heart.”
The servant has his master to answer to. His behaviour has cost him the mercy he received initially. It seems almost illogical that he didn’t see how little his act of mercy would have been in comparison to the mercy he received from his master and yet he could not forgive.
So this is how forgiveness should work, then. God offers us mercy and forgiveness in our sin because there is no way we could fix the problems we’ve created on our own. Thus, this forgiveness should spur us to forgive others their wrongs which are so much less in comparison to what we’ve received.
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Slavka Božović was born in 1965 in Nikšić, Montenegro, where she graduated from the School of Economics and lived and worked in her town. She is a great fan of a written poetry and known as a voice of modern Montenegroian literature. From childhood she enjoyed beautiful works of cultural activities and act as a member of recitation poetic sections. Peoples have long been an avid reader and admirer of Slavka Božović s poetry as well as a great admirer of his poetic genius. Slavka is an internationally known poet who publishes her poetry online on such wonderful sites usually . She has a unique way of speaking to his reader when she writes. Slavka is a wizard with words and uses them always to inspire, uplift and enlighten her reader. Her poetry is thought provoking also and gives her readers much to think about, sometimes with regard to life, other times with regard to love, in the quieter moments of their day. She is a member of the Literary Community Vladimir Mijušković - Nikšić, Association of Free Artists of Australia, Association of Writers Zenit . Montenegro etc. She is also a member of the Gold Team of the World Foundation, Munir Mezyed. The works are represented in common collections and anthologies at the regional, both at the European and the world level. She has received several important recognitions: Charter, Plaque, Thank You, Thank You ...At the International Competition in Poetry in 2018 and 2019 in Sinai, Romania won twice the Special Jury Prize, as well as the Certificate , Medal and Diploma, and thus showed that her poetry occupies a highly concentrated place in World Poetry. From an early age she writes from her heart, for her soul. So far, she has published a book "The Case of the Soul" and plans some more as soon. Slavka is a mother of three grown children of Academic Citizens. Her family is the main driving force, strength and support both in the past, and for the future engagement in the field of poetry.
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“These things have now been announced to you through those who preached the gospel to you by the Holy Spirit sent from heaven-angels long to catch a glimpse of these things.” 1 Peter 1:12
Dear Lord God, I am so thankful for your angels. I can hardly believe how much you care for me and about me. You, God, sit on your throne in heaven and you watch over, guide, and even direct my footsteps. You make the place where I set my feet secure. And, as if that were not enough, you assign angels to me. You give directions and commands to your angels that they would serve me, support me, and help me in my walk of faith forward. God, you are so interested in my salvation that you serve me and support me every step of the way. Your angels were so interested and excited about my salvation that they were peering into the Scriptures, trying to understand what the prophets were talking about. The angels you charge to watch over me are as interested in my salvation, God, as you are! Thank you, Lord God, for your angels who serve me and support me on my way toward my heavenly home. Amen.
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Unofficial World Chess Champions
by Shimil Varghese
(Bangalore, Karnataka, India)
Anderssen - Morphy
The first official world chess championship was in 1886 in which Wilhelm Steinitz defeated Johannes Zukertort. But, before 1886 there were some of the most famous champions of their time in the world. A championship that resembled a world championship was conducted in 1834 in which La Bourdonnais played against McDonnell. The championship had six matches of 85 games total.
In 1843, Howard Staunton played and won against a Frenchman, Pierre Charles Fournier de Saint-Amant. This made him the world’s popular player of that time. In 1845, Howard Staunton was quoted as the ‘England’s Chess Champion’ and the ‘Chess Champion of the World’ in The Times. This was the first use of the term ‘Chess Championship’ as per the records.
Ludwig Bledow wrote a proposal to der Lasa for a contest for the recognition of the World’s best chess player in 1846. Because of the death of Bledow in 1846, the proposed battle did not take place. The international tournament in London in 1851 was described as world championship by a member of Calcutta chess club in 1850, in ‘Chess Player's Chronicle’ of Alexander Kennedy and the Liberty Weekly in 1851. But there is no documentary evidence to prove that the play was to select a world champion.
Adolf Anderssen won a chess tournament in 1893 which made him the first modern chess player of the world. He was considered as the leading chess player in the world. Paul Morphy in 1858, had defeated Adolf Anderssen and this victory awarded him as the world chess champion at that time. He then played with many popular players across the world and was hailed by the Harper's Weekly as the World champion in 1858. Many considered him as the best player for many years.
Anderssen was defeated in a match against Steinitz in 1866 which was referred as the official world championship for the first time. The tournament was declared as the first official world championship only after the death of Morphy in 1884.
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by Carl Rollyson
In graduate school at the University of Toronto I had the splendid opportunity to study with Kathleen Coburn, the great Coleridge scholar who was then editing his notebooks. If I had not already committed myself to writing a dissertation about William Faulkner under the guidance of Michael Millgate, I would gladly have turned to a Romantic subject under Coburn’s supervision. Even so, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Keats have in so many ways informed my work and that of the subjects of my biographies.
Faulkner, to begin with, was entranced with Keats–as anyone can see in the great fourth section of “The Bear” when Cass Edmunds explains to the kinsman, Ike McCaslin, why Ike did not shoot Old Ben, the Moby Dick, you might say, of the hunters’ quest. Cass quotes “Ode on a Grecian Urn”: “She cannot fade, though thou hath not thy bliss . . . Forever wilt thou love, and she be fair.” The she for Ike is not a woman but the wilderness itself, which is his first love. But that love, Cass implies, will, in time, recede just as the wilderness recedes in the advance of civilization. Ike’s wilderness experience has been out of time–as he acknowledges when he relinquishes his watch as part of his search for Old Ben. Ike, who fails to adapt to the changing times, becomes irrelevant because he tries to live the poem Cass quotes. Ike, in other words, is beguiled by a dream of perfection, which exists, in truth, only in Keats’s poem. Ike is caught between the ideality of art and the reality of life. Art is permanence and unity; life is change and multiplicity. So much of what Faulkner learned about art and life stems from his reading of the Romantics, as I will explore in my biography of Faulkner, which I have just learned will be published by University of Virginia Press.
As I show in Amy Lowell Anew: A Biography (2013), she was steeped in the Romantics and began her career writing poetry derived from Keats and other Romantics. Her first published book of poetry, A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass is, of course, an allusion to Shelley. If Lowell had to break herself from too close of a fealty to Keats’s verse, he nevertheless presides over “The Green Bowl,” included in her first book, which shows her emerging as a modern poet, adapting the formal grandeur of “Ode on a Grecian Urn” to a far more relaxed musing on art’s extension of nature’s impact on human consciousness: “A quiet place, still with the sound of birds,/Where, though unseen, is heard the endless song/And murmur of the never resting sea.”
Lowell wrote poems about Keats, she collected Keats, and she ended her life producing a prodigious two-volume biography of the poet. What should still amaze readers is her astounding ambition, which she announces at the outset: “I have attempted to write a biography, a psychological novel, and a book of poetical criticism, all at once, and not let any of these three aspects of my subject override the others.” It is as if Dorothy Richardson, whose novels Lowell loved, and Rebecca West, whose criticism Lowell found bracing, had combined to do justice not only to Keats but to Fanny Brawne, whose presence in the poet’s emotional life had been seriously misunderstood before the advent of Lowell’s work.
Among Keats’s contemporary biographers, only Walter Jackson Bate and Stanley Plumly have acknowledged her pivotal role in Keats biography. She embodied a twentieth century sensibility and married it to a neoclassical style reminiscent of Samuel Johnson writing about Richard Savage–as can be seen in this passage of balanced antitheses:
Insufficiently equipped, uncertain of his way, not even thoroughly aware of his own goal, unwisely guided by his friends, ignorantly and cruelly criticized by his enemies, buffeted by the hurricanes of his own changing ideas, Keats died at the age of twenty-five still unformed in many ways, profoundly discouraged and dissatisfied, but leaving behind him a body of work in his poetry which does not die because of qualities in it even more important to mankind that those which appear on the surface, and in his letters a possibly no less valuable legacy to the student of psychology and a volume of perennial charm to the ordinary reader.
In her day, in 1925, Lowell commanded a wide readership that should be the envy of any poet/biographer writing now. Like Faulkner, she found in Keats, the man and the poet, a powerful harbinger of a modern sensibility but also a spirit beyond not only his time but any time.
There is in Keats, and of course no less in Wordsworth, and in quite a different way in Byron, a kind of therapeutic imagination and art that we simply cannot live without. So Michael Foot put it to me in many conversations we had over a very intense three years while I worked on the biography of his wife, Jill Craigie, and then on my memoir of him, just published as A Private Life of Michael Foot. “We read Byron’s letters there [in Venice] together. Then we were going up in the world, having the bloody government pay for our holidays. . . . Venice revived him [Byron]. It restored him,” Michael insisted to me. And of course Michael was thinking of himself–of not only his opportunities to get away from Cabinet worries during the administrations of Harold Wilson and James Callaghan but also of how through Byron he re-created his love for Jill Craigie on trips that were nothing less than romantic revivals.
During the terrible accident that nearly cost him his life and left him lame, Michael read Byron, telling me “When I went through Don Juan the first time [in hospital], every time I got to a part I wanted to read it to Jill as soon as I got back here [his Hampstead home].” Brought up a strict Methodist, Michael reveled in Byron’s mocking tone about sex and said Jill thought sex was often treated too seriously and should be the subject of satire. She was not, in fact, a great reader of the Romantics, but as Michael would say, she sure knew how to join in the spirit of the thing.
Michael credited the Byron Society with helping him to recover from his disastrous electoral defeat in 1983. “Byron helped me,” Michael said. “He never gave in. The only way to read Don Juan is right through and that’s what I did. I spent the whole of Christmas doing so–leader of the Labour Party I as supposed to be [he laughed] . . . it [Don Juan] put me in a good temper.”
Michael was as possessive of his Byron as the most devoted scholar can be. At a Byron Society meeting he grumbled about Benita Eisler’s Byron biography. “Terrible book.” He grunted through her talk.” Eisler later told a friend of mine that Michael stood up and said, “Worse book ever written.” He was as passionate about his literary likes and dislikes as he was about his politics. On a trip to Bermuda, he considered one of its main points of interest that Byron’s great friend, Thomas Moore, had visited the island. Jill could get quite put out with Michael’s Romantic obsessions. When a friend was visiting, Jill said, “Michael do be quiet. I don’t want to hear you about Byron. I’ve heard it so many times. I want to know what Lizzie has been doing.”
Michael never could believe that anyone could have enough of Byron and wrote a whole book about him. I watched Michael and his nephew Paul, who had written a book about Shelley, go at it. Did Paul think Shelley a greater poet than Byron, I asked Michael. “No,” Michael assured me. “He doesn’t think so at all. He’s converted the other way around in my opinion.” When I laughed, Michael said, “Better ask him.” But then Michael assured me that Paul now realized that Byron had a sharper wit and a better sense of humor than Shelley. Paul would just laugh in such a way as to imply doubt about his conversion.
Given enough time, Michael believed he would win the world to his side. Is there anything more Romantic than that?
A University of Toronto Ph.D, Rollyson has published more than forty books ranging in subject matter from biographies of Marilyn Monroe, Lillian Hellman, Martha Gellhorn, Norman Mailer, Rebecca West, Susan Sontag, and Jill Craigie to studies of American culture, genealogy, children’s biography, film, and literary criticism. He has authored more than 500 articles on American and European literature and history.
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Dear Tom ... Ray—
You ought to know about this—
A few years ago, a friend of mine bought a house in Concord, MA. This house was old, pre-Revolutionary, maybe 250 years old.
Soon after he bought it, he was rummaging around in the cellar, which was very primitive, and he unearthed an antique bottle with a cork in it. As he was admiring it, the bottle slipped out of his hands and shattered on the flagstones! And this huge genie took shape and said, "You have one wish." (One wish, mind you.)
My friend was understandably nervous. "Well," he said, "I have this longing to visit a certain place—this isn't my wish yet. I'm first trying to figure out the rules—and that place is Hawaii. The stickler is that I get terribly seasick and I can't bear the thought of flying, so I can't just let you transport me to Hawaii—I'd never be able to get home!
"So this is what I want, if it's possible: Build me a bridge to Hawaii so I can just drive over and drive back."
"Allah be praised!" says the genie. "Do you realize what an undertaking that would be?! Some of the pylons would have to be more than two miles deep! We'd have to allow for trans-Pacific shipping and be able to withstand mid-ocean storms, not to mention all the permits! Isn't there anything else I could do for you?"
"Let me see," says my friend. "Could you give me the wisdom to understand women?"
The genie sighed. "What do you want? Two-lane or four-lane?"
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Mr Charles Joseph Shorney was born in Cannington, Somerset in 1889, the only child of Austin and Margaret (née Nelson) Shorney. Austin Shorney was, by trade, a cabinetmaker and following his marriage bought Clare House and the adjacent builder's and undertaker's business. The family prospered modestly and even employed a maid. By the turn of the century the Shorney family had moved to Sussex where they lived at Oak Cottage, Heron's Ghyll.
In 1905, when Charles was fifteen, his mother died suddenly in Uckfield Hospital from blood poisoning caused by pricking her finger with a rusty needle whilst sewing. This left Charles and his father alone at Oak Cottage, except for several servants. One day they had a visit from Rudyard Kipling whose motor car had broken down nearby. Kipling gladly accepted their invitation to lunch and a most enjoyable afternoon was spent at the cottage. Charles attended Uckfield Grammar School and won a scholarship to Christ's Hospital but was debarred from entering the institution, which was founded by Catholics, because he was a Catholic!
On 16th June 1906, at St John's Church, Heron's Ghyll, Austin Shorney remarried. His bride was Mary Anne Naughton, who was thirty years younger than him. By this time young Charles was travelling the world working as a gentleman's valet. He spoke fluent French and much of his time was spent in Paris, Cannes and Biarritz. During his travels, Charles visited New York where he realized that he could have a promising future
1. He became engaged to a young American girl who rejoiced in the name of Marguerite Alacoque Morphy (but who in reality was plain Maggie Murphy!) and decided that he would set up a taxicab business in New York. Charles returned home on the White Star liner Oceanic but the weather was so bad that it took the ship nine days to complete its voyage. When he reached dry land he swore that he would not travel with White Star on the return trip to New York.
By this time, he had a step-sister, Margaret Mary (Greta) born in 1907, and after spending some time with his family, he travelled to Brighton. He visited the offices of Thomas Cook there where the clerk was singing the praises of the new Titanic and he was persuaded to purchase a ticket for the maiden voyage (ticket no. 374910, £8 1s). Carrying with him his share of the family silver, in order to finance the taxi business, he perhaps travelled to Southampton with the Ford family from nearby Uckfield. Charles's last postcard, postmarked Queenstown, 12th April 1912, and addressed to his father
2 and step-mother read
This is the boat. She is a peach. She smashed into another boat leaving Southampton. There is great vibration in the stern. Shall be in Queenstown today, Get New York next Thursday so will write again later. Sea quite calm.
Shorney died in the sinking and his body, if recovered, was not identified.
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I am always bothered by those questions that go like this: “If you could share a meal with some famous person from the past, who would it be?” It bothers me for several reasons. First, I would be so filled with anxiety that I couldn’t eat. Second, I can never think of anything sensible to say if I am around anyone who is famous, prominent, or in any way intimidating. Third, some people that I really love from the past would not be very congenial to be around. Along with that, if more than one of my heroes were there, I am not sure that they would get along. I would positively dread sitting at a table with Ronald Reagan, William Faulkner, and John Calvin.
That being said, I think I could enjoy having some real contact with the late South Carolina author Pat Conroy. Conroy does not rank among my “most favoritist writers.” I don’t think he would rank as one of the greatest writers of all time. But the man could write. He could craft stories. He could create plots that trap the reader and remain in the mind long after the book was finished. He could delight, amuse, shock, offend, heal, and touch his readers. The man, in spite of criticisms of his overblown prose, could deftly handle the gestation of literature that happens when the right pencil and paper meet.
My most recent brush with Conroy came through reading Our Prince of Scribes: Writers Remember Pat Conroy, edited by Nicole Seitz and Jonathan Haupt. The book has been published by the University of Georgia Press.
This book consists of a large number of memories, tributes, eulogies, and accounts of writers who knew Conroy. Many of the contributors were unknown to me, but the fact that Rick Bragg and Ron Rash both contributed to the book was enough to pique my interest. Upon starting the book, I found myself enjoying it, but thinking that it would be a book that only Conroy fans would care for. No doubt, anyone who likes Conroy’s work would enjoy this collection, but it is more than a farewell tribute from fellow authors. This book is a biography, but it is also the story about writing, about encouragement, about the role of authors, the need for mentors, and the power of love.
In case after case, Pat Conroy reached out to new, aspiring, and struggling authors and pressed, pushed, cajoled, and forced them to write. If they had already written a book, he use the same tactics to get them to finish their second book. Repeatedly, Conroy would embrace these younger or novice authors and brag on their books. He could have written a whole book consisting of blurbs he wrote for other and often unknown writers. Although he had no shortage of reading materials in his own personal library, he bought lots of novels by those who he was encouraging. He both read and remembered, praised and sometimes constructively criticized, and created a whole cadre of writers, largely but not always southern.
I discovered more authors and book titles than I will ever be able to read just by reading this book.
Conroy would end letters and notes with the words “Great Love.” My goodness, the man looked like a cross between Santa Claus and a teddy bear. Many writers speculated that Conroy’s own pains, abusive upbringing (all related to accounts found in The Great Santini), and struggles in life gave him a strong heart of passion for all he did and people he touched.
Conroy was no saint, either in his own Catholic tradition or in the Protestant sense of the word. He recognized that the writer is searching for God. His own search was part of his overall search in life and desire to write well, live well, and love well. Conroy was, maybe even more than a writer, a teacher. His early book, The Water is Wide, is an autobiographical novel about his experiences teaching in an African-American school off the coast of South Carolina. The teaching profession lost a gem when he was fired and when he turned to writing as a career. But he was always the teacher, the coach, the mentor, guide, and helper.
I wish I could have met the man. I wish I could have sat down to a meal with him. He would have talked the whole time. I would have been falling over in laughter at half his stories and turning red from embarrassment at other stories. I would probably be working on a novel right now if I had met him.
Years ago, I attended a pastors conference and heard a prominent theologian whose books I own and have read. I ran into him during the conference as he was going down a flight of stairs. I stopped and told him how much I loved a certain book he had written. Being tall and standing on a higher step, he was already over-towering me. What I always remember is that he just stared at me when I spoke to him. Maybe there were some reasons why I was left cold by that encounter. But if I had met Pat Conroy, the story would be drastically different. He would have made me feel like I was the king of the hill.
I started reading Conroy books way too late. It all started when I picked up a copy of My Losing Season and fell into the trance of his prose style. I still have several volumes to go before I can say that I have read all he ever wrote. That’s the best we can do now. He is gone, but his influence, his personality, and his books live on.
Post Script for Christian readers of this blog:
- The accounts of Pat Conroy are the best examples I have seen of someone who had and used the gift of encouragement. Although famous, he always took time for others. He expended himself on helping others.
- R. C. Sproul spoke and wrote about his own experience reading Conroy. He read The Lords of Discipline and wrote to Conroy praising him for the book. Sproul was then surprised when he got a letter back from Conroy. Sproul had been grappling with how to write a dialog when the speakers are using “non-Sunday School” words. Conroy expressed his own frustration that church folks had with his books.
- As Conroy would say, people cuss and do violent things. His writings are realistic.
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CATRA members were saddened by the January 5th passing of Don Blythe who had served as Chair of Tire Stewardship BC (TSBC) since 2007.
Prior to joining the CATRA member as its board Chair, Don had a long and successful career in the tire retail sector that began in 1957. He started his journey as an employee with Goodyear and in 1983, after many years as an OK Tire franchisee, was named its president – a position he held for twenty years.
Don also served as president of Western Canada Tire Dealers (WCTD) from 1995 to 1997 and was named to its Hall of Fame in 2008. He was further honoured as an inductee into the Tire Industry Association (TIA) Hall of Fame in 2010.
Over the course of his career, Don contributed his time and knowledge to the development of several scrap tire recycling programs in Canada, particularly British Columbia’s. His involvement in the work required to transfer the provincial program from a government-run to an industry-run model was significant in achieving that goal in 2007.
Over the years, Don was active on several CATRA committees and at the time of his passing, was a key member of the Management Committee and the Best Practices and Compliance Committee. While he frequently referred to himself as just a “tire kicker”, Don was much more than that to CATRA’s members and he will be sorely missed.
A long-time resident of Surrey, B.C., Don is survived by Laura, his wife of 54 years.
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One day a man comes home from work to find total mayhem at home. The kids were outside still in their pajamas playing in the mud and muck. There were empty food boxes and wrappers all around.
As he proceeded into the house, he found an even bigger mess. Dishes on the counter, dog food spilled on the floor, a broken glass under the table, and a small pile of sand by the back door. The family room was strewn with toys and various items of clothing, and a lamp had been knocked over. He headed up the stairs, stepping over toys, to look for his wife.
He was becoming worried that she may be ill, or that something had happened to her. He found her in the bedroom, still in bed with her pajamas on, reading a book. She looked up at him, smiled, and asked how his day went.
He looked at her bewildered and asked, "What happened here today?"
She again smiled and answered, "You know everyday when you come home from work and ask me what I did today?"
"Yes," was his reply.
She said, "Well, today I didn't do it!"
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|“||My, 626. You are so great. Look, I make a DNA enhancement for my finest creation! Oooh, I am sick of it! I am sick of it! Well, everything's about to change. We'll see how Jumba feels about you now that I have used the DNA on myself!||„|
|~ Chopsuey before mutating himself.|
Chopsuey, also known as "Experiment 621", is an illegal genetic experiment created by Jumba Jookiba. He has similar powers to Stitch, but is less capable. He has all of Stitch's powers, but is jealous of all the attention Stitch gets. He is the main antagonist of Disney's Stitch: Experiment 626. Chopsuey is voiced by Frank Welker.
Disney's Stitch: Experiment 626
621 served as Jumba' assistant round the lab.
Jealous of Experiment 626 because of all the attention Jumba was giving him, 621 stole the DNA 626 collected for Jumba, and used it to mutate into a bigger, stronger form. 621 then battled 626, but was defeated. The unconscious Experiment 621 was apprehended by Gantu along with Jumba and 626 shortly after.
Lilo & Stitch The Series: Kixx
Jumba explained that 621 used to train Stitch.
Experiment 621 is shown to be sadistic and envious and possess a superiority complex. 621 was designed to be a living weapon with destructive capabilities. But he's also a lousy fighter, only winning his battles through sheer strength rather than skill and can also be quite reckless and clumsy in such circumstances. However, he makes up for it by being a lot more civilized than most other experiments, and it shows in his personality (no matter how bad it can be). He is usually sarcastic and grouchy to other living creatures.
He is also very self-centered. He desperately wishes to be top of the line, and superior to all others, and thus, 621 can be very jealous of the other 625 experiments created by his master, Jumba.
Now, thanks to his past, 621 also holds a grave, deep hatred towards two others. He has hate for his original creator, Dr. Jumba Jookiba, for abandoning 621 after his use was nearly gone. And he shows an ultimate resentment towards his succssor experiment, 626 (Stitch!). This hatred goes so far, that 621 would even wish to KILL these two. Indeed, past his civilized manners lives a monstrous beast. One made more from self-doubting and fear, but still destructive. Often times, this anger lets itself out through 621's chattering, shivering, and insane laughter.
Though his mischievous and destructive tendencies, he's very friendly, but is usually quite crabby towards other when they disturb him.
In his regular form (not counting his extra limbs), 621 resembles a slim, dark green koala standing on two, very slim legs. The fur on his belly, bottom jaws, and around his eyes however are a dull yellow color. On his rather large-in-proportion head are a pair of bugging black eyes, a large black-green round nose, and a wide underbite with two jutting fangs. His ears are quite long and slim, almost like a bat's own ears, and has creamy yellow insides. He is quite short, standing at two feet, including his dark yellow spiky mohawk. He stands 3 feet tall and weighs 55 lbs.
He wears a dark brown (nearly black) sleeveless space suit, which sprouts into very thin arms ending with long black claws and creamy yellow inner hand/paw pads. His slim, short legs all end with round feet dotted with black toes.
When in his mutated form, there is a major difference in his appearance. 621 is now standing at around 6 feet. His eyes are much bigger and bug out a lot more, while ears are notably shorter than they were before mutation. His chest is quite thick and large now. Sprouting from his chest are some very slim arms that grow into large, muscular forearms ending with longer black claws. His lower torso is quite small compared to his huge chest, but these sprout into skinny legs with huge monstrous feet. On his back, his spikes have become much sharper and are 1 foot long. (Note: Chopsuey's jump suit can expand into this form).
621 has similar powers to Stitch, but is not as effective at using them. He is both very physical and well-equipped. He is able to use a Jet-Pack and a Grapple-Gun.
Basic Experiment attributes: 621 has all of the most basic abilities that many other experiments possess. His green hands and feet can produce a sticky substance that allows him to scale walls and ceilings without falling, much like a bug. He has the ability to see very well in the dark (as seen whenever his eyes turn green), lift people/objects that are many times his own weight (he isn't the strongest experiment, but is strong; one can compare his strength to that of an average human weight lifter), and his skeletal structure is so flexible that he can roll around as a ball, curled up while biting onto his legs.
Retractable limbs: 621 can retract and extract extra limbs at any time he wishes. He has an extra pair of arms that have already torn holes on the sides of his brown space suit, sharp black claws at the tip of his fingers, three porcupine-like spikes tipped with whitish-blue and black that sprout from his back, and two bug-like antennae of no real use.
DNA Mutation: An ability received after he was genetically altered by Dr. Jumba's mutator machine. His innards, thanks to the special cases of DNA he placed in the machine before mutation, have formed in a way that could boost his strength and adrenaline to alarming rates. Such change occurs upon consumption of fresh genetic material from strong, fast, very well-adaptive creatures (the very well abundant non-magical humans, unfortunately, are out of this category, as they are physically too weak for such use).
Such material comes in the form of hair, blood, or even nails. The mutation changed 621's body enough for him to handle such consumption (although, most experiments could already handle such a diet). When enough DNA is absorbed, he takes on this stronger, faster form for 5 posts. Afterwards, he reverts back to normal and will have to search for more material to consume for another mutation.
Speech: Unlike most other experiments, who usually speak Tantalog or in no language at all, 621 can also speak fluent English with a vaguely Russian accent, not unlike his creator Jumba Jookiba.
His weapons are two plasma cannons that he normally keeps hidden with his retracted extra arms. He has a secondary gun, used more for self-defense. This gun fires a beam of green energy at targets, and can teleport them short distances no more than fifteen feet. Where the target reappears is random.
621 was able to mutate himself into a much larger and stronger creature by collecting DNA strands. In this form he is physically more powerful than Stitch but less skilled.
It is unknown whether or not 621 shares Stitch's weakness of water, though it is possible, considering he is a prototype of Stitch.
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Synonyms for bolo
- cutting edge
EXAMPLES FROM THE WEB FOR BOLO
Always on the alert, his bolo was ready in an instant, but there was no need for it.
Bravely he descended, but this time he swam with his bolo in his hand.
Nothing but the bolo and the bow and arrows that he always took.
The first soldier who was struck with a bolo had his head cut off at one blow.
Quentina was at the Bolo station; so, too, was Susie Billings.
These had gone with the body of insurgents from the villages of Pilitan and Bolo.
Who stuck the bolo all the way into the trunk of the banana plant?
The Hindu boy swung with the flat of his bolo and there was a thunk as he connected.
Chahda took the bolo from him and made a slit in the straw of the hut.
He took a bolo from under the rear seat of the jeep and tucked it into his belt.
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It is with great sadness that the Kasanka Trust heard of the death of John Hudson in January this year. John was a staunch supporter of the Trust and an enthusiastic Director and will be sorely missed. His daughter Clare kindly prepared this obituary. A contribution by Chris Kangwa, one of the current Trust Directors, follows on behalf of us all.
Written by Clare Daniels
John was born on 13th September 1930 in Balovale, or Zambezi, as it is now known, in the North Western Province of Zambia. His father was a District Commissioner and during his early years he moved around the country to Mumbwa, Livingstone, Lusaka, Ndola and then back to Lusaka. His was an idyllic childhood, much of it spent out and about in the bush hunting small game and looking for birds’ nests during school holidays. At the age of seven, he was sent to Ruzawi, a boarding school in Southern Rhodesia (Zimbabwe), and later to St Andrew’s College, Grahamstown in the Eastern Cape Province of South Africa. After South African matriculation exams, he was accepted by Oxford University to read Politics, Philosophy and Economics at Worcester College. Whilst at Oxford, he took up rowing which he greatly enjoyed.
After Oxford, John applied for the Colonial Service with the aim of returning to Northern Rhodesia. Fortunately, he was offered an appointment in the Provincial Administration as a Cadet. Before returning to Africa, he spent a year at Trinity Hall, Cambridge on a post-graduate Colonial Service Course. In 1952, he set sail on a Union Castle ship to Cape Town and travelled up to Lusaka by train. His first posting was to Kasempa, in the North Western Province. The local people were mainly Kaonde, a language which he mastered along with Lozi and Bemba, and to a lesser extent, Nyanja. His main method of learning the languages was to read the vernacular versions of the New Testament together with the English version. He maintained that the somewhat biblical turn of phrase pleased the examiners who were usually local missionaries. After Kasempa, he moved to Kabompo.
In 1955, his first three year tour ended, and he travelled to England and married Gretta Collins who was from Dublin in January 1956. He travelled back with her to his new posting at Mufilira on the Copperbelt. Their twin sons were born during their time there. This was followed by a posting at Chalimbana, then Mankoya (now Kaoma) where their daughter was born, by which time he had been promoted to District Commissioner. Ndola, Isoka, and in the lead up to independence, Mazabuka, were his final Colonial Service postings.
In 1965, John joined the Zambia Sugar Company as Estate Secretary at Nakambala. In 1968, he was offered the position of the Manager of the National Milling Company branch in Cairo Road, Lusaka. After this, he joined the National Import and Export Board as the Management Services Economist. This led to an offer to join Moore Pottery Limited as General Manager. The pottery was failing and he was able to breathe new life into it and turn it into a profitable venture. He worked with Anderson and Anderson before being approached by the ZNFU for what would be his last full time job. He held the post of Executive Director from 1985 until 1994 when he retired. Although he felt that agriculture and politics were a new territory for him, he was supported by an experienced Executive Committee and his years with the ZNFU were very happy and productive ones. The ZNFU grew from 12 farmers’ associations to 33, and he was also involved in the formation of Zambia Coffee Growers’ Association, Zambia Export Growers’ Association, Wildlife Producers’ Association of Zambia, Environmental Conservation Association of Zambia, Young Farmers’ Union of Zambia and Southern African Conference of Agricultural Unions (SACAU). After retiring, he continued to represent the ZNFU on several committees. It was during his time at ZNFU that John was awarded the Order of the British Empire (OBE) by the Queen in 1992.
John also sat on other committees in his ‘retirement’. He was delighted to be asked to join the Kasanka Trust, along with becoming a representative for British Executive Services Overseas (BESO) and a Correspondent for the Beit Trust. As Gretta recalls “John believed right from his first association with Kasanka that it should go forward although for a long time it didn’t move much, partly because of its remote location. If in Lusaka, he would never miss a meeting or gathering and really loved getting there and seeing the staff and general improvements”. During his life, he travelled the world extensively; however, he was never happier than when in the bush or on a boat in Zambia, and amongst family and friends. He climbed both the Ruwenzori Mountains in Uganda and Mt Kilimanjaro, and skied on several continents. A keen shot and fisherman, he instructed his grandchildren in these vital skills. Despite being shot in the legs in a robbery, he continued to play tennis until in his 80s and guarded the net with a frightening intensity.
In 2014, with his health failing, he felt that the time had come to leave Zambia to move to be closer to family in Hertfordshire, UK. He passed away peacefully on 20th January 2016 surrounded by Gretta, sons, Edmund and Patrick and daughter, Clare, along with daughters-in-law and several of the grandchildren.
And from Chris Kangwa on behalf of the Kasanka Trust Directors and Members
John Hudson was a simple, down to earth gentleman with his heart in the right place; a man without excesses. Unashamedly, it should be stated that he well understood that contribution and volunteerism are critical ingredients in leaving the world a better place. Even when frail, he knew we are called to do what we can with whatever we have, wherever we are!
Sitting with him and sharing the privilege of hearing him download the history of Northern Rhodesia and it’s transition into modern day Zambia was a great joy. Akin only to sitting with a richly endowed poet and hearing them masterfully recite the grand work of their lives from their very lips. He was an alluring gentle giant upon whose shoulders dwarfs would comfortably and happily perch so they can see further.
Only a man of his capabilities and demeanor could have been relied and called upon to dissuade and diffuse the Lenshina uprising and still survive it to tell the tale. As in his truthful and well collaborated account in his essay entitled ‘Time to Mourn’ (a befitting title from Ecclesiastes 3 – time for everything under the sun), he wished for more dialogue among the parties. As is rightly said ‘wars begin when dialogue fails’.
In John’s careful and deliberate estimation, God’s creations – both great and small – seemed to attract his gentlemanly sympathies and the stewardship that spurred him to work and see to their conservation. It was thus not surprising that this fueled and propelled him in his conservation work both for the Kasanka Trust and the Wildlife Producers Association of Zambia.
John Hudson was a committed British gentleman, easily spotted from his love for his quintessentially British Land Rover.
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Nikos Nikolaidis, the multi-award winning director and writer, was born in Athens on the 25th of October 1939.
His directorial debut began with the short film: Lacrimae Rerum 1962, and his official entrance into world of filmmaking was in 1975, with the feature film Euridice Β.Α. 2037.
Aside from film directing, Nikolaidis has worked for a record company and has put his signature on more than 200 television commercials.
He is the only Greek filmmaker to have been awarded five times as “Best Director” at the Thessaloniki Film Festival, yet never for the “Best Film” category.
He passed away on the 5th of September 2007.
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Did Jesus really ever visit India and Tibet? This is a question people all around the world will shortly be asking themselves when the $20 million Hollywood blockbuster movie, The Aquarian Gospel, is released in 2010. The film is about Jesus' missing years and is directed by Australian-born Drew Heriot, who was launched onto the world stage in 2006 when he directed The Secret.
English author and poet, Alan Jacobs, happened to be in India in 2008 when he read about this blockbuster film in the Indian press, and was intrigued. The idea that Jesus travelled to India has been called "the tale that won't go away" and has captured the imagination and interest of millions, Jacobs recounts. He suggested to his publisher that he write a book giving the evidence for and against the hypothesis that Jesus travelled to India and Tibet - and the result was When Jesus Lived in India published earlier this year. I speak to him on the phone about the book and his personal opinion on the matter...
In the Bible, the only reference to Jesus' life between the ages of 12, when he is debating with the elders in the temple, and 30 when he is baptised by John the Baptist, is "the boy grew in stature and wisdom".
An interesting source of evidence for the idea that Jesus did live in India is a book entitled The Aquarian Gospel written by the Reverend Dr Levi H Dowling, which is now in its 53rd reprint and 18th edition. Levi Dowling, who lived from 1844 to 1911, was the son of a minister and by the age of 16, Levi himself was preaching to large congregations. He served in the United States Army as a chaplain during the American Civil War and, after attending university and medical college, practised medicine until he retired.
According to his second wife and biographer, in addition to practising medicine, he also spent 40 years studying the esoteric sciences and in deep meditation. He found himself able to access the Akashic records, a huge collection of knowledge, which is believed to record every event in the history of the cosmos and to be stored in a non-physical plane of existence, Jacobs explains.
Other people who have claimed to be able to access the Akashic records are Madam Blavatsky, founder of the Theosophical Society, Edgar Cayce, the most documented psychic of the 20th century, and Rudolf Steiner, the Austrian philosopher.
In The Aquarian Gospel, Dr Levi Dowling claims that Jesus did visit India and Tibet during his missing years. It describes him travelling with the royal prince Ravenna of Orissa through India, and studying for four years with the Brahmins at the Jagannath Temple in Orissa where he learnt about the Vedas, the ancient sacred texts of Hinduism. The Brahmins were astonished by this young Jewish boy's understanding of these ancient texts. But they became angry and drove him out of the temple when he began to question the Hindu caste system, and why the Untouchables were not allowed access to sacred texts and teachings.
The Aquarian Gospel also mentions that Jesus went to Tibet's capital Lhasa where he was given access to all the sacred Buddhist manuscripts, before he travelled on to the province of Ladahk in Northern India, and then into Lahore. In addition, it recounts that Jesus returned to India after the crucifixion when he arose from the dead.
Scholars have found discrepancies with The Aquarian Gospe,l Jacobs explains. For instance, it mentions that Jesus visited Lahore, which did not exist in his time, and also claims that Jesus knew the Chinese sage Meng-tzu, but the latter actually preceded Jesus by three centuries. However, The Aquarian Gospel has a very large following, particularly in the United States, and has never been out of print.
The idea that Jesus spent his missing years in India first came to light at the end of the 19th century when a Russian called Nicolai Notavitch published his book, The Unknown Life of Jesus Christ, in the 1890s. Notavitch was an author and historian and in 1887 he visited a Buddhist monastery in Ladakh. There he was told by the head lama it was believed that the essence of the Buddhist teachings were in those of Christianity because the prophet Issa, their name for Jesus, had visited Tibet 2,000 years earlier.
The lama told him to go to the monastery of Hemis, near Leh, in Ladakh, and there the abbot read him the verses of an ancient manuscript which related to Issa's visit to Tibet. With the help of an interpreter, he recorded them.
These verses are known as the Tibetan Gospel of Issa.
They give a history of the people of Israel and an account of Jesus' birth, as well as of his death. Like The Aquarian Gospel, the Tibetan text also says that Jesus travelled to India, where for six years, he was taught about the Vedas by the Brahmins. It also supports the claim in The Aquarian Gospel that Jesus spoke out about the Brahmins' treatment of the Untouchables, and spent time with and taught these downtrodden people.
When, it's claimed, the Brahmins decided to kill Jesus, he quickly left the Juggernaut area where he had been based and went to Gautamides, the birthplace of Buddha, and here studied the sacred sutras. In the Tibetan Gospel of Issa it is said that after six years, Issa, whom Buddha had chosen to spread his holy word, had become a perfect example and teacher of the sacred writings. It also says that Jesus visited the Hemis Monastery in Ladakh and describes his return to Judea and his subsequent preaching, arrest and crucifixion.
When Notavitch's sensational book was published, an Oxford professor called Dr Max Muller was asked to investigate its veracity. He sent an English schoolmaster based in Agra to Ladakh where he was allegedly told by the Hemis Monastery abbot that he had not met Notavitch, and that he knew nothing about the manuscript.
Yet 40 years before Notavitch visited the monastery, according to Dr Holger Kersten, author of Jesus in India, a Mrs Harvey went there and described viewing the manuscripts. Also, after Notavitch, a man called Kaliprasad Chandra went to Hemis and was told by the monks that Notavitch's account was truthful and was shown the manuscript. Further, in 1939, a Swiss nun and the President of the World Association of Faith were also shown the manuscripts.
Dr Holger Kersten went to visit the Hemis monastery in 1979, but the manuscripts in question could not be found. But he did see evidence that Notavitch had actually been to Hemis. Kersten also discovered Hindu texts written between the 3rd and 4th centuries describing how Jesus had come to India.
Another interesting piece of information comes from the Koran, which does not mention Jesus' missing years, but says that he escaped the crucifixion and travelled to India, settled in Kashmir and later died there. It is a view supported by highly respected Islamic scholars. There is actually a temple at the place in Kashmir where he is believed to have lived and died.
There is no definite evidence as to whether Jesus did or did not visit India and Tibet. As Alan Jacobs says, "You are really in the field of possibilities and probabilities.
What I have discovered is this. Christians don't like it, so it is not credible. Hindus like it, because the idea that Jesus visited India is as attractive as if he visited Great Britain or anywhere else. Islam likes the idea that he was in Kashmir and the Buddhists like the idea that he was in Tibet, so really it is where you stand on this. You could say that your own attitude is conditioned by your own religious belief, or what you would like to believe. But what actually happened we will never know, unless more evidence comes up."
However, what does fascinate Jacobs is the folk legend which has existed for 2,000 years that Jesus was seen in Tibet, Nepal, northern India and Kashmir.
In his book, Alan Jacobs also considers other possibilities to account for Jesus' missing years, one of which is that he lived with the Essenes, a Jewish ascetic community. It was a religious community that had a lot of rules that Jesus later preached, Jacobs explains, including communal meals, baptism and the monastic life. Some of his friends including John the Baptist were known to have been Essenes. If this is the case, the likely reason it is not mentioned in the four Gospels in the Bible is due to the Essenes' link with Orthodox Judaism, and the Christian Church's desire to disassociate itself from Judaism.
Parahamsa Yogananda, founder of the Self-Realization Fellowship, contributed hugely to bringing greater awareness to the West of the spiritual wisdom of the East. In his two volume work, The Second Coming of Christ, he shows Jesus' teachings are connected to yoga, one of the world's oldest spiritual paths to achieving oneness with God. Yogananda's belief is that the three wise men who came to Bethlehem when Jesus was born were great rishis, sages from India. So, from the beginning of his life Jesus had a very special connection with India. Then, when he was 12 or 13, he joined one of the caravans travelling from Palestine to India, and spent many years there and also in Tibet.
Alan Jacobs is Jewish by birth, but he explains he has studied all the main religions and written extensively about Christianity, including two books on the Gnostic Gospels.
When Jesus Lived in India includes paraphrased versions of the relevant texts of Dowling's The Aquarian Gospel and also the Gospel of Issa and Jacobs puts forward the evidence for and against the idea that Jesus lived in India, but admits that we shall probably never know one way or the other.
Finally, Jacobs adds, perhaps today in this Age of Aquarius, world of globalisation and era of communication, there is also a desire to emphasise more what the main religions have in common rather than their differences. And that explains why the idea that Jesus lived in India and embraced the teachings of both Hinduism and Buddhism is now so popular. Having personally studied both Buddhist and Hindu teachings, but also feeling very aligned to Christianity and its beliefs, I am certainly excited by this possibility.
When Jesus Lived in India by Alan Jacobs is published by Watkins Publishing and costs $24.99.
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I'm starting to see a new benefit of having a double sided easel as the girls get older; they can paint/draw at the same time and have started making a game out of it! Their most recent game was inspired by a funny and silly art book they have called, "When Pigasso Met Mootisse," by Nina Laden. This cute book is about a pig and a bull named Pigasso and Mootisse. They are modeled after, uh, Picasso and Matisse, and they move out of Paris to get away from the hustle and bustle and end up out in the country across the street from one another. At first they get along, but then Pigasso criticizes Mootisse's work (or maybe it's the other way around) and they start feuding. It gets so bad that they build a giant fence to separate their houses. Eventually though they start to miss each other and quietly go out and paint on either side of the fence. This is the part of the book that influenced the girls in their game. Tess stood on one side of the easel, and Jo on the other, and they very seriously assumed the roles of "Jo-asso, and Tess-tisse." Laugh. Out. Loud. Jo not only insisted on being called Jo-asso but she actually told us we could call her "asso" for short. Never ones to argue with the truly important work of children's play, we agreed!
The game was very cute and it inspired both of them to work for a long time on either side of the easel/"fence". This made me think of all sorts of fun things we could do once Tess gets a little older. It was so interesting to see how different their works were (Tess-tisse painted and Jo-asso used crayon and markers) that I think it would be great to have them both draw a line (for instance), and then see the divergent paths their work would take. Or to have them both use the same color paint, or crayons, or marker and see what they each came up with. There are lots of possibilities for sisterly game playing at the easel as they both get a little older!
In the end of the book Pigasso and Mootisse end up friendly again and all the critics love the paintings they made on the fence. Over here we loved the works Jo-asso and Tess-tisse came up with, although Josephine, ever dedicated to a role, still insists she didn't do the painting, but rather credits "asso" with the work.
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Impulsively, I cupped K's head in both hands and lifted it a little. I sought to regard his face in death. He was lying prone, and after one quick look at his face from below, I immediately withdrew my hands. It was more than just fear. I was shocked by the weight of his head. From above, I gazed for some time at the cold ears I'd just touched, and at the thick, close-cropped hair that was no different than usual. I felt no urge to weep. I felt only terror. The terror I felt, though, was more than the simple terror of my senses reacting to the scene before me. It was a profound terror, a terror of the Fates, embodied here in this friend so suddenly cold.
Lacking the wit to do otherwise, I returned to my own room. I began to pace its length and breadth. My mind commanded me to keep moving, even if for nought. I thought that I must, somehow, do something. At the same time, I knew there was nothing to be done. I couldn't refrain from circling the room. I paced like a bear in a cage.
More than once, I thought to go in and wake Okusan. I was restrained, though, by the thought that the scene was too dreadful for her. A firm desire to spare the ladies, particularly the daughter, from the shock of this all, held me in check. So reasoning, I would thus resume my pacing.
During this time, I lit my lamp. Then, occasionally, I would glance at the clock. Never have I seen anything move with such reluctantance as the hands of that clock. I don't know exactly when I woke, but I know it was close to daybreak. As I continued to pace, anxiously awaiting the dawn, my thoughts were plagued by illusions and fears of endless night.
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Sonny's Recovery from Gum Disease and "CUPS"
Sonny, a perky 8-year-old Maltese, had been experiencing dental problems for months. Over time, he had even developed enlarged lymph nodes under his chin and had begun to drool and rub at his face. Sonny's owners were concerned that he appeared to be in discomfort. Sadly, Sonny was not himself, and his owners couldn't understand why.
Sonny's primary care veterinarian referred him to Dr. Debra Fiorito, board-certified veterinary dental specialist at Brick Town Veterinary Hospital, for an evaluation. Dr. Fiorito determined that Sonny was suffering from multiple ulcerations, or sores, in his mouth, including along the edges of his tongue.
Sonny had also developed significant gum disease resulting in oral bone loss and loss of support around his teeth. Infectious bacteria, such as those responsible for bad breath, had overstimulated his immune system, provoking a syndrome known as Chronic Ulcerative Paradental Stomatitis or CUPS. Unfortunately, CUPS appears to be on the rise in the canine population.
Dr. Fiorito performed a comprehensive dental procedure including taking dental x-rays, performing selective dental extractions, along with biopsies and treatment of the delicate ulcerated tissues. She administered medical therapy aimed at quieting Sonny's overactive immune system. Within weeks, Sonny was back to normal again — barking, playing and interacting with his owners as before — so much so that Sonny's owner told us excitedly, "Thank you for getting our Sonny back!"
Spice's Story — Saving a German Shepherd's Fractured Teeth
One day Spice, a playful German Shepherd, was tossing her toy into the air and then catching it again and again with her mouth. After one missed catch, Spice's jaw came crashing down on the glass coffee table nearby. Spice's owners heard a yelp and found tooth fragments on the ground near the base of the coffee table. Spice had fractured two teeth in the process.
The family was referred by Spice's primary care veterinarian to Dr. Fiorito, who explained that similarly fractured teeth become infected within hours, and may abscess. These infections are frequently "silent" (85% of the time) with no visible signs of swelling, drainage, or obvious pain response from the pet. Infected teeth may eventually progress to heart, kidney, and liver problems over time.
Spice's family chose root canal therapy over extractions of the fractured teeth in order to address the potential for infection and also to allow Spice to keep the use and function of these teeth in the future.
Dr. Fiorito successfully performed root canal therapy on both teeth with subsequent restorations. Spice is now back to playing and chewing again, fully recovered and feeling as good as new!
|X-rays of Spice's fractured teeth after root canal therapy.|
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Well. What a marvellous, wicked, wanton, dissolute, all-round menace of a caricature Cavalier he was, and now here he is, turning up in Fairfax’s South-Western campaign of 1645 just in time for me to make sport with him.
(An aside – he might have been a most rascally Royalist type, but there’s something strangely appealing about him…)
His early days should have tipped Charles Stuart off to the fact that he was a little bit fly.Lord Goring was a courtesy title only – probably more courteous, and possibly less well deserved, than “Take your hands off there sir!” Goring – as he was the son of the first Earl of Norwich. He had an enigmatic limp gained in his soldiering service at Breda, in the Low Countries . He had a reputation, to quote Clarendon, as a man who “would, without hesitation, have broken any trust, or done any act of treachery to have satisfied an ordinary passion or appetite; and in truth wanted nothing but industry (for he had wit, and courage, and understanding and ambition, uncontrolled by any fear of God or man) to have been as eminent and successful in the highest attempt of wickedness as any man in the age he lived in or before. Of all his qualifications dissimulation was his masterpiece; in which he so much excelled, that men were not ordinarily ashamed, or out of countenance, with being deceived but twice by him.”
Officers stationed in York in 1641 proposed to petition the king and parliament for the maintenance of the royal authority. A second faction was in favour of more violent measures, and Goring, in the hope of being appointed lieutenant-general, proposed to march the army on London during the trial of the Earl of Strafford in 1641. This proposition not unreasonably being rejected by his fellow-officers, he dropped them nicely in it by betraying the plot in April 1641. (A nice example of taking one’s ball and going home.) As a result, he was called to give evidence before the Commons, who commended him for his services to the Commonwealth. Having been commended, he promptly declared for the King in August.
Now, this is where it gets whizzy. Appointed Governor of Portsmouth by people who should have known better, he surrendered the port to the besieging Army of Parliament in September 1642, and scuttled off to the Netherlands for a spot of light recruiting. (And, one assumes, a little light recreational drinking and whoring.) In December that year he returns, after what success is not recorded, and then some fool – oh! that will be the Earl of Newcastle! – appoints him to a cavalry command. He defeats Fairfax at Seacroft Moor, in one of his occasional flashes of brilliance, in March 1643, and then cocks it all up again in Wakefield two months later and is taken prisoner by Fairfax in an attack on the town. April 1644, he effects an exchange, and then – this is the man who’s handed over Portsmouth and then lost Wakefield, remember – some numpty gives him charge of the Royalist left flank at Marston Moor. Which commission he carries out initially with great success…. and then allows his troops to scatter in search of plunder. I am delighted to relate that Oliver Cromwell took full advantage of this shocking want of discipline and gave him a right pasting.
In August Rupert dispatched him to the south of England to serve as as lieutenant-general of the Royalist horse. (God alone knows what Rupert was thinking.) His campaign in the south-west was so vicious that he and his men were cordially loathed by the local residents to the extent that after the battle of Langport in July 1645 the local Clubmen massacred as many fleeing Royalists they could lay hands to in revenge for the Royalist depradations. Which rather makes you wonder about the calibre of officers he attracted…. great minds thinking alike and all.
He made no further serious resistance to the parliamentary general, but wasted his time in frivolous amusements. In November 1645 he obtained leave to quit his disorganised forces and retire to France on the ground of health – possibly the threat to his own of his comrades being so sick and tired of his wanton viciousness, debauchery, and general excessive cavalier-ishness that they might have considered knocking him on the head.
There he is, ladies and gentlemen, Lord George Goring. I couldn’t have invented him if I’d wanted to.
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by Lisa S
Disclaimers: This story contains violence, adult situations, and same sex relationships, which at times are graphic. If this is not suitable for you, please don't read any further.
All characters found in this story are the creation of JD Jenkins and are her property exclusively.
Feedback: I would love to hear what you think of this story. Please email me at firstname.lastname@example.org and let me know what you think!
Author's Note: For anyone familiar with my stories, you might recognize these characters from my story "Shadows". While the characters and setting and some of the incidents may seem familiar, this story is not necessarily a prequel to that story. At this point, I am playing around with how the two stories will fit together, and as a result one or both stories may be altered at some point. Also, this story takes place in one of my all time favorite towns, Madison Wisconsin. Most of the places mentioned are factual, but some are not, created for the purpose of this story. I hope all this rambling makes sense!Dedication: I want to thank my beautiful partner in life for never letting me give up on myself. This story, as with all creativity that comes from me, is dedicated to her. Thank you sweetheart.
Darkness. It consumes you. A cover of shadows creates a new world where evil and good are muddled, lines are gray. A myriad of deceit, immorality, and corruption fill the shadow and take away even the slightest hint of innocence. It is in the darkness that death and life are intermixed, and every breath is a gamble. Plagued with nightmare demons, the darkness strips all its inhabitants of humanity, sucking out any traces of goodness, and keeps you like a puppet, under its control. A living horror, it will take you whole and leave you broken.
There are few chances out of the darkness. A precious few breaks in the shadows that are only visible for a second in time. An escape that is not a release. Once through the break, back into the light, a fight ensues. The darkness doesn't want to let go, but the light is so welcoming, your body, mind, and soul fight an eternal battle. Like a drug, the darkness calls to you, tempting you, reminding you of how easy it was to give up your soul for the treasures of evil and sin.
It's after the darkness that the real test begins.
The sailboats skipped over the water, seeming to defy the gravity as they leaned and tilted toward the water. Bright colored sails filled the horizon, dotting the dark blue-green water. Ducks floated by, quacking at the people on the terrace, hoping for food from the dozens of people gathered around the tables, talking and laughing. The bright orb of the sun shone down on everything, lighting the water and the sails, as though someone was shinning a giant spotlight on Lake Mendota.
One woman sat by herself, just observing the people around her, her eyes skipping around, sometimes focusing on the various boats on the lake. In one hand she held a waffle ice cream cone, her tongue frequently snaking out and licking at the quickly melting ice cream. All around her, people were oblivious to the tumultuous thoughts that churned within her, upsetting the perfection of the day. As she watched and thought, a drop of ice cream fell slowly from the cone, landing on her thumb. She quickly brought her mouth to her thumb, licking up the fallen drop of ice cream, savoring the sweet flavor that Babcock Dairy was famous for.
Lifting her other hand, she swept back her shoulder length hair, unaware of the way the sun played with her the dark locks, creating a glowing halo. Her ice blue eyes caught sight of someone heading toward her. She looked up, focusing on the approaching figure, not recognizing the person, but reading the intention. The approaching woman gave her a quick smile.
"Hi, I was wondering, are you using all of those chairs?" The new woman gestured to the three empty chairs that were crowded around her metal table.
"No, take them," the woman replied, her eyes moving from the new woman, continuing to glance around.
"Thanks!" The woman grabbed two of the chairs and left.
"No problem," the dark haired woman said under her breath.
Time passed slowly as she finished her ice cream cone, finally eating the cone itself and then wiping her hands on a napkin. The sun slowly began to drop, the brilliant sunset illuminating the sky with colors of gold, orange, purple and red. The lake reflected the horizon, creating a myriad of colors that stretched over the entire terrace.
"Hey, Jessie," a voice spoke from behind the woman, startling her.
"Hi Terri," Jessie replied, her voice cool and low, not showing any emotion at all. Quietly she berated herself for getting so wrapped up in the view. Letting someone sneak up on her was not usual. She felt naked to the world without her shoulder holster and Sig. It's almost enough to make me feel like I fit in here.
Terri looked at the seated woman, her eyes sparkling clearly with interest. "I didn't know that you came down here. Or is this a one time thing?" She bobbed her spiked head to encompass the Union Terrace.
"No, I come down here frequently." Jessie's reply didn't give anything away, which was her intent. She might have to work with this woman, but that wasn't a reason to reveal anything personal.
Taking the last chair at Jessie's table, Terri sat down, resting her elbows on the table and putting her chin in her hands so that she could have an unobstructed view of Jessie.
Why don't you just take a picture, it would last a helluva lot long, Jessie thought to herself, mildly uncomfortable at the looks she was receiving from the other woman.
"It's funny, I don't think I've seen you here before." Terri said, her gaze on Jessie never wavering. Oh, how she wished she could just stare at Jessie all day long. The woman was just plain gorgeous. With her dark shining black hair, and intense eyes the color of sapphires, she would never be called plain. But, add that to her perfectly balanced face, straight aquiline nose, and firm, square jaw, Jessie was beyond pretty or even beautiful. Terri had been trying to weeks to worm her way into a date with her co-worker, but hadn't had an ounce of success. Maybe tonight's my chance, she thought gleefully.
"I thought about heading over to Brothers for something to drink. Would you like to join me?" Terri's eyes sparkled hopefully. Maybe if she could get Jessie to the bar, she could then talk her into going for a walk someplace. Preferably someplace dark and deserted.
Avoiding Terri's piercing gaze, Jessie looked around the terrace. A band had begun to assemble and from the looks of the performers, the night air would soon be filled with the sounds of a rock group, more than likely some alternative variety. I could just go with her and get a drink. Nothing wrong with that. Doesn't mean I have to go home with her, right? Internally debating, Jessie's eyes settled on the now dark water. It had been awhile since she'd done anything as casual as getting a drink with someone. She deliberately avoided any socializing, not wanting or desiring anyone's company, happy in her solitude.
"Sure, why not," Jessie shrugged before standing up and stretching her long frame, ever more aware of the looks she was receiving from Terri.
Terri stood as well, a large smile on her face. "Great, let's go then."
The two women headed for the building which housed one of the student unions for the University of Wisconsin in Madison.
The heart of the UW rests near the state's capital building, separated by a long strip of stores, cafes, restaurants, bars, museums, and the Civic Center. All of these could be found on State Street, a street closed to most cars, where people could walk and shop and talk. During the warmer, and some of the colder months, students would sit outside on the benches that lined the street, talking and smoking, some getting out guitars and such for an improvised jam session on the open street. All of this area and more were known to Madisonians as "downtown". The area rested between two large lakes Lake Mendota and Lake Menona.
The Memorial Union rested on the shores of Lake Mendota. Originally the building had been a war memorial for those who fought and died in World War I. It was now the center of recreational, social, and cultural activities on campus. Add to that the terrace and you had an area bustling with students, faculty, and the general public.
And it was the place Jessie went when she wanted to be the most alone, hiding among the crowd, finding solitude in being alone with all the people around. The most lonely place in the world was a crowd of strangers.
Brothers was unusually crowded for a Friday night. Boisterous voices were almost drowned out by the music, which made it less than ideal for pleasant conversation. This was fine with Jessie, conversation wasn't something she really wanted.
As she followed Terri to a seat, she chastised herself. Why am I here? She didn't particularly like Terri, so why had she agreed? She's not even my type, she thought while slipping into a booth Terri had picked. If I even have a type anymore.
"I'll get the first round, what'll it be?" Terri raised her voice to be heard above the steady stream of noise.
"Ah, Sam Adams," Jessie replied, trying to remember what Brothers normally had on tap.
"Be right back," Terri winked at her as she swiveled around, making her way to the bar.
Pulling out a pack of Marlboro Lights, Jessie searched her pockets for a lighter.
"Here." An arm extended toward her, a lit lighter in a beefy hand. Jessie put the end of her cigarette into the flame, inhaling, then pulled away.
"Thanks," she murmured, glancing at the man who'd made the gesture. He was very large, with broad shoulders, and a thick, short neck. His round face was reddened probably a combination of beer and the heat of the bar which was a result of the number of people present.
"No problem," he said, giving her a large smile before lumbering back to a group of similarly built friends. They snickered as he rejoined them, all of the glancing back at Jessie as they did.
"Gotta love straight bars," Jessie said under her breath, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she gave the group a sexy smile.
"Only gone a few minutes and you've already been picked up, huh?" Terri said as she put down two beers, the frothy liquid sloshing a bit at the impact. She slid into the other bench of the booth, giving Jessie a smile.
"Just innocent boys looking for fun." Jessie took a sip of the bitter liquid, savoring it as it slid down her throat. "Thanks," she said, gesturing to the cup Terri had brought her.
"Maybe we should have gone somewhere else." Terri eyed the group of men as they got louder and downing more beer. "I just wasn't sure..." She deliberately let the sentence drop as she tried to feel out Jessie.
"Yes, I'm gay." Jessie said simply, understanding completely what the other woman was getting at.
"You never can tell these days." Taking a drink of her beer, Terri looked at Jessie critically. "Do you have a girlfriend?"
Right to the point, huh Terri. Jessie hid her grin as Terri displayed a typical lesbian feeler. If they were single, they were fair game. "No, I don't have a girlfriend."
Terri's face definitely lifted at this bit of news, the corners of her mouth turning up as she gave Jessie a come hither look. "Have you always lived in Madison?"
Inwardly Jessie sighed. Here it came, the time to ask each other questions, and getting to know each other as much as they could in one night. "No. I grew up here, but left. Now I'm back." She carefully gave the information without committing to anything. It had only been six months since she left Chicago, since she'd run from her life. And every night since she left, the face of a young girl haunted her dreams.
"Why'd you come back." Continuing to probe, Terri wasn't going to give up. She wanted Jessie with every fiber of her body, knowing that it would be a sexual experience to write down in her journal.
Thinking about how to answer that question, Jessie felt a hand on her knee as Terri reached under the table to make contact with her. It had been so long for Jessie. So long since she'd let herself have that casual sexual encounter, that the contact immediately warmed her. "My mother lives here." She answered simply while trying not to focus on the thoughts of Terri's body, completely naked under her own. Maybe I can do this. Maybe I can just let go for tonight and let my body take over.
"So, do you live with your mother?" Terri quickly stood up and moved over to Jessie's side of the table, sitting down on the same booth. Her hand resumed its exploring, finding its way up Jessie's thigh, moving inward till it was at the crotch of Jessie's jeans.
I can't do this, Jessie thought sadly. She no longer wanted the one night stands, or quick loves. She was tired of playing that game, tired of the roller coaster ride. No, she'd rather be alone. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea..." She started to say, but then Terri's hand was there, pressing against her crotch, warming Jessie from the inside out.
"Oh come on," Terri said softly, in a low voice that Jessie supposed she thought was sexy. "Can't hurt anything. Two, single women. Come on back to my place." Her hand started moving, rubbing against the rough fabric of Jessie's jeans.
Actually contemplating this, Jessie became aware of another sound near them. It was a woman's voice. "I said, NO! Just leave me alone!" The woman was saying adamantly, her voice becoming more intense each time.
Both Terri and Jessie looked over their shoulders. The group that Jessie had dealt with earlier was cornering a young woman. They were leering at the woman as they closed in on her. One man grabbed a bit of the woman's reddish blonde hair and gave it a tug. The woman bit his large hand and then stomped on his foot.
"You little..." His had was raised and as he swung it around to make contact with the woman's face, it was stopped mid air.
"I don't recommend that, you asshole." Jessie growled at him as she held his hand in a firm grip. The man turned his anger to her, coming up with his other hand. She quickly caught the other one as well and using the limbs as a pivot point, whirled him around and pinned on of his arms behind his back.
He cried out as his arm was twisted painfully. "Come on guys, help me here!" He pleaded with his friends who were backing off.
"No man, I don't hit women. You're on your own," the man who'd lit Jessie's cigarette said, the others nodding their heads in agreement. "I'm sorry, we were just having fun. We didn't know he'd try something like that," he told Jessie.
Pushing against her hold on the large man, Jessie shoved him toward his friends. "Get him outta here before he gets me mad." They grabbed the man and dragged him out of the bar.
Taking deep breaths, Jessie tried to control her anger as it boiled very close to the surface. "Goddamn pig," she muttered heatedly.
She felt a hand on her arm and the anger seemed to lighten considerably, surprising her. Jessie turned and saw the blonde looking up at her with expansive green eyes. "Thank you," the woman said, a small, gentle smile forming on her face.
Jessie could only stare into the green eyes, finding herself falling deeply into them without her realizing it. The woman left her hand on her arm, her fingers gently moving on Jessie's skin. Her own eyes were still blazing with the blood stirring anger, but as the looked at the smaller woman, she saw no fear in those green eyes, only something else that she couldn't name.
"Jessie!" Terri yelled from behind her, trying to get the woman's attention.
This snapped Jessie out of her reverie. "Ah, you're welcome," she growled, looking down at the smaller woman. "Are you okay?" She ignored the sound of Terri's approach, only noticing the woman before her.
"Yeah." The woman's face scrunched up in distaste as she looked in the direction the men had gone in. "My name's Rowan," she said, sticking her hand out to shake Jessie's.
"I'm Jessie." She met Rowan's hand with her own. Her larger hand completely engulfed Rowan's smaller one. Just one of a thousand differences.
A wonderfully sweet smile was her reward as Rowan starred back at her without fear. The air around them was filled with electricity as they just stood there, anger and other emotions in the current. A whirlpool of thoughts ran through Jessie as an inner war seemed to rise within her.
"Hey, you done over here or what?" Terri said impatiently as she approached the two women.
"Sorry, didn't mean to take you away from your...friend." Rowan said politely as she removed her hand and arm. Her arms immediately went around herself as she realized what had happened. If Jessie hadn't come when she had, Rowan could only imagine what her fate would have been. She gave an involuntary shiver at the thought. As she remembered the look of dangerous anger that had been in Jessie's eyes she shivered again. While she should have been scared at such raw and powerful rage, she felt oddly comforted and safe.
Seeing the small shiver, Jessie's first instinct was to take the woman in her arms and shield her. Where the hell'd that come from??? She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Are you going to be okay?"
"Um, yeah." Rowan nibbled on her lower lip, her eyes narrowing. "I think I'll just head home."
"Where do you live?"
"Over on East Dayton," Rowan said thinking about the walk home and shivering again.
"I'll walk you home, okay?" Jessie asked, not wanting to make the woman uncomfortable and not wanting to let her walk home alone. Those guys could still be out there, and Jessie didn't want to take the chance that Rowan would run into them again.
Rowan looked into Jessie's face, seeing the concern there. Why would she want to do that? Rowan thought to herself, studying the woman's beautiful face, which was framed by dark hair, providing the perfect background for the pair of brilliant blue eyes, which were in turn studying her. "That would be...great," she finished, really grateful that this woman would help her that way.
They both turned toward the door, only to be confronted by a very angry Terri. "What the hell is going on here Jessie? You're just going to leave here, with her?" Sneering at Rowan, Terri leaned forward till her face was right in front of Jessie's.
A low growl came from the back of Jessie's throat at this invasion of personal space. "Get. Out. Of. My. Way." She said slowly, in a menacing tone, biting off each word.
"Hey, look, I didn't mean to cause anyone any problems here." Rowan put her hands up in defense and started to leave.
Jessie gently grabbed hold of her arm, stopping her. Rowan turned, prepared to fight the bigger woman, but instead was caught in the warm eyes looking at her. "Please, I'd like to see you home," Jessie said gently, without any of the menace that had previously been in her voice.
Unable to do anything but look into those incredible eyes, Rowan merely nodded. Turning back to the third woman, Jessie's eyes grew cold. "I am leaving now," she spoke deliberately to Terri. "I don't owe you any explanations." She leaned over to the table they had occupied, grabbed her beer, and downed it quickly. Slamming the cup back down on the table, she looked at Terri while using her tongue to catch the drops of beer on her lips. "Thank you for the beer, now I'm going." Her hand curled around Rowan's small hand and with long strides she led the blonde out of the bar.
"Frigid bitch," Terri yelled as they walked out of the door.
Anger filled Jessie as they left. Taking a deep breath of the humid air, she slowly let it out as she walked. There was no way she'd let someone like Terri have any place in her emotions. She wasn't about to waste time on the woman.
"Jessie?" A timid voice came from behind the tall woman. Stopping, Jessie turned, realizing she still held Rowan's hand in her own. She dropped the woman's hand quickly. Rowan could feel the tension from the stranger, fear growing in her. Indescribably, she trusted this woman, but she didn't want any more confrontations tonight.
"Sorry about that," Jessie muttered, stuffing her hands in her jeans pocket. Looking at the smaller woman, she saw that Rowan was avoiding her gaze. Damn, probably scared the shit out of the kid, she realized suddenly.
"I didn't mean to cause you any problems." Troubled green eyes lifted to meet blue.
Giving the other woman a small smile, Jessie shook her head. "Don't worry. I should thank you for getting me away from her."
"Is she your...girlfriend?" Rowan asked shyly as they began to walk again down the street. To her surprise a gentle laughter came from the other woman at the question.
Rowan blushed as she realized that she might have been wrong about her initial observation. "Sorry, I just thought..."
Jessie waved a hand at her, dismissing her concern. "Nah, you were right about that. I'm sure she'd like to be my girlfriend, at least for a night." Jessie snorted softly.
"Not your type?" Rowan said, smiling up at her tall companion.
"Something like that," was the vague reply.
Silence fell between the two women. The night wasn't very old yet and the streets were filled with people milling about outside of bars and clubs, talking and laughing. The streetlights threw illuminating beams over some of the groups, making the others seem as though they were in deep shadows.
Rowan mentally shook her head. She couldn't believe how this night had ended up. First a friend of hers had stood her up, leaving her alone in a bar where she didn't know anyone. Then that guy had tried to pick her up, not taking her no for an answer. Then this woman stepped in. Quickly looking up at Jessie, Rowan felt her breath quicken slightly. Even from where she stood she could smell the perfume the woman wore, combined with the scent of clean clothes. A nice combination, she decided instantly.
Jessie didn't mind the silence, but she found herself trying to formulate questions to introduce new topics of conversation. She looked over at the smaller woman, catching glimpses of her face in the streetlights they passed. Rowan looked fairly young, probably early twenties. "Are you a student here?" She finally asked, amazed at herself.
Looking up startled at the voice, Rowan smiled to cover her embarrassment. "Not anymore. I'm an Assistant Professor in the English Department." Don't talk too much, Rowan, she told herself, very aware of her habit of talking more than necessary.
"Oh," Jessie looked up at the moon, noticing the first time the half orb that was glowing in the sky. Desperately, her mind tried to think of more questions to ask without seeming obvious.
"Uh, what about you?"
"Me? No, not a student."
The silence between them grew again as they both continued to walk, each deep in their own thoughts.
"Did you know that guy?" Jessie asked suddenly.
"At Brothers? No, I didn't. Apparently he wanted to get to know me, though." Rowan laughed lightly. "Not my type," she said, laughing louder now. Jessie joined in and soon they both had to stop to catch their breath.
Both women turned their heads toward each other at the same time, eyes catching, their laughter ending. Rowan had a sudden urge to wrap her arms around the other woman, but kept her arms at her side. Where did that come from? She frowned to herself.
"What's wrong?" Jessie asked softly, not taking her eyes from Rowan's, noticing the frown on the woman's face. Even the frown couldn't mar the younger woman's beauty.
"This is going to sound strange...but, do I know you from somewhere?" Talking fast in order to get it out, Rowan's eyebrows came together as she gazed up at Jessie. She felt a gnawing inside trying to convince her that she indeed knew this woman from somewhere. No, she would have remembered someone like Jessie, no doubt. So, why this strange feeling?
Raising a hand, Jessie found herself almost cupping the smaller woman's cheek in her hand. What was going on here? "I...I don't think so."
Shaking her head, Rowan smiled. "Oh well, I just feel like I know you from somewhere. Maybe it's the beer talking, I don't know." She started to walk again, wanting to get back to her comfortable home where she'd feel secure. That had to be why she was suddenly feeling strange. She was almost attacked, and this woman had rescued her. It was some kind of hero worship, or something.
Quickly following the other woman, Jessie wasn't going to let her out of her sight until she knew she was safe at home.
"Hey girls, wanna have some fun?" A high-pitched male voice came to them from the shadows of one of the doorways they passed. Jessie quickly looked and saw a young man sitting on the stoop, holding a joint in one hand and a beer in another. He winked at her as she looked, a hand beckoning her to join him.
"No thank you," Jessie answered, her hand going to Rowan's elbow, steering them both away from the doorway.
"Aw, come on. I'll share!" The man yelled after them, coming out of his doorway. Seeing that they weren't going to stop, he shrugged. "Your loss," he muttered before taking a hit off the joint.
"Is tonight the night for freaks?" Rowan mumbled, looking up at the moon. "It's not even a full moon or anything."
"No, it's worse than that."
"What? Did I miss some great big announcement that said it was freak night?"
"No, school starts on Monday. Everyone's having one last huge party before they start to study." Jessie grinned at Rowan, finally releasing the other woman's elbow.
Rowan's skin tingled from where Jessie had touched her, a warmth spreading from that one gesture. "I almost forgot."
"You? The professor? Almost forgot that classes were starting?" Jessie said incredulously. "I would think you'd have it inked on your brain."
Giving a small laugh, Rowan grinned up at Jessie. "Nah, I tend to put things like that out of my brain. Less to worry about if you forget it's coming!" She took a few more steps and then stopped.
"What's wrong?" Jessie asked, concerned by the look on Rowan's face.
Rowan groan softly. "Shit, classes start on Monday!" Seriously dismayed at the thought, Rowan was startled from her bout of misery by a deep, belly laugh. She turned and saw Jessie literally guffawing. "You think this is funny?" Putting her hands on her hips she watched as Jessie merely laughed harder. Rowan looked up at the half moon, her hands in the air. "She thinks this is funny?"
Breathing deeply, Jessie tried to catch her breath. "Oooo...sorry there."
Raising an eyebrow, Rowan just looked at the breathless woman. "How is that funny?"
"It wasn't what you said, it was..." Jessie hesitated. What had been so funny? What had made her laugh like that? Her belly ached pleasantly, a reminder of the force of the laugh. It wasn't what Rowan had said, or even how she said it. It had been the adorable look on her face that had caused Jessie to break up. "It was...ah, nothing, just a thought that went through my mind." She answered, trying to dismiss the thought that caught her off guard.
Stepping closer, Rowan peered into the other woman's face. "No, seriously, what was it?" She was curious. Everything about this woman intrigued her. She seemed so...unflappable. The laugh had been so genuine, so unexpected, and completely wonderful to hear.
Uncomfortably aware of Rowan's face turned up to her, she caught herself wondering what it would be like to quickly press her lips to hers, feeling the softness that she was sure she'd find there. In the light of the street lamp, Jessie saw Rowan's slightly upturned nose, her clear skin that was flushed slightly, and her deep green eyes which were perfectly framed by her eyebrows. It would be so easy to lean down and kiss her...
"Jessie?" Rowan asked softly, moving in a bit closer.
"Uh, what?" Her mind was completely blank. She turned quickly away, focusing her eyes somewhere else, needing to break the invisible spell, which was drawing her closer to Rowan.
"Why were you laughing?"
"The look...on your face. It was..." Jessie felt her face grow warm as she blushed slightly, "...cute." She finished, realizing that cute didn't even come close to describing what she had seen. Or what I felt, she realized. That was impossible. She wasn't looking to feel anything.
A definite reddish color grew over Rowan's face. "Oh," she grinned to herself. Cute, huh? I can handle that.
They stood there, looking at each other, both blushing and both unsure of what to say next. Finally, Jessie cleared her throat. "So, East Dayton Street, right?"
"Right," Rowan confirmed and they both started walking.
Finally, they reached a three-story house with a porch on front. The outside of the house was yellow with dark trim, very typical of the area. Most of the homes were converted into apartments for students, but this one had a nicer look, that of a real home. A wooden swing hung on one end of the porch, and comfortable patio furniture lined the rest.
"Do you live here alone?" Jessie asked, realizing that it might not be the best line of questioning. "Or, are you a renter?"
"No, I own it. I used to rent out one of the bedrooms, but didn't like dealing with people coming and going all hours of the night." Answering automatically, Rowan pulled out her keys and walked up the stairs in front. As she reached the door she noticed that Jessie had stayed back on the sidewalk. "Do you want to come in? For some coffee or something?" She wasn't ready to let this woman out of her sight just yet. Something inside of her wanted to get to know Jessie.
Looking at her watch, Jessie noticed that it was only 10 pm. The night was still fairly early. It was either go in with Rowan or go home and be alone. "Sure," she shrugged, slowly walking up the stairs. A shadow of something akin to grief had passed over Rowan's face just moments before and Jessie was left with a desperate urge to take it away from her. Something, or someone, had hurt Rowan in the past and the mere idea caused her to seethe in anger.
"Great!" Rowan gave her a smile before turning around and unlocking the front door. The shadow was gone, and Jessie decided to leave it alone for now. Rowan opened the door and gestured for Jessie to enter. After the taller woman had cleared the door, Rowan shut it behind her, flipping a switch by the door.
The room now illuminated with light, Jessie looked around curiously. They were obviously in the living room. It had a comfortable, lived in look, but she saw that everything was clean and orderly. Most of the room was in blues, a large couch taking up one entire wall and a small TV in one corner. Pictures of various people covered the walls as well as a few colorful prints. A recliner sat in another corner, and sitting in the recliner was a large cat. The cat rose with a plaintive cry, giving its owner a look of desperation.
"Tigg, you're not dying." Rowan admonished to the cat. The cat gave a small murmur of disagreement, standing and stretching its long body. It was a gray and white-stripped cat; its markings making it look like a small minx. Intelligent gray eyes looked up at Jessie expectantly. "Oh. Jessie, this is Tigger. Tigger, this is my new friend Jessie." The cat seemed to nod his head in acknowledgment.
Jessie, used to the quirks of cats, smiled. "Hello Tigger," she returned the greeting. Seeming to be content with that, the cat looked back at its owner, crying out again for attention.
"As you can see, he's spoiled." Rowan explained. "What would you prefer? Coffee, tea, beer? A soda?" She headed toward a doorway, talking over her shoulder to Jessie.
"Um, whatever you're going to have is fine," Jessie replied, staying where she was.
"Make yourself comfortable, I'll be right back." Rowan disappeared through the doorway, leaving the cat and stranger in the living room.
Knowing that moving the cat would be a bad idea, Jessie settled on the couch. How the hell did I get here again? She asked herself now that she was alone. This was no something she'd normally do. So what had possessed her to come here? As she thought, Rowan came back through the doorway, carrying two steaming mugs. Seeing the soft smile on the other woman's face, Jessie suddenly realized that she knew the answer to her questions. She was there because of Rowan. Simple as that.
"Here," Rowan handed Jessie one of the mugs before sitting next to her on the couch. "Hot chocolate," she explained to the other woman who was looking at the mug curiously.
"Ah," was all Jessie said before taking a sip. Not much of a chocolate fan, she was surprised at how perfect the drink seemed. Taking another sip, she savored the sweet flavor and the warmth in her mouth.
"So, do you always go around helping women in bars?" Rowan had no idea what to talk about. Their conversation on the way to her house was strained. And now here they were sitting in her living room, warranting more conversation.
Ducking her head, Jessie grinned. "No, not something I usually do."
"Am I your first damsel in distress than?"
"I guess you could say that."
"Do you live in Madison?" Rowan continued to try to draw the older woman into conversation.
"Yes." She knew that she needed to be more complete with her answers, so she volunteered some information. "I live above my mother's store on State Street."
"Oh! You're mother's Anne?"
Blinking in surprise, Jessie starred at Rowan. "Yeah. How'd you know that?"
Laughing at Jessie's puzzlement, the blonde was more than happy to explain. "I'm just one of your mother's regular customers. Best bookstore downtown, if you ask me. Do you work there? I don't think I've seen you there before." She didn't add the fact that she would have remembered the tall, dark haired woman.
"I help out there sometimes, but I don't officially work there. I work at the P-Plus office down here." P-Plus was Physician's Plus, one of the health organizations which filled Madison and the surrounding area.
"Are you a doctor?"
It was Jessie's turn to laugh lightly. "No, unfortunately not." She shook her head. "I work in the Human Resources Department."
They continued to make conversation, each of them taking turns asking questions and answering them. They're mugs lay discarded on the coffee table in front of the couch, time forgotten. Finally, Jessie took a glance at her watch. It read 2:08 am.
"Oh shit," Jessie said, standing up. "I'd better get going."
Rowan grabbed Jessie's wrist and looked at the watch herself. "Holy shit!" She echoed, not understanding how that much time had passed. Getting up as well, Rowan looked up at Jessie. "Uh, thanks again. I really appreciate all that you did tonight."
Giving the other woman a self-depreciating smile, Jessie looked back. "You're welcome." They stood there for a minute, neither one looking away. "Well, I guess I'd better go."
Nodding, Rowan walked with her toward the door. "Be careful, okay?"
Watching as Jessie opened the door and started to leave, Rowan grabbed for the last ounce of her confidence. She put a hand on Jessie's shoulder. Turning around, Jessie was shocked when she felt a warm pair of lips brush against her own. "Bye," Rowan said her voice husky.
"Bye." Jessie smiled to herself as she closed the door behind her. She was right. Rowan's lips were soft.
It was the same dream as always. Jessie dream eyes watched herself. She was dressed in a black pant suit, which hung on her body in a familiar way, tight against the curves of her body, but loose enough for her to move with ease. With her were three men, all of which watched her with reverent admiration as she held a gun to the temple of a fourth man who was tied to a chair. They were in an empty room, dark except for an overhead light which wasn't strong enough to light the corners. Those darkened corners held more mystery than the scene itself, full of demons and sorrow ridden ghosts.
Even as she watched the scene, like a mysterious omniscient entity, she tried to warn her dream self. "Don't do it!" She tried to yell, but the woman in the suit didn't listen. The gun never wavered from the man's head, the long, strong hand holding it steadily.
"You know what your punishment should be," her dream self purred to the man tied to the chair. The woman smiled, not a pleasant smile, which seemed to evoke fear in everyone.
The man's eyes bulged out at her voice, his hands fought against the binds that held him tightly. "I didn't do it JB, I swear! It was Nick, I promise you!" The man's whimpering didn't seem to have any affect on the stoic woman.
"Don't worry about Nick. He's already been taken care of. Of course, when it was his time he ratted on you, saying that it was your fault the route was disrupted." As Jessie watched herself, the memories of the anger welled through her. She had been betrayed by this man, he had let something slip to an undercover cop about one of their more profitable drug routes. In the end, Jessie had had to appease many important clients on the East Coast, sacrificing her own reputation to make them happy.
As she remembered the anger, her conscious seemed to coalesce with her dream self, so that now they were one. She was standing in front of the man. She could see his fear in his eyes, smell the pungent odor of his fear-induced sweat. The handle of the gun weighed in her hand, the cool metal a reality check.
"Nick's been taken care of," she repeated before continuing. "All that's left now is taking care of loose ends." She moved the muzzle of the gun down the man's face in an almost caressing manner. "That would be you."
What occurred after that point happened so quickly that Jessie wasn't sure how it had happened. Something scampered out one of the dark corners. One of her men, out of fright, pulled his gun and shot three times into the corner. After the noise of the bullets being forced from the barrel had receded, all eyes turned to see a small form lying on the ground, a pool of dark blood growing around it.
"What the hell did you do!" She yelled as she moved away from the man in the chair. She rushed to the prone form and turned it over. It was a small girl. Her eyes were open in death, starring up at Jessie.
Turning to the man that had pulled the gun, Jessie swiftly was in front of him. Thoughts having escaped her, she was quick to shoot him, not even watching as his body fell heavily to the ground. "Goddamn fucking asshole," she yelled into the air, her scream reverberated off the dank walls of the room, echoing back at her.
Rushing back to the body of the girl, Jessie fell to the floor and took the girl's head in her hands. The face of the girl had changed. She shrank back in horror as it was now Rowan's face looking back at her. Rowan's green eyes had grown glassy in death and were now looking at her in such sorrow that Jessie could feel her heart break in two.
Tears streaming down her face, she leaned down and put her lips to Rowan's before lifting her own gun. Placing the muzzle against her temple, she starred at Rowan's face as she pulled the trigger.
"Hi Rowan!" A pleasant voice welcomed Rowan into the bookstore. The voice came from behind a tall bookshelf. Peeking behind, Rowan found the bookstore owner sitting on the wood floor re-arranging the shelves, a stack of books on the floor next to her.
"Hey Anne," Rowan greeted her warmly. She looked around at the nearly empty shop. "I'm surprised there aren't more people here," she commented.
"Ah," Anne waved a hand at her. "It's a lull. They come in waves." She stood up, stretching her petite body.
Now knowing that Anne was Jessie's mother, Rowan had to wonder where the dark haired woman got her height. Anne stood about five feet, three inches, her hair a rich blonde with gray strands interwoven. But, looking into the older woman's face, Rowan realized that she saw Jessie's brilliant blue eyes starring back at her, a little faded with age, but the same.
"How have you been, Rowan?" Anne asked, ignoring the fact that the other woman was starring into her face intently.
"Pretty good. Busy with classes and students." She wasn't sure whether or not she should mention the fact that she had met Jessie. Oh what the hell, she thought. Truthfully, she had come to Shakespeare's Closet in hopes of seeing the woman. "I met your daughter a few weeks ago." She laughed lightly seeing the surprise on Anne's face. "Actually, she came to my rescue."
"You met Jessie?" Anne seemed quite surprised about that.
"Yeah. She helped me out when some over exuberant college boys decided they wanted to have fun with me."
"I think they wanted more than that," a deep voice came from back. Both women turned around in surprise as Jessie came from the back room. Eyes twinkling, she winked at Rowan. "Nice to see you again."
Blushing slightly, Rowan nodded back in her direction. "You too."
The tall woman studied Rowan for a minute, a small smile forming on her face. It had only been two weeks since their first meeting, but Jessie found herself thinking about the blonde a lot. It was strange and disconcerting, but she had wanted to see her again without being too obvious.
"Are you playing hero again, Jess?" Anne grinned at her daughter.
"I wouldn't exactly say that mom." Not looking at Rowan, she put her hands in her jeans pocket, just standing there. "Just in the right place at the right time."
"Whatever it was, I will be forever grateful." Her voice soft, Rowan looked up at Jessie. Their eyes met as they had many times that fateful night, and Rowan felt herself instantly drawn into the woman's eyes.
Standing back, Anne smiled to herself. There was obvious chemistry between the two women, she could feel it from where she was standing. Rowan had been coming to her bookstore since her freshman year at the UW, and over the years Anne had grown very fond of her. Sometimes Rowan would come in and they would sit over coffee and talk about books and classes, and life in general.
One night, Rowan had come into the bookstore, her depression showing in her face. When Anne probed, Rowan told her that it was the third anniversary of her parents' death. That night Anne held the young woman in her arms, letting her cry in her pain, reminding Anne of her own daughter whom she hadn't seen in years.
Now here they both were, standing in front of her. To Anne it felt like a reunion of sorts. "So, Jess, what brings you here?" Anne turned to her daughter. "I don't have any new lesbian fiction in, so what could bring you here?"
"Can't a girl just come and see her mother?"
"Sure she can. Just curious that's all." She grinned up at her daughter.
Rowan watched the exchange with interest. She had always noticed how a lot of people acted much different with their parents than they did with their friends. Not Jessie. Very interesting, Rowan thought to herself, putting the memory away for a later time.
Anne turned her grin to Rowan. "And the book you ordered is in, Rowan." Turning toward the counter, Anne walked behind and reached for something underneath. Pulling out a hard cover book with a rubber band holding a piece of paper in place, Anne waved it in the air for Rowan to see.
"Great, I was really hoping it would be," Rowan walked over, pulling her knapsack off her shoulder. She hardly ever went anywhere without her knapsack. It contained everything that she thought would be essential in any situation. Digging around for a minute, she finally pulled out her wallet. "How much do I owe you?"
"Mmmm..." Anne flipped open the book, looking for the price on the jacket. "Never can find the prices. We'll say fifteen dollars."
Taking the book from Anne's hands, Rowan looked for herself, very clearly seeing the price listed. "More like $24.95?" Anne looked sheepishly at the woman across the counter. "Anne, I'm a paying customer just like everyone else."
Jessie had sauntered over to the counter by this time. She looked over Rowan's shoulder and saw the price herself. "Mom, she's got you there."
Looking very indignant, Anne put her hands on her hips. "Whose bookstore is this anyway? If I want to charge $15, then I'll charge $15!" She narrowed her eyes at the two women in front of her. "Do either of you have a problem with that?"
Rowan backed up a bit, pretending to be daunted by the look. "Geeze Jess, did you get that look a lot growing up?" She stage whispered to the woman behind her. Jessie hadn't backed up when Rowan had, causing Rowan's body to brush up against her.
Leaning down, Jessie put her mouth near Rowan's ear. "Yeah, if you think that's bad, you should see her when she's really angry," she whispered back.
Turning her head slightly so that she was looking at Jessie, Rowan's eyes got large. "You mean she gets even worse?"
Her eyes looking directly into Rowan's, Jessie nodded her head slightly. "Her face gets red and her voice gets really, really loud."
"Really?" Rowan had almost forgotten what they were talking about as she looked at Jessie. In fact, she'd forgotten all about Anne's presence until the older woman spoke up for herself.
"Very funny you two. Ha ha," the sarcasm heavy in her voice, Anne rang up the purchase on her register. "Fifteen dollars and ninety cents is your total."
Pulling out a twenty, Rowan handed it to her. "Keep the change. You deserve a tip for that performance!" She grinned at Anne, who knew she was beaten.
Jessie took a glance at the book that Rowan had purchased, surprised that she was familiar with the author. "J.D. Redmann, huh?" She remarked, as she picked up the book which was most definitely a lesbian novel. Granted, it was a mainstream publisher, but still, she hadn't picked up on any gaydar vibes when she was with Rowan.
"Yeah, I love Micky. She's so human, she's lovable." Rowan said enthusiastically, grateful to have something to discuss with the other woman.
"I don't think I've read this one yet," Jessie looked at her mom, her eyes narrowing. "You didn't tell me she had a new book out."
"Hey Jess?" Anne said.
"J.D. Redmann has a new book out."
Shaking her head, Jessie rolled her eyes. "Thanks mom, thanks so much."
"Always trying to be helpful," Anne replied cheerfully.
Turning to Rowan, Jessie ignored her mother's jokes. "Do you think Cordelia and Micky will still be together?" She referred to the book, Lost Daughters, which she still held in her hand.
"I hope so! I love them as a couple, don't you?"
"Yeah, I do." Jessie said quietly, thinking of her own love life or lack thereof. It was her choice to be single, to not be attached to anyone, and she was always happy with that. Why was she questioning it now?
Anne moved off to help another customer who had come through the door, leaving the two women alone.
"I don't suppose that she'll be able to have coffee with me today," Rowan remarked watching as Anne conversed with the customer.
Jessie felt that this was an opening for something. "I'm not the conversationalist that mom is, but if you want, we could go get coffee." She shrugged as though it was no big deal, when in fact her heart was pounding in her chest. When Rowan turned to her with a large smile on her face, Jessie didn't even hear her answer, instead she saw the delight in Rowan's eyes.
Saying goodbye to Anne, they headed out the door.
What Jessie hadn't counted on was that Terri would be having coffee at the same time. She'd run into the other woman at work a few times, both of them polite on the surface, but Jessie had sensed some kind of anger underneath it all. Why Terri was angry, she didn't know. It was like Jessie had given her indications that she was receptive to her advances. In fact, she'd done everything she could to discourage the woman. Yet Terri some how seemed to feel that Jessie had done something to slight her.
"Well, if it isn't my two favorite women," Terri's voice came sarcastically from across the crowded café. Both Jessie and Rowan turned from their cups to look at the woman. Terri's eyes were focused on them, blazing with something that indicated an unfriendly emotion. Ignoring the people around them, Terri moved in closer, circling the table the two women were at like she was stalking her prey. "And here I thought you two weren't aquatinted.
This was more than Jessie could handle. Her anger rose to match Terri's, a low rumble began in her chest. This woman would regret interrupting her time with Rowan. She swept her eyes over Terri's body then focused on her face. "It's absolutely none of your business." She said coolly.
Rowan watched it all, fear creeping up in her throat. She vaguely remembered the woman from Brother's, the way she had possessively tried to claim Jessie that night, only to be blown off by the tall woman. Looking at Jessie, she saw the blue eyes that had haunted her dreams turn a steely color, become cold. It was like she was looking at a complete stranger.
Focusing her anger at Rowan, Terri looked her up and down with, her eyes filled with hunger. "If I had known that this little one was of our persuasion, I would have taken her home that night." She brought her hand up and roughly brushed her knuckles against Rowan's cheek.
Rowan didn't even see Jessie move, but in the next instant, Jessie was standing, her hand holding Terri's wrist in a painful grip. "Why don't you leave?" She snarled in a low timbre.
Barking out a harsh laugh, Terri turned to Jessie, moving closer until her body was against the lean body she wanted so much. "Why don't you come with me?" She rubbed her body against Jessie's seductively.
"She's here with me," a quiet voice made the two women turn. Rowan was standing now, her body tensed for a confrontation.
Again, Terri turned to the smaller woman, her mouth quirked in a rakish grin. "You don't have any idea what you're doing, little girl. You're not woman enough to handle this one," she jerked her head in Jessie's direction. "So why don't you leave this to us?" She moved in close to Rowan. "Unless you want to join us, that is."
The anger that had been growing in Jessie suddenly boiled over. She felt it overwhelm her body, marring all control she had once possessed. Grabbing Terri's arm, she turned the woman around by force. Moving until she was nose to nose with the woman, Jessie looked down at her. "Leave. Her. Alone." A horrific rumbling sound came from her, making the room hum with her anger. "Or I'll throw you out of here myself."
Sensing that Jessie was serious Terri backed off. "You'll come to me when you realize that this little girl can't give you what you want. Then I'll make you pay for keeping me waiting." Turning on her heel, Terri stormed out of the coffeehouse.
Two sets of eyes watched her leave.
Breathing deeply, trying desperately to control her anger, Jessie closed her eyes and sat down heavily in her chair. She tried to force her body to relax, but found that she wanted to hit something in her anger, an outlet for the emotion that was controlling her.
Then, someone touched her. A warm hand was placed on her arm and her anger slowly dissipated. Reason and control began to come back to her and the red that she saw behind her eyes grew darker until it was black. Finally she opened her eyes and saw Rowan looking at her.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, feeling ashamed at her display of anger. She knew better. By showing her anger to Terri, she had given the other woman control.
Not knowing what to say, Rowan merely moved her hand against Jessie's arm. Too many emotions were filling her, leaving her completely confused. The anger she had seen in Jessie scared her, and yet she knew instinctively that Jessie would never hurt her. "What does she want?" Rowan asked quietly, not completely understanding what had happened, only knowing that it now involved her.
A sharp laughter escaped from Jessie. "She wants to sleep with me."
"I figured that much, but why is she so persistent?" The anger she had sensed from Terri had to go beyond just sex.
"I guess she's not used to being told no." Shaking her head, Jessie smiled bitterly. "I'm not all that used to saying no either."
"Why did you say no then?" Rowan was curious. It was strange comment to make.
Because I met you. Because I wanted to change when I saw you. I didn't want her, I wanted you. She wanted to say that, she wanted to tell Rowan how she felt, but she couldn't tell her why. She didn't know herself why she felt that way. Instead, she said, "I just wasn't interested." She shrugged, taking a sip of her now cooled latte.
Somehow this disappointed Rowan. What had she expected? Jessie to say that she wanted her instead? She laughed to herself. Keep thinking that way, Rowan. She knew she would be fooling herself if she did. "Oh."
"I'd better get going," Jessie said standing. "I'll see you later, I guess." That was all she said as she walked out of the café, leaving Rowan sitting there alone.
Jessie opened the door to her apartment above her mother's bookstore. Gently she closed the door, making the decision to not take her anger out on a defenseless piece of wood. Once inside, she didn't turn the light on, she just sat down on the couch in her living room area. Elbows on her knees, she cradled her head in her hands, her entire body shaking.
Why was Rowan getting to her like this? Jessie had had plenty of women in her life. She would use them and then throw them away the next day, ready for the next one. In the last six months, she'd been alone. By choice. Her life had fallen in on her and she had come home to escape that life. Part of that former life was the different women in her bed, the conquest of sex. A fast paced, dangerous life, living on the edge, daring someone to push her over.
But, she'd left it. The life of a child was not worth all the thrills in the world. It had taken that brutal death to make her realize that she couldn't continue. It had broken her, left her realizing that she couldn't continue. Jessie Blackman left the days as Chicago drug lord behind. And now, she was trying to live a sedate life, dealing with the scars on her memory and dreams. Alone. It was simpler that way. No need to explain what she'd been doing with her life. No questions about her past.
Now she was actually contemplating letting someone into her world. How could she? How could she explain to someone like Rowan the things she had done in her past? How could she face her, seeing the disgust in her green eyes? How could she deal with the rejection?
"Yeah, sorry, I can't have a relationship with drug lord and murderer," Jessie said out loud, feeling for the first time how empty her apartment was with only her to fill the space. "Not that I could blame her." What had happened? Here she was, actually contemplating a relationship with a woman she'd only met twice.
"No!" She said bitterly out loud. "It's not going to happen, so I'm just going to forget about it!" She got up from the couch. She wasn't going to set herself up for something that wouldn't happen. Rowan could never love someone like her. Making herself realize that now would save a lot of anguish later. Kicking at a piece of paper on the floor of her living room, Jessie stormed into her bedroom.
Warming her hands on a cup of hot coffee, Rowan watched as Anne helped a customer find a copy of her favorite mystery author's newest book. She smiled to herself when Anne finally finished, plopping herself down in the chair next to Rowan.
Part of Shakespeare's Closet had been made a small cozy area with a coffee machine and plenty of Styrofoam cups. Rowan had come in an hour or so earlier, quickly making her purchases and settling into one of the plush chairs situated in the space. Anne would come over and join her when her attention wasn't needed elsewhere and the two of them would talk.
It was October and the infamous Wisconsin winter was pushing fiercely at Fall's door. The leaves had already fallen from the trees, leaving the wide flat land bare. Soon winter would be there if full form, covering the land in white snow and bitterly cold winds.
"So, how's Jessie been?" Rowan asked casually, taking a drink of coffee to keep herself from seeming too pushy. That was the main reason she'd come to the bookstore, she admitted to herself. Not that she didn't enjoy Anne or her company, but her true reason was less altruistic than merely paying a social call. She hadn't seen Jessie since the day at the coffee shop, even though she'd been in Anne's store as much as time permitted.
Sensing Rowan's attempt at appearing casual, Anne decided to go alone with that. She knew the young professor's real motive and she was secretly pleased. Her hopes of a romance between the two women hadn't seemed to be realized, but it was obvious that Rowan was interested. And she would swear that Jessie was too by the way her daughter kept asking about Rowan. "She's good. Busy. Her job and working at the women's shelter really keep her going."
Rowan's eyebrows came together as she looked at Anne. "Woman's shelter?" She asked curiously.
"She didn't tell you?" Anne wasn't as puzzled. "She doesn't really like to toot her own horn, so to speak. She volunteers at a woman's shelter here in town; mainly working on the hot line they have set up. A friend of hers runs it and she helps out there when ever she can."
"Wow, I didn't know that."
Shrugging, Anne took a sip of her own coffee, about to say something when the phone behind the counter rang. "Just a second," she said as she got up to answer the phone.
"Hello?" She paused, listening to whoever was on the other end. "Ohmygod, is she okay? Which hospital? Okay, I'll be right there." Anne quickly hung up the phone and reached for her jacket, which was hanging behind the counter. Looking to Rowan, her eyes showed fear. "Jessie's been taken to the hospital. I don't know what happened, but I need to get over there."
"I'll stay and close up," Rowan said quickly, her own fear level rising.
"Thank you," Anne handed her a set of keys. "Just get everyone out of here and lock up."
"Meriter," she said, as she headed toward the door. "Come down when you've finished."
"I will," Rowan yelled as Anne left.
The hospital seemed quiet. Nothing like what Rowan was used to on TV. As she entered through the main entrance, she headed toward the main desk. "A friend of mine was brought in here. Jessie...Blackman?" She had to quickly remember Anne's last name, hoping that Jessie's was the same.
The volunteer behind the help desk typed something into her computer. "Blackman...she was admitted about an hour ago. She should still be down in the Emergency Room. Follow the red lines on the floor and you'll find that wing. You'll have to ask the desk down there." The woman pointed to a wing off to the left.
Blindly, Rowan saw the red lines on the floor and began walking. She seemed to be walking through a maze, rather like a rat. Finally, she saw two swinging doors with the words "Emergency Room" in large red letters. Walking through the doors she was surrounded by chaos. Everywhere she looked people were rushing around. This is more like TV, she thought immediately. Seeing a desk with two people standing behind it, Rowan walked in that direction. "Excuse me, I need to find my friend."
"Name?" The attendant didn't look up from her computer screen.
"Are you family?" The woman's fingers flew over the keyboard, not pausing as she spoke.
"No," Rowan realized that she might not be allowed to see Jessie at all.
"Are you Rowan?"
"Yes." How did they know her name.
"Clip this to your clothing, keep it on at all times. Go through the doors to your right. She's in room 4." The attendant handed her a red visitor's tag.
Rowan took the tag, immediately clipping it to her sweatshirt and proceeding through the doors rather than asking questions.
The "rooms" were curtained off cubicles, beds in each one. Large letters were painted in black over each bed. All around phones rang, people were talking. Seeing room number one, Rowan followed till she found room 4. The curtain that opened to the center of the room was open. Anne sat on a chair by the bed in the cubical. In the bed was a form that Rowan thought she'd recognize anywhere.
A bandage covered half of Jessie's face from forehead to chin. Her normally tan skin was ashen white. The eye that was visible was closed. Rowan quickly sucked in some air, resisting the urge to run over and take Jessie's hand.
Hearing her, Anne turned around and saw the panicked look on Rowan's face. "She's okay."
Anne's voice was welcoming, encouraging Rowan to walk closer. She kept her eyes on Jessie's still face, noting the woman's rising and falling chest. Stopping beside Jessie's bed, Rowan finally gave in and clasped one of Jessie's hands in her own. "What happened?" She managed to ask in a choked whisper.
"I got stupid," a slightly muffled voice answered her. A blue opened, standing out almost violently against the pale face. The half of her mouth that wasn't covered by bandages lifted in a small smile. The hand that Rowan held clasped her own, giving it a squeeze. Looking over at her mother, Jessie spoke again. "Mom, can you tell her?" Talking hurt.
Rowan turned to Anne, waiting for the explanation. Smiling at the two women, Anne began to talk. "My daughter was doing her usual heroic deed for the day. A woman called into the shelter, afraid that her husband was going to kill her. Jess decided to take matter into her own hands and went to pick up the woman so that she could take her back to the shelter. Apparently the husband wasn't willing to let his wife leave. He answered the door with a shot gun in his hand."
"He shot you?" Rowan questioned, looking at Jessie. The dark haired woman only shook her head no.
"No, she managed to wrestle the gun from him, not realizing that he had a knife as well. He managed to cut her while they were fighting over it," Anne stood up and looked at her daughter fondly, a bit of sadness in her eyes as well. "The police were on their way. But you just couldn't wait for them, could you?" Her voice wasn't malice or biting. "My brave, foolish girl. What am I going to do with you?"
"You love me," Jessie said, her words slurred slightly as her eye drooped.
"Yes, I love you." Anne said softly as her daughter succumbed to the drugs the doctor's had given her.
Rowan kept her hold on Jessie's hand, unwilling to let go. "She going to be okay?" She asked Anne softly.
"Yeah, the doctors are going to put in some stitches as soon as they get a chance. They took x-rays of it to make sure that the knife hadn't hit the bone, but from what I've been told it hasn't. It'll scar, but that can be taken care of with plastic surgery." She watched her daughter sleep, a mixture of emotions flooding her body.
"What happened to the guy?"
"I don't know. Jessie said he tried to run when the police showed up. She was carted out of there pretty fast and didn't know if they'd caught the bastard." Now Anne's voice was filled with anger, surprising Rowan who'd never heard the older woman's tone be anything but pleasant.
"Mrs. Blackman?" A youngish woman in a lab coat, holding a file, came into the room. Anne nodded her head yes. "I'm Dr. Moser. We're going to take Jessica to the suture room and put the stitches in, then she'll be put into room 3841. You can go up to the third floor and wait for her there if you'd like." Two orderlies showed up behind the doctor, ready to wheel Jessie out.
"Thank you," Anne said, gathering her jacket and purse. "Rowan will you come with me?"
"I planned on it," Rowan answered.
As the orderlies prepared to take Jessie out of there, Anne leaned over and kissed Jessie's forehead. Together, Anne and Rowan left the room and headed for the elevators.
"Ms. Blackman?" A smooth looking man with dirty blonde hair that looked recently cut stood in Jessie's hospital room doorway. His faded blue eyes scanned the room with a professional air.
"That's me," she answered dryly, aware that he had to be police. She could normally spot them from a distance. Her life depended on that many times.
"Detective Michael Moore, Madison police." He held up his badge for a minute before returning it to the breast pocket of his shirt. "Can I ask you a few questions?"
"Sure, come on in." She pointed to a plastic chair sitting by the bed. "Make yourself at home." No point in alienating the local police force. That would come later when they discovered who she was. If they discovered who she was, she amended to herself.
The detective chose not to sit down, rather he stood at the end of her bed, his brown eyes starring at her intently. "Why did you allow yourself to be put in danger?" Was his first question.
Surprised, expecting to be asked to give a run down of what happened when, Jessie blinked at him. "Why did I allow it?" Her voice rose in disbelief. "Allow it?" She gave a brittle laugh. "I did not allow it, Detective Moore. The choice was taken from me the minute that asshole decided to threaten his wife's life." She returned his stare, unwilling to look away as her anger filled her.
Michael looked at Jessie in her hospital bed. He found himself respecting the woman's bravery, even though he thought it incredibly stupid. He studied the side of her face that wasn't covered in bandage, seeing the fine beauty in the facial structure, seeing the intense blue eye that glared back at him. "Did you know Mr..." he looked at the standard note pad in his hands, "Mr. Colston before this incident?"
"No," she said shortly, still angry at his attitude.
"No, I didn't know either of them. She called in, scared shitless that he was going to kill her. She gave me their address just before he grabbed the phone and started screaming into it." She shook her head in frustration. "I didn't even think about contacting the police, they wouldn't have gotten there in time. I got into my truck and headed over there." She remembered hearing Mrs. Colston's screaming even from the street. Neighbors were surely listening from behind closed doors. The sound of a gun discharging caused Jessie's pace to quicken to a run. "He opened the door with the gun in his hand. I was close enough, I got the gun away, but he pulled a knife, swinging at me." She didn't really need to finish. What happened was obvious. He'd cut her. By that time, the police, called by one of the hidden neighbors, arrived. "Did they get there in time?" Jessie asked quietly, her voice husky.
"No." Michael slowly shook his head and Jessie caught a glimpse of extreme sadness in his eyes. "She was dead before the EMTs could try to revive her. He'd shot her in the chest, point blank, with the shotgun. She didn't stand as chance."
Behind his words, Jessie finally got a glimpse of his humanity. Gone was the stiff mask that made him seem completely without feeling, leaving him completely vulnerable to Jessie's gaze. He doesn't even realize it, she concluded. There was no way he would reveal so much to someone he knew nothing about. Clearing her throat, she asked one more question. "Did you get him?" Her voice was softer this time as they both shared the grief of the loss of the woman who had died. Neither of them had known her, but they were both a part of her death now.
Lifting his head to look at Jessie, Michael's eyes hardened as he answered. "No, he got away."
They starred at each other, each of them silently vowing to find this man. He wouldn't be allowed to escape the punishment he deserved. Michael almost invisibly nodded his head in acknowledgment to the revenge he saw in Jessie's eyes. He hoped that he found Colston first, but he wouldn't do anything to prevent her from doing what she had to.
Taking a business card out of the inside pocket of his sport jacket, he laid in on the table. "Call me if you...remember...anything else. Or if you just want to go out for a cup of coffee or something." It was his silent invitation to share information.
Jessie nodded at him, her head feeling heavy. "It's time for you to leave Detective," Dr. Moser stood in the doorway, Jessie's chart in her hands. "The patient needs to rest."
Michael ducked his head, gave Jessie one last look, and left. There was no doubt in either of their minds that they'd be seeing each other again soon.
Rowan was incredibly nervous as she stepped off the elevator at the hospital. In one hand she held a small vase of tastefully arranged flowers. In the other hand, she clutched a small teddy bear. What had she been thinking? She inwardly shook her head, sighing with her own stupidity. Like Jessie was really the flowers-and-stuffed-animals type of woman. Her eyes shifted around the busy hospital hallway. Maybe she could ditch them before getting to Jessie's room.
"Rowan!" Too late Rowan realized as a familiar husky voice called out to her. Turning, she saw Jessie coming toward her. The bandage on Jessie's face had gotten smaller since Rowan had last seen her. One eye and one cheek were still covered with the white bandage, but her coloring had gotten better. A hospital gown hung off her shoulders, concealing little.
She even looks good in a hospital gown, Rowan thought. Involuntarily, she felt her chest warm as she looked at the taller woman. Really good.
"Are those for me?" Jessie's face lit up, making her look a lot like a kid at Christmas.
Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea, Rowan smiled at the other woman. "Yes," she said shyly, handing the flowers and bear to Jessie.
Taking the offered gifts, Jessie smelled the flowers, a soft smile forming on her lips. "Thank you," she said quietly.
They stood awkwardly in the hallway for a minute, neither one of them aware of the other people who passed by them, each absorbed in the presence of each other. Finally, Jessie spoke up. "I wanted to..." she hesitated, finding this harder than she thought it would be. "...thank you for coming to the hospital the other day. And for closing up the bookstore for mom." She looked at the floor for a moment before raising her eyes to meet Rowan's. "I really do appreciate it."
"I did what I could to help. I was just glad I was there at the time."
"You're welcome," Rowan said quietly, a smile coming to her face. "Well, I don't want to bother you, so I'll just..." She gestured toward the elevators.
"No!" Jessie said quickly, lightly grabbing Rowan's hand with her own. "Please, stay. I'm about to go out of my mind with boredom here. Come on back to my room." Still holding the other woman's hand, she led her to her room. Jessie immediately perched on the bed, her legs hanging over the side of the high hospital bed. "Sit," she patted a place next to her.
Climbing onto the bed, Rowan took a position similar to Jessie's, her legs dangling off the bed. "How much longer are you going to be here?"
"Well, they want me to see a plastic surgeon here at the hospital about scarring. I guess they're keeping me to make sure I stay out of trouble." Actually, the knife had hit her cheekbone, causing fragments of bone to break loose. They wanted to keep her just to keep an eye on her.
"In that case, I brought you something else." Reaching into her ever-present book bag, Rowan pulled out a book.
"Hey! The new Mickey book!" She glanced at Rowan. "Is this your copy?"
"Yup. Read it already."
"Really? Damn, you read fast!" Jessie was honestly surprised. A quick reader herself, she never seemed to find the time to really read anymore.
"Well, it's a good book. Definitely sucks you in!" She flopped back onto the bed, closing her eyes. "So, it's your turn to read it."
Turning the book over in her hands, Jessie grinned. "Thanks." Out of the corner of her eye, she took in the sight of Rowan laying on her bed. Full lips tempted her, making her own lips tingle in response. Hands ached to reach out and touch Rowan, to draw her closer. It would be so easy, she thought, to just lift Rowan up and resettle her right on top of her. I'm gone. And again she looked at Rowan's face. And so is she, she thought as she realized that Rowan had fallen asleep. A gentle smile formed on Jessie's lips as she watched the other woman sleep, a calm spreading through her body. Something about Rowan did that for her. It calmed the stormy sea that was Jessie's normal life, making it all seem insignificant next to this kind-hearted woman.
A soft snore came from Rowan, causing Jessie to laugh silently. Too cute. Getting off the bed, Jessie carefully moved Rowan's body so that she was straightened out on the bed. The blonde didn't wake as she was moved, she just smiled in her sleep and murmured "I love you," before beginning to snore again.
"I love you," Jessie responded instantly, surprising herself. Oh well, it's true. Even if I don't know why, she reasoned. She leaned over the sleeping woman and kissed her forehead. Settling into the soft visitor's chair, Jessie opened the book and began to read, glancing at Rowan every few paragraphs.
In her dreams, Rowan felt hands touching her, knowing hands that caressed her body, exciting her. In response, her body writhed beneath whomever was touching her. Her own hands found purchase on a strong back covered in soft skin. While she couldn't name who was making love to her, it was someone completely familiar to her. Someone who knew exactly what she needed, what would drive her to the brink of ecstasy. Someone who touched Rowan's soul while also touching her body. As she strained to see who was over her, she saw two perfect breasts taunting her from above, swaying close to her mouth. Not even needed to think about it, Rowan pulled the body closer to her so that she could take a nipple in her mouth. A cry of pleasure came from the woman above her. "I love you," a familiar voice told her.
Just as her mind started to see through the cloud that kept her from the knowledge she sought, she felt a hand between her legs. Arching her hips, she silently begged to be entered and soon got what she wanted. As she climaxed, she released the breast she still held in her mouth, and screamed out a name.
"Jessie!" A husky voice called from the stark hospital bed, a strange but familiar quality in the cry.
Jessie, who had fallen asleep herself, roused out of her own dreams and went to the bed. She looked at Rowan's flushed face, and for an instant thought that that was what the woman would look like when being made love to. Trying to shake the thought from her head, she reached out and cupped Rowan's cheek. "Hey, Ro, wake up. It's only a dream." She repeated this over and over, until finally Rowan's eyelids moved to reveal two green eyes.
Rowan was startled to find herself in the vaguely familiar room, fully clothed, with Jessie standing over her. A wave of heat washed over her as she remembered her dream. It had been Jessie making love to her. The wetness between her legs indicated that she had definitely enjoyed the dream. Quickly she looked up at Jessie to see whether or not the woman knew anything. Jessie looked concerned, but nothing indicated that she had any idea of what Rowan had been dreaming of. Extremely embarrassed, she sat up in the bed. "What happened?" She said sleepily, rubbing at her eyes with both hands.
"You fell asleep."
"Why didn't you just wake me up?"
"You looked tired. I figured I'd let you sleep." Silently she added and you looked too cute to wake up.
"Jesus," Rowan mumbled. "I guess I was tired."
Jessie thought about telling Rowan what had awakened her, but looking at the flush that was still on Rowan's face, she decided that maybe now wasn't the time.
"Do you always let strange women sleep in your hospital bed?" Rowan tried to tease Jessie.
"You're not strange." Jessie got very serious suddenly. "I know you." She realized that she meant that on more than just one level. Something inside of her knew Rowan. Something had drawn her to Rowan from the very first. And even as she tried to fight it, she was getting closer and closer to the woman. Losing to herself.
Rowan didn't know how to respond to Jessie's sobriety. Ducking her head, she remained silent for a moment. "Hey, I'd better get going." She finally said. Her head was still clouded with sleep and her body was still burning from her dream. Fresh air would be good right now.
"Thanks for coming by and sleeping in my bed." Jessie grinned at her, letting Rowan know that she was being teased.
"Anytime," she blurted out. Shit Rowan, why don't you just throw yourself at her?
Not saying anything, Jessie just raised an eyebrow at the comment.
"Okay, well, give me a call when you get out of this place." Rowan hopped off the bed, and hurried out of the room before Jessie could reply.
"How about now?" Jessie whispered as the woman fled. With a sign she closed her eyes to get some much-needed sleep.
The nightmare that came while she slept was realistic in its colors and sharp, defined lines. It started out like most of them did, allowing her to watch her own figured. As usual she was dressed in black leather pants, a cropped black shirt that was tight over her chest and stomach, black boots and black leather coat. Her dark hair was whipping around her face and dark sunglasses hit her eyes. Instinctively she knew that under the coat she was carrying a gun, and that slipped between her leather boots and her skin was a knife that was razor sharp and easily accessible with practice.
This time she was standing on a street corner, surrounded by people who walked around her like she didn't exist. Peering into the faces of those passing, she recognized a few, but most she didn't know. All of them were pale, their faces full of pain, and their clothes hung on them like scarecrows. A bright sun shone down on the street, creating the surreal scene around her, which passed her by, not touching her.
"You!" Someone yelled from behind her and she heard screams going up from all around, people began to run in all directions.
Pivoting her body around, Jessie put her hand in her coat and firmly grasped her gun. Behind her stood Don Colston, the man who had killed his wife, the gun in his hand shining in the sun. Narrowing her eyes at him, she glared even though he couldn't see behind her sunglasses.
"Me?" She said with ease, a contrast to his sweating, red face and shaking gun filled hand.
"I've got something you want," he taunted, sneering at her.
Bored, Jessie yawned. "You think so?"
"Nick!" Colston yelled to someone in the crowd.
What the fuck was Nick doing here? Jessie wondered as she looked for the familiar face behind Colston.
He was there, and he was dragging someone behind him. Grinning in greeting, he jerked his hand, pulling his victim with savage ease. It was Rowan.
Sad, panic filled green eyes stared at her, Jessie's heart stopping painfully. She had led Rowan here. To this. If Rowan had never met Jessie then she would have never have been brought to the attention of the people who wanted to hurt her.
She had never let herself care before. She had never let anyone become a target because she knew that she would never be able to bear the loss of her heart.
Even as these thoughts ran through her mind, Colston quickly moved the gun so that it was no longer pointing at her, but now it was aimed at Rowan.
The gunshot woke Jessie out of her dream screaming. When she finally stopped screaming, her heart continued to race. Taking deep, even breaths, Jessie's mind was chanting it was only a dream over and over in a never-ending mantra.
Minutes past as she lay there trying to get herself under control. I have to protect her. I want to be with her, I want her in my life, but I can't let anything happen. I don't want her blood on my hands. But that was an excuse. If she'd been honest with herself she would realize that she needed to protect not Rowan, but her own heart.
"It doesn't look that bad," Rowan commented as she traced the heeling scar on Jessie's face with a feather light touch. Although the woman had only been let out of the hospital a week before, the vicious wound on her face was heeling very rapidly. Rowan had gone to the bookstore with the sole purpose of seeing her new friend who had finally been released from the hospital. She wasn't going to deny it, she was attracted to her and had hopes that they could have more than friendship. She'd seen spark of desire in the other woman's eyes at least once, and was willing to see if they could ignite that spark.
The touch to her face, while soft, was tickling the tall woman, causing her to both want to pull away and move in closer. Rowan didn't realize just how close she'd gotten to the other woman until her eyes shifted and she found herself staring at full, moist lips. Her eyes flickered up to catch sapphire eyes staring back at her and she could feel the desire from the other woman. Slowly, she leaned forward even more and gently placed her lips on Jessie's.
The kiss was hesitant, but sweet. Startled at first, Jessie didn't respond but it was only seconds before she felt the fire in her belly and the need in her soul. Consumed with the other woman her arms went around a small waist, pulling her forward. Rowan gladly nestled her body against Jessie's, feeling the hard muscle of her thighs and stomach as well as the soft fullness of her breasts. Moaning into the kiss, she gave herself completely to it, wanting it badly.
Even as she deepened the kiss, Jessie remembered her dreams. The nightmares that had taken on new meaning since she'd met the blonde-haired woman. She could get hurt, all because of me. Her inner voice disturbed her, causing her to pull away, breathlessly, from the kiss. She stared into Rowan's eyes, seeing the need and desire, feeling the heat between them.
"What are..." Anne came into the small store room where she'd seen Rowan and Jessie go, wondering what was taking her daughter so long to find the box of Harry Potter books. The electricity in the room was overwhelming as she could swear that she saw sparks emanate from one woman to the other. Swollen lips on both women were an indication of what had been taking so long and Anne could have kicked herself for interrupting.
Familiar eyes that were as blue as hers turned and looked at her, stunning her with the passion and turmoil she saw there. Gasping at the painful stare, she fumbled for an apology. "Sorry...customer asking...just wanted to see..." This is ridiculous! Anne told herself, realizing that there was no covering for what she'd interrupted. "I really need a copy of that book, Jess." Her voice soft, she didn't want to convey anything that could be perceived as negative.
As realization set in, a veil fell over the emotions that had been so prevalent in Jessie's eyes. "Sorry mom," was all she said as she moved from Rowan and found the box she'd originally set out to find. Handing the small box to her mother, she felt a pang in her chest.
She's almost lost control. If she had, she and Rowan would have gotten to a point where there would have been no returning. This was something she was sure of. She'd never experienced anything like this before now and it was overwhelming all of her senses, causing her to loose her mental balance. And she knew that if they proceeded in taking this further, it would be explosive. Their passions would meet and create a blackhole in their universe. It was frightening and exhilarating.
With bravado that she wasn't sure she actually had, she looked over at the smaller woman. Tumultuous green eyes looked back at her, filled with so much that Jessie almost gasped out loud. You don't understand Rowan! I can't do this. I can't let you in. I can't! I can't! I can't! It was with defeat that she said this to herself, realizing that she didn't have much hope. She had already started to give herself to this other woman. Her resolve was having trouble holding firm as her inner war continued to create havoc.
Tentatively, Rowan moved closer to the other woman, feeling that something was happening to her, but not sure how to approach it. Dammit, why did I kiss her? She wasn't ready for it. I hope I didn't blow it! Fear gripped at her, leaving her praying that Jessie wouldn't run.
"Jess?" Reaching out a tentative hand, Rowan hoped that she wouldn't be closed out.
"Yeah?" Blue eyes flashed at her with nonchalance. It was almost painful to see her attempt at pretending everything was normal.
"Nothing," Rowan said, her cheeks flushed a painfully bright red. "I have to go," she quickly turned and left the storeroom. Her embarrassment was too great to stay and suffer Jessie's coolness. Infused with confusion, she didn't even say goodbye to Anne on her way out.
Back in the storeroom, Jessie leaned her forehead against the cool wall. What had she just done?
By the time Rowan got home, she was in tears. What had happened? Had she read the signs wrong? Was Jessie not interested in her? Sitting down on the chair in her living room, she absently stroked Tiger, who had crawled into her lap. Her mind just couldn't grasp what had gone wrong.
The phone rang, interrupting her haze of confusion. Dumping the cat on the floor, she went to the phone, peering at the caller id before picking up. Just as she was about to answer she saw the name on the little box. Shakespeare's Closet. It was either Anne or...Rowan wasn't about to answer it, her voice mail could get it.
Sitting back down on the chair, her emotions continued their roller coaster ride as she replayed the scene earlier.
The phone rang again. Again, Rowan got up and checked it. Same as last time. "What? Do you think that I really want to talk to you after that?" She snorted in anger and stomped back to the chair. "You think that you can turn me on and off like a faucet? You think it's okay to play with my emotions like I don't matter? Well, you can't and it's not!"
A small part of her realized that she was probably being unfair. She'd clearly seen the confusion written clearly on Jessie's face. But, she was hurt. How was she supposed to be fair and rational when she was hurting so badly?
A third time the phone rang. "Goddammit!" She growled and picked the phone up. "I'm not here!" She shouted into the phone.
"You certainly seem there, my mistake." The voice was familiar, but it wasn't the voice she'd been expecting.
"Dena?" Rowan asked into the mouthpiece, feeling only slightly ashamed of her reaction.
"Not who you expected?" The other woman asked, hearing the strange quality in her friend's voice.
Laughing lightly, Rowan allowed herself to relax slightly. "No, sorry."
"S'okay. Everything alright?"
"Yeah, just having a bad day."
"Well then, I have a prospect for you that might cheer you up!" Dena sounded really excited, but Rowan was hesitant.
"And that would be?"
"A blind date!"
"No!" Rowan groaned. "Not another one!"
"Now, now, this one is not one of mine! Jamie found this one and thought of you right away." Jamie was Dena's girlfriend.
"Well, I have doubts about Jamie's taste. After all, she picked you, didn't she?"
"Ha ha, so very funny," came the dry reply. "Ten o'clock tonight, we'll pick you up."
It wouldn't hurt, Rowan guessed. It wasn't like she had any reason not to go. Maybe getting out would be just the thing for her. "Can you tell me where we're going at least?"
"Sure, The Foxhole. You game?"
"I'll be ready."
"Cool, bye!" And with that, Dena's voice was gone, replaced by dial tone. Gently, Rowan hung the phone back up.
Looking at the clock on the wall in her kitchen, she realized that she had more than 5 hours to get ready. Sighing, Rowan decided to go for a walk, hoping that time would pass quicker if she did. Picking up her coat from where she'd tossed it before, she felt the coat pocket for her keys and went out the front door, locking it carefully behind her.
Something was wrong here, desperately wrong. Anne watched her dark-haired daughter as she helped straighten shelves in the store. It was Friday night, which meant that Shakespeare's Closet was open until 10 P.M. State Street was always busy on Friday nights, despite the cold weather that was threatening to overcome Madison any day now. Winter was never pleasant in the Midwest, but that didn't stop people from shopping and relaxing on the weekends.
Looking at her watch, she sighed when she realized that they still had 5 hours till it would be time to close. That meant 5 hours of being with her now reticent daughter. Her attempts at getting answers from her daughter had been met with glares and hostile silence. After Rowan had stormed out of the store, Anne figured that intervention might be required.
"Jess?" Coming up her daughter in the History section, Anne somehow wasn't surprised to find Jessie near the war books.
Looking up, Jessie raised an eyebrow in silent question.
"Can I talk to you now?"
Sighing heavily, Jessie sat down on the small stool used to reach the higher shelves. "What do you want know?" Why fight a force as powerful as her mother? It was only another battle she would loose today.
"Why did Rowan leave here in such a hurry?"
Giving a humorless chuckle, Jessie held her head in her hands. "Because she kissed me."
Anne's first reaction was wide eyed. Then, in seconds, her eyes were slits and her brows came together in puzzlement. "Wait a minute. She left because SHE kissed YOU?"
"Yup. Next question?"
"Didn't you...want her to kiss you?" This was extremely confusing. She'd read the chemistry between the two women, she'd seen the energy between them. What was going on here?
It was Anne's turn to give the raised eyebrow. "Don't be a smart ass Jessie."
Sighing again, Jessie rubbed at her eyes. "I'm sorry mom. I'm just...well, I don't know what I am, but it's not pleasant." Since the blonde had left, Jessie's body had felt the loss. Her heart ached, her stomach threatened to rebel, and her head pounded. Something had been taken away from her, something that she hadn't even realized that she'd gotten, but now that it was gone, the pain was evidence of its loss.
Sympathy filled Anne's face as she saw her daughter's obviously warring emotions. "I know I may be an old, straight woman, but why don't you give my ears a whirl? I promise to listen and don't only give advice when asked."
As she was waiting for the answer, the bell on the door signaled an incoming customer. "Listen, think about it. I'm here if you want to talk. Just come and find me," and with a pat on her daughter's knee, Anne left her alone with her thoughts.
The sound of Anne welcoming the new comer to the store was barely audible from where Jessie continued to sit, the books insulating her from too much noise. She didn't know how long she'd sat there, but finally, she got up and made her way to where the cash register was and where she knew that her mother would be waiting.
Sidling up to the counter, Jessie leaned back against the edge of the counter and looked at her mother, who just looked right back at her. "So..." she said, not sure where to start.
"The beginning is a good place honey."
And it all spilled out. Jessie told her about the nightmares she'd been having since moving back to Madison, about meeting Rowan and the new feelings she was having. She spoke of the fear of getting involved with the other woman.
"Mom, I think that I could real feel something...well, real with Rowan. But, I haven't been a saint and people are always going to be after me for the things that I have done. How can I even think about a relationship with her if I can't guarantee her safety?"
The pain in her daughter's familiar eyes was so deep that Anne could feel it emanating from her. "Does she know about your past?"
"No," was the reply. Jessie kept her head down, ashamed that she had done things in her past that could warrant such questions. "I didn't want to scare her off. I wanted a friend, but I should have known that first night that friendship was just the tip of the iceberg with her." Suddenly pounding her hand on the counter, Jessie's face contorted with anger. "Goddammit mom! She...she makes me feel so much. Good and bad, and I can't stand suddenly having these emotions and dreams only to know that I don't deserve them. And dammit, I feel pain when I think of her. My chest aches and I feel like I'm going to drown when I look into her eyes. How could I feel all of this?"
Now Anne looked at her daughter with understanding. "I think if you look at yourself deep enough you'll see how."
Jessie's face went blank as she thought. Then, she realized what her mother was saying and the color went out of her face. "No," she whispered. "It can't be possible, can it?"
"Yes, it can." Anne nodded with a small smile on her face. Her normally brilliant and quick-minded daughter was slow to see what was so obvious and Anne found it amusing. "You're in love sweetheart."
Flowers in hand, Jessie nervously approached Rowan's house. It was late, but she saw the light on in the living room. She'd been talking to her mother for hours, trying to reconcile these new feelings with her own fears of failing the other woman. Anne had helped her to see that the only way for things to work out would be for Jessie to give Rowan a chance to make her own decision. What Anne said wasn't fair was that Rowan didn't have all the information. She didn't know about Jessie's past, so her deck was only half full. In time, Jessie would have to tell her. Anne understood when her daughter said she wasn't ready yet, but that at some point, before things went too far, she'd tell her. Until then, she'd do the old fashion thing she'd court her.
Knocking on the door, Jessie shuffled her feet waiting for Rowan to come. "Just a second!" A familiar voice called out.
Suddenly the door was opened and Jessie was face to face with a very surprised Rowan. "What are you doing here?"
"Um, I came to say I'm sorry?" Butterflies flew through Jessie's stomach with wild abandonment.
"Ummm..." Rowan looked over the taller woman's shoulder to the street, before turning back to Jessie. It was then that Jessie saw that Rowan was dressed up and had her coat on.
"I'm sorry, I came at a bad time," she said hastily, thrusting the flowers at Rowan and turning to leave.
"No!" Despite all her anger and hurt, Rowan didn't want the woman to leave. "Come back Jessie."
Slowly, the dark-haired woman turned around and looked at Rowan. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, come in."
They both went into the house with Jessie closing the door after them. Suddenly shy, Jessie didn't know what to say to the woman. They sat down together on the couch, each taking a different end. Picking up one of the throw pillows, Jessie played with the fringed ends, not able to look at Rowan.
"So?" The smaller woman couldn't help herself. She came here, that doesn't mean that I have to make it easy on her.
"I'm sorry for the way I acted." She looked shyly up. "I don't want you to think that it's you or anything. I...I have some things I need to work through."
Rowan nodded, still not feeling much better than she had before, but at least Jessie had made the effort to come all this way and talk to her.
Another knock on the front door halted the conversation. Rowan got up and opened the door. There stood a striking woman of average height with short blonde hair and wire rimmed glass covering her chocolate brown eyes. She gave Rowan a charming smile. "Hi, my name's Mandy. Jamie and Dena are out in the car. Are you ready to go?"
An instant welling of jealousy filled Jessie when she saw the other woman. Rowan smiled back at Mandy and ushered her inside, poking her head out and signaling to the waiting car that they'd only be a minute. "Come on in, I just need to get my coat back on. I'm Rowan, obviously."
Mandy again smiled at her. She started looking around the room when she saw Jessie sitting on the couch. Her eyes narrowed at the other woman, a reaction that was not lost on Rowan. "This is my friend Jessie. Jessie, meet Mandy."
Rising from her position on the couch, Jessie shook hands with the other woman, trying hard not to throw the woman through a window. Mandy gave Jessie a slow once over and then flashed her an interested smile. "Very, very nice to meet you...Jessie." Her hand lingered a little longer than necessary as she studied the gorgeous woman in front of her.
Maybe they'd want a three-some? Mandy thought evilly to herself. Looking back at Rowan she couldn't help but take in the beauty of the blonde, watching her tight muscles move under her shirt as she put her coat back on. Stepping toward her, Mandy reached out and helped Rowan find the sleeve of her coat.
"Thank you," Rowan said with a smile, while Jessie shot daggers of death from her eyes. She could tell that Mandy was not the nice girl that she seemed to be. There was something about her that Jessie didn't trust and she sure as hell didn't like her being near Rowan.
"My pleasure," was Mandy's reply as she gave her a sensual smile. "Are you...both coming with me...I mean, with us tonight?"
Jessie caught the slip and immediately understood the subtle question. "Jessie, do you want to come?" Rowan asked innocently, not realizing the innuendo passing through the air.
This woman is a slippery one, Jessie thought to herself. I'm not leaving Rowan with her, no way, no how. I don't care what she thinks, I'm going. "Sure, why not."
"Let's go," Mandy's smile had gotten even bigger, if that was possible. Oh yeah, tonight's going to be so much fun! She turned to smile at the tall dark-haired woman but her smile froze on her face. Blue eyes had turned to chips of ice, staring at her with malice and disgust. Gulping in air, Mandy almost started to seriously rethink her plans for the night. But, one look at the way the Rowan's hips subtly swished as she walked was enough for her to gain courage. Okay, so it will only be two of us in bed. I can handle that.
In the car, brief introductions were made. Dena was at the wheel with Jamie in the passenger seat. The two women looked at each other with surprise as Jessie got into the car. "Damn, she's hot!' Dena whispered, saliva forming in her mouth at the lewd thoughts going through her mind. "Ow!" She exclaimed when Jamie slapped her thigh.
Mandy gestured for Rowan to climb in the back seat first, and was about to get in her after her, but Jessie managed to work her way between the door and the woman, getting in second. There was no way in hell she was going to let this woman sit between them.
Formerly the Bombay Bicycle Club, Club 5 was now the biggest and most popular place for those in the Lesbian, Gay, BI, and Transsexual community in Madison and the surrounding area. With a 1,550 square foot dance floor, two different bars, and a restaurant, Club 5 was definitely the hot spot for a Saturday night.
The ride there wasn't long, which was good for the three women sharing the cramped back seat. Dena did most of the talking as she drove, with Mandy and Jamie piping in every once in awhile.
Rowan was quiet as her mind was filled with both excitement and trepidation. Why had Jessie come with them? You invited her, dummy! Why had she done that? Out of the corner of her eye she watched the stoic woman next to her. Because you want her. That was clear enough in Rowan's mind, but Jessie's speech rolled through her mind.
When they pulled up to the unassuming building, Dena pulled into an empty parking spot and they all piled out.
The Foxhole was the lesbian bar/club within Club 5. Walking in, Jessie immediately scanned the room, taking in the layout. It was an old habit that she wasn't in any hurry to get rid of. The other women immediately made a beeline for a corner table that was empty. Sauntering behind them, she covertly noticed the exits, the patrons and the seating arrangements before she turned her attention to the others.
Dena was looking at her with frank admiration while Jamie went to get them drinks. Rowan had already taken a seat and was in what appeared to be a very intimate conversation with Mandy. As for Mandy, she had a look in her eyes that reminded Jessie of a beast getting ready to devour prey. Wild Kingdom, here I come. Grabbing a nearby empty chair, Jessie squeezed herself in so that she was sitting on the other side of Rowan, her back to the wall.
"That's a nasty looking cut on your face." Jessie turned and saw Dena looking at her with a provocative smile on her face. "How'd you get it?"
Three sets of eyes were on her now, waiting to hear her answer. "Wrong place, wrong time. The usual." Shrugging, Jessie watched Rowan carefully, seeing that Mandy's arm had snaked around the back of her chair.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Mandy asked Rowan, her attention fully on the blonde.
"Sure, a B52 on the rocks, if you please."
"Can you get me a Miller while you're there?" Jessie pulled out her wallet.
"No problem," Mandy winked at Jessie and walked away before she could give her the money.
Jessie watched as Mandy approached the bar. A woman approached Mandy and they started talking as they waited for the bartender to get to them. They seemed to be laughing together, giving the impression that they were old friends, or at least pals.
"How can you stand to be with her?" She couldn't help herself. This woman was obviously wrong for Rowan.
Green eyes focused on her, giving her a surprised look. "I hardly know her, I'm just here to have some fun."
"Yeah, she thinks she's going to have some fun tonight," she said, pointing to where Mandy was still talking to her friend. Jessie's eyes narrowed as she saw Mandy point subtly to Rowan, making a thrusting motion with her hips. "You're not going to tell me that you didn't see that?"
Anger welled in Rowan, but not at Mandy's crude idea of getting her in bed, but at Jessie's nerve. "So, she thinks she's going to sleep with me tonight? So what? It's my choice, not hers and certainly not yours!"
Growling deep in her throat, Jessie's anger grew as well. "Fine, I was just trying to help. Go ahead, go get mauled by handy-Mandy, see if I care!"
Dena watched the exchange in fascination. The sparks of electricity that were flying between the two women was almost palatable. Jesus, look at the fire in Rowan's eyes! Now, Dena had known the other woman for a few years, going back to their days in college when they'd both clung together due to the common bond of being gay. She'd seen her get involved with quiet a few women. But, this was different. Beneath the anger the two women were clearly feeling, there was something else, something molten and blistering, shared between them. Hot diggity! I'm betting that their first time in bed together will be explosive! She giggled at the thought, drawing the two women's attention.
"What!" They both yelled at her together, causing Dena to hold her hands up in peace.
"Nothing, nothing, just remembering something funny I saw the other night. Go on, keep up with the foreplay." Her laughter only grew when she saw the expressions on their faces. Rowan's blushed deeply and Jessie's went slack and then quickly closed completely.
"Excuse me," Jessie got up and walked away.
"Wowziers!" Dena stared at the retreating form in amazement. "Have you slept with her yet?" She said to Rowan, earning her an elbow in the ribs. "Ouch! Whadda do that for?"
"Why do you have to be so...crude!"
"It's just a question!"
"Well, the answer is no. And I won't be sleeping with her. Okay?"
"Okay, okay, didn't know I was touching a sensitive subject." Dena felt bad as she saw Rowan's face fall, a glimpse of sadness behind her eyes.
Sighing loudly, Rowan put her head in her hands and took several deep breaths. "I'm sorry Dena, I...well, I just don't really want to think about that right now."
"Are you two dating?" She had to get her information before she'd just let it go.
"Why not?" It was obvious to her that these two had some kind of chemistry that would not just lie down and be quiet.
"She doesn't want me," Rowan said sadly.
"Here are the drinks!" Mandy put down a full glass in front of Rowan, while carelessly dumping Jessie's beer bottle at her place. Jamie sat down as well, handing Dena a bottle of beer. Immediately Mandy noticed that the tall, dark-haired woman was gone, but she decided not to comment. After the hostility she'd gotten from her, Mandy was rather glad she was gone.
"Thank you," Rowan said quietly. Her day had brought so many emotions to the surface that she couldn't just pretend not to be upset.
"Would you like to play a game of pool?" There was something bothering Rowan, but Mandy didn't really want to know what it was. Getting her up and active might do something to dissipate the woman's dour mood.
"Sure." The two women got up and, taking their drinks, went toward the only unused pool table.
"Tonight is going to be filled with fun, I can see that already!" Dena observed out loud before filling Jamie in on what had happened while she was gone.
"Rack or break?" Mandy asked, setting her drink down on the rail of the pool table. She squat down and put 4 quarters into the slots on the money receiver on the side of the pool table. Pushing it in with force, she stood back up grinning.
Rowan put her own drink on the side and grabbed the triangle rack from beneath the table. "You can break first," she said, pulling the balls out two at a time and placing them in the rack.
Selecting a cues stick, Mandy chalked up the tip and retrieved the cue ball from its nesting place. Deciding that her rack was tight enough, Rowan pulled the triangle away, leaving behind a perfectly formed triangle of balls. With a loud smack! The white cue ball hit the rack, sending balls scattering over the table. Despite the good break, none of the balls sank, giving Rowan the chance to decide if she wanted stripes or solids.
Mandy wasn't that bad, Rowan decided as she watched her "date" shoot. She hadn't missed the sly looks or the over confidence with which Mandy approached her. But, over all, she'd had worse dates in her life. Her eyes traveled unconsciously to the tall woman standing at the bar. But, Mandy wasn't what she wanted and nothing else would do.
"Your shot," Mandy said with a sweet smile, startling Rowan out of her thoughts. Smiling back, Rowan examined the table, counting the number of balls left and realizing that Mandy had made two shots during her turn.
With a quick gesture, Rowan pointed that she was going to put the 15 ball in the side pocket. Calmly she bent over the table, her cue close to her ear as she carefully aimed her shot. She felt Mandy come up behind her, rubbing against her back end, her hands going to her hips. Sighing, Rowan tried to concentrate on her shot, more to prove the point that this woman couldn't play with her like that than anything else. Just as she was going to actually hit the white cue ball, she felt something between her legs, rubbing against her center in a rough manner.
Standing at the bar, a bottle of beer in her hand, Jessie watched the blonde woman with handy-Mandy at the pool table. Her blue eyes squinted as she watched, a frown permanently placed on her face. From the back of her throat came a growling noise as Mandy bent too close to Rowan, her hands on Rowan's hips.
"Well, it looks like your little girlfriend got bored." The familiar voice from behind Jessie did nothing to brighten her mood. Ignoring the taunt, Jessie kept her eyes focused on Rowan.
Smiling, Terri moved around so that she could see Jessie's face. "Does this mean you're free for the evening?" She lifted her eyebrows up and down suggestively.
This woman just doesn't give up, does she? Taking a long draw from her beer bottle, Jessie put it down hard on the bar. Focusing her eyes on Terri, she almost laughed when the other woman jumped back in shock at the expression in her eyes. "You want to play, Terri? Is that what you really want?"
Seriously beginning to change her mind about pursuing Jessie altogether, Terri stumbled over her reply. "Listen, Jessie, I...I was just kidding around, ya know?" Feeling completely like she was about to be devoured whole by a vicious, blood-sucking bug, Terri began backing up slowly. She was not used to not having the upper hand. She wasn't scared exactly by this change in Jessie, but she wasn't sure she wanted to mess with it either. "So, listen, I have to get going. I'll see you around, okay?" Turning without waiting for a response, Terri practically ran in the opposite direction.
"That was kind of fun," Jessie said softly to herself even as her eyes found Rowan again. The growl that had before been quiet was now heard full force. She rushed over to the pool table even as Rowan slapped Mandy's face. The sound of the palm of Rowan's hand hitting Mandy's face resounded in Jessie's ears.
"You fucking bitch!" Mandy roared at Rowan, her true nature coming out in full force as her hands grabbed for Rowan's wrists.
"Think again," Jessie's husky voice caught Mandy off guard. With swift movements, Jessie grabbed Mandy's wrist and turned her around, forcing the arm behind Mandy's back. Slamming the woman against the wall, Jessie held her there with force while looking to see if Rowan was okay. A nod from the blonde was all that she needed. "You think it's fun to touch women when they don't want you to?" She twisted the arm even more.
"Fuck you!" Mandy spat out, spittle flying out of her mouth.
"That's the attitude that I'm talking about Mandy," Jessie clucked at the woman, trying to keep from punching the bitch. She'd probably press charges, which would get Jessie into a load of trouble.
Eventually, Mandy stopped squirming against Jessie's iron grip, panting from the effort. One of the women who had been bar backing came over, approaching the two women cautiously. "Not you again," she said, shaking her head when she saw it was Mandy against the wall. "That's it, you're 86ed. I don't want to see you hear again, you got it!" She took over the grip on Mandy's arm, freeing Jessie from the task, and walked the woman out of the bar.
"I guess you want a thank you," Rowan said quietly from where she stood behind Jessie.
"I don't want anything, Rowan." She sighed, shaking her head. In truth, the anger had just overcome her to the point that she hadn't seen anything but her own need to hurt the woman that had touched Rowan.
A hand touched her arm and she turned to look at the other woman. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way. Thank you for coming to my aid Jessie. I do appreciate it." Rowan gave her a gentle smile that touched something deep inside and she felt the anger dissipate, a balm soothing her soul.
They stood there awkwardly, neither one knowing what to say. A slow song came on and Rowan decided to take her courage in hand and ask for something she was dying to have. "Will you...dance with me?" She tried not to sound like she was pleading, but in truth that was what she was doing.
Hesitating, Jessie recognized that saying yes was opening herself to something she wasn't sure she could stop. And truthfully, she wouldn't want to stop. She loved this woman, was in love with her, but she wasn't ready to deal with everything that went with that. She wasn't ready to open herself completely, in case of the rejection that could follow. There was no denying that Rowan had the complete ability to crush Jessie, and that alone was frightening. But, as she looked into Rowan's green eyes, she was mesmerized by the longing she saw there, and a slow burn was ignited once again her abdomen.
"Yes." It was a simple answer, but both women felt the weight it carried.
Taking Jessie's larger hand in her own, Rowan led her to an area that they could dance in. Jessie's arms automatically went around Rowan's waist, pulling her closer and Rowan's arms circled her neck. Their bodies seemed to know what to do even if their minds were cluttered and hazy. With slow movements, they began to move together, a sensually motivated dance that took away their ability to breathe and think rationally.
Losing herself to the sensations of being held by Jessie, Rowan put her head on her shoulder, edging her body closer to the other woman's. With tenderness aligned with desire, Jessie held her closer, her hands moving in slow circles on her back.
Between them, a connection was growing stronger, creating a bond that nothing would ever be able to break. Internally, both women felt it, their hearts screaming in need, but their minds were hesitant and wary.
Slowly, the song faded, replaced by something more up beat and faster. Pulling apart, they found their hands refusing to let go. Hand in hand, they walked slowly back to the table. Dena and Jamie were still there, talking and watching people around them.
The rest of the night was spent exchanging innocent touches and smiles, talking about everything and anything under the sun. Rowan wasn't sure what all this meant, but she was going to take the time to find out.
Despite doctor's advice and her own mother's pleas, Jessie refused to have the scar surgically covered. As the wound healed, it remained a visible reminder of what had happened. Jessie used it as a reminder of her goal to avenge the murder of Joy Colston. Every day when she looked in the mirror and saw the scar, she renewed her vows to find Don Colston and make sure that he was treated according to his crime.
Michael Moore, Mike, met with Jessie on a regular basis. Neither one had much to report to each other. Even though it was against policy, Mike made the decision to keep Jessie up-to-date on the case. He wanted her as an asset to the department, not a liability. In truth, the more time he spent with her, the more he found himself liking the woman. There was something very fundamental about her that he could relate to. He always looked forward to their meetings.
Two months after the murder, the first sign of Don Colston surfaced. A letter sent to Jessie's apartment. The letter was full of threats for her part in making Don Colston a fugitive. It went on to say that Joy Colston had been a slut and a whore, that she deserved to die for not being faithful to her husband. It was signed by Don Colston. Handwriting analysists matched the handwriting and signature with samples they'd taken from the Colston home. It was a 90% match with Don Colston.
"Do you want police protection?" Mike asked Jessie after reading the letter.
"No," Jessie said slowly. "But, I would like someone to watch after my mother. I don't want that bastard to be able to get near her."
Nodding, Mike understood. He knew that she would never allow herself to be under police surveillance. But she would make sure those she loved were taken care of. "I'll take care of that right away. I want you to start reporting in to me everyday. If you fail to do report in even a single time, I will have an entire unit storm your apartment."
Jessie rolled her eyes at him.
"I'm serious Jess. We're not going to play games with your life, got it?" He waited until she nodded in understanding. "And you'll check in every day?"
"Yes Mike, everyday," she said with a sigh. She knew he wouldn't drop it till she consented. And maybe, just maybe, he was right.
Mike was true to his word. When Jessie went to see her mother the same afternoon she got the letter from Colston, a patrolman was already there, enjoying a cup of coffee on one of Anne's comfortable couches.
"Hey mom," Jessie called out to Anne whose back was turned to the door.
Dropping a book with a loud thud, Anne turned around. "Jesus Jess, you scared the bejesus out of me!" One hand fluttered to her heart, which threatened to pound out of her chest.
Jessie walked over and picked up the dropped book. "Why are you so jumpy?" She asked as she handed the book back.
"Why am I so jumpy?" Anne repeated incredulously. "Maybe you could tell me why I'm so jumpy!"
"Huh?" Jessie's eyebrows came together in confusion.
"This nice police man comes in here and tells me he's been told to watch the store, on your request. Says he can't tell me anymore than that." Anne pointed at the man with the book in her hand. "Naturally that's made me jumpy!" Taking a deep breath, Anne tried to get her nerves under control. "So maybe you can tell me why?"
Hopping up on the counter, Jessie folded her legs Indian style. "Do you remember that I told they didn't catch that guy who did this?" She pointed to the still puckered scar on her face.
"Well, apparently he's still around and has decided to focus his anger on me. I asked Mike to send someone over to watch you just in case this guy's a serious threat." Shrugging, Jessie started to get up when Anne put a hand on her leg to keep her in place.
Concerned, Anne wasn't going to let her daughter end it there. "How did he threaten you?"
"Via the Post Office."
"Yup. Post marked in Madison." She raised an eyebrow in silent question.
"What kind of threats did he make?"
"Oh the usual. He threatened to hurt me, to make me suffer. Called me a bunch of bad names." She paused and thought for a moment. "Hmmm...I think he was honestly trying to hurt my feelings." Grinning rakishly at her mother, she hopped down from the counter. "May I go now?"
"Smart ass," Anne mumbled as she swatted Jessie's shoulder. "Hey, have you seen Rowan lately?" Although her voice was casual, there was a hint of bantering.
"Yeah, last night, why?"
"Just curious..." Letting her voice fade, Anne turned back around. She wasn't surprised when she felt her daughter's presence behind her.
"Mother..." Jessie drew out the word.
"Yes?" Anne asked sweetly, turning around.
"What do you have in your brilliant mind now?"
"I don't know what you mean!" Pretending shock, she started to turn around, but her daughter's strong arms prevented it. "Well, maybe Rowan said something the other day..."
Truthfully, Jessie had been seeing Rowan almost daily since she'd gotten out of the hospital. They ate dinner together, watched TV, went to movies, took walks, but everything remained on a non-sexual level. For some reason Jessie was afraid. She was afraid of what would happen if they took it further. Rowan's friendship was so important to her now that she didn't want to lose that, no matter how much she wanted to take the woman in her arms and passionately kiss her inviting lips.
Despite her resolve not to take things further, there was something else that was keeping her from acting. She still wasn't sure that it was what Rowan wanted. What if Jessie did take that step and Rowan didn't want it? That would change everything.
"Oh?" She finally replied to her mother.
"Yes." Anne put a finger to her chin, pretending to think. "Let's see...what was it she said..."
A soft growl came from Jessie, causing Anne to laugh. "Something about you moving too slow!"
"Yeah, something about you not being interested in her romantically. Apparently, she doesn't think you're attracted to her. And honey, I KNOW that isn't true. I've seen the way you look at her, the way your eyes light up when you see her." Anne tapped Jessie's chest. "So, tell me, what have you done to give her that idea?"
"I...I don't know!" Complete shocked rippled through Jessie's body.
Anne mimicked her daughter's familiar gesture by raising an eyebrow. "Think about it." Was all she said before turning back to the bookshelf.
Walking slowly out of the bookstore, Jessie allowed herself to be lost in thought. Here she had thought that she was doing Rowan a favor by not pushing herself onto the woman. It hadn't been easy to hold back her desire for Rowan. In the past two months she had grown to realize that not only did she want Rowan, but she also enjoyed the woman's company. They spent a lot of time discussing movies, books, television, the time passing quickly as they playfully argued things, each of them taking turns playing Devil's Advocate. Rowan made her think. She kept Jessie on her toes and yet there was a familiarity about her, like coming home to something very soft and comfortable.
Did Rowan really not know how Jessie felt about her? "It's not like I came out and told her or anything." Jessie reasoned out loud, ignoring the people around her who gave her strange looks. So what did she think she was accomplishing? They were friends, without a doubt. But, were they heading toward something more than that? Was she the one keeping that from happening?
She had grown comfortable with their relationship. The occasional touch from Rowan would warm her from within, while the woman's gentle voice calmed her. With Rowan, Jessie found herself laughing more, having more fun, just being carefree most of the time. It had been a long time since Jessie had allowed herself to just let go. Normally, her darkened past hung over her head more times than not.
But, these days all Jessie had to do was to think of Rowan's gently curved lips, her incredibly warm green eyes, and her soft, firm body...
"Shit!" Jessie muttered as she realized that a dumb grin had formed on her face, as her thoughts grew more descriptive.
"Do you always walk down the street swearing to yourself, or is this a new thing?"
Jessie looked up to see Rowan standing in front of her. Immediately a blush formed on her face at the same time a determination grew within her. Without actually considering her actions, Jessie got closer to Rowan, put an arm around the woman's waist, and drew her close. It only took a brief look into Rowan's eyes to know what she wanted. With a sense of desperation, Jessie found Rowan's lips with her own.
Hesitant at first, it took Rowan a second before she started to respond to Jessie's warm mouth. Her own lips opened, inviting Jessie to explore, which she did expertly. The arm around her waist tightened, drawing her closer against Jessie's firm body. Her own arms went around Jessie's neck, her hands instantly running through the woman's soft dark hair.
Any common sense that Jessie still had left her as she felt the other woman respond. She tightened her hold around Rowan's slim waist, pressing her body against her. A soft moan grew in her throat, coming out like a hungry growl. The noise vibrated through Rowan's mouth, causing a warm wave to wash over her body, her knees growing weak. Just when she thought she'd fall down, the strong arm around her tensed, holding her up.
Sparks and charges jumped from woman to woman, igniting both of them, pushing them both on. It wasn't until Jessie felt her hands starting to explore Rowan's body that she remembered they were on a crowded street.
Slowly, not wanting to, but knowing that she needed to, Jessie pulled away. She kept her hold around Rowan's waist, not willing to give up that connection yet. Rowan was in a haze as she recovered positive that she was not misreading these signs. Jessie wanted her.
"You go girls!" A female voice startled them both.
Both of them turned their heads toward the voice. A young woman with dark black hair was standing near them, giving them a grin.
"I wish I was brave enough to kiss my girlfriend like that in public!" She held her hands out in fists, her thumbs up in approval, before she continued down State Street.
Rowan and Jessie watched her for a minute before they turned to look back at each other. As if there had been some silent cue, they both started laughing. The sexual tension lessened as they continued to laugh, Rowan finally needing to lean her head against Jessie's shoulder as the laughter weakened her.
They wound down, Rowan keeping her place, not wanting to loose any contact with the other woman yet. The on-edge feelings returned, reminding them both separately of their desire for each other.
"Disgusting," a voice muttered, once again breaking the two women's concentration on each other.
Jessie saw an older man starring at them, his thoughts shown plainly in the way he looked at them. His face was wrinkled as though he'd spent too many years looking at others with abhorrence. It was like what Anne had always told Jessie when she was little. If she spent too much time hating others, it would show on her face as she got older and everyone would know that she was hateful.
"Excuse me?" Jessie spoke before she could stop herself. Really, she didn't want to get into anything with this ignorant person. Her anger would only break the moment with Rowan, and it wasn't worth it. She'd rather concentrate on the other woman than taking her long seeded anger out on this man.
His face still scrunched with loathing, the man looked as though he was having an internal struggle, trying to decide whether or not he should turn and walk away, or confront this issue. Apparently, his attitude of superiority won out because he stayed.
"You are an abomination! God will see that you go to hell for your sins against nature!" He stuck his chin out in defiance, so sure of his opinion.
Jessie was tempted to strike that very chin, to knock the self-righteousness right out of him. Taking deep breaths she tried to swallow the urge to hurt the man. Words can be weapons, Jessie thought as she got herself under control. Just as she was about to speak she felt Rowan move from where she was leaning against Jessie. A figure blurred toward the man, at a speed which even Jessie envied.
"I am so tired of people like you who try to tell me that just because I love someone I'm a bad person!" Rowan was standing directly in front of the man, her face turned up to his, yelling at the top of her lungs. Her hands gestured wildly through the air, coming close to striking the man, but never quite hitting him. "I love her, and because she and I are both women, that makes it unacceptable to you!
"People like you assume that because I love another woman that I'm a bad person without any morals or anything! Well, listen to me asshole! If your God can't accept the fact that I love someone, then what kind of benevolent being is he?" Her anger seemed to wind down. Backing slightly away from the man, Rowan's face took on a calm appearance. As she looked at the man she felt sorry for him. "The God I believe in is more concerned with people hurting, hating, killing, MURDERING each other than who I love." She shook her head slowly. "You don't even know me, yet you judge me. Maybe you should look at your own life and figure out what God will see there." Her steam was gone. She was tired of being angry with this man who was simply ignorant. Rowan just couldn't fight against his stupidity, no matter how much she yelled or if she hit him, pummeling him senseless.
While Rowan had yelled, the man had been stunned into silence. Now that she had stopped, he sneered and quickly walked away, muttering to himself about sinners and the way of God.
The ground under Rowan seemed to suck her energy from her. She could feel the weight of her own body being pulled toward the concrete of the street, gravity seeming to drag every molecule of her down. A heavy sigh escaped her mouth as her head hung limp. Some people would never accept. Rowan didn't expect understanding or even hope for it. She just wanted people to leave her alone. She didn't always agree with others decisions, but that was their choice. Why couldn't people respect her choices?
Just as she felt that her legs would give out from beneath her, letting her sink to the ground, into oblivion, Rowan felt a hand on her shoulder. It gave her the power to lift her head and look into sincere, warm eyes the color of the ocean on a stormy day.
"You okay?" A gentle voice filled with warmth that matched the look in the eyes met Rowan's ears and she felt her legs grow strong again.
"Yeah, I'm okay." She unconsciously leaned against the solid body behind her, taking strength from Jessie's presence. A strong arm wrapped around her waist from behind and Rowan just let herself relax. She felt completely safe, like nothing could touch her so long as Jessie's held her.
Jessie felt Rowan's need as strongly as she felt her own. And at that moment Rowan needed to be held, to feel safe and secure. Giving the other woman a few moments of silence and comfort, Jessie allowed her mind to wander. It had been amazing what she'd felt when she saw Rowan go after that man. It had been exhilarating to watch. There was no question that Rowan was her own woman. All of Jessie's worries of forcing Rowan into something she didn't want were gone. It was clear that Rowan wouldn't allow herself to be coerced into anything.
"Well, that was fun," Rowan finally said, sarcasm heavy in her tone.
"Ro, if that's your idea of fun, maybe we'd better find you some hobbies."
Grinning to herself, Rowan liked the way Jessie said we. As in the two of them.
They began walking down the sidewalk once again. Suddenly, they both stopped in mid step. Turning to each other, they both spoke at the same time.
"Did you just kiss me?"
"Did you say you loved me?"
Silence buzzed in both women's ears. Any noise from the street, from the people around them was completely blocked, their own heartbeats pounding in their ears.
"Did you say you loved me?" Jessie repeated softly, unable to keep the hope from shinning in her eyes. She didn't want to get her hopes up, but she had heard it. She knew she had. Hadn't she?
Blushing fiercely, Rowan looked at her feet, pretending to care that her shoelaces were frayed and that there was a hole forming in the front of her left shoe right over her big toe. Absently, she flexed her toe, watching her sock poke through the hole.
She didn't know how to answer Jessie's question. Truthfully, she hadn't meant to say it. She had merely meant to use the idea in general, not bring Jessie specifically into it. It was true, she loved her. She'd realized that after the dream she'd had at the hospital. It was so much more than anything sexual. It was something familiar, something so right.
But she wasn't ever going to say anything to her. In her entire life she'd never forced her attentions on anyone. She wasn't about to start now. But, when Jessie had kissed her, it had changed everything. And when she got mad, she reacted from that kiss.
"Yes," she finally said, lifting her face, unable to hide the truth from Jessie. Unable to pretend that it had been a mistake, when really it was clearly written on her heart. "Why did you kiss me?" She had to know the reason. Was it simply the moment? Had Jessie been thinking of someone else? What had provoked that?
"It was something I probably should have done a long time ago." Jessie admitted with a shrug. "It was brought to my attention that you might have gotten the wrong impression about how I felt. I'm very..." she hesitated. What should she say? That she was in love with Rowan? That was so unlike Jessie, throwing her heart out there like that. And as much as she felt it, she couldn't say it out loud, not yet. "...attracted to you. I care a lot about you," she added quickly, trying to make up for the lack of meaning in those words. The simplicity of those words didn't come close to how she actually felt.
"I'm glad you did." Rowan's soft smile said more than her words. The mere curve of her lips suggested more, causing a jolt of desire to travel through her body. Not breaking eye contact, Rowan moved closer to Jessie. One hand came out and brushed the taller woman's neck, softly caressing her. Green eyes burned into Jessie's mind, intentions clear.
They were beginning the dance, Jessie realized. The dance that passion and need made you do as it controlled your body, forcing you through the motions. With careful phrasing and deliberate eye contact, your words skirted the edge of desire. And they were doing this dance in the middle of the sidewalk on a crowded street. Not the best of ideas, Jessie realized. Easily solved.
"Do you want to come up to my apartment?" Jessie nodded her head toward her mother's store and her apartment. What she was really asking was whether or not Rowan wanted to go to bed with her. They both understood that. It had come down to that. Their desire for each other having been made clear, this was the next step. Or they could wait. Jessie was leaving the decision up to Rowan.
Nodding, Rowan made the decision that they both wanted. Taking the other woman's hand in her own, Jessie started toward the door to the left of the store. It had a flight of stairs that led up to her apartment.
Taking her keys out of her jeans' pocket, Jessie unlocked the outside door. Holding the door open, she gestured for Rowan to go on through. As she passed through the door, she smelled Rowan's perfume. It was an aphrodisiac, which grabbed at her, intoxicating her with need. A low growl escaped from deep in her throat and her long arms reached out and pulled Rowan close to her. When she felt Jessie's breath on the side of her neck, Rowan threw her head back, exposing her neck completely to Jessie's mouth.
Not hesitating, the dark haired woman's mouth tasted the skin on the revealed neck. Rowan moaned lightly as her breathing started getting heavy and her head got light. Strong arms held her tightly, not letting her think for even a minute that she was going to fall back. One large, slender hand played at the edge of her shirt before slipping underneath. Long fingers caressed her stomach and the skin over her ribs. Her breasts ached instantly to be touched, her nipples contracting against her clothing. It suddenly felt as though her clothing was too tight, rubbing harshly against her suddenly sensitized skin.
"I want to make love to you," Jessie whispered into Rowan's ear before she began to suck on her earlobe.
Leaning back against the woman behind her, Rowan lost all thoughts as she felt Jessie's desire. "Yes," she managed to whisper.
Together they moved up the stairs, stopping on each step for more contact. Reaching the top, Jessie felt Rowan stop suddenly in front of her.
"What's wrong?" She whispered into her ear.
"Jess, huh..." Rowan tried to finish the sentence, but was distracted by a hot mouth on her neck. No, this is important she told herself, her brain attempting to recover the brief thought she'd lost. "Your door...it's open."
At those words, Jessie stopped what she was doing, slowly lifting her head. Her door stood slightly open. Seemingly innocent enough, she recognized it as the ominous sign it was. "Get behind me," she growled under her breath as she directed Rowan so that her own body shielded her.
"Jess?" Fear tinged Rowan's voice as she reacted to Jessie's sudden change in demeanor.
"I always lock it. There's no reason for it to be open." Her voice was calmer than she felt. "Just stay behind me, okay?"
Waiting a second, Jessie started cautiously through the door. For a split second she thought about calling the police and letting them handle this, but it was too late for that. Kicking the door the rest of the way open with her foot, she looked in the doorway.
At first glance it was clear that someone had been there. Her couch was visible through the door and the cushions were torn off the couch. Papers covered the floor, as though a cyclone had blown through, leaving this mess in its wake. While Jessie wasn't the cleanest person, she wasn't one to leave a mess like this.
Instinct told Jessie that the apartment was empty, but caution told her to proceed as though it weren't. Rowan held onto the back of Jessie's shirt with one hand, peering around the taller woman occasionally to see.
A tall lamp in the corner was on, illuminating the room. Taking in the entire room Jessie saw that it was empty and walked further in.
"Jess!" Rowan's voice hissed from behind her, a tug on her shirt getting her attention. She turned and saw what had caught Rowan's attention.
On the plain, cream colored walls someone had written "I'm watching you" in black paint.
Oookay, Jessie thought as she backed out of the apartment, herding Rowan with her. A thought suddenly hit her. "Mom!" A desperate feeling began to grow through her chest. If this maniac had been able to find her, what's to stop him from finding her mother at the bookstore?
Rowan didn't need any help understanding Jessie's train of thought. Together they hurried out of the door, turning to go into the front door of Shakespeare's Closet.
The familiar sight of Anne's blonde head bent over something on the counter made them both slow down. Taking a deep breath to calm her pacing heart, Jessie forced herself to call out. "Mom?"
Two very blue eyes looked up at the two women. "Hey girls," Anne said distractedly. "Rowan, someone came by here asking about you. She said her name was...um, Kelly, I think."
A brief thought flashed through Jessie's mind Who's Kelly? But other matters took precedent over it. "Mom, we need to use the phone."
Puzzled, Anne handed over the phone. "Sure Jess." Glancing at Rowan, she saw that she was more pale than usual. "What's wrong?"
"Michael? It's Jessie. He's back."
Flashes of light came from a camera as a Madison police officer photographed Jessie's apartment. Another officer used a fine powder to dust for fingerprints around the living room. Apparently that was the only area bothered. The bedroom and bathroom both seemed to be just as she had left them. "This was the reason I wanted surveillance on your apartment Jessie." Michael's tone was annoyingly close to condensation. He, along with Jessie, Rowan, and Anne were standing in the living room, surveying the destruction.
Attempting to keep her anger down and her voice even, Jessie clenched her teeth together as she spoke. "I admit it Michael, it was the wrong decision for me to make. You were right, I was wrong." The detective had been raving for almost a half hour now about how if she'd just listened to him in the first place, they would have already caught Colston by now.
"Excuse me, but I really don't think that blame is right at this time." In a quiet, yet no-nonsense voice, Rowan chastised the detective.
A reddish coloring grew over Michael's face, but he refused to acknowledge the woman. Instead, he turned to one of the officers helping at the scene. "Are we going to be able to prove it was him, John?"
The short, portly man who had brought the forensic equipment with him didn't hesitate in his response. "No problem Michael. We have two full left indexes on the wall where he must have touched as he wrote, and a left thumb print on the door handle to the apartment that is clear. We have the prints from the murder scene on file, so it shouldn't be difficult to match the two."
Feeling as though she were watching a scene from Law and Order, Anne almost felt the thrill of the chase before she remembered that it was her daughter who had been at threat.
"Mr. Moore," her voice shook a little as she thought about what would have happened if her daughter had decided to come home earlier while the man was still there. "Are you going to be able to catch him? Obviously he's still here in the area, but will you actually be able to stop him before he tries to kill my daughter?" Her volume rose with each word, as she became angry at the fact that they still hadn't caught the man. How dare they play with her daughter's life?
It was obvious that they were all frustrated with the investigation. Truthfully, Michael had thought that they would have had the man in custody and on trial by now. But, try as they might, they couldn't get him. Without there being any sign from him in so long, he'd begun to think that maybe Colston had left Madison for good. So much for that.
With a sigh, the detective shook his head. He didn't know what to tell them.
"Can you at least tell me how much longer it'll be before I can have my apartment back?" This was Jessie's bigger concern at this point. She hated sitting back and watching as the officers went through the stuff in her living room. Being a very private person she didn't like the idea of other people riffling through her belongings. She felt very violated as it was, but now they were violating her space a second time.
"You can't stay here tonight," Michael said.
Sticking out her chin, Jessie glared at him. "I sure as hell can!"
"NO!" Both Anne and Rowan said at the same time. They looked at each other, a hint of a smile on both their faces. With a barely noticeable bowing of her head, Rowan deferred to Anne's right as a mother. "You cannot stay here tonight! In fact, you can't stay here for awhile, at least not until this man is caught!"
"I'm serious Jess, don't play around with this man. He's obviously intent on hurting you."
Rowan's mouth opened before she actually thought about what she was saying, "You can stay with me!" The silence after this statement made it obvious that she had been a little more enthusiastic than she should have been in this offer. "I have...a well, you know...a spare bedroom." A rose colored blush spread over her features.
Grinning despite herself, Jessie watched the other woman as she fumbled to explain what she meant. I'll be dammed if I stay in the spare bedroom, she thought silently.
"Wonderful idea!" Anne said, a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye.
After the police left, white powder a testimony to their presence, Jessie gathered up some clothing and toiletry items to take to Rowan's. Grabbing her garment bag from her closet, she carefully put her work clothes in neatly. A grin formed on her face as she thought about staying with the other woman. Very convenient overall.
"Are you almost ready?" Rowan's familiar voice floated from her living room. "I'm getting the creeps being in here where that man was."
"Hey! That's my living room you're talking about!" Jessie called back.
"Yeah, but it's still creepy!"
"Creepy?" Jessie muttered to herself, smiling. Rowan had such an adorable way of putting things. "Okay, I'm ready," she said, walking into the living room, her bags slung over her shoulder. Her eyes immediately focused on Rowan.
The smaller woman had her hands wrapped around herself and she seemed to be shivering. Not hesitating, Jessie dropped her bags, closed the space between them and wrapped her arms around her. "Hey, you really are bothered by this, aren't you?"
Warm comfort and safety consumed Rowan as she felt herself melt into the other woman's body. "I just have this strange feeling, that's all." Her own arms involuntarily went around Jessie's waist. "Silly, huh?" She said into a shoulder.
"Not silly. Perfectly understandable really." Giving Rowan one last squeeze, Jessie let go and guided Rowan out the door. "Let's get out of here."
After closing and locking the outside door of her apartment, Jessie led them into the bookstore. Customers were browsing around and the place seemed to be pretty busy. Anne was behind the counter, ringing up a customer's purchases. She instantly lifted her head as they approached, as though she knew they were coming. Smiling, Anne nodded. "Here she is now."
The customer Anne had been ringing up turned around, looking first at Jessie, then focusing her eyes on Rowan.
Confused, Jessie was about to ask what this was about when she heard a slight gasp from the woman beside her.
"Kelly," Rowan said softly.
"Hi Rowan," Kelly said, a smile illuminating her face.
Sensing some kind of history here, Jessie studied Kelly intently. She was a tall woman with what could only be described as curves. Curly brown hair hung around her face, which wasn't what you would normally call attractive, but when she smiled, her face brightened up. Eyes a pale blue and a soft mouth were the only aspects that Jessie noticed on her face. And, she was eerily familiar to Jessie.
While she'd been studying the other woman, Rowan had grabbed her arm in a tight grip. She could feel the tension build, like a rubber band being stretched. Turning her head to look at Rowan, she gave her a concerned look. Perceptively turning her head, Rowan looked into Jessie's eyes. The look of fear and unease melted from her eyes. Taking the woman's smaller hand in her own, Jessie squeezed it tightly.
"It's been a long time," Kelly said, her voice smooth and controlled. Giving Jessie an amused look as she took Rowan's hand, her voice deepened to almost a purr. "I see you've been busy."
"What do you want Kelly?" Rowan said through clenched teeth.
One shoulder lifted and fell as Kelly shrugged. With a smirk she raked her eyes over Rowan's form. "I just wanted to see if you were free for some fun."
Something in the way Kelly said fun angered Jessie. A feral desire to wipe the smirk off the woman's face. Something wasn't right here. Why was this bothering Rowan so much? "She's busy," Jessie growled in reply.
Moving as close to Jessie as she could, Rowan was grateful for the support. Normally, having someone answer for her would have upset her, but it seemed natural to have Jessie defend her.
Her smirked slipped for a moment before being replaced by a full out grin. "Maybe I'll run into you later then." Kelly took her bag from Anne and sauntered out the door.
A full minute passed before anyone took a breath. Even Anne was holding in anger at the way Kelly had presumed to speak to Rowan.
"Who was that...woman?" Anne finally spoke first, her eyes still focused on the door that Kelly had gone through on her way out.
"Someone from my past," Rowan said cryptically. Figuring that pushing wasn't her concern, Anne kept quiet.
Deciding that she would ask about it in private, Jessie turned to her mother. "Just wanted to let you know that we're leaving. Call if you need anything." They turned and left, still holding hands.
Tigger greeted the two women with a plaintive meow. Jessie had been spending enough time at Rowan's so that the cat accepted her without complaint.
Dropping her carry all bag on the floor by the door and laying her garment bag over the chair for later, Jessie offered to help Rowan out of her coat, hanging both their coats up. With a sigh, she approached Rowan from behind, her arms naturally going around the smaller woman's waist. With a small noise she pulled her closer.
A matching sigh was released from Rowan as she leaned back against Jessie. "I'm glad you decided to stay here," she said softly. Truthfully, her reason for asking Jessie to stay with her was two-fold. First, was the obvious: she'd wanted to sleep with Jessie since the night she met her. Second, she was a little afraid of the maniac that was out there. With Jessie there, she felt safe.
"Thank you for offering," Jessie said as she began to kiss the side of Rowan's neck. It seemed so natural to be close to the other woman. She really wasn't thinking, she was just feeling.
Normally, Jessie was a player in bed. She planned every move, using her sexual prowess to seduce her lovers. Then she would leave them, moving on to the next woman.
With Rowan, however, she felt different. Almost as though it were her first time with a woman. She felt shy and charged at the same time, wanting so much to bring pleasure to the other woman. While her body was already reacting to Rowan, her hands and her lips seemed to be unsure of what to do, being guided by instinct alone, not experience.
A soft moan came from Rowan's lips as Jessie continued to kiss her neck. Her head went back, revealing more of her neck to the other woman's mouth. Never someone to ignore an opportunity, Jessie pulled Rowan tighter against her, her mouth quickly applying itself to her neck.
As her heart began to beat faster, Jessie found herself intoxicated by Rowan. Her soft skin, her inciting perfume, all adding to create an aphrodisiac more powerful than any she had experienced before. Her own breathing became ragged as she moved the two of them toward the bedroom. Normally, she wouldn't hesitate to make love to someone on the floor, but this was Rowan. The floor was not good enough.
Her mind clouded with desire, Rowan was aware that they were moving. She wanted to turn in the other woman's arms and press herself fully against her, but Jessie held her tight. All she could concentrate on was the feeling of the lips on her neck, biting and licking the sensitive skin there, leaving her breathless.
"Jessie," she moaned softly, her voice heavy with need. Not new to desire, Rowan knew that this was something above and beyond anything she'd ever known. This wasn't just passion, or desire, it was completely superior to those emotions. It was a need, an ache inside of her that could only be filled by Jessie.
Finally making her way through the bedroom door, Jessie didn't bother to turn the light on. She simply led the smaller woman to the bed, turning her and seating her on the bed in one quick movement. Kneeling between Rowan's legs, Jessie's mouth instantly went to her mouth. The taste of her mouth was now familiar, but she never got tired of it.
Her arms around Rowan's waist, she pulled the woman close, her hands slowly going under Rowan's soft shirt. Warm skin glided under her hands, softness unlike anything she'd felt before overwhelming her senses completely.
Two mouths crashed against each other, each vying for control. Tongues clashed, thrusting into warm caverns filled with soft, velvet textures.
Rowan's control was on the edge when Jessie took her bottom lip into her mouth, sending her over the brink. Grabbing the bottom of Jessie's shirt, she pulled it up, breaking their kiss for an instant to lift it over her head.
Before resuming their kiss, Rowan took in the woman before her. With sure movements, she reached around and unhooked Jessie's bra, taking a deep breath as she removed the final barrier. Before her were two perfect breasts, full and heavy. Steadying her hands, she reached out and gently cupped Jessie's breasts, moaning softly as her touch became more firm.
"Rowan, you're driving me insane!" Jessie hissed between her teeth. Before Rowan realized what had happened, Jessie had her shirt off and was unbuttoning her jeans. "I want to see you," she demanded. Within seconds, Rowan's clothing was on the floor, joined by Jessie's.
With one hand on Rowan's shoulder, Jessie gently pushed her down onto the bed. Gazing down, she took in the sight of Rowan, breathing deeply, almost as though she could breath in Rowan's essence. "You're a beautiful woman," she said without thinking. It was true. The woman laying on the bed before her was gorgeous.
Her breathing already ragged, Rowan's voice caught in her throat when she heard Jessie's words. As they were said, she actually felt beautiful. Never before had she heard such honesty in one person's voice. Trembling as blue eyes focused on her, she spoke from need without thinking. "Please Jessie, please touch me."
Large hands with long, slender fingers gently brushed over Rowan's face, tracing the contours, slowly moving lower. The fingers trembled slightly as they traced moist, succulent lips. Reacting from instinct, Rowan's tongue lashed out, licking the fingers which willingly followed it into her mouth. Sucking and biting, her body responded, flowing with the waves of desire that were quickly filling the room, hitting both women with a pulsating beat.
Quickly, Jessie replaced her fingers with her mouth, pressing hard against Rowan, their bodies meeting and instantly melting together. Fitting like two interlocking jigsaw puzzle pieces, their bodies moved together. Hips thrashed against hips, breasts mashed into breasts as mouths fought to overtake one another.
Sliding slightly off the other woman, Jessie's hand began to roam over Rowan's body, her mind memorizing each inch. Gliding over breasts that were full and firm, gently squeezing nipples that were already hard, her hand passed slowly over a stomach that was slightly rounded before coming to rest between two muscular thighs.
In truth, Jessie was almost oblivious to Rowan's pleasure, finding her own in just touching the other woman. It was like they had combined into one person and the pleasure was both being given and received by that one person. It was exhilarating to hear Rowan's moans combine with her own as her body reacted along with hers. Never had Jessie experienced anything as arousing and sensual as what was happening to her as she touched Rowan.
With sensual, yet precise movements, she found her goal, Rowan's quick intake of breath reassuring her. Unable to contain her own desire, she quickly brought Rowan to the edge of pleasure, letting her teeter there before finally giving her the release that sent her over.
Her mind went blank as her body came alive, feeling only Jessie's touch, she flew into the arms of pleasure. As though an electric current were being sent through her body, she convulsed with each wave of orgasm. One final strong pull caused her body to tense as she yelled "Jessie" and then relaxed into the bed.
Slowing her touch, Jessie pulled away carefully while pulling Rowan to her. Strong arms held the trembling woman tightly while she placed soft kisses over her face.
Thought was slow to come back to her as her body recovered from the infusion of sensation. As her blood receded from her nerve endings, the feeling in Rowan's body slowly came back. She wasn't sure what had affected her more, Jessie's touch or hearing the other woman's own passion rising. Without words being passed between them, Rowan knew that Jessie had come with her. As though giving Rowan pleasure had given her pleasure as well.
Both women drifted within their pleasant haze, each aware that her body was pressed into the other's, each taking satisfaction in that.
With an immense feeling of familiarity, Rowan's head nestled into Jessie's neck. Her lips found smooth, soft skin and began to tenderly place kisses which gradually aroused Jessie's senses.
"Hmmmm, Ro, what are you doing?" Her normally guttural voice had grown huskier, sounding now like a terrific purr. "God woman!" She moaned as a particularly sensitive part of her neck was nipped at.
A blonde head lifted off her chest and two very green eyes twinkled at her. "Something I've wanted to do since I met you," came the reply just before a warm, soft pair of lips surrounded one of Jessie's nipples.
It took all of Jessie's willpower to not flip Rowan over and take her again. The more she reacted to her touch the more she wanted to touch her back. But rather than take over, as was her nature, she relaxed her body and let the sensations Rowan was invoking course through her body. Her eyes fluttered shut as the other woman's mouth continued to make love to her breasts and her hands wandered over her body. It was as though they'd made love before. Rowan seemed to know exactly how to touch her, her hands sure and her mouth bold.
As she continued to raise Jessie's level of passion, Rowan felt hers rise as well. Now she understood what had happened to Jessie when she made love to her. It was as though Rowan's own need was being met by simply touching the other woman. It was incredible and completely amazing.
Intense passion and an intense bond flowed through both women, as first one, then the other cried out. Two bodies pressed together as they held on tightly to each other.
As breathing returned to normal and heart rates slowed, neither woman moved from the comfort of their position. The air had taken on a new quality, beyond the sensual scent of arousal and passion, almost as though something in the universe had hanged upon the minute these two women made love.
Floating through the thick haze, Jessie felt herself smiling into Rowan's hair. When was the last time she'd felt this good? The thought put a serious tone to her mind set. Had she ever felt so good? Running through her memories, she found that she had never felt anything like this before. Nothing in her past compared to the simple happiness she was feeling now.
"Are you okay?" Rowan's voice came at her slowly.
Pulling back so that she could look into familiar eyes, she smiled. "I'm more than okay."
"Just wondering, your eyebrows were scowly."
"Scowly?" Jessie raised her eyebrows. "Is that a word?"
"Sure, I just made it up," said Rowan smugly.
Laughing softly, Jessie reached a hand behind Rowan's neck and pulled her lips to her hers. Nibbling lightly on soft lips, her tongue slowly traced the outside of Rowan's mouth before dipping inside and finding her tongue. Rowan pressed her hips against Jessie, her thigh slipping between the other woman's legs. Slowly, she rubbed against Jessie, her pace steady and consistent, only stopping for a moment when she felt a muscular thigh bend and rub against her own center.
Mouths clashed against each other in the persistently growing passion. Jessie grabbed Rowan's hips above her and increased the woman's thrusts, matching the movement of her own hips. And together, as one, they passed over the threshold of passion and desire, each filled with pleasurable sensations as their bodies trembled and twitched with electric surges.
Completely lost in each other, they laid in bed, sleep overcoming them. Legs and arms entwined, their bodies flushed, the rest was deep and all consuming.
It was too perfect, Jessie decided. She'd woken up and although in a strange bed, she felt strangely at home and content. It had taken her body a few minutes to realize that there was a warm presence in bed with her. She'd turned her head and saw Rowan sprawled form on top of her, actually covering most of her body. A soft snore came from the still woman and warm sunlight bathed her body. It was the most perfect, touching, and wonderful sight she'd ever seen. And it was here, in her arms. I love Sundays!
If anyone had been watching they'd have seen a tender, almost sweetly innocent, smile cross Jessie's face. The sunlight created a surreal affect as it combined with the shadows of the darkened room. Like us, she thought to herself. "Light and dark," she finished out loud.
"Dark...dark..dark..." Rowan mumbled in her sleep as she tried to burrow deeper into Jessie. Long fingers stroked Rowan's soft hair until she settled down again and slept peacefully.
"I wonder if you have any clue what you're getting yourself into," Jessie said very softly, not wanting to wake the woman, but needing to hear the words in the air, not just in her head, making it more real.
A louder snore came from the still sleeping woman, followed by a murmur. "Was that me?" An extremely sleepy voice came from the head on Jessie's chest.
"Huh?" Brought out of her reverie, Jessie smiled at the waking woman.
"I thought I heard a snore...was that me?" The waking woman sounded confused, but so very sweet.
"Sorry Ro, that was definitely you."
"Oh no!" Sounding completely dismayed, Rowan's tousled head moved back and forth in dismay.
An honest, deep laugh came from Jessie as the other woman continued her antics. "I can't snore!" Rowan protested. "It's not in me, I swear!" Knowing that she was acting silly, she didn't want to stop if that meant that Jessie's laughter would stop. The laugh touched Rowan and warmed her body much like the effect Jessie's touch had on her.
"Whatever..you..may..say," Jessie paused to catch her breath. "Whatever you may say, it was you, Ro."
Suddenly, an agile form jumped onto the bed, startling both women. "Tiger!" Rowan gasped, her hand holding her heart. Eyes narrowing, she pointed an accusing finger at the cat. "You! You were snoring!" She gave the other woman a triumphant look. "See! It wasn't me! Tiger's famous for his snoring!"
"Uh huh, whatever you say."
Loud purring was heard by both as Jessie reached out and absently stroked Tiger. Neither woman said anything, they just lay there, enjoying the feel of being in each other's arms.
Unfortunately, the telephone rang, disturbing their peace. "Hello?" Rowan picked up the phone, so relaxed that she didn't even check the caller i.d. as she normally did. She was quiet as she listened to the person on the other end of the phone. "How did you get this number?" Her voice turned demanding, the peace quickly gone, replaced by a harsher tone.
Raising an eyebrow, Jessie gave her a concerned look, but the other woman didn't look her way, her own eyes clouding over.
"Don't call here again!' Rowan hissed into the phone before defiantly hitting the button that turned the phone off. With a toss, she threw the phone onto a nearby chair.
"Should I ask?" Outwardly, Jessie appeared casual, but within she was toiling with the fact that she wanted to know what had upset her friend so much.
That really was all that she had to say. That mysterious part of Rowan's life that Jessie had many questions about. She hadn't wanted to push earlier, wanting to wait until they were alone. And then, once they were alone...well...it just wasn't a good time to ask about this possessive woman who seemed to know Rowan very well. It wasn't her style to mention past lovers while making love.
Seemingly lost in thought, Rowan absently began to caress Jessie's naked hip, her hand lightly tracing over and back, sending gentle jolts of pleasure through her. Whoa, won't get anywhere like this! Jessie thought to herself. Taking Rowan's hand in hers, she lightly kissed her knuckles. "Do you want to talk about it?" The casual thing was hard to keep up, but Jessie didn't want to appear overbearing or pushy.
Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Rowan shook her entire body and let out a loud growl. Jessie almost laughed, reminded as she was of a wet dog, but choose not to.
"I'm sorry Jess, it's not exactly a fond memory." Pausing, her eyebrows came together as she fought invisible demons. "I don't...listen," she turned to the other woman, grasping her hands. "I really feel that we...that is, you and I...have something special here. I love you, Jessie. I don't know if I want to air all my dirty laundry before we really get started. Does that make sense?"
While Rowan had said the three taboo words already, it still sparked something inside Jessie when she said it again. Gathering her in her arms, Jessie squeezed her tightly. "I understand what you are saying, but there are times when things come out and haunt us and we have to deal with that." Looking deeply into the green eyes of her lover, she softly stroked her face. "I want to help you if I can."
It was a proverbial rock and hard place for Rowan. While she sensed sincerity in Jessie's words, she didn't want to frighten her away with unsavory memories. And in addition to that, the reappearance of Kelly really was bothering her. She'd thought...well, it wasn't important what she thought. Kelly was back. And Kelly was not the kind of person to fade away if unwanted. No, she'd bite and not let go, like a ferocious dog.
"It's nothing big," she finally replied. The tender touch on her face didn't stop and she allowed herself to lean into it, the caress going deeper than the surface.
"Then why is it getting to you?" And expert at hiding, Jessie knew that she was being deeply distributed by the reappearance of this mystery woman.
"Damn good question," Rowan laughed lightly. Why did it bother her? It was the past, right? "Kelly...she...used me for sex. For three years." Tears actually filled her eyes as she remembered the pain of that particular betrayal. "I...did things for her because I thought I was in a relationship based on faith and love." The tears slowly dropped from her eyes, gaining speed down her cheeks, hitting Jessie's hand. "But, she was just using me."
And that was barely touching on what had actually happened. It had been a mixture of sexual need and acceptance, coalescing into a game of power and control, which Rowan found herself losing. There had been a handful of times when Kelly convinced her to allow a third woman into their bed. Shame thickly coursed through her as she again heard the pity and disdain in Kelly's voice when she told her what had really been happening. "She...um, would bring other women in and I found out later that they had paid to have sex with me. I thought...I thought I was doing something to please Kelly, my partner. But, really, she was making money out of my loyalty."
It was too much for Rowan. She quickly moved away from Jessie, hiding her face in her hands, sobs shaking her body with their intensity. The shame, the pain of being used and not knowing it, of trusting someone who violated that trust, all came back to her beating against her like waves on the sand.
Emotions like none she'd ever felt went through Jessie. There was a burning fire in her chest, caused by the anger she felt for Rowan. Then there was the ache in her soul that wanted nothing more than to erase the pain and heartache she not only heard in the woman's voice, but also felt. Yes! She felt the pain radiating from Rowan, consuming them both, washing over them time and again, never ceasing and never slowing.
"Goddamn it!" Jessie finally exploded, her fist flying into the wall above the headboard of the bed. The plaster buckled under the force, leaving almost an imprint of her hand where it had hit. A dull pain in her knuckles, she recognized the futility of hitting inanimate objects, and yet, unexplainably the action helped clear her mind.
Focusing on Rowan, she realized that the woman had curled into a ball and was rocking herself. Shit, I should have noticed! Jessie thought to herself angrily.
"Rowan?" She reached out to comfort the other woman only to have her moan and try to get away. "Rowan, snap out of it! Baby, I need you to snap out of it." The rocking stopped, but she still didn't look up. "Look at me Rowan, look at me." Slowly, the blonde head moved and green eyes hesitantly focused on her own. Locking gazes, Jessie reached out and gently cupped Rowan's cheek. "I'm so sorry that happened to you."
"You aren't...disgusted?" Fear of being rejected laced Rowan's thoughts, irrationally making her feel physically ill.
"Yes!" Was the harsh reply, which thrusted through her like a knife to her heart.
"I knew it," she muttered to herself, backing away from the woman on her bed, blindly heading toward the door. Suddenly she realized that she was still naked, and feeling her shame intensify, she grabbed for any clothing she could find on her way to the door.
"Where are you going?" Jessie demanded, thoroughly confused.
"I have...I have to leave. I can't stay here...can't stay...you..you.." She couldn't finish, her arms reaching for the doorknob.
Moving quickly, Jessie got to the door before Rowan's hand descended upon the handle. "I, what?" Putting a finger under Rowan's chin, she forced her to make eye contact.
"How can you still want to be in the same room with me? Knowing...what I just told you?" Rowan couldn't even say it again, the pain a dull throb in her heart, every now and again spiking in extreme and agonizing pain.
"Whoa! Wait just a minute, you didn't let me finish!" She waited until she had the other woman's full attention. "Yes, I am disgusted." Again green eyes fell in dismay. "Disgusted that anyone could do that to you!" This time relief flooded Rowan's face as she heard what was being said.
"You mean that you don't...don't hate me?"
"How could I hate you? I love you!" Strong arms enfolded the blonde, crushing her against a warm, naked, and incredibly soft chest. Unable to stop herself, Rowan leaned into Jessie, her ear picking up on the subtle heartbeat beneath it.
"Why do you think she's back now?" Her voice was hesitant as she asked, not wanting to cause Rowan more pain, and yet needing to get some answers so that she could handle the situation.
Shrugging within the embrace, Rowan mumbled into Jessie's chest. "Because she wants me back. She wants to use me again." She had been very good at the games Kelly liked to play.
It was more than painfully obvious that Rowan didn't want any part of what Kelly had in mind. Jessie remembered now the words that Kelly had used "I just wanted to see if you were free for some fun." Fuming, she thought of many different ways to hurt Kelly, to show her a whole different kind of 'fun'.
"How would you like us to handle this?"
The use of the word 'us' wasn't lost on Rowan. Her eyes still wet with tears, Rowan looked into Jessie's face, seeing for the first time the determination and...something else. Love. "I want her to leave us the hell alone." Just saying us instead of me added to the growing warmth in her chest. "I don't know how she got this number, it's unlisted because of her."
"Does she know where you live?"
"Yes, unfortunately." She saw something brief flicker across Jessie's eyes. "She has never actually been here. When we got together, I moved in with her, renting out the house to college students." Once again Rowan buried her head against the sweet smelling skin of Jessie's neck.
Silently, Jessie lifted the smaller woman in her arms and carried her back over to the bed where just hours before they had made love for the first time. The smell of their passion still hung in the air, thickening it as it densely swirled from the movement of the ceiling fan. Gently she laid down the precious woman. Her eyes couldn't help but flicker over the naked body before she laid herself down, half on top of the other woman, half on the bed. Rowan's arm circled her body and held her closer as her face rested on Rowan's shoulder. It was completely sensual and yet not overtly sexual. The tense need was still there, chased onward by the contact of skin on skin, but with that came the soft reassurances they gave each other and the tenderness of just caressing each other slowly to flame the desire just to be close.
The gentle snores that Jessie had woken up to soon were heard again as Rowan fell back to sleep. Jessie propped her head up with her hand and starred at the beautiful face beneath her. Sleep took away the creases of stress and worry, but the marks of the tears shed were still evident around her eyes. A luscious, full mouth moved slightly as the breath moved in and out, almost demanding to be kissed. Jessie obliged, her own mouth resting light on the edge of Rowan's lips, kissing tenderly.
I've killed people over drugs and money. I've used women and thrown them away without a thought. And yet she was worried that I would find her disgusting. The revelation brought not only anger to Jessie, but fear as well. There would come a point when she would have to tell Rowan about her past, about the unsavory and horrific things she had done. How would she react? Would she be able to see past it? Was there really anything past it?
It was with these heavy thoughts that Jessie finally found sleep. But her dreams were troubled with demons from her past, with the twist of her present. And in her nightmaric dreams she found herself only able to scream one thing. ROWAN!!!!!
The next day was Monday and it brought back reality. Rowan had classes to go to and Jessie had to get back to her office. The alarm clock had grudgingly been set the night before and promises had been made to not keep each other up. But, hands being what they are, the promise was hard to keep. Stray caresses lead to more heated moments from which they tried to quickly back away from before they got burnt.
When the alarm sounded at 7 am they had only gotten 4 hours of sleep. The first to wake to the buzzing noise, Jessie was reluctant to pull herself away from the warm body wrapped in her arms. At some point, when they'd finally fallen asleep, she'd curled her body around the smaller woman, her arms firmly around her. Soft hair brushed her arm and a warm breath hit her skin as the other woman breathed in and out.
But, as alarms tend to do, the buzzing refused to stop on its own and even seemed to grow louder in the otherwise silent house. With a growl, Jessie extended her already lanky body, her hand almost reaching the snooze button, but not quiet making it. Vengeance on that piece of modern machinery was going to be sweet. Untangling herself from Rowan, she finally turned the alarm off with a sigh of relief. The noise was beginning to really eat at her brain.
Standing up, Jessie stretched her naked body, working the kinks out with light popping noises. Turning around, she looked at the woman still sleeping in the bed. Face pressed against a pillow, Rowan's sensual lips were slightly parted as she slept. Unable to resist, Jessie leaned over and started to kiss those lips. At first they didn't respond, but then with a low moan those very lips began to kiss her back. The innocence with which Jessie had begun the kiss was completely sent to hell when Rowan's tongue slipped into her mouth.
Holy Jesus! Her brain was on overload as the smaller woman completely turned the tables and over took her senses. Small hands began to travel up and down her body, causing her nerve endings to fire an immediate response to her brain.
Thoughts of classes and students were far from Rowan's mind as she assaulted the other woman's mouth and body. God Jessie, your body is so delicious! She couldn't seem to get enough, constantly wanting her hands on her, constantly wanting to feel that smooth, soft skin.
Dizzying minutes flew by as the exploration continued. Too soon, far too soon, the alarm sounded again and Jessie regretted hitting snooze rather than turning the damn thing off! Rowan stopped her hands and her mouth, but didn't move away as Jessie hit the button yet again. Blue met green and they both got lost in the other, their thoughts working as though with the help of mirrors. Work was the only thing that kept them from jumping back into that warm, soft, comfortable bed together. Excuses ran through each of their thoughts, reason to not go to work, to call in sick, to just hibernate.
"But, we can't," Jessie finally said out loud to their silent conversation.
"I know. But I don't have to like it."
Laughing, the taller woman reluctantly let go of her hold and looked around for the bag with her clothes.
"It's still in the living room," Rowan smirked as she realized that the leggy woman would have to walk naked through the house to get to her clothes.
Raising a dark eyebrow, Jessie smirked back and walked boldly out the bedroom door. A warm laughed rang through the house, filling air that had been still for so long.
"Jessie Blackwell speaking." The phone had rung the minute that Jessie stepped into her moderately organized office.
"Such a professional sounding voice! It does a mother's heart good to hear such a thing!" Her mother's voice was warm and full of laughter. Seldomly had she heard her mother sound otherwise. Anne always seemed to find that proverbial rainbow in life.
"Hi mom." Smiling into the phone, she almost laughed. Figures that her mother would call first thing Monday morning. She wants to know all the dirt, huh? Let's see if we can play a little game with mom, she thought evilly. "Sorry I didn't call you from Rowan's to give you the number there."
"Oh, that's okay, I'm sure you were..." she let the sentence hang before she finished it, "...busy."
"Not really. I spent a lot of time out, shopping and stuff." The laughter was threatening to bubble up as there was a stunned silence on the other end.
"Shopping?" Anne croaked out in a hoarse voice.
"Yeah, I thought I needed some new clothes for work." Oh God save me on this one cause mom's going to kill me!
"So, how was your weekend?"
"Fine, fine. Uh, I've got a customer, got to go."
Even as she heard the click followed by dial tone the laughter finally was allowed to spill over. "Maybe that will teach you mom!"
Hanging up the phone swiftly, Anne stared at it long after she had put it back. "What the heck is going on?" She said aloud to the moderately crowded bookstore. A few heads looked up from browsing, but most ignored her. "The went to her house and I don't hear or see either of them for two days." Puzzled, she scratched her head absently. "Was I wrong? Did I misread those signs?" Absently, Anne began to put books on shelves, talking to herself the entire time.
When she arrived back at Rowan's house after work, Jessie realized that Rowan hadn't come back yet. "Guess that defeats the 'honey I'm home' thing," she said to Tigger as she put her briefcase on the floor, out of the way. Petting the cat briefly on the head, she headed to Rowan's bedroom to change her clothes.
"I wonder if I should move my stuff to the spare room?" She slowly began to unbutton her shirt, absently thinking of the woman she'd fallen in love with. Snorting at this, she began to speak out loud again. "Who would have thought that I would fall in love?" Tigger meowed in response, rubbing up against her leg for attention. Slipping out of the shirt, she took off her pants and hung them both back on hangers. Walking over to the full size mirror, she looked at herself critically.
She didn't look any different then she had when she had left Chicago. Her body was still toned and hard with muscle, while remaining curvy around the breasts and hips. Broad shoulders and back tapered down to a slim waist, then flared out at her hips, curving into firm thighs, then slimming down to well defined lower legs and ankles, ending in feet that were a little bigger than average size, but which suited her frame. It was all familiar, looking as it always did, and yet, Jessie felt different. She felt that her body should respond to this change in her life, but it hadn't.
But then, she looked into her eyes and she saw it there. A changed HAD occurred and it showed in her eyes. The cold blue had an added warmth now that had never been there before. Stepping closer, she stared at her own eyes for what felt like hours, as if she could see into her soul if she looked hard enough.
"She is my soul." The realization came with a shock, cause a shiver to run up her spine. "I need to tell her," she said sadly, knowing that once Rowan found out about her past, she might not want to continue. Hitting the wall by the mirror with her hand, Jessie damned herself. "I should have told her sooner, I shouldn't have let her fall in love with me without knowing!" Over and over she hit the wall, blessed pain growing up her arm. It was better than the pain and fear she felt in the center of her chest.
For the first time in a very long time, Rowan arrived home to someone else already being there. She'd never had a lover live with her in this house, but she had had roommates from time to time while she was going to school. While it had been lonely to come home to a house empty but for her precocious cat, it had been easier than letting anyone into her inner sanctum. First her parents and then Kelly had taught her that love could not be without pain. Too often finding pain and betrayal in those she trusted, she decided to forego the pain again and keep her lovers for a short time, never letting them stay around long enough to penetrate her heart.
However, as she hung her keys on the small rack by the door, she found herself warmed instantly at the sounded of Jessie's voice in the kitchen. Smells of something delicious were wafting from that same room, drawing her instantly there.
"Hi," she said shyly as she poked her head into the kitchen, visibly startling the dark-haired woman.
"Hey there," Jessie said back, a smile lightening her face. "Come here," she commanded lightly as she saw Rowan's hesitance.
Her feet moving of their own volition, Rowan found herself standing in front of Jessie, her arms immediately going around the taller woman in an embrace. Returning the hug, Jessie's mouth sought Rowan's in a welcoming, electrifying kiss.
Pulling back after a few moments, leaving them both breathless, Jessie whispered softly, "Honey, I'm home."
"What?" Rowan murmured, a smile on her face as she looked into the blue eyes she found so appealing.
"Nothing." She held onto the smaller woman for a few minutes longer before reluctantly pulling away. Feeling suddenly shy and awkward, Jessie turned back to the stove. "I made dinner. Why don't you go change into something comfortable? By the time you get back, it should be done."
Trying to peek over Jessie's shoulders, Rowan realized that the woman had an advantage with her height. "Okay, I'll be back in a minute." Hesitating, Rowan wanted to say something to her, but instead she turned and left.
Walking into her bedroom, her mind was occupied by the strange vibes she'd been receiving from the other woman. There was something on Jessie's mind, that much was obvious to her. But what? Was she regretting sleeping with her? Rowan hoped not. She'd spent all day thinking about Jessie and their lovemaking over the weekend. It had seemed like she'd finally found that niche where she belonged when she was with Jessie. Almost like she'd been giving the last piece to a puzzle she was never able to complete before.
Quickly Rowan discarded her clothes, tossing them on the armchair in the bedroom and putting on a pair of sweat pants and a long baggy sweater. She was determined to get to the bottom of Jessie's problem and do everything that she could to keep this woman in her life. She'd be damned if she'd let her get away.
It took all of Jessie's willpower to keep from following Rowan into the bedroom. She close to being naked and I'm missing it, she whined to herself. Having made a promise to herself to talk to Rowan tonight, she knew that if she touched her then her resolve would be gone and all that she would be able to think about clearly would be the woman she wanted so badly to make love to.
Dishing out spaghetti from a large pot on the stove, she then covered the noodles with sauce and put them on the small kitchen table. Two forks, knives and napkins shortly followed. By the time Rowan got back, Jessie was just waiting, leaning against the counter in contemplation. Pressing her body into Jessie's, Rowan gave her a gentle hug. "Why don't we sit down, eat this delicious food, and you can tell me what's on your mind."
Blinking in surprise, Jessie opened her mouth to speak. Warm, soft fingers covered her lips. "No, it's okay. I'll listen to whatever you have to say and then you will listen to me."
Nodding silently, Jessie pulled out a chair for Rowan to sit in, taking the other one for herself. They were quiet as they began to eat their food, with only comments about passing the Parmesan cheese and Rowan's praise for the sauce.
Finally, once Jessie had eaten as much as she could, not tasting the food at all, she put down her fork and wiped at her mouth with her napkin. "What I need to say is not easy for me. And, I'm sure it will be difficult to hear as well." She took a deep breath before continuing. "But, I promised myself the day that I realized that I was in love with you that I would tell you before things went too far." Giving the blonde a sardonic grin, they both realized that over the weekend was when things had gone too far. "I love you and I don't want anything to jeopardize whatever future we may have. However, I might do so in what I am about to tell you."
When Rowan realized that Jessie was not trying to give her the brush off, she was elated. However, the gravity of her words filled her with trepidation, vying with the knowledge that she loved this woman before her with all her heart. Putting down her own fork, she shoved her plate away from her, giving Jessie her full attention.
"I grew up in Madison, as you may know." She looked to Rowan for confirmation, and after receiving it, she continued. "I was what you would call a trouble teen. Into drugs and guns, doing things that would have shocked most people on a daily basis. But, I wasn't stupid. I never missed school and I never let it affect my grades. I graduated at the top of my class, and was accepted to all the colleges I applied to. However, by that time I had used my brains and my connections to begin to sell drugs rather than take them. I went to the University of Chicago, my education funded by the money I made from selling drugs. I dealt mostly in coke, but I also sold lighter things like pot and PCP."
She took a chance to take a breath and look at Rowan to gauge her reaction. So far, the woman was still listening, her facial expression not revealing anything.
"Once in Chicago, my horizons were broadened by the larger drug rings there. I quickly found myself rising within the organization, my ruthlessness and desire to be in control leading me further than most people. I watched as those around me fell by the wayside to my own drive. I continued with college during the day, while my nights were spent first working the streets and then controlling the streets.
"After graduating, I stayed in Chicago, continuing to secure my right to lead by working on it full time. 8 years after I got there, I became the most powerful drug lord in Chicago at the time. I ran an organization of over 50 men, all of them doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I used people, I killed people, I sold drugs to those that were helplessly hooked on the brief moments of numbing pleasure they could get from it."
Rowan's face was now filled with uncertainty, her eyes looking troubled. Jessie felt a pain stab into her as she realized that she might lose this precious woman.
"Six months before I met you, I was in the prime of my career. I had proven time and again through acts that lacked humanity that I was not someone to be messed with. But, it all changed with one little girl." Tears were now streaming down Jessie's face as she felt the pain that she'd not ever let herself feel. "I had been betrayed by someone who worked for me. His carelessness led to an investigation by the Chicago PD, an investigation that even the cops on my pay role couldn't help me with. I lost valuable business because of his slip up, and I was going to make sure that he paid for his transgressions. He was going to die for what he had done.
"The men with me were nervous that night. Tension was high. This was one of their own who was going to be executed. We took him to a condemned apartment complex, tied him in the basement and I held the gun to his head. Before I could shoot him, something came out of the corner and one of my men panicked. He fired. Three times." The tears continued a steady trail down her cheeks, but her eyes had taken on a far away look as she remembered her nightmares, which never let her forget what had happened that night.
"It was a little girl. I guess she'd been hiding in the corner...she came out and...we killed her. I killed her..." Jessie couldn't finish. This was the first time that she'd told anyone what had happened, the first time that she'd voiced the tragedy that had stolen her bravado out from under her. Tears made her choke with anger and pain.
Rowan couldn't stand to watch it anymore. She got up and knelt on the floor in front of Jessie, pulling the woman to her in a tight embrace. The sobs racked through Jessie's body, her tears wetting Rowan's shirt, her hands grasping the other woman in a strong hold, needing the comfort of another person.
Finally, after the tears had worn out, refusing to fall anymore, Jessie pulled back. Rowan looked at her, green eyes filled with sympathy and concern. Jessie had never thought that she'd see such tenderness reflected at her.
"I...I...left. I couldn't do it anymore. Every time I turned around I saw that girl's face." She paused before whispering, "I still do." Exhaustion filled her and she slumped in her chair. "I don't expect you to want to stay with me. I don't expect you to want to be with someone who's not only a former drug dealer, but also a murderer. I don't expect-"
Rowan stopped her from continuing by kissing her softly on the mouth, tasting the tears that had coursed over Jessie's face. "Have you told me everything you needed to tell me?" Rowan finally spoke, her voice soft and gentle.
Nodding, Jessie couldn't seem to summon the energy to speak.
"I am not God, Jessie. I am not a judge or a jury. I will not judge you for what you have done in the past. And I refuse to take that role." She lifted Jessie's chin with her fingers, wanting the woman to look at her as she spoke. "You are the only one who can decide your fate. Are you going to spend the rest of your night punishing yourself? Or are you going to allow yourself to be happy?"
They were both quiet, staring into one another's eyes. "You need to decide for yourself Jessie. I don't care about your past. Did you really think me that naïve? I knew you were hiding something from that first day. I did my research. Did you know that there are over 457 different articles about you online?" The surprise in Jessie's eyes made Rowan smile. "Yup, there are. And I read every single one of them."
Speechless, Jessie just gaped at Rowan. She had known this entire time! And she'd still slept with her!
"And I want to be with you. I want to be with you for as long as I can. I love you."
The tears that Jessie had thought had been dried up came back, flooding her eyes as she swept Rowan into her arms. Happiness filled her as she buried her face in Rowan's hair and wept. In all her childhood and adulthood, Jessie had never cried as she did right then.
Always keeping her emotions bottled tightly inside of her, she found herself not only crying in relief, but also for the pain of the last 30 years. She was crying for the innocence she'd lost to the hands of drug dealers and for the childhood she'd taken from others. And, in the end, she was crying for the life of that young child that had been taken before her very eyes. What would she have become? What dreams did the child have that would never materialize?
Dark waves of anguish crashed upon her, countered only by the light she saw in Rowan. It was a war between the two forces, with the light winning, but only for that moment in time. However, it was enough to hold back the darkness which promised to return on another day.
Long after Rowan's light snores penetrated the night, Jessie laid in bed next to her, watching the woman sleep. An errant wisp of hair curled over Rowan's forehead as she slept and with a tender touch Jessie nudged it back to join the rest of her hair. Her fingers strayed and traced Rowan's rounded cheek, enjoying the softness of her skin. Tightening her hold on the sleeping woman, she sighed happily to herself.
Rowan had surprised her that night. Her fears had been without foundation. Rowan knew and still loved her. The emotion that Jessie felt at this knowledge was making her head light, swirling with thoughts and happiness. Having never told anyone her entire story, Jessie felt a new found freedom with the sharing of her life. How appropriate that it was Rowan she was sharing with? Rowan, her exact opposite. The dark versus the light, Rowan didn't seem phased by the shadows around Jessie. Instead, she embraced both Jessie and her shadows, loving them both without care or second thoughts.
Smiling, Jessie kissed her lover's forehead, noticing that the lock of hair she'd pushed back earlier had fallen again, she laughed lightly before putting her head on the pillow and letting sleep claim her. Tonight there would be no nightmares. Tonight she could just let love carry her through her dream world.
With daylight came the feeling of being exposed. Jessie had opened herself for the first time in 30 years of running away from emotional intimacy. Nerves were raw from the knowledge that she had poured out her soul, and she was unsure of how to react. While she was relieved to know that Rowan was aware of her dark past and that she didn't care. But, on the other hand, she found herself in a position she'd never had to deal with - someone knowing her deepest and most dark secrets.
When Jessie woke up, the sun shining in on her face, she found herself alone in the bed. Fleeting waves of insecurity combined with waves of happy passed through her as she remembered the night before. I could just hide, run and hide. But she didn't want to do that. She didn't want to hide anymore, especially not from Rowan. Something about the blonde had taken her heart and her soul and she knew that no matter where she ran, she could never run from that. It would always be a part of her.
It wasn't a great epiphany that shook her from her dilemma. Rather, it was the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. The thought of a wet, naked Rowan was enough to make her see her own stupidity. She'd be a fool to run from the love that she felt with Rowan.
Getting up from bed, she stretched, feeling the warm sun against her exposed skin. There was something so different about being in Madison. She felt peace in the college town, unlike she'd ever known. Even the simple act of waking up in the tranquil morning light was fulfilling. Or maybe it's just waking up in sheets still warm from Rowan's body! She smirked to herself as she padded into the bathroom.
Dreams filled with Jessie had made Rowan wish she could have slept longer, forever seeing the dark-haired beauty in her mind. But, with great reluctance, she had finally pulled herself from the warmth of the other woman, amazed that Jessie had slept through the alarm. Deciding that she could sleep a little longer, Rowan had gotten up and went directly to the shower. She found herself thinking of the night before, of Jessie's tears and anguish. It unnerved her. But, it didn't frighten her.
When she'd first learned of Jessie's past, she was afraid -- afraid of caring for such a woman, afraid of getting hurt, and afraid of falling in love. But, the day that Anne got the call from the hospital, Rowan knew without any doubt that loving Jessie was not an option she already was in love with her. The only choice left for her was to come to terms with Jessie's past and move forward.
Absently scrubbing her body with a soapy washcloth, Rowan nearly slipped a fell when she felt Jessie get into the shower behind her. Strong hands grabbed at her hips, keeping her from falling and a warm, naked body pressed against her back.
"Do you mind if I join you?" Warm breath brushed her ear, followed by soft lips.
A shiver passed through Rowan's body, but didn't keep her from pressing back against the woman behind her. "Not at all," she said, her voice husky with desire. Without realizing what she was doing, she rubbed her body against Jessie's, feeling her breasts against the backs of her shoulders.
Taking the washcloth from Rowan's hand, Jessie began to sensually wash Rowan's body, noticing the goosebumps that surfaced as she did. Passing the cloth over first her back and arms, she then used her long arms to wash breasts and stomach, a moan coming from her as she reached the apex of Rowan's legs.
Before she recovered, Rowan had turned in her arms and she found full lips pressed against hers, opening hers, and invading her mouth. Intermingled moans flooded the air, creating a hedonistic sensation for both sets of ears. Hands fought for control as they tried to touch each other everywhere at once. Jessie gasped as a hand slipped between her legs, and fingers entered her.
Balance was precarious as both women rocked with a thrusting and giving motion that was as natural to them as breathing. Chests rose and fell heavily as passion soared, creating a delicious heat under the warm stream of water, steam rising around the two wet, naked bodies. Cries of release soon followed as pleasure was found at its highest level, repeating over and over until both woman slumped against the back wall of the shower and they slid to floor together. Rowan found herself blissfully on top of Jessie, her head resting on heaving breasts and her ear able to hear her rushing heartbeat.
Moments passed and neither of them spoke as they drowned in the sensations they found in each other. Finally, Rowan looked up and smiled at the relaxed woman under her. "Good thing we have an unending supply of hot water."
They both laughed and helped each other up, only to start the delightful task of washing each other all over again.
"Do you need some help with those buttons?" The mouth near Jessie's ear nearly took away all her resolve to get to work on time. She could just imagine that if she took just a baby step back her body would meet with Rowan's. An anticipatory shiver went through her.
"I think that if you were to help me with these buttons," she held up edge the yet to be buttoned shirt in emphasis. "I would make the shower look like just the appetizer to the main course." A devilish smile crossed her face as she heard Rowan's quick in take of breath.
"And I'm supposed to say no to that?"
Turning, she gazed adoringly at Rowan. "Listen, just because you don't have class till after noon, doesn't mean that you can just play with me. What am I? Your sex slave?" Her outrage was definitely in jest as she thought of just how much she'd love to be just that.
"Hmmm...I ask again. Am I supposed to say no to that?" An infections laugh bubbled from the blonde.
A predatorial look came over Jessie's features and her body crouched as though she were getting ready to pounce. "Why you little..."
With a small shriek, Rowan ran for her life, knowing that she'd pay for her impertinence. Jessie chased after her, growling the entire time until she cornered her in the spare room.
"Ahhh...now you're mine, my little pretty!" She hissed in a mock evil voice. Slowly she crept closer until she was upon the other woman. Hesitating just a second, hoping to evoke fear in her captive, Jessie pounced, her mouth going to Rowan's neck were she started to suck while her hands reach down and began tickling her prey's abdomen.
Squealing and squirming, Rowan dissolved into a giggling puddle on the floor, Jessie sliding down with her. They lay in a heap on the floor, both gasping for breath. Blue met green and the laughter started all over again.
"You...know...what?" Rowan gasped out through her laughter.
"This...second...time...we've been...on the...floor...today!" They laughed helplessly, unable to control the mirth that they felt not only in the moment, but in their souls.
Finally, they realized that life was ever obtrusive and that the time was getting late. Jessie was going to be late to work as it was, but she couldn't find it in her to get up from her comfortable spot on the floor. It had been so long when she'd felt so carefree. Her stomach hurt from laughing so hard and the pain was a wonderful reminder of the fact that she had shared such a moment with Rowan.
Laying on her back, Rowan put her hands back, leaning on her elbows, her legs resting over the other woman. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, taking in the smell of her house with Jessie's own spicy scent. Despite the shower, she could still smell Jessie on her fingers from where they had pierced her earlier that morning. How did life get to be so good? I haven't felt this way since... A sign escaped, revealing far more than it should have. Before mom and dad died.
Jessie watched as Rowan's face changed from happiness to a sadness that she'd seen before in the woman's face. It seemed to follow her and haunt her like a nightmare. Jessie was very familiar with nightmares and it concerned her to see something of her own pain mirrored in Rowan's face. How do I ask her? She obviously wasn't ready to talk about it to Jessie, so the dark-haired woman remained quiet, willing to wait until Rowan was ready.
Fingers thumped over and over on the surface of Jessie's desk, the files open in front of her ignored, a worried looking face was held in a hand supported by a bent elbow on the desk.
Okay, maybe I was kidding myself. "Waiting sucks," she said darkly, gaining the attention of a passing administrative assistant. Waving her on, Jessie continued to stare without focusing, her fingers continuing their assault on the desk.
The phone was taunting her, daring her to pick it up and place an important call. "Research, yeah that's it, research," she said as she picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number. "Mom?"
Anne smiled into the receiver she had just picked up. "Hey Jess, how are you doing?"
"Fine, fine. I need some help from you."
"Tell me about Rowan." She was almost embarrassed to ask her mother, but she was getting desperate for the information.
"I would think that you know more than I do by now." Anne had no reservations about teasing her daughter. "Or have you been doing more shopping?"
Wincing, Jessie realized she'd been caught in her earlier joke. "I'm caught?"
"Oh yes! Rowan came by yesterday and told me everything."
Everything? Jessie had to wonder just what everything meant! "Yeah, well..."
"So, what do you need to know?"
Jessie explained the melancholy she sensed from Rowan sometimes, as well as her desire not to push the other woman. She was worried about the woman she loved, wanting to be prepared to be anything and everything that she needed.
"So, it finally happened." Anne sighed happily into the phone.
Anne could almost hear the scowl she knew was on her daughter's face. "You finally fell in love." Again she sighed.
"Yeah, I guess I did," came the quiet, surprised reply.
"Rowan is a sensitive soul, Jessie. I don't want to see her hurt." Anne's voice was serious. She loved her daughter, but she also knew that her daughter had a tendency to shut her feelings and emotions off from the world, and walk carelessly through life without a second glance to see who had fallen in her wake.
Somehow, Anne's protectiveness toward Rowan didn't surprise Jessie. And, she understood exactly what her mother was getting at. "Mother, I'm serious about Rowan. I really love her and I plan on making a life with her, if she will accept me."
Privately, Anne had no doubt that Rowan would accept her. But, she wisely decided to keep that to herself for right now. Rowan and her daughter would have to go through their own period of discovery. "I'm very glad to hear that. Now, do you have time for a story?"
"A relevant story?" Jessie was skeptical, used to her mother's stories.
"The story you want to hear, silly. About Rowan."
"In that case, I've got all the time in the world."
"When Rowan was 17 her parents were killed in a car accident. She was still in high school. From what she's shared with me, she was very close to both her parents, having been an only child. They were her best friends, which we both know is unusual these days." Anne paused before continuing. "Or in any day for that matter!'
Jessie laughed with her mother as they both remembered Jessie at that age.
"She was heartbroken that she had lost not one, but both of them. A half dozen relatives all offered to take her in afterwards, but she went to court and was declared able to continue living in her family's house, go to school, and take care of herself. I think that this was more out of pain than anything. In their wills, her parents left her enough money to go to college without a worry and to provide for her to have a comfortable living afterwards."
That explained the house, Jessie realized. And, that explained the pain she'd seen in her eyes. The pain of loss.
"She moved to Madison when she started school, still looking out for herself. I don't know much about her relationships, but I know that she's been hurt badly. Over the last few years I've seen her grow more desolate, not allowing anyone to get too close. She's the kindest person you'll ever know, but no one ever really gets in her heart." Anne debated on whether or not to continue with this thought. "Until you," she finally said softly, hoping that her daughter would understand the importance of this.
Jessie took a deep breath and held is as the weight of what her mother had said settled on her. It was a huge responsibility to be entrusted with someone's heart, especially someone who had so much pain in their past. Slowly letting her breath out, she made up her mind that she would never give Rowan reason to be hurt again. She would love and protect her for as long as she let her.
"I promise, mom, thank you."
"You're welcome. I want the two of you over for dinner this weekend. Saturday, 7pm. Bring the wine." And with that, Anne hung up, leaving Jessie holding the receiver, her mind lost in her thoughts.
After work, she decided to stop off at her apartment to get some more of her clothes and a few other things she'd forgotten before.
The apartment was dark when she entered. Flicking the light switch by the door, Jessie was surprised when the lamp in her living room did not come to life. She was instantly on guard. Standing completely still was when she smelled the acrid smell of a flavor cigarette in the still air. Narrowing her eyes, she slowly swiveled her head, looking for any clue. It came within a few seconds as whomever had invaded her apartment took a long draw from the cigarette, the ember lighting up, showing the person's location.
"I almost didn't recognize you, Blackie." The voice was that of a woman, low and sensual, reaching out to Jessie like a velvet caress.
The use of the name Blackie clued Jessie in to the fact that this was someone from deep in her past. From when she had been a minor drug dealer and gang leader in Madison, before she left for college and a life of crime.
"I don't use that name anymore." Her body was coiling in anger, ready to pounce at any moment, held only in check by her brain telling her to wait.
"So I heard. It's too bad, I remember Blackie quiet fondly." The woman's voice held a trace of laughter, covered by a thick layer of scorn. "In fact, I haven't forgotten the way her touch burned."
Suddenly, the light in the living room came on as the woman turned the switch with her hand. Jessie blinked a few times to adjust her eyes at the sudden brightness, then focused immediately on the woman.
"I thought you looked familiar the other day, Kelly." She allowed her muscles to relax slightly, aware that this woman was not out to hurt her physically. "But, I thought maybe I was just remembering a nightmare." Her lip curled as she gave the woman a scorching smile.
"That's not what you used to say to me." Slowly standing, Kelly walked provocatively toward Jessie, her eyes smoldering with lustful intentions. Coming to stand just in front of Jessie, she used the tip of her finger to caress her jaw, sliding down her neck and then her shirt, coming to stop just under one of her breasts. "I must say Jessie, you were quiet the hot item back then, but that's nothing compared to how you look now. Would you like to feel what you do to me?" She grabbed Jessie's hand and pressed it against her own crotch. The heat coming from Kelly was undeniable.
"Is that why you're here? A quick fuck?"
Smiling, Kelly moved her hips against where she had Jessie's hand firmly captured. "Quick, long, fast, slowly, hard, rough...I remember very well what you used to like. We used to be good together. Now we'd be electric," she purred as she leaned in to press the length of her body against Jessie's lithe figure.
Once, in Jessie's life, she would have felt the electric pulses coming from Kelly. Now, she felt a pity in her stomach for this pitiful woman who was filled with memories of the past.
With gentleness touched by rejection, Jessie pushed her away. "I'm sorry, I'm not available."
Harsh shock flashed through Kelly's eyes. "Don't tell me. Rowan?" A harsh laugh followed. "I've already had her, and I can tell you she's good for a fuck, but she demands too much."
Catching the other woman by the throat, Jessie threw pressed her hard against the wall. "Don't. Ever. Talk. About. Rowan." She bit of each word in emphasis, new anger surfacing within her. "Do you understand me?" She growled menacingly into the woman's face, her breath hot against Kelly's cheek.
It wasn't fear that coursed through Kelly's body at this rough treatment. Jessie was every bit the spitfire she'd been before and then some. Licking her lips slowly, Kelly smiled into the ice blue eyes that stared at her, anger sparking in them. "So, it is Rowan, then?"
It was all that Jessie could do to keep from back handing this woman across the face. She'd made a rule many years back not to hit women. It was one of the few honorable promises she'd made to herself and she wasn't going to let this bitch destroy that.
"What is it that you want, Kelly?" Deciding not to allow herself to be taunted, Jessie kept her grip firm, not allowing Kelly any room to maneuver.
"Get rid of her and I'll make it worth your while. She'll never satisfy you, Jessie. She'll never be enough for a woman with such a ferocious hunger." Jessie's grip tightened as Kelly went on until finally her hand cut into her windpipe, making it difficult for her to continue.
"Listen to me, you bitch. I want you to leave me the fuck alone. And that goes for Rowan too. I don't want you to go near her, or else you will see more than you bargained for from me."
Kelly knew enough from Jessie's past to understand that this was not merely an idle threat. She'd seen Jessie destroy people for the smallest of offenses.
Slowly, Jessie let her grip go, allowing Kelly to slide down to the floor. Laying in a heap, Kelly breathed deeply, her throat on fire. She got up after a few moments, straightened her clothing, and smiled at Jessie. "I guess that answers my questions. I can show myself out." She whirled around, opened the front door and left.
Jessie's own breathing had become ragged from the anger pulsating through her. A part of her mind that had never made itself known before was remembering the vivid red hand mark on Kelly's throat, while yet another part of her felt that the woman had deserved it. Never before had she felt even an ounce of remorse for anything she'd done, especially not to someone as deserving as Kelly. In the back of her mind she heard a soft voice that sounded for all the world like Rowan's. You feel now. It's starting.
"What's starting?" Jessie said angrily into the empty apartment. But, her anger was beginning to dissipate as the sudden image of Rowan filled her mind, replacing everything else. A desire to see the blonde welled up in her. Forgetting to grab her things, she left her apartment, her mind only on getting back to Rowan.
When she got to Rowan's house, it was after 8 pm. She hadn't realized she'd been in the apartment with Kelly so long. It had only seemed like a few minutes, but it must have been much longer.
Over the past week, she'd gone straight there after work every day, made dinner for Rowan who's last class was usually done by 6, and then they'd spend the evening together, cuddling on the couch, making love on the kitchen table, or watching tv.
Tonight, however, the house was dark. She used the spare key Rowan had given her to let herself in, surprised that Tigger wasn't there to greet her.
"Hello?" She called out, thinking that maybe Rowan had an after class appointment.
"Where the hell have you been?" Rowan's voice came out of the dark living room.
Jessie's eyes focused in the dark, finally able to make out Rowan's figure in the armchair, the moonlight outlining her features. Shit, she's mad. Why is she mad? Confused, Jessie moved closer, kneeling in front of Rowan. "I stopped by my apartment to get some stuff."
Reaching over, Rowan turned on the light by the chair. She looked around and then looked back at Jessie. "Then where's the stuff you got?" Her voice was cold and It was then that Jessie noticed the fresh tear tracks on Rowan's face.
"I...I...ran into some trouble at my apartment and just wanted to come here to be with you." Jessie hesitated, her eyes coming together in confusion. What was wrong here?
"Yeah, okay, sure!" Rowan got up suddenly, stalking away from Jessie.
"Wait!" Jessie moved quicker though and was able to stop Rowan before she started up the stairs. "What is wrong? Please tell me."
Tears that had been dry were quickly brought back to life as they stood there. As she looked into confused blue eyes, she saw sincerity which took the anger right out from under her. Her lowered her eyes, blinking rapidly at the tears which fell. "I guess you don't owe me any explanations." She sighed heavily. "I just thought...I thought..." She couldn't finish her sentence, finding it too painful for her to say the words she'd been thinking silently for the last two hours.
Using her finger, Jessie lifted Rowan's chin so that she could wipe away her tears. "What could you possibly think that could cause you all these tears?" With soft touches she kissed Rowan's eyes, tasting the salty tears, as she caressed her cheek.
"I was scared." Came the soft hesitant reply.
"That you weren't coming back." Rowan finally said, her tears pumping out of her eyes at the mere thought.
"Oh baby," Jessie murmured as she pulled the smaller woman into her arms, engulfing her completely. "No, baby, no." She held her tightly as the sobs ran through her body, the power of the embrace alone rocking them both with a sense of safety and peace.
"I'm sorry," Rowan sniffed loudly, pulling away to reach for a tissue.
Cupping her face, Jessie wiped at Rowan's tears with her thumbs. "I understand fear," she said quietly, looking into the face of the woman who had saved her soul. Her savior; her angel. "Since I've met you I've feared every day that something or someone would take you from me. I've never given anyone my heart before." The admission was said with a smile, but the intensity of the words were not lost on Rowan.
With a perfection that normally comes with time, their lips met, fitting together in a natural formation, sending mini jolts of passion and need through them both. Gasping, Rowan grabbed hold of Jessie shirt with both hands and pulled her closer, trembling with power and desire as her lover's body pressed against hers.
Pulling away from Rowan's soft, hot lips with a low growl, Jessie began nipping at the edge of Rowan's jaw, her mouth trailing down the soft skin of her neck, biting lightly at her pulse point. Arching her back to reveal even more of her neck to her lover, Rowan moaned as Jessie reached the edge of her shirt, pushed it away and continued to where her bra began. The soft fabric of her bra felt rough against her aroused breasts, seeming to just barely contain them as they pushed forward toward Jessie's mouth.
A loud, insistent noise invaded the haze that both women were caught in. Pulling away from the creamy neck being exposed to her, Jessie's eyes focused as she tried to focus on the source of the noise. It came again, insistent and penetrating. Someone was knocking on the door.
Glaring at the offending source, Jessie dared the person on the other side to knock again. They didn't. Instead, the doorbell rang. Annoyed at the distraction, she flew across the room and flung the door open.
The young man on the other side jumped at the sudden movement of the before dormant door. He smiled nervously at the dark haired woman who stood at the open door, her sapphire blue eyes blazing at him in annoyance.
"I...um...have a delivery?" Thrusting the flowers toward the woman, he held onto his smile.
Taking in the young man's red and white hat that had University Florist emblazoned across it, she tried to hold her anger. "Do I have to sign for it?" Her low voice growled at the man, leaving him unsure of whether he was scared witless, or was turned on.
"Yeah, yeah, here," he held out the clipboard with his other hand, waiting patiently while she signed her name in quick strokes. "Have a nice day," he said as he hurried away, glad to be done with that particular delivery.
Closing the door, she finally took stock of the flowers he had handed off to her. A dozen wine colored roses were blooming, oblivious to the fact that they had been clipped from their natural habitat. In short, they were gorgeous. Spying the white envelope in the bouquet, she plucked it out carefully.
"Wow, those are some good looking flowers," Rowan said appreciatively from across the room. She hadn't moved when Jessie had leapt for the door, her own state of arousal needing time to work through her blood before she could move.
"Aren't they?" Jessie said absently as she worked the card free of the envelope. The card was marked in red marker, its harsh black lines forming words. Nice looking girl you have there. Hope she stays that way. A chill of foreboding went through Jessie's body as she read these words over and over.
"Who are they from?" Having seen the way Jessie's forehead crinkled as she read the note, not to mention the sudden tensing of the woman's body, Rowan had concluded that something was not right with her lover.
Deep in thought, Jessie tapped the corner of the card against her chin, not answering her lover's question. Carefully taking the card from Jessie, she read it for herself. Immediately she understood Jessie's concern, seeing the threat for what it was. Someone was taunting Jessie, letting her know that they knew where she was and who she was with. Whether or not they knew of their relationship was unclear, but there was that possibility as well.
Selfishly, Jessie imagined her own loss if something were to happen to Rowan. Her own pain would be unbearable. Without conscious thought, her eyes drifted to the blonde woman who stood beside her, taking in the visual image of her lover. A sharp, insistent pain from her heart echoed into her gut, causing her breath to catch. With a will of its own, her body moved closer to Rowan, her arms taking in the smaller woman and holding her tightly. Her lips moved against silky blonde hair, taking in the fresh smell of the shampoo she used, feeling as though a part of her were clinging to life itself.
Feeling very safe and protected in Jessie's arms, Rowan snuggled closer. Her head rested just above Jessie's breasts, allowing her to hear the woman's quickened heartbeat. Uncontrollable shivers ran through her, caused by the idea of Jessie being afraid of anything.
Moments passed by quietly and unfelt by either woman. Each felt only the other, their thoughts solely on this new predicament. With a tight squeeze, Jessie finally released her hold, moving toward the phone hanging on the kitchen wall. Moving with her, Rowan kept her hand on some part of her lover's body, taking quiet reassurance from her presence.
"Michael Moore please." Jessie's voice was low and controlled, but Rowan could hear the slightest tightening in her words, which conveyed how disturbed she was. They were both silent as they waited for someone to come back onto the phone. "Jessie Blackman. Yes." Her voice became more tense as she went through the rigmarole of getting Michael on the phone. "Hi Mike...yes, there's been a new development. Some flowers were delivered here that I think you should know about." She proceeded to read the card over the phone.
Without thought, Rowan began to lightly caress Jessie's arm, listening with more than her ears to every change and nuance in her lover's voice. After a few exchanges with the detective, Jessie hung up the phone. Letting out a controlled sigh, she put her arms around Rowan, holding her close.
"So, what's the plan?"
Jessie kissed Rowan's golden head before she replied. "Mike says that even if it wasn't Colston, it was still a threat. So, he's going to treat it as such."
"Uh huh, and what exactly does that translate to?" If this weren't so serious, Jessie probably would have grinned at the face looking up at her.
"He's going to put a watch on the house."
"The house? THIS house??" Rowan pulled away from Jessie a bit as this new information churned in her mind. "There's going to be someone watching this house?" While the rational part of her mind understood the necessity of having protection, the private part of her rebelled against the idea.
"Rowan," Jessie's sobering voice caught her attention. The dark haired woman held up the card, which had come with the flowers. "Someone's already watching the house."
What Jessie was saying hit her hard. "Oh shit," she said as she fainted into Jessie's arms.
"Are you sure you can handle this?"
"I think you should be asking yourself that question."
"No, really. I mean, I don't want you to do this if you don't think that you can. I don't want to pressure you into anything."
Rowan gave Jessie a fond smile. Her lover's blue eyes were darting around nervously, her hands fidgeting with collar of the black rayon shirt she was wearing. "Jessie, I've known your mother for years. I am not in the least bit uncomfortable with going to her house for dinner." She smiled again, noting that she had a good image of how Jessie must have looked when she was little. "However, if you don't want to do this, then we can stay here."
An adorable scowl formed on Jessie face as she thought about how silly she was being. Rowan had to bite back a laugh. Who would believe that the ex-drug lord is acting like a three-year old?
"Fine, fine." She finally muttered. "Where did I leave my shoes?"
"Follow the trail back down the stairs." Rowan's eyebrow rose as she said this. "I still can't find where my bra ended up."
"Hey, you weren't complaining earlier!"
"Why would I complain about you making mad, passionate love to me?"
Jessie barked out a laugh. "I wouldn't exactly call it that!"
"Then what would you call it?" Truly curious, she wondered if she had misread Jessie's commitment to their relationship.
"I would call it wild monkey sex, followed by some serious looooooove making." Grinning, she ducked out of the room, just barely avoiding getting hit by a flying book.
Rowan shook her head as she heard Jessie laughing on her way down the stairs. When was she going to get over her insecurity? Jessie had never given Rowan any reason to think that she wasn't serious about their relationship. At first, Rowan had chalked it up to the newness of it all. But, after a few soul searching moments, she realized that it was more than that.
Turning to look into the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door, Rowan sighed. "What would someone like her want with someone like me?" Her own eyes didn't see the beautiful woman staring back at her through the mirror's reflection. Instead, she saw only someone who was flawed and unworthy of someone like Jessie.
"Are you coming Ro?" Jessie's voice floated up the stairs.
"I'm coming," she yelled back, holding back the sigh. Sometimes it wasn't prudent to question the good things in your life. Nodding her head to her reflection, Rowan took a slow, deep breath, holding it before letting it out. She was going to love and enjoy Jessie for as long as she was allowed that pleasure. A brilliant smile came onto her face, but she didn't see it in the glass. If she has she would have maybe glimpsed at what everyone else saw in her. Her beauty was undeniable to everyone but herself. Only time would give her the gift of sight.
"Anne, you never stop surprising me, you know that?" Rowan looked around at the spread of food on Anne's dinning room table. The first surprise she'd had was Anne's house. Jessie had driven them over in her midnight blue Saturn. As they drove up University Avenue, they finally got onto Midvale Boulevard, passing Regent Street. Finally, Jessie turned off Midvale onto a street that Rowan didn't recognized. A few more turns and then Jessie pulled into the driveway of a large, stately two story house. She hadn't expected the bookseller to live in such a house. It was elegant but sedated with large trees scattered in the yard.
Her eyes twinkling, Anne had opened the door for them, just as at home in this house as she was in her little bookstore. A wine glass was already in her hand, the dark amber colored liquid catching the last of the sun's rays.
After a quick tour of the house, Rowan had seen some of the bookstore-Anne in this house; the multiple bookshelves, the hidden piles of papers and books filling a few corners. The tour had ended in the dinning room, which Rowan was grateful for. Her stomach had started to make it known that it was in need of a feeding and that could get very embarrassing.
Laughing lightly, Anne took a sip from her wine glass. "Whatever does that mean, Rowan?"
"I never knew that you could cook."
A soft snort came from Jessie. Anne raised an eyebrow in an amazing replication of her daughter's own trademark expression. "Well, as my daughter will attest to, my cooking skills are limited."
"Try nonexistent," Jessie muttered.
Looking from the beautifully arranged table filled with food, to the mother and daughter standing next to her, she looked curious. "Then how...?" She let the question hang, waiting for Anne to explain.
Reddening slightly at being caught, Anne gave a feeble laugh. "Well, I was a little nervous about this dinner and I didn't want to mess it up, so I had it catered." Her mouth turned up in a sardonic half smile. "Kind of silly, huh?"
"Like mother," she said smiling, turning to focus her gaze on Jessie. "Like daughter."
Anne and Rowan began to laugh as Jessie's face turned slightly red. "That's as close to a blush as you'll get," Anne told Rowan through her laughter.
"Nah, I've seen better on her." Her laughter was loud and boisterous, giving Jessie no choice but to join in.
"Come on you two, can we please pick on someone else?" Jessie was beginning to understand why she was so nervous earlier. Dinner with her mother and her lover could only mean one thing she'd be the entertainment.
Turning her green eyes on Anne, she narrowed them slightly at the older woman in accusation. "Why are YOU nervous about tonight?"
Her laughter still coming out in little spurts, Anne avoided Rowan's penetrating look. "Um, well...you see, you're the first women Jessie's brought home."
The comment worked to sober Rowan's mirth. "In that case, it is a honor to be here."
There was a moment of silence that served to make the women both uncomfortable and at ease. Anne cleared her throat finally. "Shall we eat?"
Dinner was an unexpected delight for each of the women. The serious tone that they'd fallen to had been lifted and the meal was filled with laughter and talking. Gentle teasing of Jessie continued as Anne shared a few stories from her childhood with her lover. The former drug lord took it all in stride, enjoying the sound of Rowan's laughter and her mother's familiar voice which took her back to days before the darkness had formed around her heart. She could almost imagine that none of the last fifteen years had happened they way that had. It was easy to imagine herself as a 30-something health care worker, simply enjoying a meal with her mother and the woman she'd fallen in love with. No pain filled past, no demons hanging over her shoulder, no memories of dead faces haunting her. The warmth of Rowan's hand on her knee, as well as the occasional squeeze, reminded her that she was going home with this woman, a prospect she found to be more fulfilling each and every day. Yes, it was easy to pretend.
Almost by an unspoken agreement, no one talked about Don Colston or anything else that had happened lately. They stuck to teaching stories from Rowan and family stories from Anne, with Jessie making acerbic comments every now and again and everyone laughing along.
Once the food had been eaten, and the wine had been replenished, they moved to the more comfortable surroundings of the living room. Rowan and Jessie took the couch and Anne sat in an overstuffed armchair. Putting her feet up onto the matching ottoman, Anne let out a long sigh. "I haven't laughed this much in a long time." She gave the two women an endearing smile. "Thank you for coming over. I've really enjoyed myself."
Not feeling at all self-conscious in front of her mother, Jessie had half pulled Rowan into her lap when she sat down. She cradled the smaller woman in her arms, placing gentle kisses in her hair.
"Me too Anne," Rowan said as a feeling of contentment overwhelmed her, starting in her belly and spreading throughout.
Anne let a minute pass before she spoke again. "I'm afraid that I have to get serious for a moment girls." She gave each one a long, piercing look. Two sets of eyes looked back at her, one curious and the other filled with trepidation. "Now, Rowan, when Jessie was a little girl, I used to tell her that whomever she brought home would have to gain my approval before Jessie could settle down with them."
"I believe that you said with him, not her." Jessie quipped, her face hidden now behind Rowan's hair.
"Semantics, my dear, will not help you now."
"So, I need to gain your approval?" Rowan's voice was hesitant as she asked, unsure of where this was going and feeling more insecure by the minute.
This time a warm smile light Anne's face. "No dear, you already have my approval. In fact, I think that Jessie is the one that should be looking for my approval. I'm not going to trust just anyone with my favorite customer and dear friend, now am I?"
Jessie's head popped up from where she'd been hiding behind Rowan. "What??" She squeaked, her voice breaking.
"That's right, you need to gain my approval to be allowed to continue your relationship with Rowan."
"Don't 'but mom' me," Anne interrupted. "I'm serious! I'm not sure if you're good enough for Rowan!"
A light blush began to creep onto Rowan's fair face. She cast her eyes down in both pleasure and mirth, not wanting Jessie to see the laughter in her eyes.
Blue eyes narrowed in both consternation and just a bit of anger. "I'm listening," she growled out, trying to control her anger considering that it was her mother.
Anne heard the warning tone in Jessie's voice, but ignored it. She wasn't a stupid woman. She realized that Rowan needed to hear just how much Jessie loved her and she knew that her stoic daughter might not exactly express what the blonde needed to hear.
Clearing her throat and sitting up straight, her hands folded in her lap, Anne looked at her daughter critically. "So, Jessica-"
"Jessica?" Rowan said, unable to hold her laughter any longer.
Looking at her lover, Jessie hissed, "whose side are you on?"
Properly chastised, Rowan let her laughter die. "Sorry, I didn't know you're real name was Jessica."
"It's not, I had it changed," she growled while focusing her attention back on her mother. "And you know that."
"I named you Jessica and if I want to call you Jessica, then I will!" Anne said primly, a satisfied smile on her face. "Now, if I can continue?"
Slowly Jessie nodded, knowing in the back of her mind that her mother must have some kind of purpose for this torture. A part of her found it very difficult to trust in someone else, even if that person was her mother.
"Now, Jessica," she paused, waiting to see if there was any objection from either woman. When she was met with silence and attentive gazes, she continued. "What are your intentions toward our dear Rowan here?"
Her immediate reaction was to rebel against this inquisition, sensing that she wasn't going to be able to shrug her way out of it. Looking into her mother's blue eyes, she felt herself growing resentful. Only a slight shift in her face brought Rowan's beautiful face into her view. It was only one look, which made up her mind for her, making her realize that she couldn't stop this train even if she wanted to. And as she looked into the green eyes that had captured more than her attention, she realized that she didn't want to stop it.
Taking a deep breath, Jessie willed her anger to leave. Squaring off and looking at her mother directly, she allowed one side of her mouth to lift in a half-heart smile, signaling the truce.
"I care a great deal for Rowan. I want to...to be a part of her life." She found herself stumbling over her words, unsure of how to express what she felt without giving everything away. There was a part of Jessie that was used to hiding emotion and she wasn't sure it was wise to give that up. What if she was betrayed? What if Rowan left her? What if any of the other million and one things that could happen, did? Where would that leave her?
Out of the corner of her eye, Jessie saw a flash of something akin to disappointment cross Rowan's face before it was hidden again behind a forced smile. I caused that, Jessie realized with a flush of shame. She took a deep breath as her conscious and heart played a game of war with her over protective mind. Fuck it.
Anne watched both women with an all-seeing eye. She saw Rowan's chagrin and Jessie's internal struggle that followed. And despite this, she never lost faith in the love that she already knew they shared. In her heart, she felt that they were born to share a love greater than either one of them.
Finally, she saw a look of resignation come over Jessie's face and she steeled herself for either her daughter's acceptance or her rejection of the chance fate had given her. She took a silent, deep breath and waited.
Ignoring her mother sitting across from her, Jessie turned so that she was facing Rowan on the couch. With tender movements, she reached for Rowan's hand, brought it to her mouth, and kissed the back of it. "Rowan, I..." Her heart pounded so loudly in her chest that she thought it was going to break away from the fragile tissue that held it in place. "I love you."
Rowan opened her mouth to reply, but instead found Jessie's fingers there, urging her to wait. "No, please, I need to say this." She waited until Rowan nodded her understanding before continuing. "I love you and I want more than to spend time getting to know you. I want your nights, your days, your months, your years." Struggling to say exactly what she felt in her heart at her absolute weakest and strongest moments, Jessie stumbled along, only hoping that in the end, she was making sense.
"I...love you," Jessie finally breathed out, her voice growing stronger as she reached deep within herself for the ability to reveal what was written on her heart. "I want to spend time, not just getting to know you better, but time with you. A lifetime..." She rubbed at her face with the heel of her hand as she grew frustrated at her own incompetence in explaining herself. Forgetting that her mother was even there, she turned and looked at the source of all her emotional anguish. "Rowan, I don't know what I feel half the time. I have never opened myself to anyone, much less someone that I've only known a few months. And yet, I feel like you've always been a part of my life. Like, through everything, you've always been on the outskirts, waiting for me."
Although she was silent, Rowan was mentally answering each of Jessie's statements with emphatic yeses. Unbeknownst to her, her eyes reflected every yes, giving Jessie the courage she needed to forge on.
"You have quickly become my power and perseverance. I look to you for strength you don't even know you posses. When I looked into your eyes that first night I met you, I felt something inside of me begin to change." Even as she spoke, Jessie was making connections that she hadn't seen before. "And I liked it." It dawned on her that she had liked what was happening to her. In some way, meeting Rowan was what allowed her to persevere through the path to redemption. "I love you Rowan and I want to spend the rest of my life loving you."
There were tears in Rowan's eyes as Jessie finished her declaration. Without hesitation or thought she threw her arms around Jessie's neck, hugging her tightly and sobbing with joy when she felt strong arms respond by holding her back.
My Job is done, Anne thought to herself quiet proudly. She watched the tender moment for a few minutes before escaping away, leaving the two women that were embracing on the couch. As she left the room it was as though she were leaving a sauna or a steam room. A wave of cold washed over her, leaving her longing for whatever entity Rowan and Jessie created when they came together. Instantly, she felt alone.
As she walked through the rest of the house, she felt tears well up in her own eyes. She missed love greatly. She felt its absence in her bones just as clearly as she felt the years shorten her time alive. Love had once shined on her in all its glory, creating within her a peace that only true love could bring. Oh Nic, where are you? She cried out silently, saying his name for the first time in many, many years. No longer able to control the pain that she felt, she ran to her bedroom and curled up on the bed as silent sobs racked her body.
The phone rang in an obscenely loud manner, waking Rowan from her sound sleep. "Who the fuck?" She mumbled as she fumbled around for the phone.
"Nice talk," Jessie teased from her prone position on her back. She instantly missed the warmth of Rowan who had been laying half on top of her and half on the bed, but her eyes took in with appreciation her lover's naked form.
Giving her lover a quick slap, Rowan made one final reach for the phone and successfully snagged the handset from where it was charging. "Hello?" She croaked her throat dry from the previous night's activities. Jessie snorted at the break in Rowan's voice, knowing full well that she was responsible for it.
"Danni?" Rowan was wide-awake now as she listened to the voice on the other end. She glanced at the digital alarm clock sitting on her nightstand. It read 4:30 am. "Well, of course I'm glad to hear from you but-" It was obvious that she had been cut off by the party on the other end. "Yes, but-" Again. "Danni, no! You can't stay here! There's not enough room for you and-" A sigh rumbled through Rowan's chest as she held back her anger. "No. No! Danni, no!" Her voice got progressively louder as she held her ground. "No, and that's it!" With a decisive motion she cut off the conversation by pressing the talk button.
Not bothering to ask, Jessie just waited patiently for Rowan to tell her what the call was about.
"Sometimes I could just scream!" Came the unexpected response.
Jessie could see the tension in her lover's body and she reacted without thought. Gathering Rowan to her, she held her tightly, gently caressing her naked back until she felt her relax and melt into her. Where her breathing had been erratic from anxiety, it was now steady and deep.
Waiting a few more heartbeats, Jessie took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So, do you want to talk about it now?" Her voice was gentle, not wanting to push the precious woman in her arms.
"That was my sister," Rowan's body tensed every so slightly as she spoke, as if just the very thought of the phone call made her want to jolt up and hit something.
Completely confused, Jessie tried not to make her voice too demanding. "Your sister?" She had thought that Rowan was an only child. Where did a sister come in?
"Yeah. Family's a strange thing isn't it?" The question was rhetorical, but Jessie still considered it with great thought.
"I'm not one to comment on that," the dark-haired woman gave a humorless laugh as she thought of her own family of two.
Rowan made a note of this comment deciding to probe further after she'd explained her own situation. "Danni, short for Danielle. My parents adopted her when she was 9. They'd been married for a few years and couldn't seem to conceive on their own. So, they tried being foster parents for awhile, and eventually adopted Danni."
"I assuming that this was before you came along?" Jessie asked lightly, her eyebrow arching upward.
Rowan laughed softly. "Definitely. After they adopted Danni the found a new doctor who suggested mom have surgery to clear up her tubes. So, they tried and after that, I was conceived." She grew silent as her face grew serious. "I think Danni always resented me."
"Did your parents treat her differently than they treated you?" Jessie had heard the regret in her voice.
"No, not at all. But, Danni had had a hard life before she'd been adopted. Typical story, really. Her birth mother had been on drugs when she got pregnant and hadn't bothered to stop just because she was carrying a life. Danni's birth father wasn't around, from what I know of. She went from foster home to foster home before she ended up with my parents." Again, Rowan seemed to loose herself in thought. "I think that it was too late for her." She rubbed her face against Jessie's bare shoulder, taking in the scent of her lover for a brief moment.
"She was 11 when I was born. My first memories of her are just looking at her hair." Rowan giggled quietly. "She had this...FLAMING red hair that stood up in all directions no matter what was put on it or how they brushed it. When she was like, 17 she shaved it all off. Mom got so mad!" Rowan laughed loudly this time as the memories swept her away.
"Did you two get along?" Jessie's desire for information about Rowan's mysteriously appearing sister was held, barely in check, by her greater desire to comfort her love.
The mirth left Rowan's face at this question. She looked down at where Jessie's bare arms touched her naked stomach, trying to control the tears that were forming. "When I was growing up, I thought that the sun revolved around her. I looked up to her with the innocence that only a child can have and in the end, I got hurt because of that innocence."
"She let you down?"
"Something like that," Rowan said vaguely. "When she turned 18 she had already been using drugs recreationally. After that she got more involved, dealing as well as using." The back of her hand began to slowly stroke Jessie's arm. The need to connect to her lover as she spoke was overwhelming. "On my 10th birthday I found out that she couldn't come to my party because she was in jail."
Jessie quickly did the mental math, figuring that Danni had been 21. "Do you know what for?"
"My parents wouldn't tell me at the time. It wasn't till later, when I tried to find Danni to tell her about my parents' accident that I found out she was in prison because she'd been involved in the murder of a cab driver on the north side of Madison. She didn't get out until three years after mom and dad died." Falling silent for a minute, Rowan stared out into her mind's memories.
Deciding that she would be best able to help if she just let the story come from Rowan, Jessie sat there, holding on tightly. She was prepared to hold on for the rest of time if need be. In the back of her mind the combination of Rowan's sister's name, the red hair, and the crime triggered some kind of memory response, but she wasn't going to deal with that just now. Rowan's needs came first.
"When she got out I didn't hear from her for almost a year and then a letter comes from Texas, of all places." She paused, looking at Jessie for a minute. "Now, this part is going to sound unbelievable, and I understand. When I first heard I thought that she'd been taking drugs again. But, it's all true."
"Okay," Jessie said, uncertain of what she was being prepared for.
"While she was in prison, she participated in this..." Rowan searched for the right word. "...correspondence program. You see, they would match prisoners with people on the outside who were willing to communicate with them via letters. It was a way for them to gain some kind of interpersonal communication skills, or something."
"Right, I've heard of that."
"Well, Danni met someone and they, supposedly, fell in love." Rowan smiled at Jessie's puzzled look. "I know, that part doesn't sound too bad. But, here's the thing. The man she married was 30 years older and is a millionaire who owns a cattle ranch or something in Texas."
"You sister went to jail and then married a millionaire she met while in jail?" Jessie's voice sounded almost as incredulous as the story.
"I know," Rowan sighed. "Sounds impossible, huh?"
"Definitely." Feeling a bit disconcerted, but not overwhelmed, Jessie remembered the original source of this topic. "So, that was her on the phone?"
Rowan's body tensed again as she was reminded of the phone call. "Oh yeah, that was Danni. She's going to be coming to Madison, for some stupid reason, and is bringing her two kids."
"Oh yeah, she and the elder Texan have to children, a boy and a girl. Olson James Detwiler, the 5th is almost 8. Sunshine Detwiler is almost 6. My nephew and niece." She couldn't help the small smile that came over her face as she thought about the two children. Despite the annoyance of her flaky sister, she truly adored her niece and nephew.
"I can tell you like the kids. So, what's the problem? You meet up with them for an afternoon and then you don't have to worry about them again." Family was not something that Jessie totally understood. She'd never met any of them, only her mother, and for the life of her, she couldn't understand people's attachments to their extended family.
"The problem is that she wants to stay here."
Jessie paled as she realized what that meant. "Here?" She croaked out. "In this house?"
Nodding, Rowan couldn't help but smile at her lover's perplexed face. "Yes, that's what she wants. Of course, I told her no."
"I...I'll go back to the apartment while she's here." Jessie tried to appear nonchalant, but in truth she was having painful heart palpitations at the thought of spending a night without Rowan's warm body cuddle up next to her. You can do it J. You're a big girl, don't let something like this bother you.
Despite the facet that the mere idea of her sister staying with her turned her stomach, she couldn't help but warm at Jessie's sweetness. "You'll do no such thing. If she comes, I still want you here." A flash of insecurity passed over here. "Unless you don't want to stay while she's here."
A warm flush came over Jessie, inspired by both Rowan's words and the small dash of uncertainty. She wants me, her heart sang in response. Lifting the naked woman in her arms, Jessie quickly flipped her gently onto the bed, immediately positioning her own bare body on top of her. "I," she said nipping lightly at Rowan's neck. "Will be here," another nip on the other side of the beautiful neck. "Forever." Her eyes burned into Rowan's soul as the heat between their two bodies grew.
"Thank you," she said as she pulled Jessie's head down to capture her lips in a searing kiss.
"Do you know," Jessie began to ask as she laid herself fully on top of the smaller woman, her hands now free to caress and fondle the woman below her. "How much I love you?" Not letting her lover respond she softly nibbled on the woman's neck, relishing the arching body under her. "I want to take you now," she growled in a low voice as her mouth descended to Rowan's breast. "I want to make you cry out for me." Her tongue slowly circled a nipple, her eyes watching as it grew in anticipation.
"God, yes," Rowan said right before Jessie's hot mouth took her breast fully, suckling it, at first gently and then harder as their passions grew. Rowan reacted to Jessie's electric touch, causing soaring sensations to travel up and down her sweating body.
The pleasure that Rowan reacted to also filled Jessie as she took her over the edge again and again. Her fingers found the center of Rowan's needs, creating a frenzied rhythm of heat and a flow of pleasure and passion. With every pump of Jessie's arm, Rowan soared higher, crying out louder and louder.
Their bodies were joined, seared by the fire they were creating, melted together so that they were one. As one cried out in pleasure, the other cried out in an exact echo. Where one began and the other ended, neither knew nor cared. It was one pinnacle shared by two minds, one heart, and one soul, forever binding them together. Which, if you asked either one of them, was right where they should be.
Laying together, their bodies cooling from their lovemaking, Rowan and Jessie both silently watched the sunrise through one of the bedroom's windows. Her body feeling sated and lazy, Rowan could only lay there, drowning in the sensations that were still shooting intermittently through her body. As she remembered the touch of Jessie's mouth and hands, an uncontrollable shiver ran through her frame.
"You cold?" Jessie was immediately concerned, grabbing at the covers that had been totally disregarded. With tender motions she covered her lover, making sure that no space was left open for air to get through. "There, that better?" She asked, kissing Rowan's golden hair.
"Hmmm...except for one thing."
Puzzled, Jessie's eyebrows came together in a gravitational pull toward the bridge of her nose. "What's that?"
"You're not in here," Rowan gestured with her head at the cocoon that Jessie had created for her.
Smiling, Jessie rubbed at her forehead. "Well, we can definitely do something about that." With quick motions, she lifted the closest edge of the covers and slid her body under. As her cooled body came into contact with Rowan's now warm body, she felt the flame of desire ignite once again sprouting through her tender nerve endings.
"Much better," Rowan murmured, her head instantly finding a resting place on Jessie's shoulder.
They laid in comfortable quiet for a few moments. Jessie was torn between thinking about the naked body lying next to her, and the startling news about Rowan's sister. "Do you have any other family secrets that you're keeping from me?" Her tone was light, but it also carried a bit of wariness.
Rowan pretended to think about this a few minutes before she answered. "No...I think Danni's the only family secret I have." Her hand gently caressed the slope of Jessie's strong jaw. "What about you? I don't really know anything about your family, other than Anne, of course."
""Well, it's not really an easy question to answer." Jessie felt rather helpless.
"Because I don't know any of my family, other than my mother."
"Grandparents?" Rowan asked, incredulously watching as Jessie shook her head no. "Aunts? Uncles? Cousins?" Each received the same negative answer. "What about your father?" Rowan was tentative in asking this, never having heard either Anne or Jessie talk about the man who had contributed to Jessie's conception.
"He's dead." Jessie's mouth turned down in a frown as she thought about what little she knew about her father. When she was younger she had held a lot of resentment and bitterness toward the man who had fathered her, but never lived long enough to be a part of her life. She didn't even know what he looked like. She remember that once, when she'd been about 11 she had come across her mother starring at a small back and white picture, tears streaming down her face. But, as Jessie moved closer to see what she was looking at, she hid the picture. "That must have been him," she whispered to herself, just now putting two and two together.
"What must have been him?" Rowan's voice was soft, respectful of the difficult situation.
"My father. She must have a picture of him." She went on to explain the memory that had just surfaced. "She must have been looking at a picture of him."
"And you say that she was crying? She must have loved him very much." Rowan's voice was wistful, her romantic cravings kicking in.
It was very difficult for Jessie to respond to that. "She only talked about him a few times..." she faded off, a wistful look in her eye, a look which did not go unnoticed by Rowan. "I had all the usual questions, I guess. The other kids all had fathers, or at least knew who their father was. Mom...well, it was hard on her and even as a kid I knew that it hurt her to talk about him."
Rowan smiled as she tried to imagine her lover as a child, with her large blue eyes and her dark hair. She could see a child like resemblance in her lover when she smile, really smiled. But that didn't happen very often.
"She told me that he died in Vietnam." Now Jessie was starring at something far away from the bedroom they were laying in. "When I left home, I took a trip to Washington DC. I went to..." her voice broke as she remembered the hardened girl she was then. Despite her tough attitude, she still had the emotions of a child who grew up without a father. "...the wall. You know, the Vietnam War Memorial? He...he wasn't there." Jessie struggled with the ghostly memories of pain she had felt growing up.
Over the years she had put the memories and the hurt away in a small box in the back of her mind, never wanting to revisit them. And yet, every day she found herself thinking about the man she never knew. Did she really look like him? She didn't look like her mother. Did she talk like him? Was her smile like his? Did they share similar interests? And with the every day questions there inevitably was the morbid questions concerning his death. Had he died in battle? Had he come home in a wooden box? Or was he left to rot in the jungle's humidity? So many questions without answers flooded her mind when she least expected it, leaving her unable to get beyond the mystery of her father.
Rowan felt stabbing pain through her body as she realized Jessie's suffering. She felt helpless to do anything to console her lover, wanting so badly to erase the pain she was feeling, and yet realizing that it was impossible. Tears streamed down her own face as she held on tightly to Jessie's warm body, both of them realizing how fortunate they were.
Years of bottling up her feelings made the moment even more powerful for Jessie as she realized yet again the extent of Rowan's hold on her. Tendrils of her lover had been woven throughout Jessie's being, creating an inescapable web. The sob caught both women unaware as Jessie broke completely, unleashing the pain that had gathered in her chest.
Putting her cheek against Jessie's, Rowan cried with her, both women holding on to each other as a lifeline and salvation.
After a while the tears stopped flooding, only leaking out occasionally. Neither woman had moved, both of them lost in their own thoughts.
The alarm finally went off, signaling that it was time to start the day, but neither of them moved. They sat, holding each other, as the song Cocaine ended and the morning announcers came on.
"This is the Bob and Tom show on WIBA 101.5 FM coming to you live from the station that plays classic rock that rocks!"
With an internal sigh, Rowan closed her eyes, willing herself back together so that she could face the day before her. Cupping Jessie's face with her hand, she drew her face closer so that she could softly kiss warm lips. Salt from the tears she'd shed was still on Jessie's lips, adding another dimension to her wonderful tasting kiss. The kiss deepened out of need and reassurance, recreating the heat that had barely had time to die down. They both pulled away at the same time, gasping for breath.
"Whoa," Rowan said breathlessly.
"We seem to be going from one extreme to the other."
"At least we ended on a happier note, right?" The sadness that had consumed Jessie's face earlier had faded somewhat, leaving only minute traces over the smooth planes.
Giving her lover a small, weary smile, Jessie brushed the blonde hair off her forehead before leaning over to place small kisses around her mouth. "I never knew happiness before I knew you. Thank you." Giving Rowan another quick kiss, she got out of bed and made her way to the shower.
Her breath having left her body at the power of her lover's words, Rowan couldn't help the smile that tugged forcefully at the sides of her mouth. "Wow," she said softly to herself before getting up. "Let's see if she needs some help in the shower."
Between classes and students with their ever-persistent questions, Rowan found her thoughts wandering back to Jessie's father. There was an unexplainable need to get answers for her lover, wanting to somehow help the painful ache she knew Jessie must feel. While she'd grown up with a very loving father, she did know the pain of loss. And it killed something inside of her to see that pain in the woman she loved.
"Got to figure out something," she finally muttered, forgetting that she was standing in front of a classroom filled with anxious freshman. She was almost startled to see almost two dozen pairs of eyes looking at her in bewilderment. "Sorry, just talking to Ralph here." She pointed over her shoulder at the empty space next to her, confusing her students even more. A few snickers in the back of the room indicated that some of them thought she'd lost her mind. Good, maybe that will scare them into their homework more often, she thought with a satisfied smile. "Okay, so where were we? Who wants to beginning reading Hills Like White Elephants out loud?"
A groan was barely stifled as the students looked at each other to see who would volunteer. Rowan's smile was slightly sinister as no one raised their hand. Another day, another victim.
"Jessie?" Rowan let herself through the front door, using her foot to close it behind her. Dropping her briefcase by the chair, she heaved an armful of papers onto the seat before turning around to lock the door. "Jess?"
The lights were on in the living room and kitchen, a sure sign that her lover was home, but there was no sign of where Jessie could be. After checking the downstairs and not finding anyone, she made her way upstairs.
The sound of now familiar, light snoring coming from the bedroom alerted her to Jessie's location. Entering she as touched by the sight of her dark-haired lover curled up in her bed. Our bed," she amended her thoughts with a tickle of delight. Tigger was curled up near Jessie's head, one paw lightly touching the sleeping woman's head. Upon hearing Rowan's approach, Tigger sleepily opened his eyes, blinked slowly, and then stretched his entire body while widely opening his mouth in a yawn.
"Hedonist," Rowan told him with an affectionate smile. She pulled her shoes off and climbed into bed behind Jessie, curving her body to match that of her lover.
"Hon?" She whispered softly, reaching up to stroke the sleeping woman's face, while pressing her body closer.
Jessie's beauty never failed to cause her breath to catch in her chest. She had known beauty before, but it wasn't close to the dark, glorious beauty Jessie held in just a mere look. How did I get so lucky?
She shook off her thoughts, concentrating on the conundrum before her. Why was Jessie in bed so early? Granted, she hadn't known Jessie all that long, but this didn't seem usual for her.
"Jess? Honey, are you okay?"
This time Jessie answered by mumbling into her pillow. "Sick. Flu."
"Oh boy," Rowan sighed. "Didn't you get a flu shot?"
"No." Jessie's tone of voice sounded like a petulant child, causing Rowan to laugh softly before chastising her lover.
"Jessie! You work in health care. Surely you know better than to skip your flu shot!"
"Don't get sick."
"Uh huh, sure. So, you're not sick now?"
"Then what are you doing in bed?"
"If you don't know, then how did you get here?"
If she weren't so worried about Jessie, Rowan would have been rolling on the floor, the conversation striking her as completely out of character and definitely funny.
"Can you sit up for me, sweetheart?"
Jessie lifted her head about an inch off the pillow, a silly smile on her face. "You called me sweetheart!" She seemed very pleased at this endearment.
"Well, you are my sweetheart, sweetheart."
Still grinning, Jessie began to sit up. Her grin, however, turned to a grimace as her stomach protested the sudden movement. "Oh God," she moaned as she unsteadily tried to get up from the bed and make it to the bathroom before it was too late.
Sensing her lover's need without words passing between them, Rowan helped her up and quickly walked her to the bathroom, the taller woman leaning against her heavily.
"You..don't...have..to stay," Jessie gasped as she leaned over the toilet, hoping that the waves of nausea would pass without her having to throw up. Rowan had helped her there and then stood by dutifully, waiting to help. Truthfully, Jessie was embarrassed and didn't want Rowan to suffer through seeing her so sick and helpless.
Before Rowan could answer, an even stronger wave passed over her and she was left with no choice as her stomach rebelled. It felt like hours passed as she continued to get sick, and she had thought that Rowan had gone ahead and left when she felt a cool clothe on the back of her neck.
Moaning, she tried to relax her body as she felt strong hands rub her back and her neck, making her instantly glad that her lover had not abandoned her, despite her earlier desire for just that.
Poor baby, Rowan thought as she brushed at the hair plastered to Jessie's clammy forehead. The ill woman had finally fallen into a light sleep, her body exhausted from the convulsions of dry heaves. Rowan was really concerned, but wasn't sure what more she could do other than make sure that the woman was comfortable and that she tried to keep liquids down.
Unable to stifle a huge yawn, Rowan drowsily looked at the clock and realized that it was already midnight. Sluggishly getting off the bed without jostling her lover, she quickly stripped out of her clothing, not bothering to put on anything else, and climbed into the bed beside Jessie.
Realizing she'd forgotten to turn the light off, she groaned loudly in frustration, her only desire at that moment to sleep. Reaching around, she found a book on her night table. With a well-aimed hurl, she managed to hit the light switch, instantly throwing the room into darkness. Curling her body around the slightly feverish one, she held the woman tightly, feeling very protective of her lover's weakened state. Snuggling into Jessie's back, she closed her eyes and let herself drift into the pleasant feeling of slumber, her mind doing little happy dances at the feeling of Jessie in her arms.
Jessie's first awareness was a sharp, pounding pain in her head. It was soon followed by the realization that her sides and her lower back were sore and it was then that the memories of her praying to the porcelain god the day before came back. Groaning, she tried moving her tongue in her mouth, not surprised to find that it felt like it had been drained dry of all moisture, leaving a putrescent taste that permeated her mouth.
Slowly, trying to ignore her head and the other aches and pains that seemed determined to remind her that she was alive, she moved her toes. That done, she proceeded to slowly move her fingers. They seemed to work as they should, reassuring her in some small way.
Using what little saliva she could muster, she attempted to wet her lips, her head protesting the little movement. Assessing that she was on her side, she slowly lifted one crusted eyelid, blinked sluggishly in an attempt to clear her vision, and then tried to find the alarm clock. With another groan she realized she would have to move her body a little bit to be able to see the face of the clock.
Feeling like she was moving under water, she shifted, putting her weight on an elbow, and managed to catch a glance before her elbow collapsed under her weight.
10:30. Sunlight attempted to sneak around the dark shades that had been pulled over the windows, letting her know that it must be in the AM. Rowan would already be at work. She felt disappointed that she'd only seen her lover long enough the night before to vomit and then fall back asleep. I must look like shit, she thought to herself, unable to get the energy to voice it out loud. I feel like shit.
"Good, you're awake!" An annoyingly cheerful, and yet very familiar, voice came out of nowhere. If Jessie hadn't felt so weak she would have jumped, startled. "I was going to let you sleep as long as you could." Rowan sat down carefully on the bed, not wanting to jar Jessie's body. She knew very well what it was like to have a night like Jessie did, and she knew that she'd be hurting today. A hand instantly went to Jessie's hot forehead, a frown forming on her face. "How do you feel?"
"Dying," she croaked out, her throat aching and her mouth sticking to itself.
"Be right back." She hurried out of the room, coming back with a tall glass of water.
Forgetting her pain, Jessie sat up in bed, eyeing that glass as if it held the secret fountain of youth. Eagerly, she took the glass from Rowan and tried to reign herself in as she drank from it, feeling the water slide all the way down to her beyond empty stomach, hitting it with a cool and oddly comforting force.
After taking a few careful sips, she paused, sitting absolutely still as she waited to see if the water would stay down. A diffused wave of queasiness followed, but nothing like what she had experienced the night before. The water would stay down, but she'd better be careful of what else she tried to consume.
"Better?" Rowan's voice filtered through Jessie's self-examination.
Nodding, Jessie laid her head back against the headboard, feeling exhausted from her small effort.
"I'll bring you some chicken broth a little later." The back of Rowan's hand went to Jessie's cheek, concern flooding her face. "Why don't you try to go back to sleep?"
"'Kay," was the quiet reply. With help, Jessie's managed to lay back down. She turned on her side, curling up around a pillow, and her breath soon evened out in sleep.
Checking her watch, Rowan saw that it was almost noon. When she'd gotten up in the morning, the first thing she did was call the English Department office, telling Debbie, the secretary, that she'd be out all day. Debbie assured her that she would make sure notes were placed on the appropriate places so that her students would know.
Next, she called Jessie's office. She told the person who picked up that Jessie wouldn't be in for the rest of the week because she was ill. The woman was very sympathetic, stating that her husband was sick with the flu as well. They chitchatted briefly about how it was 'going around' and then Rowan said her good-byes.
Looking at her sleeping lover, Rowan took in her pale face and her flushed cheeks. With a tender touch, she caressed the soft skin there, smiling as Jessie leaned into her touch even in her sleep. "I'll take care of you, baby," she whispered softly before leaning over and placing a light kiss on her forehead. Despite Jessie's self-reliant nature, she had a feeling that even Jessie needed someone when she was sick. And truthfully, even if she didn't, Rowan wasn't going to take no for an answer. She loved Jessie, and to her that meant that she would be there to take care of her when she was in need.
The day passed quietly as Jessie slept and Rowan caught up on housework before settling down to grade some papers. Around five o'clock that night, Jessie came hobbling down the stairs, her eyes still heavy from sleep, and came across Rowan stretched out in the arm chair, papers littering the floor around her, sound asleep. Tigger was curled up in her lap, his arm possessively over one of Rowan's hands.
"So you left me for her, huh?" Jessie only received a blink in return from the feline. "I don't blame you."
Kneeling by the chair, she reached out and brushed Rowan's cheek with the back of her hand, marveling at the softness she found there. You sweet thing, she thought silently, smiling to herself at the absolutely preciousness of the woman before her.
Green eyes slowly opened, blinking lazily before focusing on the woman. "Hey," Rowan croaked, her throat dry from sleep.
"How ya feeling?" A hand instantly went up to feel Jessie's forehead.
"Better than before. Not 100%, but better."
"Your temperature seems to have gone down, but you're still hot."
"So I've been told," Jessie said, leering at Rowan with a roguish smile.
"You must be feeling better if you're up to flirting," Rowan teased back.
Standing up, Jessie stretched her arms above her head, rotating so that her back and shoulders cracked. "Oh yeah, that felt good," she said purred as she dropped her upper body down at the waist, touching her toes to stretch the rest of her sore body. With a loud groan of pleasure, she straightened up, stretching her calf muscles by flexing her feet at the ankles.
Enjoying the show, Rowan just watched, smiling. "Would you like anything to eat?"
Wrinkling her nose, a habit picked up from Rowan, Jessie thought about the consequences of eating. "A part of me is hungry, but my stomach is just not ready for it." She patted the body part even as she felt a slight wave of queasiness wash over her. Actually, there were a few things that she could probably eat that would keep her stomach calm, but she felt that she'd already put Rowan out enough and didn't want to make her do any more work.
"Not even some mashed potatoes?"
Jessie's eyes lit up, a smile taking over her face. "Mashed potatoes?" She asked, wondering if Rowan had read her mind. That was one of the few things that her stomach could always handle when she was sick.
"Yup. Or, how about some Jell-O?"
Wide eyes grew even wider as Jessie heard this. "RED Jell-O?" She asked in disbelief.
"Yup. Both cherry AND strawberry."
Licking her lips, Jessie was definitely ready to test her stomach's limitations. Putting her hands out, Rowan silently asked for Jessie to give her a hand out of the chair. Once settled properly on two feet, she got up on her tiptoes and kissed Jessie's nose. "Follow me," she said in a husky voice, crooking her finger in a 'come hither' gesture.
Like a well-trained animal, Jessie obediently followed her lover into the kitchen. Getting a bowl down, Rowan moved to the stove where a large pot sat on the back. Taking the lid off, she dished out freshly mashed potatoes.
"You made them? They're homemade?" Jessie couldn't get over the idea that her lover had actually cooked for her. And not only had she cooked, she'd done it in exactly the way that Jessie liked most.
"While you were passed out upstairs, I made a little call to a certain bookstore to find out what foods were your feel good foods." Rowan was delighted at the other woman's reaction, little balls of joy bouncing through her as she watched Jessie take a taste bite of the potatoes and groan in delight.
"Feel good foods?" Jessie asked around the potatoes in her mouth.
"Yeah. I think that everyone has certain foods that when they don't feel well, or when they're sad, make them feel better." She smiled when Jessie handed the empty bowl to her, a pleading pout on her face. Turning to dish out more potatoes, she continued. "It just so happens that your mother understood exactly what I meant and was more than happy to give me the secrets to your stomach."
"Remind me to thank her," Jessie said in between the happy humming that was coming from her as she ate. Finishing her second bowl of potatoes, she put the bowl down with a flourish and rubbed her stomach in appreciation. Leaning against the counter, she closed her eyes as she let the food settle. She felt warm all over from both the low-grade fever she still had and the treatment she was receiving from her lover. She couldn't remember anyone ever taking the time to take care of her like this.
Watching her lover, standing in her kitchen, eating the food she'd just made her, filled Rowan with a sense of being. Her life, and her house, had been so empty for so long. She was never at a loss for friends, but they never were really allowed to get too close. She doubted that any of them realized that she always held something of herself back. When they needed something, they never hesitated to call her and she never failed to do all that she could. But, if they really took time to analyze the friendship, they would realize that Rowan never once called them for a favor. She never once asked for help. And that's how she preferred it. But it was lonely sometimes. And now, her kitchen, her home, and her life were filled with this tall, dark haired woman who took her breath away with just a look. Lucky didn't cover how Rowan felt. She felt truly blessed.
She'd had relationships, friendships, and lovers, but none of them were what she needed. With each and every one of them she felt something missing, something that kept her from feeling complete. But, in Jessie she had found that element. That one missing piece that left her feeling totally satisfied with their relationship. Now, if only I could figure out how to officially ask her to move in, she thought. She'd been debating the issue with herself for days, knowing that Jessie really did live there with her, but they'd never made it official. Honestly, it felt to her like something they should celebrate, something that should be commemorated in some way, even if it was only in words.
Sidling over to where her lover was obviously deep in thought, Jessie used her hip to nudge the other woman. "You okay?" She hesitated in asking, simply because she felt so completely indebted to this woman.
Why not now? Rowan mentally prepared herself. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this, she repeated as a mantra. "Actually, I'm not okay."
Jessie eyebrows immediately come together as concern flooded her. "Are you feeling sick? Damn, I should have made sure you didn't get sick. I could have gone back to my place-"
Rowan stopped her right there, feeling a little exasperated. "No. I'm not sick. And you should not have left. That's what's wrong."
If she was puzzled before, Jessie was now beyond puzzled. She had no idea what Rowan was getting at. Putting her bowl down on the counter, Jessie began to steel herself against whatever Rowan was going to say. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand."
"You. Your apartment. I don't like it."
"I don't like that you have a place that you can run to, that you have a place where you can go to escape this," she gestured between them with her hands. "Us. I don't want you to have anywhere to run if we fight, or anywhere to hide if you're getting scared."
Jessie's body tensed at the barrage coming from Rowan. In truth, she hadn't really thought about running, but there was something in the back of her mind that knew she'd have an escape if she needed one.
"I want you to live here. I want you here when you're scared, I want you here when you're mad. I want you here no matter what. I want to know that each and every night I'll be able to count on you being in my bed, no matter what." Taking a deep breath, Rowan straightened. "I want you to move in here. Permanently." There. She'd said it. The very words that she'd been wanting to say for awhile now.
Focusing on her breathing for a moment, Jessie allowed herself to think before she answered. It was true. Her apartment was an escape for her. She'd never figured that Rowan would see that. And, she admitted to herself, it was cowardly. For all intended purposes, she was living at Rowan's house. She'd really become comfortable with that arrangement. But, she would always have her apartment to go to if she needed it. An out. Did she want to have an out.
Inwardly crestfallen at Jessie's lack of response, Rowan tried to be patient and give Jessie time to answer. Fear made her skeptical, but her heart knew that Jessie couldn't turn away from this. Not now. They were both too entrenched with each other to turn away.
Absently, Jessie rubbed one hand over her stomach lightly, feeling the potatoes beginning to churn there. A part of her brain registered that she wasn't going to be sick, but the potatoes were still causing quiet a stir in the otherwise empty organ.
"I...I don't want to leave, Rowan. If you'll have me, I'd love to live here. With you." She turned blue eyes onto her lover, hoping that Rowan would see the depth of what she was saying there. Searching green eyes out, she took Rowan's hand in her own and held it tightly. "I want to build a home with you. I want to be so tied to you that I can't leave even if I want to." Her last sentence was said with quiet embarrassment. Her need was so obvious at that point that it scared her.
Looking at her with wide eyes, Rowan felt very much like a deer in headlights. The raw emotion and need coming from Jessie was overwhelming, but at the same time completely welcome. Without words, Rowan threw her arms around the taller woman, holding her close, tears forming and then falling from her eyes. "Thank you," she finally whispered, still holding on tight, ready for the rest of their life together.
The next day Jessie felt considerably better, but Rowan made her promise to stay home and just rest.
"I told them you wouldn't be in for the rest of the week, so you might as well just take advantage of it."
"You did what?" Jessie didn't know if she was pissed off or grateful, the two emotions running closely together.
"I figured that you probably haven't take a single sick day since you've been there, and, like most companies, you'll loose your sick days when the year's over. It's already November, so it's about time you took a few."
Rowan's logic seemed flawless. It was all true. What's a few days? Jessie reconciled with herself. "There goes my perfect attendance award," she mumbled in half hearted protest.
"If you're good and stay home and get better, I'll give you an award that will make up for that one," Rowan purred softly into Jessie's ear, grinning a little when she saw that ear turn red at what she was suggesting.
Gulping, Jessie tried to take a few deep breaths. "Okay," she managed to squeak out.
Looking at the woman fondly, Rowan reached over and rubbed the back of Jessie's neck. "Are you going to be okay by yourself? I can stay home again if you need me to?"
"No, no, I'll be fine." She protested, not wanting the blonde to miss any more work because of her. "Thanks for yesterday though. I...I..." she found herself uncharacteristically stumbling over her words, finding words of gratitude difficult to verbalize. "I really can't tell you how much I...appreciate you staying here and taking care of me." Her head lowered. "I don't deserve it."
Lifting her chin, Rowan starred intently into her lover's eyes. "I love you. Therefore, you do. Simple as that." Leaning down she gently met familiar lips with her own, resting there a moment in a sweet kiss. But even the simplicity of that action couldn't prevent the sparking of desire that she felt.
"Call the English office for me if you need anything. I'll make sure they come and get me." She stood straight, trying to stop the trembling she felt in her legs.
"Okay. Play nice with your students," Jessie smiled at her lover, attempting to quell her own feeling of wanton lust.
Tucking in the covers around her lover, she kissed her on the forehead one last time before leaving.
Her morning classes over, Rowan settled into the chair in her office. She had three hours in her office in case her students needed anything, and then she was done for the day. She debated calling Jessie, but she didn't want to wake the woman in case she was sleeping.
Her dilemma was solved when her office phone buzzed. "Rowan, you have a call on line 3," one of the English department secretaries' voice came through the speaker on the phone.
"Thank you," she answered before picking up the phone and hitting the blinking line. "Hello?"
"Hey," the familiar, sexy voice rumbled through the handset, giving Rowan goosebumps.
"How ya feeling?"
"Not too bad. We've...got a situation here." Jessie's voice was hesitant, as if she were unsure of how to tell her something.
"Okay, what kind of a situation?" Truly puzzled, she waited patiently for her lover to explain.
"Well, it's better if you heard for yourself."
There was a muffled sound as the phone was passed from Jessie to someone else.
"Rowan?" Another familiar voice bubbled through, immediately giving Rowan a headache.
"Danni. What are you doing at my house?" More than a bit angry at her sister's total disregard for her, Rowan tried to keep her voice even.
"I told you I was coming. I guess I should have called to remind you." Danni acted as though everything was perfectly normal. "You should have told me that you had a new girlie and that she was living here though," her voice chastised gently.
Gritting her teeth, Rowan continued to try to keep her temper from seeping into her voice. "And I thought I told you that you couldn't stay with me."
"You were serious?" Rowan could imagine the blank expression on Danni's face. "Oh, I didn't think..."
"And," Rowan's voice rose in consternation. "Jessie is NOT my girlie. She is my girlfriend, my lover, my friend, but you will not refer to her as my girlie, you understand?"
"Geeze Rowan," Danni's voice lowered in a whisper. "You know that I don't have a problem with you being into chicks and all that. God knows I did plenty of exploring myself when I was in prison."
Counting to ten backwards, Rowan tried to even her breathing so that she could control her reaction. Deciding to ignore that subject for the moment, she blatantly made sure that her sister knew she didn't want her staying with her. "I'm sure you can find a room in a hotel nearby."
"A hotel?" Again, Danni sounded surprised at the suggestion. "Why, I don't think that a hotel will take Sylvester!"
"Sylvester? The dog?"
"You brought the dog all the way with you from Texas?" Rowan could not believe what she was hearing.
"He loves to travel and the kids hate to be apart from him." Danni made it sound as though this were perfectly acceptable reasoning.
Exasperated, Rowan rubbed at her forehead with the heel of her hand. "How long are you going to be here?" She finally asked, resigned to her fate.
"Only a week, honey, only a week."
"Put Jessie back on the phone, please?" She waited as she was once again passed from one woman to the other.
"Hey there," a low sexy voice drawled, and Rowan was unable to prevent the chill that went through her.
"Listen, I'm sorry. It seems that they're going to be staying with us." She quickly remembered their conversation the night before, and amended that statement with a question. "But, only if that's okay with you?"
Jessie took a moment to look around at the newly arrived guests. The two children, despite the fact that their mother seemed to almost shake with nervous energy, were sitting sedately on the couch. The dog in question, a small Jack Russell terrier, was sniffing around the room, his tail doing a fair impression of his mistress, twitching with energy. Wait till he finds Tigger, Jessie thought. The poor dog. "It's okay with me," she finally answered.
Rowan let out a sigh as she finally took a deep breath in relief. "Thanks, I really appreciate it. Now, why don't you go to bed? I'll be leaving here in another two hours or so and then I'll take care of everything."
"Sounds good to me." Jessie realized that she was feeling kind of tired. Being sick sucked, she noted as she inventoried her body's state of being. Everything still ached, especially her back and her sides, and her head was letting itself be heard with a dull roar.
"I'll see you soon babe, love you."
"Love you too."
"Gimme back to my sister, then go upstairs."
"Yes teach," Jessie smirked into the phone, but dutifully handed it to Danni before trudging up the stairs.
"Wow, Rowan, you really picked a good looking one this time," Danni said as soon as she was sure Jessie was out of hearing range.
Sighing, Rowan had a gut feeling that the week wasn't going to be easy. "Listen, let her rest, she had the flu right now and I want her to be able to get as much sleep as she can. You and the kids'll have to share a room; I only have one guest room. You, you can take the attic, but try to keep it down up there, okay?"
"No problem Rowan. The kids wanted to go to the zoo anyway, so I'll just take them as soon as we've gotten our stuff upstairs. Don't you worry about a thing." As her sister said this, a loud barking came over the phone, followed by a very familiar meow.
"What's going on?" Rowan demanded above the ruckus she could hear in the background.
"Dammit, Sunny! Stop grabbing him by his tail!" A loud crash followed the scolding, and the sounds of a little girl crying followed. "Baby, are you okay? OJ, don't just stand there, help your sister!"
Danni must have hit the off button on the phone because that was all that Rowan heard before she was met with a click and then dial tone. Quickly glancing at the clock and then at her empty office, she gathered her things and ran out her door, posting a hurriedly written note on her door, telling students that her office hours were canceled for that afternoon. As she hurried home, she prayed that her house was still in once piece.
Sighing, Rowan finally went into her bedroom, taking great comfort in the fact that the lump under the covers indicated that her lover had managed to get some sleep through everything that had happened.
She'd gotten home two hours before and had spent the time cleaning up after Sylvester's run in with Tigger. After chasing each other around the house to the point of exhaustion, the two animals had flopped down in opposite corners, both breathing heavily and eyeing each other. Finally, Tigger got up and cautiously approached the resting dog. Too tired to chase after the cat, Sylvester merely followed him with his eyes. Tigger stopped right in front of the dog and warily leaned over and sniffed at the dog's face. Staring at Sylvester as though he were an unknown, foreign object, Tigger again leaned into him and took a quick swipe of the dog's nose with his tongue. When Sylvester didn't react, Tigger got closer, finally settling his body next to the dog and laying his head on his paws. Now, they were fast asleep, oblivious to the damage their explorations with each other has caused.
Danni, of course, offered to pay for the vase that was broke when the lamp fell and hit the side table in the living room, but Rowan didn't really care about the object. What bothered her was the invasion of her home. She asked Danni to go ahead and take Sunshine and OJ to the zoo, leaving her to clean up the mess.
Before they left, she gave her niece and nephew hugs, smiling into their uncertain faces. It had been a few years since she'd seen them, and they had only vague recollections of a nice aunt who had a gentle touch. "Are you hurt?" she softly asked Sunny as she wiped at the drying tears on her face.
"No ma'am," the girl answered hesitantly.
"Good," Rowan kissed her smooth forehead and looked at her sister. "It's obvious she didn't get her manners from you," she teased.
"Well, Ollie insisted that they both have some kind of formal training when it comes to that kind of thing." Danni still had a hard time adapting to the life of the terribly wealthy, and it was a source of some contention that her daughter had better table manners than she did. At dinner parties in their home, she'd taken to following Sunny's lead as to which fork to use when.
"I'm sure," Rowan murmured, aware of her sister's deficiencies. Jail had done nothing to improve her abilities in the social niceties. Helping her niece with her coat, Rowan smoothing out her shoulder length hair, then helped put a snow hat on. "Are you sure it's not too cold to go to the zoo?" She asked her sister for the second time.
"Nah, just bundle them up well and they'll survive."
Dubious, Rowan helped with the task and then saw them off before beginning the cleaning of the living room, then headed up stairs to check on her lover.
Climbing into bed beside Jessie's deep breathing form, Rowan studied the other woman's face intently, seeing each and every nuance. The lines that were starting to stand out around Jessie's eyes and on her forehead were smoothed in sleep, and the tenseness around her mouth was gone. Leaning over, Rowan gently kissed Jessie's forehead, much like as she had done with her niece earlier. Settling back against the pillows, she nestled her body so that it was touching the length of Jessie's, smiling as the other woman reached out for her even in sleep, drawing her even closer still. Closing her eyes, she just allowed herself to luxuriate in the feeling of home before sleep claimed her.
The smell of food woke Rowan from her nap. Wiping at the saliva that had formed at the corner of her mouth, she sniffed the air cautiously. Pizza. She sniffed again. Dominos? One last sniff. No, Rocky's! Her stomach echoed her realization with a growl.
In 1974 the first Rocky Rococo's was opened and pizza had never been the same since, as far as Rowan was concerned. It was one of the few fond memories she had with her sister. She could remember Danni taking her by the hand and going to Rocky's and sharing a slice of pizza and an order of breadsticks.
She remembered, Rowan thought to herself as she found her stomach gave every indication that it remembered. "Jessie?" Rowan softly called to the sleeping woman, unsure if she should wake her. After receiving no response, and quelling her immediate concern by seeing that her lover was indeed still breathing, she decided to just let her sleep, saving her some pizza for later.
Crawling slowly out of the bed, Rowan stretched her lithe frame, her back cracking in several places as she did so. Covering her mouth as she yawned, Rowan went to her closet and changed into a pair of sweat pants and an old UW sweatshirt, smiling at the smell of laundry detergent that wafted from them. Grabbing a pair of socks, she made her way down the stairs.
The tv was on, quietly playing a children's show of some sort. Her first sight of her visitors was of OJ sneaking up behind Sunny, yanking her hair hard, and then running away.
"MOOOOMMM!" Sunny whined loudly. "He's doing it again!"
Now brother and sister were both standing, facing each other, looking for all the world as though they were getting ready to rumble.
"I want you both to sit down, OJ you take the chair, Sunny, you sit on the couch and I don't want either of you moving until I tell you to, do you understand me?" Danni stalked into the living room from the kitchen, her hair looking like it had gone to war with a wind tunnel and lost.
"Yes mama," the children said in well practiced unison, their attention immediately sucked back to the television.
Sighing, Danni started to turn back to the kitchen before she saw her sister standing on the steps. "Hey, I didn't know if I should wake you two or not," Danni said with a smile.
Something had changed in her sister, Rowan realized. Gone was the frazzled, at the end of her nerve Danni that she remembered last time she saw her. It seemed as though there were now some kind of peace within her, calming her usually raw character. She seemed...grown up, Rowan realized suddenly. While her sister was older than she was, Rowan had always felt older, more responsible than Danni, and neither of them had ever really questioned that assessment. But something had changed, and Rowan found herself actually liking the change. Maybe she could mend some fences with this new attitude of her sisters. Maybe they could develop a real relationship, rather just one based on the common bond of growing up in the same house.
"I smelled the food," Rowan said with a rueful smile. "I never could resist Rocky's pizza."
"I know," Danni wrinkled her nose, a trait that she shared with her sister despite the fact that biologically they weren't related in any way. "Come on in and have some. The children had too much to eat at the zoo and their not really hungry, but that doesn't mean that we can't eat."
Rowan followed her sister into the kitchen, shocked to see at least three pizzas and two big bags of breadsticks and sauce sitting on her counters. "Are you preparing to feed an army?" She asked as she peeked inside the first box.
"No, this is quiet normal for us. We all like different kinds, so I usually get three or four different pizzas just to make everyone happy." She shrugged. "It's not like it matters how much we spend on it," she acknowledge, self aware of her own financial status since being married to a millionaire.
"True," Rowan said easily, having no financial complaints of her own at the moment. Searching through all the boxes, she finally selected a square slice of sausage and pepperoni pizza. Taking a large bite, she hummed in delight as the familiar sauce came into contact with her taste buds. "Oh yum, I haven't had this in so long!" She moaned out loud.
"Well, I'm glad I picked well then," Danni said, smiling at her sister's pleasure, selecting a slice for herself.
They ate in silence, both of them lost in their own memories. After finishing her second slice and quiet a few breadsticks, Rowan wiped at her mouth and regarded her sister. "So, why are you in town?"
"No reason, really. Ollie's in Europe somewhere, and I didn't want to go with him this time, so I thought I'd bring the children here to show them where I grew up."
"Why now?" There was something going on, something that Rowan couldn't put her finger on.
"I could never hide anything from you, could I?" Danni smile at the woman who had always been a thorn to her, finally seeing with her own eyes the woman that her little sister had become, and smiling at her. "I'm sick." She put up her hand to stop the inevitable questions. "It's nothing too bad, but I want to be able to make sure that I've given the kids everything I can just in case something happens, and that includes giving them some of my history."
"What is it?" Rowan's stomach clenched as she suddenly thought about loosing her sister. A week ago she would have felt sorry for her sister, but she wouldn't feel this overwhelming sadness. Just in a day her attitude toward Danni had changed completely. She found herself wanting to connect with this woman, and now she was presented with the idea of loosing her. It was incomprehensible.
"Leukemia," she answered softly, a gentle smile on her face. "When we get back to Texas I have to go in for some more tests and then I'll start either chemo or radiation therapy. After that I'll have to have a bone marrow transplant."
It sounded frightening to Rowan, but Danni spoke very calmly, her peace with the situation obviously had already been made. "That's it? You make it all sound so simple."
"That's the gist of it all. The hardest part will be finding a donor. Since we don't know any of my biological relatives, it makes it harder to find a donor."
"I-" Rowan began, only to be stopped by Danni.
"I already checked. You're not the right blood type. But thank you," Danni patted her hand. She knew her sister would be willing to help, no matter the history between them. "You want to know something?"
"I know it sounds strange, but this is the best thing that's ever happened to me." Danni got up from her seat at the kitchen table, and went to look out the window over the sink. "When I found out, I really took a hard look at myself and my life. And I didn't like what I saw. I began to wonder why I was living at all, when I was only going through the motions, never really feeling anything deeper than the surface." She paused, her eyes focusing on something outside, her hand going to play with the necklace she wore around her throat. "I did some stupid things in my life, Ro. I played with fire more times than I can tell you." She stopped, her head dropping to her chest for a moment. "And, after all of that, I was still here, still breathing. And then, in the end, my own body betrayed me." She gave a humorless laugh. "Ironic how life plays its games. It was then that I realized that if I didn't do something to reclaim my life then I might as well let this cancer eat at me and destroy me because I wasn't doing anyone any good otherwise."
Rowan moved so that she was standing behind her sister. She looked at their reflection in the window as she took her sister's hand in her own. "I'm happy you found your way," she said softly, squeezing Danni's hand.
They stood there for several moments, looking out into Rowan's small back yard. Dusk had come and gone, leaving just a hazy light in the sky before darkness claimed the day completely. In the shadows of her yard, Rowan saw something that startled her.
"What the hell is that?" She said out loud, looking at a moving figure in the yard. The figure hadn't seen them, but it was obvious that who ever it was didn't want to be seen as the figure slunked from hiding spot to hiding spot.
Danni saw the moving shadow as well. "Do you think it's the neighbors?" She couldn't think of any reason why anyone would be hiding in her sister's back yard.
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out!" Rowan stalked into the living room, grabbing her coat off the coat rack, and throwing it on. Opening the closet, she groped along the shelf on top until she found the Mag-lite she kept there, turning it on to test the batteries. A feeble, but full beam met her approval. She turned the light off, and began unlocking the front door. "I'll be back in a minute. Stay inside." She told her sister as she pulled the door open, stepped outside, and pulled the door closed again. "I hope she listens to me," Rowan mumbled out loud, closing her coat against the cold winter air.
Her plan was to sneak up on whomever was sneaking around her back yard, proving herself the sneakiest of them all. She wasn't going to let someone just come into her yard and get away with it!
Moving around the side of the house, she stayed close to the house itself, watching the shadows around her as she went. Finally, she reached the back of the house, peaking around the corner into her backyard. The picnic table and benches she used in the summer were stacked along the back, along with a small pile of wood in case she wanted a fire. She finally taken her grill in a few months before, realizing that the snow would soon be upon them. Other than that, everything looked normal from what she could tell in the fast approaching darkness.
Scooping out every shadow and nuance of the yard, she was finally satisfied that who ever had been out there was gone. "Dammit, I wanted to catch someone!" She walked around the back of the house, stopping once she was in front of the kitchen window. Danni was still standing there, looking around nervously. Waving to her, Rowan indicated that she hadn't found anything and that she was going to go back around front. Danni nodded her head in understanding, and Rowan gave her a thumbs-up along with a reassuring grin.
As she turned the corner of the house, she found herself face to face with someone dressed head to toe in black, carrying something large in their hand. Found 'em was the last thought she had as something hard hit her in the head, knocking her completely unconscious.
Danni got nervous when her sister went out the door. Something didn't feel right about all of this. Despite everything, Danni had learned recently to trust her instincts. And her instincts were telling her that something was desperately wrong about this situation.
She checked in the living room and saw that OJ and Sunny were still watching television, neither one of them seeming to be aware of the ominous feeling that Danni could almost taste in the air. Maybe I'm just paranoid, she thought to herself, unable to move beyond her nervousness.
Going back to the kitchen, she continued to stare out the window, not seeing the moving shadows that had been there before. At last she saw Rowan through the window and a wave of relief flooded her, but still did not help her fear to dissipate. Indicating that she was going to come back in, Danni nodded to her sister, still watching as Rowan disappeared out of the view of the small window.
She continued to stand there, her mind waiting for the sound of Rowan coming through the front door. Minutes passed and she still didn't hear anything. The feeling of dread was heavy within her as she waited. Finally, she couldn't wait any longer.
Checking to see that the kids were still in the living room. Both OJ and Sunny were engrossed in whatever show was on the television, the ever present Nickelodeon symbol in the corner. Satisfied that she could go look for Rowan without the kids being disturbed, she slipped on her coat before opening the front door and going outside. She went along one side of the house, not seeing or hearing anything. Approaching the back yard, she kept her eyes on the shadows, looking for any sign of either the intruder or her sister. Nothing. Moving across the back yard, she felt a slight headache from her eyes straining so much in the dark and wished that she'd thought to look for another flashlight. Turning the corner of the house, she began to move up the last side of the house. Almost immediately her right foot caught on something on the ground, and she stumbled forward, landing on something soft and pliable.
Fumbling with her hands, she realized that she had fallen over a person. Searching for the person's face, she was shocked to see Rowan's sweet face, chalky in the moonlight.
A sudden thought hit her with the force of a thousand elephants. The kids! Her mind screamed as she berated herself for leaving the kids alone. Scrambling to get up, she began to run toward the house, only to run into an unmoving object. With horror she realized that she'd found whomever Rowan had seen in the back yard.
With a silent scream, Danni fell to the ground, her body instantly collapsing as she went unconscious from the blow to her scalp.
With an anticipating pull in her stomach, Jessie watched as Rowan crawled up the length of her body, both of them naked, a feral look of desire in Rowan's green eyes. Her body reacted without her giving it any thought, the flooding between her legs, the tightening of her nipples and the rapid beating of her heart all in synch with her constant tug in her lower abdomen.
Rowan finally was lying on top of her, but she continued to move forward so that her breasts were swaying over Jessie's face. There was no hesitation as she reached out and sucked one of Rowan's nipples into her mouth, moaning as she felt it harden as her tongue ran over it.
Pulling away with a teasing smile, Rowan move seductively over her lover, teasing her with her breasts and mouth, until she finally settling her lips over Jessie's mouth. Before her lips came down to meet Jessie's, Rowan flicked her tongue out, wetting her lips in a sensual dance.
As Jessie had hoped, Rowan slowly met her lips, her hot mouth enticing her own, her tongue causing havoc within her entire being. Responding immediately to Rowan's kisses, Jessie's body surged into Rowan's, electric heat building between them. Pulling away for a moment, Rowan gave Jessie a sexy smile as she allowed herself to rest fully on Jessie's body, one hand snaking down Jessie's firm abdomen, resting between her legs. She then returned her mouth to Jessie's, her cold, wet lips...
Jessie's mind, though filled with the erotic sensations coursing through her body, realized that somehow this wasn't right. Wet, definitely, but cold did not fit into the picture that her mind was seeing. Looking at Rowan, she examined her lover's face curiously, trying to figure out this conundrum. Opening her mouth, Rowan meowed frantically.
No, this definitely wasn't right.
Slowly she came to surface from her dream, not wanting to leave the molten heat of it behind, but unable to reconcile whatever was sniffing at her mouth with a cold nose with what she wanted to be feeling. Dragging her mental feet, Jessie slowly responded to the wake up call, her hand lazily reaching to brush whatever it was away. But, the cold nose persisted, this time accompanied by the occasional lick of a dry, rough tongue.
"Tigger," she managed to say, brushing the cat away again, only to have him return again. "Okay, okay, I'm up, I'm up." She finally managed to open her eyes, her hands coming up to rub away the blurriness left behind by sleep. Eventually she was able to focus, seeing the annoying face of Tigger right before her. The cat was standing on her chest, his front paws firmly planted, his nose nudging her even as she looked at him. "What is wrong?"
"Merrrow," Tigger answered, looking at her expectantly.
"Merrrooooow," he repeated, bumping his head against her even more firmly this time.
"Christ, if you woke me up cause you want food, you're in big trouble mister!" She sat up as she swung her legs over so that her feet were firmly on the floor. She vaguely remembered Rowan getting into bed at one time, but now the bed was disappointingly empty of blondes. "Water I might be able to forgive you for cause if my tongue was that dry I'd be pissed if there were no water too. But, If it's just food, then we're going to have words, you and I."
She stood up, taking a minute to get her legs steady under her. Trudging to the bathroom, she was intercepted by Tigger. The cat raced over, placing his body almost directly under her foot, causing her to have to stumble to the side to avoid stepping on the cat. She glared at him, and then stopped in her tracks.
"Come here Tigg," she said gently, crouching down and offering her hand, the cat immediately responding. She reached out and touched an odd looking spot on his fur. It was wet. Pulling her hand away, she looked down and found what she was afraid she'd find. Blood.
Her eyes moved to the doorway that opened out into the hallway and the sense of foreboding that was heavy in her chest increased. There were bloody cat prints coming into the room from the hallway, indicating that wherever the blood came from it wasn't just a little bit. It had to have been a lot if Tigger was able to track it all the way up the stairs and into the hallway.
She checked Tigger to see if the blood was coming from him. She doubted that he'd be in such a amiable mood if he were cut, considering that he was a first rate drama king. As she let the cat go, she noticed that he limped a little, as though his left front paw hurt. He looked at her, his worry evident in his eyes. Something had happened, and something had scared him, his tale enlarged even still.
"Shit," she cursed softly, immediately getting to her feet. Going to the closet, she pulled out a bag she'd stuffed in there after the roses had been delivered to the house. Pulling out yet another bag from that one, she unzipped it. From there she pulled out a French-fitted case, crafted of hand-tooled, black leather. She stared at the combination lock on the case for a long moment before she put the numbers in the right positions. Sighing deeply, she opened the case, revealing a part of her past that she never wanted to have to face again.
She'd first seen the Desert Eagle in an old movie with Mickey Rourke and had fallen in love with the gun. Since then she'd owned several different models, but the one she had now was her favorite. It was a big and heavy gun, heavier than most handguns, weighing almost 5 pounds when loaded. She'd gotten the .41 magnum model with the gold barrel and trigger, and smooth black grip. It was beautiful. Anywhere that she went the gun went with her, striking fear into her enemy's eyes more than once with its recognizable, triangular barrel. The recoil from the gun would knock most back, but Jessie had gone to a range and practiced reacting to the gun's shot, learning how to move with the gun rather than against it. In the end, she and the gun worked as one.
Laughing humorlessly as she checked the magazine, she realized that the gun had lasted longer than anyone else in her life had. The hardest part about leaving Chicago and her past behind had been getting used to every day life without the feeling of her gun at her side. She had lovingly put it away, polished and cleaned, vowing to never take it out unless absolutely necessary. That time was now, she realized.
With slow but deliberate steps, she made her way down the hallway, noticing that Tigger stayed with her, watching her to see where she went. She wondered if maybe the cat was more intelligent than she'd ever given him credit for.
Pausing at the top of the stairs, she closed her eyes for a moment, focusing only on what her ears were picking up. The only sound she heard was the annoying background rumble of the television. Using all her senses she tried to see if she could feel anyone downstairs, but she couldn't. The house felt very empty.
With her back against the wall of the stairs, she slowly made her way down, pausing on every stair and listening to see if the sounds changed, but they didn't. When she reached the bottom of the stairs she felt the same sense of emptiness coming from the house. There was no one in the house, she was sure of it. Walking carefully into the living room, she only confirmed her instinct. The living room was empty, but the front door was wide open, grabbing her attention right away.
A plaintive meow from Tigger reminded her of the blood that had first alerted her. Looking for that cat, she found him huddled in the corner over something on the floor. A puddle of blood surrounded the area. Rushing over, Jessie realized that Tigger had been standing over the prone form of Sylvester, the dog. He wasn't moving and his eyes were closed, but Jessie picked up the slight rise and fall of his chest as his lungs continued to work. Kneeling down, she briefly felt ridiculous as she prepared to find the dog's pulse. She finally found the slight flutter of his heart in his neck, thankful that the dog was still alive. They'd have to get him to the vet right away. Examining the dog quickly she realized that he had a knife wound on his hindquarter, producing the copious amount of blood that was now tracked up the stairs.
Ripping the bottom of her shirt, she wound it around the dog tightly, trying to stop the blood from continuing to flood out of the wound. A soft, gentle tongue reached out and licked her hand for a moment as the dog regained consciousness just long enough to thank his rescuer.
Tigger moved closer, taking a protective stance over the dog, reaching out and licking the dog's head every now and again in reassurance.
"Stay with him," Jessie said in a low voice that wouldn't carry. Tigger looked at her then blinked slowly, settling down next to the dog, a paw resting against the dog's front leg.
She covered the distance between her and the front door quickly, waiting at the door for a brief moment before moving through the door frame. She crouched down in the doorway, allowing her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness outside. Her ears picked up movement to her left, the sounds of someone walking around the house, an occasional grunt filling the air.
Hefting the large gun her hand, she gripped it lightly, keeping her arm tense as she prepared to raise it at whoever was coming around the corner. Finally, a dark figured came slowly around the corner. Raising her gun, Jessie's finger rested over the trigger. "Who are you?" Her voice was all steel, her anger evident in even the way she was standing.
The voice that was closest to her heart reached her ears and she shakily lowered the gun in shock. "Rowan?" She said softly, rushing forward as she saw the figure of her lover being to waiver. She reached Rowan just in time to catch her as she fell forward.
Gently lowering Rowan to the ground, she quickly checked over the woman's body. The only injury that she could find was a large gash on her forehead. Blood was only trickling out at this point, although it was evident that it had been bleeding more profusely at some point. The wound was swelling as the area around it darkened with bruising. "What the hell happened?" Jessie whispered as she brushed her fingers over her lover's cheek.
Lifting Rowan carefully, she grunted slightly at the weight. Her body still hadn't recovered from the flu, but she forced her muscles to respond. Carefully she took Rowan into the house, lowering her onto the couch. Picking up the phone, she called 911 requesting an ambulance and the police, giving them Rowan's address before hanging up.
Leaving Rowan on the couch, she grabbed her keys from the table in the living room, she went back out the front door, locking the door behind her. Keeping her senses completely alert, she walked the perimeter of the house, not finding anyone else, including the cop that was supposed to be watching the house.
What HAD happened? There was supposed to be an officer watching the house at all times. How many times had she and Rowan passed by the officer on duty? There had never been a lapse before. What had happened that would cause it to happen tonight? It all made her very suspicious. Had she misjudged Mike? Was he involved in this somehow?
Satisfied that there was nothing else for her to do outside, she went back around front as she heard the sirens coming closer. Remembering Sylvester, she went inside and called the Animal Hospital, arranging for someone to come and pick up the dog at the house right away and take him to the hospital.
Letting the EMS into the house, she waited at the door for the familiar figure walking quickly up from his unmarked sedan. Her eyes looked at him with distrust and undisguised anger as he approached the door. He slowed down, seeing everything she was portraying and, warily holding his hands up, he tried to explain.
"Jessie, I am not sure yet what happened. Your mother called the station and told me that the car outside her house was gone. Then I heard the call for this address and came right over. I promise we'll get this figured out." His faded blue eyes were filled with sincerity, but she wasn't going to blindly trust this man anymore. Looking through the doorway behind her, she saw the EMS workers concentrating on Rowan and she struck with the pain that she had no choice but to trust this man. If she didn't, she was putting both their lives on the line and she wasn't willing to sacrifice the one person who had brought her light.
Sighing inwardly, Jessie moved back to let Mike through the door. She was going to let him help, but she was also going to keep her eyes and her ears open. First sign of being double-crossed and she would make sure that Mike Moore was never given the opportunity to hurt Rowan again.
Faces faded in and out of her vision as her mind struggled to wake her, while her body desperately wanted to stay immobile. "Jessie," she whispered over and over again, but no one around her seemed to respond to her request. Didn't they hear her?
"We need to take her to the hospital for a CAT scan," a male voice said.
"I don't want to go to the hospital," she replied, but again no one seemed to hear her. It was beginning to frustrate her that so many people were just ignoring her, like she wasn't even there.
"I'm going in the ambulance with you," the familiar voice caused warmth and affection to rise in her. Jessie was there! Jessie would listen!
"Ma'am, are you family?" The first voice asked this hesitantly, his voice sounding nervous.
"I am going with her," Jessie said again, her voice strong, telling not asking.
"I'll follow in my car," another voice came through, familiar, but not enough for Rowan to recognize it. "Pat, it's Mike, tell Dan to send a squad car to," the voice paused as he talked, his tone changing direction. "Which hospital?"
"Meriter," Jessie answered.
"Pat, tell him Meriter hospital."
"I'm not going to the hospital," Rowan tried to insist. This time, Jessie heard her.
"She's trying to say something," Jessie said, her voice coming closer.
Then she was there, kneeling next to Rowan, her warm hand brushing gently through Rowan's hair. "What did you say baby?"
"No...hospital." This time Rowan heard her own voice break through the air, sounding horrible and harsh. Why hadn't her words come through before.
"Honey, you need to go to the hospital. You have a head injury and we have to make sure that your brain's going to be okay."
"No." Rowan inwardly winced as she heard her own voice sounding so childish and unreasonable.
"I'm coming with you, you won't be alone for a second."
A thought suddenly occurred to Rowan and she tried desperately to sit up. "Danni???" Her eyes, filled with unfocused confusion, looked at Jessie in terror. "Sunny? OJ?"
"They're gone baby, they're gone. Don't worry we're going to find them. We'll find whomever took them and we'll get them back."
The ride to the hospital was very short. When they got there the police escort allowed them to get right into the emergency room and they were able to get a doctor to look at Rowan soon after. After checking the bleeding on her head, the ensuing swelling and then shinning a light into her eyes, the doctor announced that he wanted her to have a CAT scan. She would also have to stay over night to make sure that there was no swelling or bleeding in her brain.
Michael stayed with them as they got Rowan into a room and settled her into the hospital bed. He silently waited as Jessie talked quietly to Rowan, reassuring her that they would find Danni as soon as possible. Two uniformed officers came to the door, looking to Michael for their assignment.
"You're going to sit outside this room at all times. I don't care what you're told, unless the order comes out of my mouth, you don't move, understand?" Michael's voice was filled with a new harshness that neither officer had any desire to go against. "Can I speak to you outside Jessie?"
Turning to look at her lover, Rowan nodded her head for Jessie to go on out. The sooner they figured this out the sooner they could find her sister. She just prayed that she and the kids were okay.
Resting against one of the smooth walls in the hallway, Jessie waited for Michael to speak. He didn't keep her waiting for long.
"I called the station on my way here and found out a bit of what happened. Someone put a general order over the radio for all the officers on this assignment to come into the station for an immediate briefing. The officers who were on duty didn't question the order and headed straight for the station."
"Leaving the house unguarded." Jessie finished for him, her hand going up to rub at her tired eyes. "Can you track where the radio call came from?"
"Not really, everyone is just on the same frequency. Anyone could get a hold of one of the radios we use and make the call in." Michael looked frustrated and angry at this violation.
"So, what do we do next?"
"I want to talk to Rowan so that she can tell me what happened to her and then we try to find any clues left at the house. Now, there are two scenarios. If whoever orchestrated this is after you, then there' s a chance they'll want to make some kind of exchanged. Or, this could be some sadistic SOB who will just want to kill everyone." He ran his fingers through his short hair. "I don't think it's the former, but I want to be prepared for any possibility."
Jessie nodded, understanding, in theory, what he was saying but having a hard time getting past the idea of people dying in this situation. "Do what you have to and I'll do the same."
He stared at her for a moment before nodding. He wasn't sure what she had planned, but he had seen the bulge of the gun she was carrying and knew that he would have to trust her, just the same as she would have to trust him.
Jessie left the hospital briefly after Michael talked to Rowan. What Rowan had said disturbed her. This was all too professional to just be a casual nabbing. Someone had planned this out and had taken the time to create a quick and efficient crime.
Finding a wall of pay phones, Jessie got her calling card out of her wallet. Picking up the receiver, she punched in her calling card code and got ready to enter the phone number she wanted to call. She hesitated. Did she really want to call the number? Couldn't she do this on her own?
She sighed as she realized that she needed help. She couldn't find Danni and the children on her own. With resolute movements she dialed a long ago memorized number. "Dante? Yeah, it's me."
Her head was pounding. She couldn't move her hands. When she opened her eyes she realized that there was a rough cloth wound around her head which prevented her from seeing. She tried to pull herself together long enough to figure out where she was, but that was much more difficult than she thought it would be.
"You stupid fuck!" A loud voice yelled harshly, startling Danni out of her own thoughts.
"You said you wanted the woman. I brought you the woman." A soft voice spoke calmly and rationally.
"I didn't say the redhead! She's blonde, you idiot, the woman I wanted is blonde!"
"You didn't say anything about hair color. If you wanted a blonde you should have said so." The soft voice sounded slightly amused, not at all afraid of the man who was yelling.
"Dammit, there was no redhead, there was only the blonde and her."
"That's not my problem. My men and I went and brought you the woman. That's what you're going to pay us for." The man with the soft voice suddenly sounded very menacing, a quiet threat hanging in the air that Danni didn't understand but she felt very clearly. "We brought you the children so that you would have even more to bargain with. You will pay us more for them."
The children?? Danni felt her stomach turn immediately as she realized that he could only be talking about Sunny and OJ. Her anger cleared her once clouded mind, giving her a sharp focus on the fact that she needed to get herself and her children out of this place.
Don Colston was not as innocent as she had thought. Jessie slammed the phone back down, startling a nurse who had been walking by. Don Colston had worked for many years for Manny Rivera, a long time rival of Jessie's. She'd never met Colston before, but apparently he had been quickly moved through the ranks of Rivera's operation.
This changed everything. The call to the women's shelter hadn't been a coincidence. Neither had the shooting of Colston's "wife" who had probably been an innocent woman that Colston had picked as a victim. It had all been a very elaborate trap that Jessie hadn't even realized had been set.
Jessie gave a feral grin to herself as she walked down the hallway toward Rowan's room. This also meant that the game had instantly become one that she could play because it was one that she was well familiar with. The dynamics had changed and she suddenly felt in control once more.
Before she'd hung up the phone with Dante, she told him that she needed backup. Three of her former bests were going to come out of retirement to help her one last time. Between the four of them they would find Colston and end this game.
She checked her watch. She had four hours to prepare Michael and the rest of Madison for the invasion that was coming their way.
"No!" Michael shouted, earning him dirty looks from the nurse sitting at the nurses' station. "No," he said more quietly this time, "we cannot allow those people to come here!"
"They're going to come and help with this and then they're going to leave." Jessie was tired of getting no where with this man. He was so frustrating! Didn't he understand that people's lives were at stake here?
"Jessie, if these supposed former hit men come here and tear apart this city, how can I have any reassurances that they won't cause trouble?"
"I am giving you my word, Michael. In my life that's all that I have that has any weight to it. I never violate my word."
Michael, hands on his hips, looked down at his feet for a moment as he thought. This seemed so ridiculous, so out of control. And yet, when he looked up into the icy blue eyes, he realized that he trusted her. "One misstep and I will not hesitate to find and apprehend every single one of you."
Jessie laughed harshly. "I promise, that if one person messes up I will personally bring them to you."
"Okay," he nodded his head. "What am I supposed to do with the police investigation?"
"Keep going. You might find out where he is before we do. I want both avenues open. I'll agree to keep you informed if you give me the same courtesy."
"I'll do what I can." Michael sighed. "This is unbelievable, you know?" He awkwardly patted Jessie's shoulder as he began to walk toward the elevator. "Unbelievable," he muttered again.
After calling the animal hospital to check on Sylvester, Jessie went back to Rowan's room. She was a little nervous about how to approach her lover. She knew that she had to tell Rowan what was going on, but she was worried about how she would react. There was really nothing to do but tell Rowan the truth about everything, including what was in her heart and then just wait for her decision.
Taking a deep breath, she entered the hospital room, her face relaxing somewhat as she took in the sight of Rowan's body tucked into the hospital bed. She looked small, almost childlike, lying there. Her head was resting on a pillow, her blonde hair fanned out over the starch white surface. I love her so much my heart hurts, Jessie sniffed back the tears that formed in her eyes before approaching the bed.
"Hey," she said softly, not surprised when alert green eyes looked right at her.
"I was thinking. Can you call Chicago? Get some of the people you used to work with to come and help with the search? They might be able to find Danni faster, they're used to playing without rules, right?" Rowan searched Jessie face as it broke into a huge smile. "What?"
"I love you, you're brilliant."
Puzzled, Rowan shrugged. "If you say so."
Picking up the chair next to the bed, Jessie went to move it so that she could face Rowan and touch her while she spoke.
"Don't sit there," Rowan stopped her. "Sit here," she patted the bed, moving over so that she'd have plenty of room to sit.
Not arguing, Jessie sat down, careful not to crowd her lover too much. "Listen, we need to talk."
"Uh oh, that's never good."
"No, it's not," Jessie agreed. "There's much more going on here then we ever realized." She proceeded to tell Rowan everything she had learned about Colston and what had happened so far. She finished with the phone call she'd made earlier, seeing the dawn of light in Rowan's eyes as she put the pieces together.
"It's 8:30 now, so they'll be here by midnight?" Rowan felt better about the situation they were in now that they had a plan.
"Around then, yes."
"Where are you meeting them?"
"An old building on the north side."
"Dammit, I'll still be here," Rowan said in frustration. She didn't want to be separated from Jessie even for a minute.
"I don't want you there," Jessie's voice took on a firmer tone. Rowan couldn't not get involved in this. No way, no how.
"And I don't want you alone!" Rowan challenged. "I finally found you, I'm not going to let you go so easily!" Tears filled her eyes as she realized what they were getting themselves involved with.
"Shhhh...I'm not going anywhere. I promise, but this time tomorrow this will all be over with and you and I will be sleeping in OUR bed, snug and sound." Blue eyes met green for a long moment as they both realized that they needed to believe. "I promise I will come back to you. You are my heart. Without you I am lost. I will find my way back to you, I promise you that."
The events of the day and the pain in her head were catching up with her. Rowan nodded, placing a gentle kiss on Jessie's hand as her eyes slowly closed. Leaning down, Jessie placed a soft kiss on Rowan's forehead. "I love you," she whispered before she straightened up and left the room.
Anne stood in the hallway, waiting for her daughter to finish. Jessie had called her before talking to Rowan, explaining that Rowan had been hurt and that she needed Anne to stay with her. Not questioning what her daughter was asking, Anne agreed to come right over.
"How is she?" Anne asked, concern lacing her voice.
"She's asleep. I think the doctor gave her something for the pain that made her sleepy. Hopefully they'll be letting her out tomorrow. Can you make sure that she gets home okay?"
"Of course. Where are you going to be?"
"Fighting evil, mom." Jessie's voice was sarcastic, belaying the truth that was in her statement.
"Okay honey, have fun."
The hospital was quiet when Rowan finally woke up. The soft sounds coming from the other rooms on the floor were only a buzz in her ear, nothing more. She took a moment to stretch lightly, realizing that moving too much made her head hurt more.
"I was hoping you'd sleep at least till morning," a soft voice came out the darkness, startling her slightly.
"Anne?" She asked, confused. What was Anne doing here?
"Last I checked." The older woman finally came into focus, a gentle smile warming her face. "Between you and that daughter of mine I seem to be getting to know the local hospitals pretty well." She brushed back the hair that had fallen over Rowan's forehead, the bandage there very stark and white. The gesture was so like something Jessie would do that Rowan felt tears prick her eyes. "Don't cry honey, she'll be all right. That girl has more lives than a cat, and I dare say that now that she has something to live for she'll fight even harder to come back."
"How'd you know I was thinking about her?"
"The same way I knew you two loved each other before either of you did! You both get this misty look in your eyes when you think about one another, and sometimes you even get this goofy smile on your faces. I used to know that face pretty well myself..." Anne drifted off, her mind and memories focused on something long gone. Shaking herself out of the pain she felt at loosing her own love, she took Rowan's hand. "Love is a gift, Rowan. Grab on and never let go."
Rowan allowed herself to be pulled into her own thoughts of love. She had always known that love must be great; powerful and ultimate, it was both volatile and gentle at the same time. All consuming, love dragged you in and then took everything from you, leaving you filled with its impressions. It was a tempest storm and every other calamity that humanity faced, filled with dramatic pain and travesty, but it was also the very joy of existence. It was a rush greater than any drug could give you, lifting you higher and higher every second. In essence, it was the greatest roller coaster ride ever.
Was it worth it? Rowan asked herself. Her answer was a decided yes. What she felt for Jessie was greater than anything she'd experienced in this life and she doubted she'd ever experience anything greater. The highs and the lows of loving someone so much were devastatingly extreme, but she would never give them up.
"Go back to sleep, dear. I'll be here when you wake up." Anne's hand gently stroked Rowan's cheek until she felt her eyes close sleepily and her breathing begin to deepen. She fell asleep and dreamed of her lover.
The three men in front of her were as different from each other as anyone could be. Jamie was a large, black man who's skin was so dark he almost appeared a violent purple at times. His large brown eyes never missed anything, allowing him to carefully calculating things around him. In addition to be an asset because of his size, he was also brilliant at deductive reasoning and finding what most people missed in the smallest of detail.
Peter was a short, skinny man who's skin was so white that he almost glowed in the dark. He had shaggy black hair that hung over his face, obscuring people from seeing his green eyes that were able to see better than most in the dark. He never smiled, never grinned, his mouth was set into a permanent straight line. On rare occasions he would actually frown when really perplexed, but other than that his mouth didn't deviate.
Wu was the last of the men there. He had been a part of the Chinese Mafia in Chicago, but Jessie had recruited him almost 5 years before, finding his abilities in both marksmanship and man-hunting very appealing for her former business.
There was many times where she needed to find someone very quickly, and these three men always came through for her. She had kept them on permanent retainer, leaving them at her beck and call through out the years. When she left the business she'd made it clear to her successor that he needed to keep these three on his good side, otherwise he'd find himself dead.
"So, you finally decided to give us a call," Wu said, his narrow eyes getting even more narrow as he gave her a cold look. "What made you think that we'd help you?" The three men seamlessly created a visually intimidating picture, but Jessie stood her ground, her arms at her side, her feet shoulder width apart.
"Because," she drawled slowly, "I was the one person who got away from you and lived to tell about it."
Everyone smiled jovially with the exception of Peter who merely grunted. "We let you get away, JB. If we wanted to we could have found you," Jamie approached her, hugging her tightly before letting her go. "It hasn't been the same since you left. Does this mean..." He let his question hang as all three men waited for her answer in anticipation.
"No, I'm not coming back." She sobered quickly, the reunion over it was time for business. "You three know that I wouldn't have made contact if it hadn't been an emergency."
"Dante just told us that you needed us. He didn't give us any details." Peter finally spoke, his voice gravely from too many years of smoking.
"This isn't like what you're used to. I do need your help, but this time it's a personal problem."
"Someone messing with you?" Jamie asked softly, the menace in his voice unmistakable.
Wu whistled softly. "He disappeared about a year ago. We wondered where he went, but since we didn't hear anything and no one reported having any problems with him, we just let him go. There was no reason for us to go after him." Wu shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, I figure that he must have come here and started a plan that would cripple me." It was very hard for Jessie to admit that she'd been trapped. She'd obviously had gotten soft, thinking that she was safe in her new life and that no one would bother to track her.
"Is he working for Manny?" Wu asked carefully.
"I can't see why he'd be working alone, can you?"
"No, I can't." Wu gave a heavy sigh. "Shit. Okay, what's the deal?"
"Last night he was at my house." Inwardly she smiled at the mention of her house. Maybe not in ownership, but she was in fact sharing the house with Rowan, creating a home with her. It felt very good to say that. "He took a woman and two children who were there and who are very important to someone I love."
Jessie watched the three men carefully as they thought about what she had said. While she had a very close working relationship with these men and while they all had a mutual respect for one another, Jessie was a little apprehensive about bringing them into her personal life. These men were cold killers who could take a life without remorse or regret. She'd seen them do it many times, usually on an assignment she'd given them. She had no way of knowing if their loyalties were to her or just to the money that she paid them.
"I'll pay the three of you to-"
Jamie's hand immediately went up and he took a step forward, away from the other two, stopping her in mid-sentence. "No. No money from you. We'll take care of this asshole for you because we want to help."
"No buts," Peter broke in this time, his mouth in a hard line as he moved forward to concur with what Jamie had said. "You needed us and you trusted us enough to call for help. We don't want your money."
"Besides," Wu moved to stand with them, a grin cracking his face. "We never liked the guy."
Jessie gave them a genuine smile as her faith in people got a surge of reassurance. How she had ever earned such loyalty from men like this, she'd never know, but at this moment she was very glad for it. She wanted to thank them, to show them her appreciation, but she knew it would only make them feel uncomfortable. "Okay, then let's get started."
"I'm glad that they didn't make you stay the full 24 hours," Anne said as she helped Rowan up the walkway to her house.
"Me too. I think I would have gone crazy. I hate being forced to stay in bed." She fished around in the pockets of her jeans, hoping that someone had had the forethought to put her keys there. Sure enough, they were there. Rowan said a silent thanks to Jessie for thinking of her. She unlocked the door, immediately feeling someone else's presence in the front room.
The police officers from the hospital had followed them to the house and were now sitting outside in their car. She'd asked them if they wanted to come in, but the politely declined, saying that they needed to stay where they could see anyone coming and going. That was all fine and good, but apparently there hadn't been anyone at the house to watch whether or not anyone went in before they got there.
"Hospitals are nicer these days, but the care lacks something personal. When you give birth these days they let you out almost the same..." Anne stopped talking as she realized that they weren't alone.
"Hello," Kelly's voice purred at them, her sly smile reaching them at the same time.
Shaking her head, Rowan gestured for Anne to go into the house and she closed the door behind them. "Why are you here, Kelly?" She finally asked warily. Why couldn't this woman just stay out of her life?
"Well, I happened to find out that you were missing something very valuable to you and I thought that I would come to see if we could arrange some kind of trade." A mysterious smile formed on her lips, but was not reflected in her eyes.
Anne watched the exchange between the two women. She remembered the tall woman from the bookstore. She still wasn't sure of the dynamics between this woman and Rowan, but obviously they knew each other very well.
"You know where my sister is?" Rowan asked carefully, wanting to make sure that she was going to get exactly what she wanted.
"Yes, and her two brats too," Kelly said, giving an evil laugh reminiscent of the Wicked Witch of the West. "Do you want to trade, or should I take my leave?"
"What do you want?"
"Your little wife."
"What do you mean?" Rowan narrowed her eyes at the other woman.
"I want you to break up with her."
"What makes you think that even if I broke up with her that she'd want to be with you?"
Kelly gave a little laugh. "Oh, I'd make sure that I was there to pick up all the little pieces."
Rowan sighed. Her sister's life over a relationship; but it wasn't just any relationship. It was the one person who had known her from the beginning, the one person who'd fit her own personality and quirks. She couldn't give that up. But, she couldn't let her sister die either. She would have to agree for now and then think of some way to fix things afterward. I'm sorry Jessie, Rowan thought before she said the hardest word in her life. "Okay."
Kelly had watched the conflicting emotions as they flashed across Rowan's face. She'd always been so easy to read. The remaining emotion was one of convicted defeat. Smiling inwardly, Kelly tried not to crow at her victory. "Tonight I'll be by to pick you up at 9." She got up to leave but was stopped by Rowan's next question.
"Why should I trust you this time Kelly?"
"From where I'm at, I don't see that you have much of a choice."
She was right. What if Jessie couldn't find them in time? What if tonight was their only chance? She would have to trust Kelly and hope that she wouldn't not be played again. "Tonight. 9pm. I'll be ready."
"We'll be ready." Anne stepped forward and put her hand on Rowan's shoulder. There was no way that she was going to let Rowan go alone. She'd come to think of Rowan as another daughter and she'd be damned if she were going to lose her now.
Kelly eyed both of them carefully. "Fine, till tonight then." She walked to the front door, opened it, and walked out, closing the door with a quiet thud.
Rowan and Anne stood deep in thought for a moment, each of them thinking about what they were getting into and knowing that it was probably going to be the most dangerous moment of their life.
A loud knock at the door brought them both out of their thoughts. "POLICE! Open the door!"
Rowan immediately went and opened it, surprised to see the face of one of the officers that had been with her at the hospital standing at her door with a gun in his hand.
"Everything okay?" The officer asked, putting his gun away but not snapping the holster.
"Yeah, we're fine. Are you okay?" The man was flushed with exertion.
"We saw a woman come out of the house and we hadn't seen in go in, so we wanted to make sure you were okay." The man explained, slightly embarrassed by his unnecessary bravado.
"She was here when we got here," Rowan explained.
"Are you both okay?" The officer looked past Rowan to check on Anne who was standing further back.
"Yes, we're fine. No danger here."
"Okay, I guess I'll just go back to the car." The officer turned and left, leaving behind a very amused Rowan.
Chuckling, she closed the door and secured the lock. Turning around her eyes went to a dark spot in the corner of the room. It was then that she realized that she hadn't seen Tigger around since she got back. That was very strange. Tigger usually was there anytime the door opened. Maybe he was upstairs hiding.
Jessie had told Rowan what had happened to Sylvester, as well as telling her which animal hospital he'd been taken to. Going to the bloodstain, she knew that she'd have to replace the carpet. Even if she got the stain out, she'd always known where that little dog had almost been killed.
Anne followed Rowan and saw the blood for the first time. "What happened?" She asked, concern lacing her voice.
"Sylvester got knifed. He must have been trying to stop the attackers."
"Sylvester? Who's he? Was he at the hospital? Was he killed?" She whispered the last part, horrified at the thought.
"No, no, calm down Anne. Sylvester is my sister's dog. He was taken to the animal hospital." She looked at her watch. "I think I'm going to call to see how he is before I go up and take a shower."
Walking into the kitchen, she got the yellow pages out and found the number for the hospital. Dialing the number, she explained who she was when the line was picked up.
"Oh yes, the Jack Russell Terrier, right? Yes, he's doing very well. Luckily nothing was damaged internally. He received 30 stitches to the wound, and since he lost a lot of blood we gave him a transfusion. He's been a great patient." The man on the other end of the phone paused. "The cat on the other hand has been a bit of a terror."
"The cat? I didn't think that the cat was hurt?" Rowan was definitely confused at this point. Jessie would have told her if Tigger got hurt, right?
"No ma'am, he wasn't hurt. When we went to pick up the dog, the cat refused to let us get to him until we promised to take him with us."
"Oh Lord," Rowan put her hand to her forehead. "To think, just yesterday they were fighting like...well, like cats and dogs!"
"Excuse me, ma'am?"
"Nothing, nothing. When can they come home?"
"Anytime. When they're picked up we'll show you how to care for the dog and his stitches. He's going to need to take it easy for a while, no excitement, that kind of thing."
"All right, I'll be there in about an hour." Rowan figured that would give her enough time to shower and change.
"They'll be ready."
"Thank you." She hung up the phone still in wonder about her cat. "What a little nut!" She mumbled.
"Everything okay?" Anne walked into the kitchen, concerned when she heard Rowan talking to herself.
"Everything's just fine. Do you mind going with me to pick them up in about an hour?"
"Them? I thought it was just a dog?" Anne was as confused as Rowan had been.
"Yeah, well you don't know Tigger."
By mid afternoon Jamie, Peter, and Wu had found where Colston was located. It had been a bit tricky, but they were all pros at finding people who didn't want to be found. They'd called various contacts and asked about the area, trying to determined where was the most likely place for someone to try to hide without being conspicuous.
Whereas Chicago always had plenty of abandoned buildings that could be used, Madison didn't. So, that made the search a little harder. They'd finally found out about an abandoned barn located on the outskirts of the West Side of Madison that had recently seen more activity than it had in the last five years.
Carefully and covertly they watched the barn all day, deciding that they would wait until dark to go in. From what they could see there was little security, which surprised them. Colston must think that he's invincible to try to pull this off without any security or anyone on watch.
Jessie was relieved to at least have the hideout in sight, but she felt a little apprehensive about the lack of security. They hadn't seen anyone go in or out of the barn all day which only served to increase her anxiety. "What if he's not in there?" She finally asked.
"He's been in there for a few months now, there's no reason why he would change locations now if he hasn't been caught." Wu reasoned as he put a pair of binoculars to his eyes.
"I guess. It just doesn't make sense that he'd keep three hostages without any kind of security." She looked at her watch. It was almost 6 pm. The sun would be setting within the next hour, but something inside of her told her that she shouldn't wait till sun down. "I think we should move in."
The three men with her looked at her in surprise.
"Are you sure, JB? I mean, we wouldn't have the cover that darkness would give us." Jamie didn't want to question his former leader's plan, but he was skeptical.
"I don't feel right about this. I want to find out why I am having this feeling before it's too late. The sooner the better."
"Okay," Jamie said. The three men stood up in the back of the van they'd brought from Chicago and put on their coats. Each one checked their weapon to see that it was ready and when they were done, Jessie led them out of the back doors.
They'd parked down a little dirty road, far from the main road, but still close enough to the barn to get there by foot. Ambling over the abandoned farmland, they crept slowly and surely toward the barn. Using hand signals they moved forward one by one until they were all against the back wall of the barn. So far nothing had so much as moved around them.
Carefully, Peter moved around the side of the barn, stopping every few feet to listen for any new noises coming from within the barn. The only way in or out of this barn was the wide front doors. There was no way to get those doors open without attracting the attention of whomever was inside. So, they wouldn't.
With one man on each door, Jessie and Jamie pulled their guns into their hands and stood ready. On the count of three, Peter and Wu pulled the doors open and Jessie and Jamie rushed inside, with the other two men coming in immediately behind them.
They all stood there, taking in the sight before them. Finally, Jessie moved, kicking the ground viciously. "I knew it! Dammit!." She turned around and left the barn, too frustrated to stay and look around.
The barn was completely empty, except for a few piles of ancient hay and a lawn chair, which stood in the direct center of the large area. Walking to the chair, Wu picked up the white envelope that sat on the lawn chair, Jessie's name scrawled in dark, bold letters on the outside.
The three men walked out the barn and followed the distant form of Jessie to the van. Once inside, Wu handed the envelope to Jessie.
"What did it say?" She asked without looking at it.
Wu shrugged. "I don't open other people's mail."
Smiling at the small joke, she took the envelope and opened it carefully. Aloud she read:
Wu snickered in response, pounding the large black man on the back. Sobering, his face turned to one of contemplation. "There must be something there that tells us where's he's at. He wants you, JB, he's leading you to him."
Fly home...the phrase struck Jessie more than any of the others. Unclipping her cell phone from her belt, she dialed Rowan's number.
"Hello?" Her mother's voice came through the phone.
"Hey mom," Jessie murmured in a low voice. The three men looked at her in surprise. JB had a mother? Who knew!
"Hi Jess, how is everything going? Are you okay?" Despite the years they'd spent apart, Anne's maternal instinct was still well in place.
"I'm fine mom. Are you and Rowan okay?"
"We're just find. Rowan's up in the shower getting cleaned up. We're going to go pick up the animals from the hospital when she's done."
"Animals? As in plural?"
"Yes. I'm not quiet sure what happened. All Rowan said was that I didn't know Tigger. I assume that's the cat?"
"Yeah, that would be him." Jessie shook her head, a little smile playing on her face. "Pain in the ass that he is."
"We also had a visitor," Anne confessed, unsure if Rowan had wanted Jessie to know.
"Who?" Jessie's voice demanded, her senses immediately alerted to danger.
"That Kelly woman, you know the one I mean?" Anne's obvious disgust for the woman was very clear in her tone.
"Yes, I know her. What did she want?" Jessie's voice became cold as she thought about Kelly being in their home. The bitch had better not touch Rowan, she thought.
"Excuse me?" Jessie was sure she'd heard wrong.
"She wants you. She told Rowan that she'd take her to where her sister is at in return for Rowan breaking up with you."
Jessie gave a harsh bark of laughter. "Rowan couldn't shake me even if she tried. Did Kelly honestly think I'd give her up just like that?"
"I don't think that Kelly has any comprehension of love or what it entails. How can she understand what you feel for Rowan if she hasn't got an inkling herself?" Anne's sage words struck the bell of truth. How could Kelly have any clue when her life was about sex and gratification, not love?
"Is she going to back to take Rowan to her sister?"
"Yes, she said she'd be back at 9 tonight."
"Okay, I'll be there. We'll follow them. Don't tell Rowan, I don't want her to give anything away." Jessie was worried about letting Rowan get involved in this, but she didn't see any other way to find Danni and the kids without putting their lives in further danger.
"I won't. Be careful honey." Anne felt much better now that she knew Jessie would be there. She may not like to think about it, but she knew that her daughter could take care of herself and them if need be.
"You too." As she pressed the end button on her cell phone, the phone beeped at her, indicating that her battery was getting low. "Great, just great," she muttered. She dialed one more number, hoping that the phone would last long enough to get the message across. "Michael?"
"Hey Jess, any leads?"
"Yeah, listen, tonight at 9 pm-" The phone went dead before she could finish. "Shit!" She threw the cell phone at the back of the van, watching with quiet satisfaction as the phone broke into smaller pieces. Sighing, she looked at her watch. It was almost 8 pm. Time for them to move into place before Kelly got to the house. She didn't want her to suspect that they were following her. "Okay guys, new plan." She turned to the three men who'd been watching her in unconcealed fascination. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
Jamie reached out a slightly shaking hand, poking Jessie's arm and then retreating back. "She IS human, guys!"
Rowan stood in front of her closet in contemplation. They'd gotten the animals from the hospital, paid the substantial bill, and brought them home. The woman on duty had suggested that Rowan get Tigger declawed. Apparently the cat had scratched quiet a few people before they'd reached a compromise with him. Secretly she was very proud of her boy. Sylvester was now resting comfortably downstairs, with Tigger hovering over him like a worried momma. Now, Rowan was attempting to figure out what she was going to wear for that night's rescue. What does one wear when going into a den of evil?
Okay, she thought to herself, that might be a little too dramatic! Her mind was used to the suspense of books and movies, and therefore she felt she was excused if she were just slightly excited about the night's foray into danger. She was, however, smart enough to realize just how serious the situation was and how many lives were on the line. She'd tried to call Jessie on her cell phone to tell her about the meeting, but only got her voice mail. It worried her more than a little bit that she couldn't contact her lover. Jessie had a way of making Rowan feel safe and secure, and God knows she could have used that reassurance right about now.
She finally chose a pair of black jeans and a long sleeve black shirt, followed up by her sneakers. She wanted to be able to run if she needed to. Putting the selected clothing on, she took a second to check herself out in the mirror, satisfied with the look she'd achieved.
Looking at the clock next to the bed, she sighed. There was still a half-hour before Kelly would be there. What would she do for a half-hour? She was anxious and more than a bit apprehensive. Resigned to sit and wait patiently like a good little girl, she went down the stairs and flopped herself onto the couch next to Anne.
At 9pm exactly the doorbell rang. Rowan opened the door and was greeted not only by Kelly, but also by the same officer who'd been at the door before. "It's okay," Rowan told the officer. He gave her a curious look, but left them alone.
"You're little watch dog is kind of cute. Too bad you don't swing that way, I think you could get him." Kelly smoothly breezed in, chatting as though they were friends getting together for an evening of fun.
"Can we go already?" Rowan wasn't in the mood for anymore games. She wanted to get to her sister and her niece and nephew.
Kelly pivoted on her foot so that she could look at Rowan. Raising an elegantly shaped eyebrow, she allowed one side of her mouth to quirk up in a slight smile. "Anxious, are we?"
"I just want to get this over with already."
Nodding her head, Kelly clucked her tongue against her teeth. "Fine, fine. Let's go then." She abruptly moved passed Rowan and opened the door again, walking out into the night.
Anne and Rowan exchanged looks before following her out of the house, locking the door behind them.
Kelly waved saucily at the men in the patrol car as she made her way to her own sleek, black convertible. Unlocking the doors, she gestured for Rowan and Anne to get in before she climbed in herself. "Ready for the ride of your life?" She grinned at them before gunning the more and taking off in a squeal of rubber and wild laughter.
Jessie watched as the black car pulled up to Rowan's house. Kelly climbed out, not even bothering to look around to see if she was being watched. Apparently she didn't care. She walked over to the police car, leaned in the driver's side window and said something to them. One of the cops got out and walked her to the door. At least they're doing what they're supposed to, Jessie thought with mild satisfaction.
A few minutes later Kelly bounded out of the house, Rowan and her mother following her a little more sedately. When they pulled away, Jessie signaled for Wu to give them a slight head start before following. She'd talked to the cops, telling them to follow further behind her. They were instructed to wait until they were signaled before coming in. Where ever they were going.
Wu pulled out of the neighbor's driveway, following the racing car as far back as he dared. The convertible pulled into one of the downtown parking garages. After taking her ticket, Kelly pulled in, climbing the levels till she found a park spot that suited her. Keeping his eye on her, Wu parked on the other side of the garage, on the level going down from where Kelly parked.
"Where the hell is she taking them?" Jessie said out loud as they discreetly followed them down State Street. Rowan must have been wondering the same thing, her face showing her consternation.
"Kelly, where are we going?" Rowan finally asked as they walked further toward the capital.
"Here," Kelly stopped in front of Anne's bookstore, a brilliant smile lightening her face.
"They aren't in my bookstore, I was here when they were taken," Anne insisted.
"You were here, but you can't see the door to Jessie's apartment from in inside of your store, can you?"
"No, I guess not," Anne admitted.
"They managed to get them in here right under your nose. That's pretty good, huh?" Kelly smiled again, tickled by the complexity of the plan. "Donnie told me that he'd been planning this for months. They were supposed to grab you, you know," she told Rowan. "But they messed up and got your sister instead. Wrong place, wrong time, I would say." She laughed to herself.
"If you're a part of this, why are you taking us here?" Rowan couldn't understand why this woman was leading them to where her sister was unless she was trying to trap them.
"That stupid Donnie..." Kelly's eyes took on a far away look and her mouth pursed into a tight line. "He thought he could use me for information and that he could get away with throwing me out in the end." She gave a little growl before laughing again. "He tried to have me killed. Unfortunately, he killed my lover instead."
"Wha..." Rowan's voice faded in horror. This woman was sick. Here she was laughing about how her lover had been killed instead of her, not batting an eyelash.
"I'm not going to let him fuck me over." Kelly gestured for Rowan to open the outside door that led up to the apartment Jessie had been using before moving in with her.
The three women made their way slowly up the stairs until they reached the top door. "You have keys, right?" Kelly asked Anne, pointing to the locked door.
"Uh, yeah, actually, I do." Anne pulled her key ring out of her pants pocket, surprising herself by actually having them on her. She found the key for the apartment and inserted it into the lock, turning it slowly until they all heard it click.
"I'll get that." Kelly opened the door with a flourish. "Ta da!"
"Danni!" Rowan ran to her sister, taking off first the blindfold and then starting in on the ropes around her wrists and ankles.
"Rowan! How's you find us?" Danni looked around wildly, spying her kids sitting in the opposite corner similarly tied, their mouths stuffed with rags. "Get the kids!"
"I've got them," Anne said as she made her way to where the kids were sitting.
Kelly stood back watching the two women rush about, untying and helping to get the circulation moving back through wrists and ankles. She smiled as she thought about her prize. Jessie was hers again.
"I want the three of you to wait here. Watch the entrance. If anyone tries to go up those stairs, I want the three of you right behind them, okay?" Jessie checked her gun a final time before making her way across the street to the door leading to her former apartment. So far she'd seen no signs of distress coming from Rowan or her mother, but she wasn't taking any chances.
The stairs were clear and she made it to the open door without any problems. She peered in and saw the melee that was going on as Rowan and Danni and the children were reunited and introductions were made between them and Anne. She checked the room and only saw Kelly there, standing in the corner watching it all with a strange look on her face.
Holstering her gun, she walked to Rowan, coming up behind her and putting her arm around her. "Hey there," she said, making Rowan jump.
"How'd you get here?" Rowan asked as she hugged the taller woman tightly.
"The walls have ears, my dear," she said with an exaggerated accent.
"Anne told you, huh? Smart woman. But everything looks fine. We should get out of here before-" She broke off mid sentence as she saw a large man walk through the door, a gun in his hand, pointing directly at them.
"Before I come back?" The man said with a harsh smile.
Jessie immediately put Rowan behind her, blocking her with her body. Her hand twitched, wanting to pull her gun from its resting place but with the kids and her mother on the other side of the room she was afraid that they'd get in the middle of a gun battle, which was the last thing that she wanted.
"JB, but you were surprised to find out who I was." Colston gave her a mock smile as his eyes traced the scar that still showed red and raw on her face. "I never forgot you," he sneered.
"I've never met you before in my life, Colston. I knew you existed, but you weren't important enough for me to bother with." Jessie sneered back, hoping to get him angry enough to make a mistake.
"You don't remember, do you?" He laughed. "I should have known that I wasn't important enough for you to remember."
"Are you trying to tell me that we have met before?" She was curious now. She honestly had no memory of this man.
"I wasn't always Don Colston. About 8 years ago I was known as Donald Smith. Does that name ring a bell?"
Jessie felt as though she'd been struck in the stomach. The acid there burned as a memory smoldered in her mind. Donald Smith had been older than her. He'd grown up in the same neighborhood as she had, they'd attended the same high school. The year before she'd left for Chicago she'd been involved in a very bad drug deal that had almost killed one of her friends. She'd left the scene, leaving Donald Smith there to take the blame. "You should still be in jail," she said slowly.
"Yes, I should be. But, while I was there I met Manny's cousin Paolo. Paolo and I escaped together and he brought me into Manny's organization. You can imagine my surprise when I first saw you in Chicago. I knew then that I still owed you something for leaving me to clean up your mess." He waved his gun at the people in the room. "What a better way than to kill everyone who means something to you?" He laughed loudly. "And you all made it so easy on me, coming together to save one another. I thank you for that."
"Donnie, take me with you." Kelly walked toward him, her hands in the air to show she was without a weapon.
"And you, you crazy bitch! You're supposed to be dead. Another botched up job. Why do I bother to pay for what I could do so much better myself." His gun never wavered even as a shot rang out from the area of the door.
They all watched as Kelly crumpled to the floor, blood spreading from where she lay. Anne held the kids closer to her so that they wouldn't see the carnage.
"She's dead now, are you happy?" The soft quiet voice that Danni had heard when she'd woken up the day before floated through the air. They all turned to see a slight man with well-groomed dark hair standing in the doorway, his gun still in his hand. He pulled out a white handkerchief from his suit pocket and mopped his forehead. "So many people in this little space is making me sweat," he explained as he put away the cloth.
"About time you showed up. You never seem to get anything right," Colston hissed at the new comer.
"I came when I wanted to, not before." The man in the suit explained easily not at all disturbed by Colston's attempts at threatening him. He looked around the room, giving everyone a smooth smile as he did. His gaze stopped when he saw Rowan. "So this must be the blonde you wanted so badly." He moved closer, giving Rowan a slow going over with his eyes. "Yes, I can see why you wanted her so badly," he leered at her. A growl from behind him stopped him. He turned and stared at Jessie with a great deal of interest. "Yes, I know who you are. You once took out five of my associates in one night."
"I'm afraid I am not as well aquatinted with you as you seem to be with me," Jessie said through clenched teeth.
"Ah, my apologies" He bent over at the waist in a bow. "I am John Paul Martin. I never worked directly in Chicago, although I always had fingers in so many pies it was hard to tell." He gave her a charming smile.
His back was to the door when Jamie, Wu, and Peter burst through, each one had a gun in their hands. Jessie pulled her own weapon out and held it at John Paul Martin's temple. "So glad to meet you," she said sweetly as she cocked the gun.
Colston roared in anger, pointing his gun toward the three invaders, shooting without aiming. Jamie and Wu managed to avoid getting hit, each of them aiming at Colston and shooting until the man was on the floor. Peter was hit in the arm and shoulder, but he managed to push himself against the wall as he waited for his friends to finish.
The sound of many feet pounding against the wooden stairs alerted everyone in the room to the approach of more people. Three guns pointed to the door, Jessie not moving hers, as two men in uniform came through the doorway, followed by Michael.
Michael's alert eyes took in everything in the room, finally resting on Jessie and her hostage. "What took you so long?" She asked him casually.
Michael shook his head at her and began giving instructions to his officers.
Anne made coffee as the others sat down on the furniture in the bookstore. Jessie leaned against the front counter with Rowan leaning back against her. They'd been allowed to leave the scene, provided that they waited in the bookstore until Michael could come down to talk to them.
An ambulance had come and taken Peter to the hospital, Wu and Peter following in the van. Jessie knew that she wouldn't see them again unless she made the call. They would head back to Chicago to the relative peace of retirement, whatever that meant for them.
The children were shaken not only by the events of that night, but by the news that Sylvester had been hurt. They kept asking Jessie and Rowan if they were sure that their beloved pet was okay. Rowan promised that as soon as they were done they'd go back home and they could see the dog for themselves. If Tigger will let them, she amended silently.
Danni looked tired, but over all she was okay. She'd refused to go to the hospital to let someone look at the nasty lump on her head. She'd had enough hospitals over the last year and knew that more were in her future. Besides, it was nothing that a little ice wouldn't take care of.
Rowan turned in Jessie's arms and gave her a full body hug, nuzzling her nose against Jessie's warm neck. "How come you always smell good?" Rowan asked, taking another sniff of Jessie's skin.
"I dunno. How come you always feel good in my arms?" Jessie smiled down at her lover.
"Cause that's where I'm supposed to be silly," Rowan gave the taller woman a soft kiss on her chin.
"Damn straight," Jessie answered pulling Rowan closer, vowing to never let her go, which was perfectly okay with Rowan. Now that they'd both found love, nothing was going to keep them apart.
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St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church at the corner of Douglas Street and Broughton Street was designed in 1888 by architect L. Butress Triman. Construction was completed in 1890.
Early parishioners included some well known names in Victoria history, including the Dunsmuirs (who built Craigdarroch Castle), Robert B. McMicking (who built Victoria’s first telephone exchange).
The stained glass windows in the Douglas Street facade were donated by the Dunsmuir family and cost $4,000 when they were installed in 1890.
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The Other Resurrections
Last Sunday, my pastor read Matthew 27:50–54 as part of his sermon. As I read this familiar passage, I noticed something that jumped out at me and surprised me.
The NLT says that the moment after Jesus “gave up his spirit,” the curtain in the Temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook. Rocks split apart. Tombs opened. And the bodies of many godly men and women who had died were raised from the dead after Jesus’ resurrection. They left the cemetery, went into the holy city of Jerusalem, and appeared to many people. The Roman officer and the other soldiers at the crucifixion were terrified by the earthquake and all that had happened. They said, “Truly, this was the Son of God.”
How many times have you read that passage? How often have you pictured in your mind Jesus’ death and resurrection? How many pastors have you heard speak about the significance of the curtain in the Temple being torn in two? We imagine the Roman officer and the other soldiers at the crucifixion being terrified by the earthquake and acknowledging Jesus as the Son of God. After Jesus’ resurrection, we know that the disciples ran to Jesus’ tomb and found it empty, and we know He appeared to many of His followers in bodily form.
But wait. What about verses 52–53? When you’ve thought about Jesus’ death and resurrection, and His appearances to His followers, did you also picture the “many people” in the city of Jerusalem who saw the resurrected bodies of “many godly men and women who had died”?
I don’t see a reference to that in the other Gospels. But what a powerful miracle this was! Can you imagine just going about your daily routine in the city and then suddenly seeing the resurrected bodies of people you know who have died? What did they look like? Did they interact with the living? Maybe say something to their friends, relatives, strangers? Did they know why their bodies had been resurrected? Were they surprised? Shocked? In awe? Praising God?
I read a lot of biblical fiction. I love how these stories bring to life the people and situations we read about in the Scriptures—especially when we only have snippets of information about them. I’ve seen countless portrayals of Jesus’ death and resurrection in plays and movies, and I’ve read many accounts in books. I recall vivid scenes of normal, everyday people witnessing and reacting to Jesus’ death, resurrection, and post-resurrection appearances. But I don’t recall ever coming across a scene in which an everyday citizen of Jerusalem sees multiple resurrected bodies wandering around town. How cool would that be!
I wonder if any of the people we read about in the Gospels died during Jesus’ time on earth and weren’t resurrected (like Lazarus). How about Jesus’ dad, Joseph? He was a godly man. Surely he was one who was resurrected and appeared in Jerusalem. Think he went around asking people about his kid? Or did he know the details that happened after his death as soon as he was resurrected?
If you’re a fan of biblical fiction and you’ve read a book or seen a movie that includes a scene like that, I’d love to hear about it! If you write biblical fiction, and your WIP covers the time of Jesus’ resurrection, I hope you’ll consider including that scene. (And if you do, let me know when that book comes out, because I want to read it!)
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I received this book for free from in exchange for an honest review. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review.by Tim Lebbon
Published by Venture Press on July 24, 2016
Genres: Dark Fiction, Fiction, Horror, Mystery, Psychological Horror, Thriller, Thrillers
Buy on Amazon
He spoke into the box … but then, the box spoke back.
Daniel Powell is ten years old when his sickly mother passes away. Her young death leaves Daniel with only his father too soon. Distraught, his father starts to fall apart. Daniel also is unable to let her go.
After the funeral, Daniel notices his father secretly talking to a large coffin-like box that has appeared underneath his bed. His father orders him not to enter his room.
Intrigued and confused by what it is doing there, Daniel cannot help but wonder what lies inside.
Then one day his father goes out. Daniel is left alone in the house with the mysterious box. He taps the box and the box taps back. When he scrapes his nails along it, he hears the same sound.
He convinces himself that it must be an echo. But when Daniel whispers to the box of his troubles, the box answers back...
It is a voice that he does not recognise, yet this voice knows so much.
Tim Lebbon’s The Reach of Children is a chilling horror tale, which will leave you spooked and moved in one sitting.
THE REACH OF CHILDREN, by Tim Lebbon, is a deeply emotional tale–with some horrific elements–that deals with the different form “grief” takes when a loved one dies, untimely. The novella begins with a relevant quote from Brian Aldiss– “When Childhood dies, its corpses are called adults.”
Lebbon begins with ten-year-old Daniel waking up to his Father telling him that his Mum had just passed away. Although we are given enough to believe that she had been slowly dying in her room for some time prior, the news presented in this manner starts our story out with an instant outpouring of sorrow for the family, and rivets the reader’s attention firmly to the page. Immediately, we are thrust, along with Daniel, into a type of wake in the family’s home, while they wait for his “Mum” to be taken away. In Daniel’s own mind, there is a stark division between the way adults process death, and how they aren’t quite sure how to be around him.
. . . Something about grief appeared to make Daniel invisible . . . he sensed a difference between himself and the grown-ups that seemed difficult to cross . . . the spaces between words said much more than the words themselves.”
As Daniel and his Father–with help from his Father’s good friend, Gary–go about adjusting in their own ways to this huge void now in their lives, Daniel begins to sense something . . . off . . . about his Father’s secretive mumblings behind his closed bedroom door . . .
At its heart, I felt this was a brilliant tale about a great loss, and how a boy struggles to go on with all the changes wrought around him. Daniel is forced to acknowledge some difficult truths regarding his Mother’s early passing. . . . “She had talked to him about dying. He had never even asked her if she was scared. Now he wished he had, and in some older part of his mind, he recognized that there are some regrets which echo forever.”
At the same time, he watches his Father dealing with her death in other ways, magnifying the differences in age by the way they project their individual sorrow. his Father lost his wife, his life-partner. Daniel has lost his Mother, the one who would teach him about nature, life, love, and everything in between. With her death, he realizes all that he has lost along with her.
” . . . Her head was full of things–memories, ideas, and words she hadn’t said yet– . . . I wish she’d had time to tell me those things, because now they’re all gone.”
In the midst of this haunting, unforgettable story, Daniel sees another–different–side of his Father. The suspicions and dark doubts he harbors about his Father’s increasingly strange behaviors begin to mount up, but who can he turn to when everything in his world has changed so drastically?
Lebbon brings us an evocative novella that delves into the very depth of loss, and the events that force a boy to grow up before he should ever have to.
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Unlike most actors I’ve featured on HOTR, Richard Widmark did not turn to radio as a means of promoting his film career. He started on radio, working as supporting player, then lead in daytime serials and mystery programs, from the late 1930s to the mid-40s. His first radio appearance was in 1938’s Aunt Jenny’s Real Life Stories, but he went on to appear regularly on The Shadow, Columbia Radio Workshop, and several mystery series. Even in early radio, he was often a villain, or unstable character, though he could play comedy, too. Widmark had the lead in the soap, Front Page Farrell, until it switched networks.
In 1946, Widmark made his Broadway debut, and that success propelled him to Hollywood where he made his first film, Kiss of Death. It’s still among his most memorable, and chilling performances, and got Widmark an Oscar nomination. He continued working in film, as a leading man in noir and Westerns, making occasional return visits to radio in recreations of his films, and as a guest on variety shows. Widmark died in 2008.
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Remembrances for our Deceased Brothers
Fr Patrick Alan Fitzpatrick, O.Carm. (1930-2014)
Given at the Funeral Mass in Whitefriar Street Church on December 15, 2014, by B. McKay, O.Carm., Prior.
Tell me about the good you have done.
For quite a few years now, until this time last year, Fr Pat Alan was present for three sessions of confession each week, and he greatly looked forward to meeting his regular clients. He sometimes referred to these sessions as his clinic. If he ever felt that the penitent was being too hard on themselves, he would gently but firmly stop them and speak the words: tell me about the good you have done. He didn’t like over emphasis on the negative either in the confessional or anywhere else. How much he was appreciated in the confessional only really came to light after he moved to Gort Muire last year. Many of his penitents were distraught. They wondered how they were going to cope without him and they still regularly enquire after him one year later. We Carmelites refer to ourselves as a contemplative fraternity in the midst of the people. Fr Pat Alan loved being in the midst of the people and loved being in the thick of things and, despite the effort needed to get ready for the confessional, he soldiered on spreading a great deal of joy and happiness as he encountered his friends.
He loved all aspects of the ministry here in Whitefriar Street, just as he loved the ministry in Knocklyon where he lived for many years but, perhaps, it is true to say that his heart was divided between the two K’s: Kinsale and Kildare. Kinsale was obviously of very great importance to him as it was where it all started in 1930. He frequently spoke of the place and of the people with deep affection. He loved taking his annual holidays in Kinsale, something which ceased a few years ago. Typically, he didn’t complain. Kildare held a special place in his heart. He ministered there for twenty-seven years and was quite proud of the fact that he had done two six-year stints as Prior there. Along with Fr Tom and Fr Bernard who looked after his transport needs after he stopped driving, I had the experience of bringing him to Kildare on several Thursdays and he really so looked forward to the journey and the time spent with his very dear friend, Emily. Both on the way down and back, he would reminisce about the past. It is truly fitting that he is being buried in Kildare. The journey down after this Mass will be a journey of pure pleasure for him. I recall on one of those journeys, being treated to a tremendous guffaw of laughter. On a wall opposite Cork Street hospital was written the following: tiger on the loose, drivers stay in your cars, joggers run faster! He thought this absolutely hilarious. He always had a great sense of humour and of fun. I mentioned the Carmelite charism earlier where we describe ourselves as a contemplative fraternity. Fr Pat Alan always enjoyed his time with the brothers. I vividly recall that he would be in the community room every Saturday night at 8.30 on the dot, ready for his sandwiches, glass of wine and ice-cream. He particularly liked Vienetta. We would be treated to witty repartee and he usually gave us a song or two. “You’ll never walk alone” was his favourite in recent years. At table, and indeed at other times during the day, we would be entertained by his good-humoured banter and his insightful comments concerning the brethren, the state of the country and life in general. As a Community, we missed him very much when he moved to Gort Muire, and I have it noted in my diary that he moved to Gort Muire from St James’ Hospital on Monday, December 16 last year. Our fraternal life was negatively impacted by his necessary departure. He loved people, he loved the brothers, he loved his family. He was particularly proud of the next generation, his nieces and nephews who had done so well in their various careers. He spoke with great affection of his own siblings and, while in Gort Muire, frequently imagined that his beloved sister, Lil, was with him in the room. Perhaps he thought he was back in Kinsale and that was a good place to be.
It has to be said that Fr Pat Alan was a great Carmelite and most noteworthy, was someone who enjoyed religious life. Despite the many ailments that afflicted him, he exuded good humour and really was exemplary in his religious observance in the broadest sense. A word that I always associate with Fr Pat Alan is the word youthfulness. Whatever may have been happening to his body as the years rolled by was not happening to his spirit and, on looking at a photo of him taken as a schoolboy, he actually appeared – until quite recently – not to have changed all that much. There was always that mischievous streak in him. Even up to a year ago when out walking with a carer, if he saw a well-known face he would wave his stick in their direction showing off that he didn’t really need the support that he was receiving. I am reminded of the instruction given by St Francis of Assisi to his friars as he sent them out to proclaim the Good News: preach the gospel and when necessary, use words. Fr Pat Alan’s life was a good sermon and one feels that he preached most eloquently to many, many people.
I mentioned, in passing, his coping with many ailments. It has to be said that his acceptance of illness and the diminishments of age was itself truly edifying. He never complained. Indeed, he seemed to always want to make light of his conditions, implying that he was lucky to be as well as he was with so many people looking after him. Perhaps at this point, I should thank the wonderful staff both here and in Gort Muire who cared for him so well.
His ministry spanned many years. Although he was not really up to celebrating it, this summer marked the sixtieth anniversary of his ordination. He made his first profession on October 10, 1948, and began his Arts degree that autumn in U.C.D., from where he graduated with a B.A. degree in Philosophy and English in 1951. Perhaps it was his English degree that made him so successful as our CNL scribe for many years. He studied Theology at Milltown Park and was ordained priest on July 11, 1954. On completion of his theological studies, he was appointed to White Abbey, Kildare, where he remained until 1982. He moved to Knocklyon as curate that year, and after twelve years he was appointed to Whitefriar Street. In our community room there is a photograph of the Chapter of 1958 with a very young looking Fr Fitzpatrick and with his passing, one feels another break with the past. He lived through many changes in the Church – he would have celebrated Mass in Latin with his back to the people for over 10 years – but he always eagerly embraced new ways of doing things and new ways of looking at things. Indeed, openness to ideas and to people was one of his endearing characteristics. One also must include openness to God. Right up until the end in Whitefriar Street, Fr Pat Alan came faithfully to celebrate the Liturgy of the Hours with his Community. He was always at ease both with people and with his Creator.
I cannot help but feel that we have a lot to be grateful for this morning. The holy Season of Advent is principally a time of waiting, waiting for the arrival of the Messiah. As such, it is a season of hope, when we acknowledge our total dependence on God and God’s timing. Fr Pat Alan has been waiting for some time for God to intervene. While Fr Pat Alan was looked after superbly in Gort Muire, it is true that Christmas Day, 2014, would not have been the happiest of days for him. As things are now, the waiting is over, he is going to celebrate Christmas Day in style, and I can hear a song coming on, perhaps even, “You’ll never walk alone.”
Fr Pat Alan, like the rest of us, will have to face the final judgement but I suspect that, if he is not being treated as fairly as he should be, he will stop the prosecuting counsel and say: let me tell you about the good I have done. Fr Pat Alan, you loved music. We hope that the choirs of angels are there to welcome you into paradise. Today, we are praying for you. May you pray for us and may you rest in peace.
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Katrina Methot-Swanson was born and raised in the state of Nebraska.
Katrina became interested in art at a very young age; she remembers watching her Mother paint and wanting to paint too. Fortunately, throughout the years, her parents encouraged her to pursue her art. She was first formally exposed to design and color concepts and the watercolor medium when she enrolled in a community college to pursue an Associate Degree in commercial art. From that beginning she taught herself to paint with watercolors and would wander around her neighborhood taking pictures of flowers and anything else that would inspire her.
Katrina won several local art shows from 1991 through 1996 and was also a finalist of the Artist Magazine for their Cover Art Contest during that time. In 1997 she was selected as a Signature Member of the National Watercolor Society and won the Winsor Newton Award for her painting “Bumblebee Banquet”. She has also been selected for several shows in the Kansas Watercolor Society and the Missouri Watercolor Society.
The year 2003 was one of change for Katrina; she decided to master the medium of oils. Her subject matter and inspiration, however, didn’t change. She has always been interested in painting flowers because of their beautiful colors and autumn leaves with the sun shining bright and reflecting deep shadows and repetitive shapes. She continues to go out late in the afternoon when the light is most interesting, and walks the trails in a local forest or garden, taking photographs. Back in her studio she uses the photographs to help recreate the feelings she had while walking the trails.
Through her study of art, Katrina has been inspired by a vast range of styles, from the great impressionists to the amazing realists of the 20th century. One cannot help but see similarities between her work and contemporary artists such as Chuck Close and Richard Estes….but with her own unique style and compositions in mind.
She currently resides in the city of Omaha with her husband Paul, their children Shane, 6 and Liberty, 4, and two cats who always seem to be looking for affection right in the middle of a painting.
Robert Paul Galleries is proud to be chosen to show the works of American artist Katrina Methot-Swanson.
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By Katherine Fawcett
The truth was, Rory couldn’t focus anywhere but on Janna’s derriere as it sashayed past the stone fireplace away from him. Oh, she was a package of Christmas morning. Her hips rocked hypnotically from side to side and Rory didn’t notice the trickle of saliva that meandered down the side of his face. He also didn’t notice the old man hitting him on the side of the head with a newspaper.
“Hey shithead.” Whack. “Numbnuts.” Thwack.
“Oh! Ah, sorry Mr. Rumswitz,” said Rory, shaking himself out of his reverie and wiping his chin. His sweaty hand still gripped whatever it was Janna had slipped him. “What’s up?”
“Have you seen this?” Bits of meatball clung to his wormy lips. “This is what I’ve been trying to avoid, you little schmuck.”
The Pique was folded back to the Partial Recall section, which featured a shot of Mumu spilling out of her tank top, bleary-eyed and shiny-haired, petting the bicep of a bartender at the GLC.
“Gee Mr. Rumswitz, She looks really... I mean, I’m so sorry, I guess I should have been…” Rory stammered. But no. That was the old Rory. “Actually, sir, I’m not a marriage counsellor. I’m not a babysitter. I’m a professional snowboarder and,” he lowered his voice and tipped his eyebrows downward, “your private investigator. Nothing more. I can’t change what she does. I can’t take the sugar out of a tart. I can’t make her love you. I can only report on what she does. Besides. Look at the date. This is from weeks ago.”
Rory took a closer look. Mumu’s hair consumed most of the frame, but something in the background caught his eye. It looked an awful lot like Chuck. That was definitely Chuck! Who was he with? Wasn’t that Barb McCann? Minty’s housecleaner? What were they doing together? Was he whispering something in her ear? Or kissing her neck?
Rumswitz grabbed the newspaper and stormed away in a lumbering huff. Rory looked around for Janna. She was gone. He had to talk to her about Barb; she was connected to both Minty and Chuck. Everyone knew she was broke after her lawsuit with VANOC over the “Olympic Cleaning Services” name. And wasn’t her company famous for their cash-in-hand, “Get High, Tidy up and Snoop” policy? And, she had access to all Minty’s personal life and effects.
Looking down, Rory suddenly remembered. He slowly opened his hand. Lifting up the bright pink fabric, he gave it a shake before he could tell what it was. What the…? Rory grabbed his coat and ran out the front door towards Minty’s house, where he knew she’d be waiting. He couldn’t believe that Janna St. James had pressed her panties into his hand.
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Nearly one hundred years have passed since Louise M. Kamp (1867-1959) first arrived in Woodstock, NY. Now for the first time, public excerpts of her diaries reveal the feelings of this private woman artist in rural New York. Louise Mary Kamp, née Wahl, was an artist, a mother and wife. She painted domestic settings, children, gardens, the still life, the river and her own backyard. Her genre paintings, depictions of everyday scenes plus her early portraits embrace feminine warmth, a feeling of light and gentleness towards her subjects. A perennial observer, Kamp studied trees and flowers, the human figure and landscape in thousands of oil paintings and sketches throughout her 92 years.
Kamp has been called an American Impressionist. "I dashed the paint on thickly" she wrote in her diary of 1937. Her oil sketches completed outdoors, en plein aire, show loose, bold strokes and the sure suggestion of a leaf or limb. Americans embraced Impressionism in the late 19th century after the French, when the relaxed flowing strokes were no longer considered a revolutionary style of painting. Impressionism has since taken its place in the annals of American art. Kamp preferred the thick, loose style of her quick oil sketches. They captured the essence of a scene in high color and visible brushstrokes which fused to portray beauty and luminosity. The artist's larger works on canvas are polished and smooth with specific attention to realistic detail.
Louise Kamp relied on light as the catalyst for her paintings. It fueled her mood and productivity. Large paintings were done from the multiple quick oil sketches completed during her outings. She would study these compositions to enlarge into "good canvases". On certain days it was" too dark and dreary so I couldn't paint." On those days, she varnished her canvases, cleaned her studio or washed paintings with half a potato dipped in water. She painted frames or changed the sky in one painting, added color to another. Louise would rework canvases to improve landscapes she had done years before. She would change a scene to make it better somehow, more interesting, relying on her memory and feeling of a scene. Kamp often worked on several canvases at once. She would stop working on one painting to do another still life when she saw the blooms of flowers were beginning to fade.
Louise was a quiet, unassuming woman. As a new doctor in Saugerties, New York, Dr. Herman Ash, was befriended by Dr. and Mrs. Kamp. "She didn't talk about her work…she just painted, all the time." according to Ash. The titles of some of her paintings offered a glimpse into the artists feelings about her subjects: Shine and Shadow, Glorious Autumn, The Dream Pool, After Glow. As the wife of Dr. John C. Kamp, Louise was able to afford help in the house and garden. Mrs. Kamp was still responsible for running the house and office while her physician husband worked long days helping patients who weren't always able to pay. Still she would get discouraged that certain days she couldn't paint, "too much time getting dinner" or "days like this…too much housework." Yet despite these restrictions she produced an astonishing body of work in her lifetime. In addition to the paintings sold during her career, she left nearly 3000 paintings upon her death ranging in size from as small as 2 by 3 inches to more than 2 by 3 feet. Her rapid oil sketches were done primarily on board. Kamp would work quickly, realizing, "I may never get this mood again." Her aim was to capture momentary light with bright color and quick strokes of the brush. Occasionally she would take photos for reference, but preferred the real thing. "I am proud of myself" she admitted after spending an afternoon freezing while painting a snow scene at the Rondout Creek. "I am happiest when I am doing woods in winter," she wrote.
Kamp studied at the New York Art Students League in Buffalo and in 1905-06, received a scholarship award for composition in color. Her work was singled out for reviews in the Buffalo Evening News. Louise M. Kamp also won accolades at the Art Students League in 1906 for her portrait paintings. Louise exhibited 91 paintings in the Society of Artists Rooms at the Albright Art Gallery, Buffalo, NY in 1910. Two years later, she displayed 73 works in the Historical Room of the Carnegie Library in Bradford, Pennsylvania. This prolific artist was elected a member of the Buffalo Fine Art Academy whose home was in the Albright Art Gallery, today known as the Albright-Knox Gallery.
In 1927 and 1937 she exhibited at the Society of Independent Artists Exhibition at Grand Central Palace in New York City. She was in good company with artists such as Milton Avery and Robert Henri. The Society of Independent Artists was modeled after the French, Société des Artistes Indépendants. The Society, incorporated in 1916, offered individual artists the opportunity to exhibit regardless of their style and was a response to the status quo of academic art institutions.
In June of 1933, Louise described the riot of intense colors in her garden: "A lovely confusion…but in harmony." So many colors and shapes filled her view. If she couldn't get outside because of illness or the weather, she would look out the window and study values. For years she kept her studio on Finger Hill near her home in the village of Saugerties. Louise, with her paintbox, could be seen walking the mile and a half west toward the Esopus Creek. She took advantage of the light and peace in this rustic bungalow and the surrounding woods. Eventually she built a summer studio behind her home and added windows to her winter studio on the third floor of the house–all to take advantage of light.
The later work of Kamp's career was concentrated primarily on landscape and still life. Louise Kamp's subjects were the Catskill Mountains and Hudson River; waterways and winding roads around the countryside of Saugerties, Woodstock, Kingston and Palenville. "I am happy when I paint clouds." she wrote. From the Rondout Creek or Glasco on the Hudson River, to Saugerties Esopus Creek - "I love to paint water". She remarked how fine it was to sketch at Malden and described scenes after a day of sketching: "The Hudson River was a misty and beautiful faded-blue gray. The sky was a deep purple and yellow trees made contrast. The roof of the farm was a wet black." Her painting continued as she traveled and was drawn to waterfronts from Noank, Connecticut to Gloucester and Rockport, Massachusetts.
In 1939, Louise Kamp was 72 years old and exhibited 72 paintings at the Carnegie Public Library in Saugerties, NY. At the time, she was studying with John F. Carlson, also an alumnus of the Buffalo Fine Arts Academy. She continued her education in Woodstock, NY with Carlson, a founder of the Woodstock Artist Association and considered the finest landscape teacher in the United States during the 1930s. Kamp remarked that one of her woodland scenes was something she could not have duly accomplished 30 years before. This was the statement of a woman who was driven and always striving to become a better painter.
Louise Kamp produced a vast amount of work in her lifetime. When she sold a snow scene at the Saugerties Library exhibit, she painted another snow scene to replace it. But when she was asked by a gallery owner in New York to do 100 paintings of one of her popular scenes, she refused, saying she would never do something like that. In her diaries she described many of her days as wonderful, beautiful and lovely. These words were also used to describe the personality of artist Louise M. Kamp in social clippings about her exhibitions. She was quite generous in her lifetime, often giving away paintings to people who admired their beauty and to local organizations such as the Kingston Hospital, in Kingston, NY.
Louise M. Kamp left a legacy of paintings which document the prominent countryside and unique radiance of the Catskills. She captured, in her quick oil sketches, fleeting moments of local atmosphere. Kamp's marine paintings record the importance of bygone waterfront commerce and activity in the Hudson Valley and northeast United States. She was an artist, a wife and mother. Louise M. Kamp had a calling, a need to paint—to put to board or canvas—beauty and light from her life. The Woodstock School of Art Exhibition acknowledges the talent, energy and perseverance of this remarkable woman.
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Just Good Friends
Three series and a 90 minute Christmas special were produced for the BBC by Ray Butt. In 2004, it came 43rd in Britain’s Best Sitcom.Writer John Sullivan had previously written two successful sitcoms for the BBC, Citizen Smith and Only Fools and Horses. The lead roles in these series had all been male, and Sullivan felt he should base his new sitcom around a woman. His source of inspiration was a letter in a magazine read to him by his wife, written by a woman who had been jilted by her fiancé on the day of her wedding
According to a 2007 Comedy Connections documentary on Just Good Friends, Sullivan was originally motivated to create the character by Cheryl Hall, the co-star of Citizen Smith. Hall complained that Sullivan was incapable of writing comedy for women, always giving the best of his material to the male characters. Sullivan was stung by the remark because, in his words, ‘she was absolutely right’, and deliberately set out to create a strong and funny female lead.
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Phil Gray was born in 1983 in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. As a child Gray was keenly interested in drawing and “always wanted to be an artist.” In the summer of 1998, he joined several other young people in assisting the Coast Salish artist Gerry Sheena to carve a totem pole. Although he was only fifteen years old, Gray realized right away that he was meant to do this sort of work. So began a long process of self-education, starting with an apprenticeship with Sheena.
Although still a very young man at the dawn of his career, Gray has established himself as one of the most interesting carvers working today. He continues to challenge himself and expand his horizons, as with his current study of jewelry. Deeply respectful of the past, Gray is also keen to move his art into the future. He wants to do “something massive, things that exhibit my design, a large chest or box, a box drum or a house front”. If the past is any indication of what is to come, we can expect exceptional work.
--Excerpts from the book: Challenging Traditions: Contemporary First Nations Art of the Northwest Coast, by Ian Thom.
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Why Good People Don’t Go To HeavenRelated Media
A question I frequently ask people is, “If you were to die and stand before God and He said, ‘Why should I let you into heaven?’ what would you say?” Most people recognize that it’s a crucial question!
The answer I most frequently hear goes like this: “I’ve tried to do the best I could. I’ve never hurt anyone intentionally. I’ve been a pretty good person.” In other words, basically decent people will get into heaven. Only really bad people—thieves, prostitutes, and murderers—will go to hell.
There’s a “slight” problem with this common notion: It is totally opposed to what Jesus taught! In Matthew 9:12-13 Jesus said, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick…For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”
Jesus spoke these words to the religious crowd—to the “good” people of His day. These folks were at “church” every time the door opened. You could set your watch by their prayer times. They tithed not only their money, but even their table spices. We’re talking outwardly good people!
What sparked the confrontation between them and Jesus was that Jesus had attended a dinner party thrown by a crook and attended by the crook’s unsavory friends. These people never darkened the door of a church. They didn’t even pretend to be good people. To make matters even worse, Jesus had just invited the crook to be one of His disciples, and the guy had accepted the offer! The religious folks thought that it was wrong for Jesus to offer God’s forgiveness to such riffraff. Let them clean up their act first!
When Jesus said, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick,” He was not implying that the religious crowd were acceptable before God and didn’t need the forgiveness of sins He came to provide. Rather, He was getting at the point that there’s one thing worse than being sick, namely, being sick and thinking you’re well! Then you won’t go to the doctor for the cure. At least the crooks knew they were spiritually terminal. By confessing their sinfulness and by accepting God’s cure (His undeserved mercy through Jesus), they were made well. But those who thought they were spiritually well were terminal without knowing it.
Some years ago in a church I England, the pastor noticed that a former burglar was kneeling at the communion rail beside a judge of the Supreme Court of England, the very judge who, years before, had sentenced the burglar to seven years in prison. After his release the burglar had been converted to Christ and had become a Christian worker.
After the service, as the judge and the pastor walked home together, the judge asked, “Did you see who was kneeling beside me at the communion rail?” “Yes,” replied the pastor, “but I didn’t know that you noticed.” The two men walked on in silence for a few moments, and then the judge said, “What a miracle of grace!” The pastor nodded in agreement, “Yes, what a marvelous miracle of grace!”
Then the judge said, “But to whom do you refer?” The pastor replied, “Why to the conversion of that convict.” The judge said, “But I was not referring to him. I was thinking of myself.” “What do you mean?” the pastor asked.
The judge replied, “That burglar knew how much he needed Christ to save him from his sins. But look at me. I was taught from childhood to live as a gentleman, to keep my word, to say my prayers, to go to church. I went through Oxford, took y degrees, was called to the bar and eventually became a judge. Pastor, nothing but the grace of God could have caused me to admit that I was sinner on a level with that burglar. It took much more grace to forgive me for all my pride and self-righteousness, to get me to admit that I was not better in the eyes of God than that convict whom I had sent to prison.”
Jesus taught that good people don’t go to heaven because their pride keeps them from admitting their need for a Savior. The only ones who go to heaven are those who see their sinfulness before a holy God and cry out to Him for mercy. What will you say when you stand before God? Are you hoping to get into heaven by your goodness? Jesus didn’t call “the righteous”! Is your hope in God’s grace toward sinners through Jesus Christ? You’re in!
You may want to express your trust in Christ in prayer to God. A suggested prayer is, “Heavenly Father, I acknowledge my sin, rebellion, and self-centeredness to you. I rightly deserve your holy judgment. But I put my trust in your Son, Jesus, and His death on the cross, as the just payment for my sings. Thank you for giving me eternal life according to your promise.”
If you have just put your trust in Jesus Christ, you have been born into God’s family. As a spiritual baby, you need to grow by feeding on God’s Word (1 Peter 2:2). Purchase a good modern translation Bible and begin prayerfully reading it. I suggest you start in the New Testament, such as the Gospel of John or Paul’s letters to the Ephesians. As you read, ask two questions: “What are You, Lord?” “What do You want me to do?”
Also, you need to join a church where the Bible is taught and where God is truly worshiped. God bless you as you begin your new life with Him!
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Let the Current Carry MeTrying to take control of what is not our responsibility is like trying to swim upstream. We stroke, and stroke, and stroke, and never get anywhere. We run out of breath, get discouraged and angry. God said:
“Cease striving and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10)
When walk out into the middle of the river, the water will rise to our ankles, to our knees, past our waists, then eventually over our heads. When the water is over our heads, we cannot walk. We cannot control where the current takes us. We have to allow the Spirit to take control.
Ezekiel 47:1 The man brought me back to the entrance to the temple, and I saw water coming out from under the threshold of the temple toward the east (for the temple faced east). The water was coming down from under the south side of the temple, south of the altar.2 He then brought me out through the north gate and led me around the outside to the outer gate facing east, and the water was trickling from the south side. 3 As the man went eastward with a measuring line in his hand, he measured off a thousand cubits and then led me through water that was ankle-deep. 4 He measured off another thousand cubits and led me through water that was knee-deep. He measured off another thousand and led me through water that was up to the waist. 5 He measured off another thousand, but now it was a river that I could not cross, because the water had risen and was deep enough to swim in—a river that no one could cross.
The water represents the holy spirit
When we are flowing with the Holy Spirit of God, we can rest and relax in the flow of the current. He will carry us where He wants us to go. Let go of control and let God handle all the problems in our lives. He carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders, surely He can carry our burdens and lift our load and turn our sorrow into joy.
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How Does The Virus In ‘Stranger Things’ Season 2 Work? Everything Ties Back To The Upside Down
Will Byers just can't catch a break. Spoilers for Season 2! The Stranger Things virus is the latest hardship the Hawkins student has gone through. But first, he gets kidnapped by a grotesque creature and dragged into a nightmarish alternate dimension where he has to fend for himself as he's being pursued by said creature, which is a huge bummer. Then, as if that wasn't lame enough, while he's out of town all of his friends start hanging out with a super cool psychic girl who leaves the moment that Will returns. Things only get worse in when he becomes infected with what's called a "virus," but could more accurately be called "being possessed by a gargantuan Shadow Monster that intends to kill everything and everyone on Earth and is using you as an Earthly vessel."
Will's been suffering nearly every day since being taken to the Upside Down. Season 2 picks up a year after the first season and shows a Will who has been wrecked with trauma. Joyce takes him to Hawkins Lab for studies with the hopes that they can help him manage his PTSD — but Will's visions have kept him from being able to push his traumatic memories aside. However, his lasting trauma is nothing compared to the suffering he faces at the hands of his virus, which is relentless.
In Will's visions, he's haunted by a Shadow Monster that seems to be chasing him wherever he goes. Bob, Joyce's boyfriend, encourages Will to stand up to his fears, telling him that the best way to conquer what scares him is to look right at it and tell it to "go away." It turns out that this is the worst advice that anyone has ever given someone else, because standing your ground in front of the Shadow Monster means having black wispy clouds fly into every opening on your face and allowing yourself to become a sleeper agent for a lifeform that seems to be evil incarnate.
Will begins obsessively scribbling abstract drawings, and seems to always be too warm for whatever room he is in. The "virus" also allows Will to keep tabs on the Shadow Monster, which Mike says may actually be a good thing. Mike explains that if Will is able to keep tabs on the Shadow Monster as a "spy", the good guys may be able to stay one step ahead. Will is scared that the Shadow Monster can "spy back," which Mike assures him simply isn't true.
It's a real shame that nearly male figure in Will's life seems to be 100% wrong when it comes to making Will feel better about what he is going through. Despite Mike's confidence, the Shadow Monster can in fact "spy back," and manages to set a trap for the workers of the Hawkins Lab, ambushing them with a pack of demodogs that are under its control.
It seems that the virus links whoever is "infected" directly to the Shadow Monster, as well as other entities that are linked to this monster. When the members of Hawkins Lab attempt to set fire to the living vines in the tunnels beneath the town, Will feels himself being burnt alive. Just like the demodogs, Will is under the control of the Shadow Monster as long as he has the virus.
While the virus doesn't seem to be able to spread from person-to-person, anyone who ends up in the Upside Down could be the next victim of the Shadow Monster virus. While Will is eventually cured of his virus after the Shadow Monster leaves his body, there's no proof that the monster didn't just enter someone else. Season 2 ends on a shot of the Shadow Monster looming over Hawkins High School in the Upside Down, so it's likely that this isn't the last time the residents of Hawkins will encounter this terrifying condition.
Hopefully, should the show return for Season 3, someone else can take a turn being the victim of the Upside Down so that Will Byers can finally have a decent Halloween.
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An English Gent
On the following morning the Englishman knocked at my door. I woke up. He told me not to be concerned, but that he would take me to the hospital to see if everything was all right. I asked if he could wait a moment while I got changed. We took the 55, getting off in Bloomsbury. We could hear our footsteps, the total silence. I saw on a sign that we were passing the British Museum. I wanted to say something, for example that Rimbaud used to go to the Museum’s library. Not a word came out because I was sure that anything I said would sound like procrastination—the man at my side was worried and did nothing to hide it.
At reception I filled out a form. We entered a ward. The Englishman seemed to be on the staff, so at ease was he inside the hospital. He asked me to sit on an unoccupied bed. I sat. Until the person who seemed to be the doctor arrived. He started to examine me. “It is,” he said with a certain harshness. And he asked me to lie down. He called a nurse. She passed some instruments to him. And the doctor inserted a needle in my vein. I don’t remember ever having felt such satisfaction in my whole life. Not because the medication being introduced had a numbing effect that left me out of it. In the following hours I wouldn’t need to do anything to attribute continuity to things. And was, what’s more, without any fear of my destiny from here on, which would be the normal response in a patient about to undergo a medical procedure in any hospital ward. I just didn’t believe that anything worse could happen, that’s all! I trusted the opposite would be true: that during that whole stay in the hospital the man who was starting to throb inside me and who I still didn’t really know would have a better chance to surface. That when I woke from the anaesthetic I would start to live with another hypothesis about myself and that I would work on it in secret, so that not even my own English friend would be able to notice any change in my character or on the surface of my body. They had kept me there for a reason that I didn’t know. I would use it to be born.
I died for the time I was sedated. Waking up, I saw a nurse with a sour face. She just said that everything was fine and that I could go. They had cleared up some question about my health. What test did they do? I asked. She didn’t understand me or preferred to keep quiet. I exited onto a square in Bloomsbury. I didn’t live in the area, as I would have liked to, but that was where they put me to bed, for how long I didn’t know. Maybe to see if I showed any sign of health problems that would affect whether or not I stayed on the official programme of a Brazilian outside his country. Or would there be an unofficial reason, some by-product of minds with parallel powers? I was stuck in some pulpy spy novel, now inoculated with some substance which would make me even more submissive to them—I, my mind clouded, for that reason in particular, would provide them with a key that I was in no position to predict. I was the idiot in the global citadel. I would serve for every job whose sense was beyond me. But I was not going to cry, to bemoan my lot. Catching a plane back to Brazil wasn’t an option.
The vein where I had been jabbed was hurting, and standing on a corner I flexed my arm, thinking about what to do next. If I returned to the house in Hackney, would it continue to be mine? Would the key in my hands open it? The wind whipped my neck. I turned up the collar of my jacket. If I phoned the Englishman, I’d end up on his damn answering machine. In my eyes, I’d always been from London. There was no other city, no other country. With my own hands I could drown the child that had preferred to go on counting his days rather than drown should a single image of my Brazilian childhood come back. My childhood had passed in these very streets where I was now shivering with cold. Puberty, youth, adulthood until now. Not that I had any special love of all this, which was always the same. It was raining and I was dribbling. I wasn’t managing to keep my saliva in my mouth. Maybe it was some consequence of the hospital procedure I’d been submitted to. I was like a child who doesn’t have the strength to express himself, just dribbles. If I were hungry, cold, thirsty or in pain, none of that would require me to expose myself to anyone, if only because in this country I only had the English guy to expose myself to, and now I had serious doubts as to whether he was still there for me at all. Perhaps I was very sick and they no longer had any use for me. Who knows. But that hypothesis seemed somewhat distant.
That was when I went into the British Museum. Tourists on all sides. I went as far as Egyptian civilization. I admired its remote gods. And I was enchanted by what might be the Museum’s smallest image, minuscule. Apis, the bull god. Exactly what I was to those English who wanted to make me fall ill. Yes, now I truly saw myself in a mirror. They couldn’t get me. I no longer needed the mirrors in public toilets, nor in my own house, I was Apis, I could walk through London if I felt like it—down every alley, prowl round all the parks and could even fast, as they no longer knew what to do.
I could go into a pub, not to inebriate myself or eat something, because I hadn’t put anything in my mouth for days, except for a glass or two of water to keep the bull on his feet. I went into one that was appropriately called The Bloomsbury. Let people look at me, see someone else in me. The fact that I wasn’t eating or drinking, was sitting there looking at nothing, might make someone wake up to me. The waiter could come. I’d say, I just want to rest, I’ve just come from the hospital and I need to rest. All right, there was the chance I’d need to get a mineral water for the waiter to leave me alone. But I’d just stand there, not wanting to sit down. This was what I had been needing in London. The attention of someone who wasn’t that Englishman who had gone missing who knows how many days ago, since I had fallen into that indeterminate unconscious time in the hospital. A drunk came to talk. He complained about his wife. I sipped at my mineral water as if I were savoring the voice directed at me, even if he was not really noticing me in the midst of all the other people. We’re talking about a drunk after all. I received the alcohol on his breath like the only bath I wanted to take. I didn’t interrupt him, didn’t stick my oar in, although I really thought that his wife was a hopeless case. Everything instilled in me the impression of a medieval tavern. There was a sourness in the air, the bodies smelled bad, particularly mine, which had not seen a change of clothes for an unspeakable amount of time. My genitals were itching, my chest, my hairy scalp still burnt from the hair dye. Oh, I had forgotten to check my appearance in a mirror, to see whether I continued to be the same person who had already changed so much, whether I was another person, or whether the hospital had given me back my old features, which I had left in Brazil. Where had I lost the power of evocation? The only thing that concerned me was where I was, the city of London in winter, and in this instant the pub with the drunk recounting with delight the extramarital conquests of his youth, suddenly his daughter dead in the arms of his tearful wife, the convulsion that made him grab my throat as if he were about to strangle me, like this, his finger on my jugular, suddenly my heart on fire—I drop the glass of water, it breaks, everyone looks: this is my only reaction; I’m saved, so lost I’m saved again.
Saved and dribbling. Maybe this lack of salivary control offers no solution. Yes, everyone in the pub is looking at me, just as I wanted. No longer because I knocked over my glass and was about to be strangled. But because I’m dribbling and yet still have the cheek to frequent pubs. I could ask: what makes me into that man who has no civic decorum for a night with possible drinking pals? I could ask, but I don’t for one reason: tomorrow none of this will matter, when I’ll be able to live the life of that man who is still lying in the Bloomsbury hospital bed, who stayed there as I made this little escape, motivated by the nurse’s bad intentions. There lies a part of me that has stopped, without any thought of controlling the world or what goes on inside itself, a waiting stone. I’ll go back in the dead of night, I’ll lift up the sheet and lie down. And when the Englishman comes back, I’ll see that the experiment has worked. I’ll be that man again, ready to hold forth in public spaces on the questions that afflict his students who stubbornly refuse to show themselves.
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|Notes||The Liedertafel Hall was built in 1900 by a German society, near the corner of the street Edgar Quinet meeting Academia's Street. It took the place of the old Stavri Garden and of a domain belonging to Năsturel-Herescu. It was a place were not only theatre plays in German or Romanian were played, but also where a lot of other cultural events were organised (exhibitions, musical evenings etc.). The debut of the actor Radu Beligan was also registered here. After Dalles Hall was built, Liedertafel Hall visibly lost its significance, and after 1945 received a new name, Liberty Hall. It was demolished in order to be replaced by the new building of the Faculty of Architecture.
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Zoroastrinism is a small religion made up of about 140,000 people. even though there is only a small amount of people practicing this religion, zoroastrinism has made a great impact on the religious world. it has brought beliefs such as god, satin, the soul, heaven and hell, saviors, final judgement and resurection to many other world wide religions. it is one of the oldest religions still alive, and was the first monotheistic religion. the religion was founded by zoroasthra. no noe exactly knows when zoroasthra lived, but historians generally date his life to be sometime between 1000 and 1500 bc on the basis of his style of writting. he lived in persia, which is modern day iran. he started out preaching monotheism in a polytheistic world, and was attacked by his preachings. he finally won support by the king, and in various parts of persia zoroastrinism became a state of religion in the 7th century ce. when folowers of islam invaded persia in 650 ce, most of the zoroastrins fled to india, where they are now located today.
The zoroastrin holy book is called the "avesta." this book includes the origional works of their founder zoroasthra, and a series of five hymns called "gathas." the five gathas are sacred poetry, directed twards the workship of their one god. at a later date the remaining parts of the avesta were written. these deal with the laws of ritual and practice, with the traditions of faith.
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Striking a chord with young talents in schools
In September and November 2017, over 30 young musicians at Fuchun Primary School got to learn more about playing brass instruments, as part of the Striking A Chord: Young Musician Learners programme supported by Temasek Foundation. Helmed by the Singapore National Youth Orchestra (SNYO), a series of six workshops was conducted by instructor Kartik Alan Jairamin at the primary school located in Woodlands. Kartik Alan is a musician in the French horn section of the Singapore Symphony Orchestra.
Fuchun Primary School has been designated to lead the Learning for Life Programme in Music and the Performing Arts by the Ministry of Education. It is also recognised by the Ministry as a Brass Band niche school and Cluster Centre of Learning in Music. Hence, many of Fuchun Primary School students already have some exposure to the performing arts. This Young Musician Learners programme enabled Fuchun to leverage the work they were already doing, to stoke their students’ passion and to bring their interest to a new level.
For the SNYO, the pilot workshops were an avenue to reach out to students that might not have signed up to audition for the national youth orchestra, due to lack of awareness of audition openings or impressions that standards were too high. Through the workshops, SNYO sought to boost students’ confidence in performance, as well as prepare them for auditions.
The sessions were also an opportunity to identify musical talents, who would receive further one-on-one lessons from SSO musicians, to improve their technical and musical skills.
Ms Joi Soh Qi Yu, Subject Head of Aesthetic, Fuchun Primary School, said: “The pupils appreciate that they were given the opportunity to be taught by the tutor, Alan Karthik, who is a musician from the Singapore Symphony Orchestra and were given the privilege of experiencing the rigor of the audition process as part of their Co-Curriculum Activities (CCA).”
“The teachers observed that pupils who had gone through the programme became more aware of their own playing, in addition to having awareness of the entire ensemble at any one time. As the programme also introduced a classical piece, rearranged specially for them by Mr Alan, the pupils had the opportunity to learn to perform an orchestral excerpt from Pictures At An Exhibition, composed by the renowned Russian composer, Modest Mussorgsky, bridging a connection between their CCA and classroom music lesson,” she added.
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She blinked at the elf beside her at the bar.
“Yes, save you.”
“From what exactly?’
“Not from what but for what?”
She paused and tried desperately not to rise to the bait.
“For what exactly?”
“The afterlife of course. The eternal reward.”
Damn elves. You never knew what you were going to get with elves. And damn her love of pretty men. Just…damn.
“I think your idea of an eternal reward and mine are a bit different. Mine involves fangs.”
“You wish the change?”
“When I find the right one, yes that is exactly what I want.”
“And if you never find the right one?”
“Well,” she grinned evilly “at least the hunt was fun.”
His return look of boredom peaked her interest.
“That is a fools errand. The change never delivers what it promises.”
She looked at him steadily. “ You sound as if you have experience, but that is impossible, elves can’t be changed.”
“Elves can be changed, but not completely, so we revert back.”
Interesting. She wasn’t even sure she could be changed. Her nature was already predator, so there was a more than decent chance that it wouldn’t work on her, but she pressed on. Changelings were so much fun to tease and the sex was amazing! Aw dammit, she had gone and gotten interested in this elf. She so didn’t need this.
“Wow, that would totally, and completely suck.” She grinned slightly at her semi-unintended pun.
He was not amused.
“This is no game. This is also no way to live your life. I have seen your like and watched them fall into the Pit never to be seen again. Mark my words. You will not last long in this place with your easy morals and playful banter. This place will eat you alive.”
“Are you through?”
He nodded, looking at me as if I had finally gotten his attention for the first time since he sat beside me and started his soul saving spiel. Well, what do you know, maybe this might be fun after all.
“In this place you dare to judge me? Really? You know nothing about me. If you have been in this place as long as you act as if you have, how could you dare to think you know the first thing about me. You have seen my kind before? Look around you, you have never seen the kind of half of the beings in this Inn! So, by all means, you sit beside strangers and roll out your beliefs, which you don’t even seem to believe anymore, and decide who, or more importantly, what these people are. I would love to see how that works out for you.”
He smirked at me.
“They told me you had a brain and a fiery mouth to match it. How intriguing.”
“They who?” I glared at him with intensity that masked my instant mortification. I had been played.
“Your parents of course.”
“Yeah, no, I just don’t think so. You can try to take me back. Try.”
“They have no wish to have you back. They just want the family name protected from whatever trouble you get yourself into.”
He knew what I was. He knew…wait a minute, Mom and Dad didn’t want me back?
Inexplicably my eyes welled with tears. Damn it.
The elf in front of me froze. I imagine that this is the last response he ever expected from me. Inside my triumph of flummoxing the elf and the pain of his pronouncement warred. I stared at him for a few moments more then silently got up and walked out of the inn. I had learned a few rules from my father, the most important being, always leave with the upper hand.
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Teague von Bohlen is an Assistant Professor of Creative Writing at the University of Colorado Denver, where he also serves as Faculty Advisor for the student newspaper The Advocate. His fiction has been most recently seen in South Dakota Review and Hawaii Pacific Review, and his first novel, The Pull of the Earth, won the Colorado Book Award for Fiction. He's currently finishing up a college-survival-guidebook called Snarktastic, a second novel, and a collection of flash fiction/photography, of which these three pieces are a part.
When I look at the sky, no matter what I see, I see you. You and I swimming in the black water of the lake south of town. Nothing more than a mudhole, but isn't everything bigger than it is when you're a kid? And we were kids: old enough to drive, but that was all. So you drove me to the only place where we could do whatever we wanted. The lake. A pond, really. A reservoir for someone's rainwater, a place of circumstantial existence. We climbed that dead tree that tilted over the water, hung from it, dove off of it, laughing, oblivious to the possibility that the bottom was too close. At that age, nothing seemed stupid. Thoughtlessness was the height of bravery.
You and I were necessary. You dunked me under the water, and even though I yelled then, I thank you for it now. You taught me the folly of trust, the danger inherent even in the sweetest of moments, the fear of boys and girls together. It was like you said when we broke up after graduation, when you were going to Eastern and cheated on me with that blonde who worked the baton and god knows what else. “Things happen,” you said then, and even though you were on the phone, I could tell you were shrugging your thick shoulders. And you were right.
You weren't the only one I went to the lake with, but you're the one I think of when I think of that lake. You were the first, the one that made the memory, and that means something. I find myself thinking of that lake a lot these days, when I look up at the night sky while sitting on my porch. Sometimes I can't be the woman in that house anymore. I can't be her. So I go outside, where I can be anyone, at any time. I'm outside of the house where my two girls sleep in their beds, and my bed is once again empty. Because things happen, you know, on both sides. Mistakes are made. There are things from which you can't recover, not in the same skin.
You and I, we're constellations. My girls are up there too, and so is my soon-to-be-ex, and the family dog he took, and the house that itches me when I'm inside it. We're the stars that look like they're right next to each other, look like they've come together purposefully to make a pretty picture. But that's illusion, just pretty story. We're millions of miles away from each other, alone, galaxies unto ourselves, moving through the sky like we have a place to go, shifting around in our broken ways, shining on for no good reason.
I bought the first shirt for me. Dress-black, long-sleeved, a sharp collar and white pearled buttons down the front. I'd just gotten a job at an architectural firm in Decatur, and they expected their draftsmen to present well. This was back in the day, when bullpens were the standard, warehouse rooms with men in columns and rows. No cubicles, no fabric half-walls. Everyone had a table and a coatrack and a willingness to talk to the guy next to you, in front of you, behind. We'd play the ball games on the radio in the summer, listen to carols in December, each of us whistling our own little tunes and forgiving those around us for doing the same. Good manners let us ignore the cacophony. Every other guy in that room wore short-sleeves because of the stains the ink and graphite would smudge behind, but not me. I wore long sleeves and rolled them up. That's the way my wife liked them; she said so when I came home on that first day from work. She ran her hand along my arm, slowly, like I'd seen ladies do in the movies. And she smiled and purred and rubbed her cheek on the slick cotton of my forearm. That was a good night. One for the books.
That was a long time ago. Drafting tables gave way to computers and CAD, and cubicles rose like my father's corn crops, the ones I'd sworn never to depend upon. The bullpen got carved up like acreage amongst squabbling heirs, the composite pieces adding up to a lot less than the whole. You lose something when you can't see the face of the man working next to you. We imagined slights from ten feet over. We started to mind when someone was making what we considered too much noise. When I got promoted, some thought it was because of the way I dressed: for success, they'd spit between drags on their cigarette breaks, like that was a bad thing. But that wasn't true, at least about the reason why. I didn't wear my shirts to get ahead. I wore them because my wife told me she loved seeing my cuffs poking over my wrists. Why I rolled down my sleeves in the driveway every night before I went into the house.
The day I retired, they gave me a pair of 24-karat collar stays instead of a watch. But I've never stopped wearing my dress shirts, even now that my wife and I no longer share the same bed. Now, when I go see her, I still choose what I wear with singular purpose. She still touches my arm, still likes the black ones the best. Even if she doesn't know it anymore, I still wear all my shirts for her.
Everyone has something that's not for sale. Amy knew this, both as a realtor and as a woman who'd been attached to three long-term men over the course of her 37 years with no ring to show for it. This meant no divorces too, she liked to remind herself, but knowing that someone, sometime, thought she was the One? Would have been good.
She hated real estate. Didn't own a house herself, and didn't want to. She wanted someone to call when the sewer backed up, wanted someone else to shovel snow and keep the grass trimmed. Didn't want to think about re-roofing, painting the siding, equity. She was a renter, through and through. She wondered if this limited her options in men. In their twenties, men wanted sex. In their thirties, men wanted sex and a good place to grill.
But Amy was always one to take the practical road. She'd kept her bartending job instead of finishing college because she was making good money, but then the factory on the south end shuttered, taking most of her customers with it. She went to beauty school, but soon realized that she couldn't stand the nattering of old women, and quit. Daytime television was no help; she didn't want to massage anyone, or assist either dentally or medically. She saw the realty school advertised on a shopping cart, though she'd sworn never to tell anyone that.
It had been good so far. Or if not good, good enough. Which was the secret of selling a house, Amy knew, of selling anything. People don't buy a home because it's perfect; they buy it because they dislike it the least, and fall for that one thing. The fireplace. The kitchen. The perfect window for a Christmas tree. This is the faith of buying something over time: that the good will continue to outweigh the bad. That it's not ridiculous to put something down, throw yourself in headlong, and settle for hoping it'll all turn out.
Britten Traughber is a photographer and artist based in Hawaii. She holds an MFA in Photography from Illinois State University, and is a graduate of Bennington College. Britten's photography focuses on unique communities, women's issues and the socio/cultural/economic factors of everyday life in rural settings. She is collaborating with author Teague Bohlen on a long term project combining writing and images. Her work can be seen at www.brittentraughber.com
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Estate of Richards , 17 Cal.2d 259
[Sac. No. 5263. In Bank. February 3, 1941.]
In the Matter of the Estate of PHILIP RICHARDS, Deceased. FRANK BENNALLACK, as Administrator, etc., Appellant, v. E. M. RECTOR, as Administrator With Will Annexed, etc., Respondent.
James Snell for Appellant.
W. E. Wright and H. Ward Sheldon for Respondent.
Butler, Van Dyke & Harris, as Amici Curiae, on behalf of Respondent.
This is an appeal from a "decree settling accounts and decree of distribution" in the matter of the estate of Philip Richards, deceased. The facts in this case are substantially as follows:
Philip Richards died in 1887, leaving a will in which William G. Richards, Francis Richards and James Bennallack were named as executors. The will, which was duly admitted to probate, designated certain legatees and provided that in the event of the death of any one or more of such legatees before receipt of the respective bequests, the amount or amounts thereof should be paid to the testator's brother, William S. Richards. The residue of the estate was left to the said brother, William S. Richards, and to another brother, Francis [17 Cal.2d 261] Richards (also known as Francis S. Richards), share and share alike.
Probate of the estate proceeded over a period of years and, on June 16, 1934, Wm. G. Richards, who since the death of the second coexecutor in 1900 had been the sole executor of the Philip Richards estate, rendered to the probate court an account which covered a period of twenty-two years, and which indicated a balance of cash on hand in the estate in the sum of $8,533.98. As against that amount, however, in the said account he requested that allowance be made to him for reasonable fees as executor. The amount shown as cash on hand included the sum of $3,000 which had been received as additional consideration in connection with certain real property which had been accepted in exchange for a parcel of real property that had belonged to Philip Richards' estate at the time of his death.
On August 21, 1934, Frank Bennallack, appellant herein, as administrator of the estate of Mary Ann Bennallack, deceased, who was the widow and heir of James Bennallack (to whom Francis Richards' residuary interest in the estate of Philip Richards had been assigned), filed objections to the account filed by Wm. G. Richards and, among other things, alleged that no vouchers accompanied the said account; that, according to the books which had been kept by Wm. G. Richards, all amounts of money which had been received by him as executor were not included in the account so filed; and that many items of disbursement therein itemized were not properly chargeable against the estate.
On September 24, 1934, a hearing on the matter was had in open court, at which time it was ordered submitted. At said hearing it was stipulated that the matter of the claim of Wm. G. Richards for executor's fees would be considered at the hearing on his final account.
On November 26, 1934, Wm. G. Richards filed a supplemental and final account, wherein it appeared that the residue of the estate consisted of cash on hand in the sum of $8,767.40, together with the real property which had been acquired by the estate as a result of the exchange hereinbefore mentioned. The said final account was accompanied by a petition for distribution, and a hearing on that petition was set for December 7, 1934. On behalf of the estates he represented, Frank Bennallack filed exceptions to the said final account. However, two days after his final account was filed, Wm. G. [17 Cal.2d 262] Richards died, and his widow, Mary E. Richards,--to whom he had deeded all his interest in Philip's estate, including the residuary interest of William S. Richards which theretofore had been assigned to him,--was appointed administratrix with the will annexed of the estate of Philip Richards. Shortly thereafter, and before qualifying as such administratrix, Mary E. Richards died. On April 5, 1935, E. M. Rector, respondent herein,--who is the husband of the daughter (and heir at law) of Wm. G. and Mary E. Richards,--was appointed to succeed Mary E. Richards as administrator with the will annexed of Philip's estate.
It perhaps at this point should be stated that for a period of forty-seven years preceding his death Wm. G. Richards had served as an executor of the will of Philip Richards, without having received therefor any fees as such executor,--and that during the last twenty-two years prior to his demise, as hereinbefore has been indicated, he had served as the sole executor thereof. The two accounts which were filed by Wm. G. Richards covered the said period of twenty-two years and contained several hundred items of receipt and disbursement, the dates, amounts and nature of which were clearly detailed. The items of receipt consisted principally of monthly rentals collected from tenants of the real property, and nearly all the items of disbursement represented payments of taxes and insurance, also for improvements and upkeep of the property. A considerable portion of the remaining disbursements represented expenses of litigation in which on each of many different occasions the estate had been engaged. The recapitulation set forth in the final account showed that during the preceding twenty-two years in which Wm. G. Richards was the sole executor he received for the estate the total sum of $18,447.42, and expended $9,680.02,--which left a balance on hand of $8,767.40. However, as hereinbefore has been stated, as against that balance the executor made a demand (which was supported by a complete statement of facts in relation thereto) for an allowance of fees in the following sums: $788.95 as statutory fees of the executor; $4,700 for extraordinary services performed by the executor during the preceding forty-seven years; and $1,000 for extraordinary services of the executor's attorneys. One of appellant's principal objections to the account and petition for final distribution which was filed by Wm. G. Richards was directed against the allowance of the amounts claimed therein as executor's fees. [17 Cal.2d 263]
From the record, it appears that, shortly after the death of Wm. G. Richards, it was ascertained that he did not, in fact, have on hand the entire amount of money with which, in his final account, he had charged himself as executor of the Philip Richards estate, i. e., the sum of $8,767.40. It also appears that all persons interested in the Philip Richards estate had knowledge of that fact--as well as of the further fact that as against the amount shown in his final account as being on hand, Wm. G. Richards had asserted a claim for executor's fees in the sum of approximately $5,500.
Several hearings were had on the last account of Wm. G. Richards and, finally, on February 5, 1936, the matter of the settlement thereof was taken up in court chambers. At that hearing the attorneys for E. M. Rector as administrator of the respective estates of Philip Richards, deceased, Wm. G. Richards, deceased, and Mary E. Richards, deceased, entered into a written stipulation with the attorneys for Frank Bennallack as the administrator of the respective estates of Mary Ann Bennallack, deceased, and James Bennallack, deceased, whereby it was provided that the account dated June 15, 1934, and the final account dated November 22, 1934, as filed by Wm. G. Richards, be settled and allowed,--and a proposed order to that effect was prepared and attached to the stipulation. However, in view of the fact that the hearing was had in chambers there is no record of the discussion which took place among the several attorneys at or immediately preceding the time they entered into the said stipulation. But from the testimony which was given at subsequent hearings it appears that the question of the allowance of executor's fees was there discussed; that it was understood and agreed between the parties to the stipulation that the claim for the entire sum of money asserted by Wm. G. Richards as due him for executor's fees would be waived,--and that the amount of cash on hand which belonged to the Philip Richards estate was the sum of $3,002.76.
On February 7, 1936, the court signed the said order. It was therein recited that the amount of cash on hand in the estate of Philip Richards was the sum of $3,002.76, from which the court directed the payment of certain items of expense which had been settled and allowed; and by the terms of that order E. M. Rector, as administrator of Philip's estate, was charged with the amount of cash remaining on hand after those deductions had been made, i. e., the sum of $2,194.63. [17 Cal.2d 264] It also was provided therein that such order was to be "a final adjudication of the accounts presented and all moneys received and disbursed by the said Wm. G. Richards as Executor of the said Estate, and a final settlement of all cash money due said Estate from said Wm. G. Richards, ...". (Emphasis added.) No appeal was taken from that order. However, a day or so after the stipulation was entered into, and after the order had been signed, appellant herein assertedly for the first time learned of the execution of the stipulation, and he thereupon discharged his then attorney for the asserted reason that the stipulation had been entered into on appellant's behalf without his knowledge or consent.
Thereafter, on February 14, 1936, E. M. Rector as administrator with the will annexed of the estate of Philip Richards filed his first and final account, which included a petition for distribution of all the estate remaining in his hands. On February 29, 1936, Frank Bennallack, individually, and as administrator of the estates he represented, filed objections to settling the accounts of administrator E. M. Rector, to the petition for distribution and to the closing of Philip Richards' estate. As a part of those objections he sought a nullification of the stipulation and order of February 7, 1936, settling the accounts of Wm. G. Richards, and requested that a complete hearing be had on both of the Richards accounts.
On January 4, 1937, a hearing was had on E. M. Rector's accounts, and from the record it appears that, in part, the court treated appellant's said objections as an application filed under the provisions of section 473 of the Code of Civil Procedure, to have set aside and declared void the said stipulation, together with the order which had been signed by the court on February 7, 1936. At that hearing the court stated that the application for relief under section 473 would be denied; and thereafter, and some time between January 4th and the end of that month, a minute order appeared on the records of the court, which in part was as follows: "It is ordered that relief under section 473 [Code Civ. Proc.] be denied. It is further ordered that judgment be that residue of the estate will be divided equally between the heirs and successors of William S. Richards and Francis Richards." Subsequently, administrator Rector filed supplemental accounts, and thereafter a hearing was had on September 3, 1937, with respect to those accounts. On September 16, 1937, the final and supplemental accounts of administrator Rector [17 Cal.2d 265] were settled, allowed and approved; and on September 20, 1937, a final decree of distribution was entered. By its judgment the court denied the relief asked for by administrator Bennallack as set forth in his several objections. The decree also contained a formal ruling by which appellant's request for nullification of the order of February 7, 1936, was denied. The present appeal was taken from that decree.
Although the appeal was taken from the decree settling the final account and granting the petition for final distribution filed by E. M. Rector, the real controversy on this appeal is grounded on the asserted invalidity of two separate orders which theretofore had been made by the probate court. The first of the orders which appellant sought to have annulled (which hereinafter will be more fully discussed) was made on November 6, 1933, during the administration of the estate by E. M. Rector's predecessor, Wm. G. Richards, which order authorized the exchange of real property heretofore mentioned. The second order was the one made on February 7, 1936, by which were settled the said two accounts filed by the executor Wm. G. Richards.
With regard to the second order,--against the validity of which appellant has directed most of his argument,--as hereinbefore has been stated, on February 29, 1936, at the time appellant filed his objections to settling the Rector accounts, he also sought an annulment of the said order of February 7, 1936 (based on the assertion that as to appellant the stipulation was invalid, for the reason that, allegedly, he had not authorized his then attorney to so stipulate); and at the same time he asked that a complete hearing be had on the two Wm. G. Richards accounts. In the latter connection appellant charged the executor with being indebted to the Philip Richards estate to the extent of large sums of money, and asked "That no allowance be made to said Wm. G. Richards for any item of expenditure alleged to have been made in said accounts in excess of $20.00 for which no voucher is produced or filed" or "for any item of expenditure alleged to have been made in said accounts for any item of $20.00 or less for which no voucher is produced, unless such item of expenditure shall be supported by the uncontradicted oath of the said Wm. G. Richards, positive to the fact of payment, specifying when, where, and to whom it was made; provided, however, that there shall not in any event be an allowance made for items of expenditure of $20.00 or less, where no vouchers are produced, [17 Cal.2d 266] for any sum in excess of $500.00". With respect to the absence of vouchers, it may be stated that at the hearing of Wm. G. Richards' first account testimony was adduced showing that during the management of the estate as sole executor he had kept a "time book" in which he had entered all receipts and disbursements as the respective transactions had taken place, and that the items of receipt and disbursement set forth in said account were copied from that book, which was produced at the hearing and introduced in evidence. Furthermore, Wm. G. Richards testified in support of his account that the amounts of all payments set forth therein had actually been made by him on the dates, to the persons, and for the purposes stated in the account. No testimony to the contrary was produced.
Appellant does not claim that the order settling said accounts was made or entered as the result of mistake, inadvertence, surprise or excusable neglect (sec. 473, Code Civ. Proc.). Nor does he intimate that any fraud was practiced by anyone in connection with the making of the stipulation therein referred to, or with the obtaining of said order. Moreover, he concedes that upon its face the order is valid. However, appellant contends that the order should be declared void for the following reasons: (1) That the final proceedings which resulted in the making of the order of settlement took place in court chambers; (2) that the items of expenditure set forth in said account which exceeded $20 in amount were not supported by vouchers; (3) that said order is based on a void stipulation in that the stipulation in question was in effect a "compromise" of a claim against "a debtor of the decedent" as those terms are used in section 578 of the Probate Code, and that no petition was filed nor court order obtained for such "compromise", as required by that section; and (4) that in any event appellant was not bound by said stipulation--which was ineffectual for any purpose, for the reason that appellant's attorney entered into the stipulation without being authorized so to do.
It would appear that if those contentions were to be upheld the effect would be to nullify the order of February 7, 1936, to reopen for examination the accounts of the executor Wm. G. Richards which had covered his administration of the Philip Richards estate over a period of some twenty-two years, and to declare as a matter of law that a probate court is [17 Cal.2d 267] without jurisdiction to settle an account of an executor or administrator for less than the amount of the balance set forth in the account unless a court order for "compromise" is previously petitioned for and granted, pursuant to the proceedings provided for in section 578 of the Probate Code. Respondent, however, contends that the requirements of section 578 were never intended to apply to proceedings involving the settlement of an account of an executor. The latter contention must be sustained. By the provisions of article III, chapter XV, division III, of the Probate Code there is outlined the complete procedure to be followed in the matter of settlement of accounts of an executor or administrator, and no reference is therein made to the provisions of section 578 of that code. Moreover, from a consideration of the language of the said section it would appear to be impracticable to apply the provisions thereof to the settlement of an executor's account. In part, the section provides as follows:
"If a debtor of the decedent is unable to pay all his debts, the executor or administrator, with the approval of the court, may give him a discharge, upon such terms as may appear to the court to be for the best interest of the estate. A compromise may also be authorized by the court when it appears to be just and for the best interest of the estate."
It is clear that until the probate court has made and entered an order settling an executor's account, there can be no determination of the amount due the estate from the executor, and until the amount thereof has been so determined there could be no basis for a petition or an order for compromise. Section 578 provides for the procedure which may be invoked where a "debtor" of a decedent is unable to pay all his debts.
Moreover, under section 1240 of the Probate Code, a right of appeal from the order objected to was afforded appellant, and he failed to exercise that right. When the time has elapsed within which an appeal may be taken from an order or judgment, an appeal is unavailing where, as here, it is taken from a subsequent order which refused to set aside the original order. (Estate of Davis, 151 Cal. 318 [86 P. 183, 90 P. 711, 121 Am.St.Rep. 105]; Estate of Devincenzi, 119 Cal. 498 [51 P. 845]; 2 Cal.Jur., p. 164.) It is clear that appellant herein could have appealed from the order of February 7, 1936, and thereby have presented for review on appeal the questions with regard to the asserted irregularities [17 Cal.2d 268] which he now presents as his first three points, as hereinbefore mentioned.
However, appellant argues that--on an appeal from the order of February 7, 1936,--he could not have embodied in a bill of exceptions the facts relied on by him to prove that his attorney had entered into the stipulation without having been authorized by appellant so to do, for the reason that such issue did not arise and the evidence pertaining thereto was not adduced until after said order had been made and entered. In connection with the stipulation, appellant's principal complaint is that--with regard to the settlement of Wm. G. Richard's final account--his attorney had no authority to stipulate for any sum less than the sum of $8,767.40, the amount of cash which was indicated in said account as having been on hand. However, as hereinbefore has been indicated, in entering into the stipulation the court and the attorneys took into consideration the executor's demand for fees, and in that regard the record shows the following facts: At the time of the executor's appointment in 1887, the estate consisted of several pieces of real property and considerable personal property, including mining stock. Twenty-two cash legacies were created by the will, some seven bequests of personal property, together with five specific devises of real property, and the residue was bequeathed in equal shares to the decedent's brothers. Several of the legatees resided outside this country. By the terms of the will, the executors were authorized--without order of court--to pay the cash legacies, deliver the bequeathed personal property, convey the real property to the beneficiaries entitled thereto, and to rent, sell or otherwise dispose of the remaining real property which belonged to the estate. Following the death of the two coexecutors, Wm. G. Richards managed the entire estate. He performed innumerable services in that regard, such as securing tenants for the real property, collecting the monthly rentals therefrom, keeping the property in repair and improving the same. Furthermore, during the forty-seven years of its pendency in probate, the estate was engaged as a party litigant in eight separate legal actions and several distinct appeals to this court. At the time the executor filed his petition for final distribution he had paid all claims against the estate and had carried out all the terms of the will with respect to payment of the cash legacies, delivery of the bequests, and conveyance of the several pieces [17 Cal.2d 269] of real property. In addition thereto he had sold or exchanged various other pieces of the real property belonging to the estate, so that the residue of the estate consisted only of money and one parcel of real property, which by the provisions of the final decree of distribution--from which this appeal was taken--was apportioned in equal shares to the estates of Mary Elizabeth Richards, the deceased wife of the said executor, and James Bennallack, deceased, the father of appellant. Up to the time of the filing of his final account, no allowance for executor's fees had been made to Wm. G. Richards, and he thereupon asked for an allowance of approximately $100 a year for the extraordinary services thus rendered by him during the preceding forty-seven years. Therefore, it would seem that if the question of the reasonableness of such demand were a matter that could be properly reviewed on this appeal, this court would not be warranted in ruling that the amount claimed for executor's fees was disproportionate to the value of the services that he had rendered.
However, aside from other considerations, the validity of the final order of settlement of the Wm. G. Richards accounts cannot be made to depend on the question whether appellant was bound by the stipulation, for the reason that by virtue of the code sections embodied in article III, chapter XV, division III, of the Probate Code the authority to settle the accounts of an executor or administrator is vested in the probate court, free from any control by the parties. And although the court may exercise such authority in accordance with stipulation or agreements of the parties or their attorneys, it is not bound to do so. Therefore, even assuming that the stipulation which was entered into by the attorneys in the present case was for any reason not binding on appellant, the court's order of settlement, being valid on its face, could not in any event be rendered void. (Church v. Church, 40 Cal.App.2d 701 [105 PaCal.2d 643]; Security-First Nat. Bk. of L. A. v. Superior Court, 1 Cal.2d 749 [37 PaCal.2d 69].)
The other order which appellant attacks on this appeal was made on November 6, 1933. In that order the probate court granted the petition of Wm. G. Richards as executor of the estate of Philip Richards, by which he sought to effect the exchange of a certain parcel of real property belonging to the Philip Richards estate for another piece of property, plus the [17 Cal.2d 270] sum of $3,000 in cash. Appellant filed a protest against such proposed exchange, on the ground that the estate had not been distributed. However, the said petition was granted on the ground that the exchange of the respective properties was for the best interests of the estate. The order recited that notice of hearing has been duly given and that evidence both oral and documentary had been introduced. The court had jurisdiction to entertain the petition as presented, and there is no showing that the order was void on its face. No appeal from such order was filed until September 27, 1937. The order had become final long prior to the last- mentioned date, and the present attack comes too late to be of any avail to appellant.
It therefore follows that appellant's present objections to the two orders herein attacked may not be successfully urged on this appeal which was taken from the decree settling the final accounts of Wm. G. Richards' successor. To entertain those objections at this time would be to put the stamp of approval on an action which amounts to no more than a collateral attack on the said two orders.
From the foregoing it follows that the decree settling accounts and ordering distribution should be, and it hereby is, affirmed.
|Mon, 02/03/1941||17 Cal.2d 259||Review - Civil Appeal||Opinion issued|
|1||FRANK BENNALLACK, as Administrator, etc., Appellant, v. E. M. RECTOR, as Administrator With Will Annexed, etc. (Respondent)|
|2||E. M. RECTOR, as Administrator With Will Annexed, etc. (Respondent)|
|Feb 3 1941||Opinion: Affirmed|
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00dc2f0540411b251f569eb6123496767cdab5769caa5360b5fc15150311fbd4
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‘Grandma has been hospitalized.’ The Mother said, walking into the bedroom as I did my hair early this morning. ‘She was excited about us returning to Japan and began cleaning up although she’s physically not up to it. When she didn’t turn up for lunch at the dining hall, the nurse went to her room and found her lying on the floor, at the foot of the bed. She had collapsed the night before and couldn’t get up.’
News usually takes time to reach my face. I’ve been raised not to show any emotion immediately nor react to situations. I prefer to let the words wash over me while I grapple with its reality in my own space and time. With one hand still holding my hair up, I turned around to Mother and asked, ‘How’s she now?’
‘She’s on a drip. The doctor says that she’s dehydrated, weak and that her metabolism is low. This means that she found it hard to eat and that’s why her body didn’t get enough nutrition. He was really glad that she didn’t get pneumonia, seeing how it’s winter and she was just wearing her nightgown.’
When the Mother first told me that she felt we all needed to visit her soon, I brushed it off with a flippant ‘we’ll do it next year’ because work has been crazy-busy and quite honestly, traveling back to Japan with everyone is expensive business. A week later though, we got an email from Aunt Keiko saying that she’d visited Grandma and noted that she looked so much weaker. Then when Grandma wrote to Mother, she revealed that she actually had a fall a few weeks ago.
Initially, she said she was fine but in the later email, she revealed that she had fallen on her mattresses and couldn’t get up. So she lay there the whole night and only managed to get up in time for lunch at the dining hall. Her secret was safe from the caretakers.
With that news though, we immediately made plans to return to Japan. Grandma tends to hide too much. Especially when she doesn’t want people to know that she’s not as independent as she seems.
With this morning’s news though, the whole family (including my sister and her husband) will now travel back together.
‘Is there a chance that we’ll need to return to Japan earlier?’ I was mentally preparing a list of responsibilities to delegate and appointments to reschedule.
‘Well, we will only find out later tonight or tomorrow when Aunt Keiko writes again. I’ll let you know once I get some news.’ Mother replied quietly. ‘The question I don’t want to ask but am wondering all the same is… will I need to pack a black dress?’
‘Grandma won’t want us dressed in black at her funeral will she?’ It was a matter of fact. She likes colours.
‘Yeah, you’re right. We shan’t worry.’
As I traveled to work though, the tears began to well up in my eyes and the tears made their way down uncontrollably. I tried to fight them at first but gave up when I began choking a little.
Grandma is special. I have been so proud of her since I was young. She and her sisters were a rare breed of women then who didn’t want to get married quickly but instead, worked hard to graduate from the top universities in Tokyo. She harboured dreams of marrying well. When she met my Grandfather (a Brigadier-General), she suddenly found herself out in the farmlands, rearing cattle and feeding chickens. Home was a curtain strewn across two wooden stable walls.
Day in and out, she carried pails of water for the animals and made her dresses by hand. Her dresses though, were never black. She chose the cheeriest colours and patterns. Even while she was at the neglected edge of the world, she never lost her sense of royalty and perhaps, that was the steel needed to get through the wars and raise up two children, bear the brunt of a drunk’s brutality and deal with houses that didn’t feel like homes.
I have several images of her burned deep in my mind.
In the deep darkness of night, she leaves the house dressed in her nightgown, running barefooted to the nearest neighbour to seek refuge, while the pet dog scurries by her side, enjoying the surprise night-run. She was running for her life because her drunk husband had grown violent towards her.
In a classroom of youths, she’s the oldest student. The only one perhaps, with 60 years of wrinkles lining her face. She walks with her backpack to and from the British Council. She was studying higher English for her sense of fulfillment and accomplishment.
In the solitude of home, she’s seated at her piano learning to play the piano. Her bony aged fingers playing a kid’s tune. She’s taking lessons from a much younger piano teacher because she wants to learn to play the worship songs that have given her hope.
In a long queue of people, she’s the oldest member of church who arrived almost 2 hours before service to get a good seat. Then she stays for the second service because she knows she didn’t quite understand it all the first round. She was feeding herself with the one thing she knew was truth – God’s word.
At a table set with dainty bowls and plates, filled with cheap Japanese food, she eats with the class of an English Lady. This was life.
She is tenacious, stubborn, loving and about 4 years ago, she left us to return to Japan as she wanted to spend her final years in her homeland, with her people.
Do I think about her everyday? Not in the past few years. But today, she filled my mind and I was a sensitive and emotional person because of that. I felt so much and wasn’t quite sure what I was feeling.
All I knew was that I am not done yet living life with her. I want to spend time talking, gleaning our history from her experiences, taking pictures of her, remembering her. I want to frame her beautifully because she is an amazing woman. Imperfect but so gloriously gorgeous.
I am her grand-daughter and her blood runs in my veins. There is a part of her in me. And I feel that as I understand her… I will understand myself that little bit more.
I will NOT pack a black dress.
I will not be needing it at all.
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58f1c4a6784425716b24e1d2bc8faababbd5eeab00ad9dda3c4fd5b7fb7d285a
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- 135 Church Street, Charleston, SC
- OPEN TO PUBLIC:
An essential part of the streetscape of Church Street, the Dock Street Theatre is Charleston's last surviving hotel from the antebellum period. The silhouette of its wrought iron balcony against the spire of St. Philip's church may be the single most photographed spot in the city. The main portion of the building was constructed around 1809 as Planter's Hotel. The hotel was built by Alexander Calder and his wife, who did so by renovating several pre-existing buildings at the site. The main entrance may not have been built until 1855 by J.W. Gamble.
The hotel was used extensively by planters from the midlands of South Carolina, who traveled to Charleston during horse-racing season. It was noted for its wonderful food and drinks during this era, and the South's famous Planter's Punch may have originated here. Guests to the hotel passed through the recessed porch with brownstone columns, into the lobby, and up a grand staircase that ascended to a drawing room. While much of the interior has been altered, these elements of the antebellum hotel remain and were adapted in subsequent uses of the building. A series of additions to the hotel throughout the 19th and 20th centuries can be easily identified by differences in brick coloration.
The Dock Street Theatre also relates the story of Charleston's theater history. In the 1930s, the building was restored by the City of Charleston as a Works Progress Administration project. During this project, a large section was constructed behind the hotel containing a stage and auditorium characteristic of the 18th century. The renovated building took the name of a 1730s theater which stood on the Queen Street (formerly Dock Street) side of the property. This theater is said to have been the first building built specifically for theatrical performances in America. Planter's Hotel occasionally housed one of the city's theatrical troupes, which performed at the nearby New Theatre during the mid-19th century. The most notable actor of this troupe was Junius Brutus Booth. Booth was the patriarch of a family of actors, which included John Wilkes Booth, the man who murdered President Lincoln. Junius Booth, who stayed at the Planter's Hotel, allegedly tried to kill his manager here in 1838. Today the Dock Street Theatre is home to the Charleston Stage Company, South Carolina's largest professional theater production company, and houses the city's Cultural Affairs office as well as The City Gallery, an exhibition space for local artists.
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de80bf6fecede8de62f1ed25ffe5acdc01f8cb73a88f80ebc533f9bc0eec6720
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St. Lucy, Virgin and Martyr
St. Lucy, one of the most renowned Christian heroines, first saw the light of the world at Syracuse, in Sicily. Her parents were of high rank and very rich; but Lucy cared not for temporal goods, and had already when quite young, vowed herself to the Lord. As her father had died early, her mother desired that she should marry a youth, her equal in rank and fortune, but still a heathen. Lucy was horrified at this proposal; but not to displease her mother by a refusal, she endeavored to delay giving a decisive answer, praying meanwhile to God to aid her. Her prayer was answered in an unexpected manner. Her mother became sick and needed her daughter’s assistance. Already four years had passed, and there was yet no hope of a recovery, when the mother, persuaded by Lucy, allowed herself to be carried to the tomb of St. Agatha, at Catania, which was celebrated for many miracles. On arriving there, Lucy, after long prayers, was overcome by sleep, in which St. Agatha, accompanied by many Angels, appeared to her and said: “What do you request of me, dear sister? Behold your mother is cured! Your faith has worked this miracle. Know then, that as God, for my sake, made Catania glorious, so will He, for your sake, make Syracuse famous; for, you have prepared for Him an agreeable dwelling by vowing your virginity to Him.”
When Lucy awoke she found her mother, who had been sick so long, entirely restored. Joyfully embracing her, she warmly congratulated her, and after both had given due thanks to the Almighty, they also showed their gratitude to the virgin, St. Agatha. After this, Lucy said to her mother: “I beg of you, dearest mother, speak not to me again of a mortal bridegroom, for I have long since united myself to One who is immortal. I pray you also to give me the portion you would have given me if I had married an earthly bridegroom.” The mother, thinking that her daughter would give all to the poor, replied: “If you will wait till after my death, you will be at liberty to do as you like with your inheritance.” To this Lucy made answer: “What we leave to the poor after our death is not so agreeable to God, nor so useful to us as what we give them during our life-time; just as a torch which is carried after us is not of the same service as one which is carried before.” Moved by these words, the mother promised to accede to all her wishes. Hence, having returned home, she gave Lucy the portion which was due to her, and the holy virgin gave it immediately to the poor.
When the youth who had asked her hand in marriage heard of this, his love was changed into hatred, and he accused her to the Governor, Paschasius, as well for refusing to become his wife, as also for being a Christian and despising the gods. Paschasius called Lucy into his presence, and admonished her to sacrifice to the gods, as well as to keep her promise to the young nobleman. “Neither will be done,” replied the virgin; “I sacrifice only to the true God; to Him have I given my faith; not to any man.” “I obey the command of the Emperor,” replied Paschasius; “you must sacrifice to the gods, and keep your word.” “You obey the command of the Emperor,” said Lucy, “and I obey the command of God. You fear a mortal man, I fear an immortal God, and Him I will obey.” “Your brave words will cease,” said Paschasius, “when your fortitude is tried by tortures.” “No,” said Lucy, “they will not. The servants of the Lord are never in want of words; for Christ has said to them: ‘When you speak to kings and magistrates, do not long consider what and how you say it, for it will be given you what to speak. It is not you who speak, but the Spirit of God speaking through you.'” “Do you pretend to say by this, that the Spirit of God dwells in you?” asked Paschasius. The holy virgin replied: “Those whose life is pure and chaste are a temple of the Holy Ghost.” “I shall take care that you be not much longer such a temple,” said the Governor; “I will send you into a brothel where you will soon be deprived of your purity.” “If my will is not in it,” said the chaste virgin, “my purity will be undefiled, even as you can force me to cast incense on the altar before the gods. God judges not by the violence which is done to the body, but by the will. If you cause such violence to be done to me, my chastity will earn a double crown.”
Paschasius, enraged at these words, commanded her to be taken to a house of iniquity, and there exposed to the wickedness of men. Lucy went forth courageously, full of trust in God, whose aid she implored, into the street; where, suddenly, by the power of the Almighty, she became immovable, so that they could not remove her from the spot notwithstanding all their efforts. They fastened ropes around her, and even yoked several pairs of oxen to them, but all was useless; she stood like a rock and could not be moved. Paschasius ascribed this miracle to witchcraft, and commanded pitch and boiling oil to be poured over her, and set on fire; but she remained unharmed in the midst of the flames. The tyrant could no longer endure to see the fearlessness of the Christian heroine, much less listen to the admonitions which she gave to those around her to forsake idolatry; hence he commanded that a sword should be thrust into her throat to end her life. Sinking to the ground, the Saint closed her eyes in death, and received the crown of martyrdom, in the year of our Lord, 303.
The prophecy that the persecution of the Christians would soon cease, with which she had comforted the faithful shortly before her end, became true. Her holy body was buried at Syracuse. From time immemorial this holy virgin and martyr has been invoked by those who suffer from diseases of the eyes.
I. Impress deeply into your heart three memorable sayings of St. Lucy. The first regards almsgiving before death. This is much more agreeable to the Almighty, and much more useful to you than to give after your death. May you choose what is most agreeable to God and most useful to yourself. The second is the answer which she gave to Paschasius: “You obey the command of the Emperor, and I, the command of God. You fear a mortal man, and I fear the immortal God; Him I must obey.” May you act according to these words. Keep the commandments of the Lord, for He can truly be more useful to you, and harm you more than all mortal men. The third is comprised in the following words : “Those whose life is chaste, are a temple of the Holy Ghost.” For whom then are the unchaste a dwelling? Surely, for no one else than the spirit of hell. Should not this thought alone awaken in you the greatest horror for the vice of unchastity, and an especial love for the virtue of purity?
Besides these three maxims, consider how miraculously St. Lucy was strengthened and protected by the power of God, in such a manner that no force could move her from where she stood. Endeavor, at least, to be immovable in your intention, to live more piously, and to shun sin, especially that sin to which you are most addicted. In order not to become guilty of it again, you ought to stand as immovable as a rock in the sea. Let prayer and trust in God be your help, as they were St. Lucy’s. “Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast and immovable,” says St. Paul. (1 Cor. xv.)
Lives of the Saints: Compiled from Authentic Sources with a Practical Instruction on the Life of Each Saint, for Every Day in the Year by Rev. F. X. Weninger. Permissu Superiorum. New York: P. O’Shea, Publisher, 67 Barclay Street and 42 Park Place. 1876.
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( The Mortuary Assistant And His Twin Brother )
Five identical murders; and the victims bodies and organs were playfully dissected. Melkior Pendred, a highly skilled mortuary technician got arrested and convicted for these crimes. Beverly Wharton was sure that he’s the guilty man, but her colleague, Sergent Homer, had always thought she had caught the wrong man and it was his twin, Martin, who was responsible.
Melkior Pendred is dead and another person killed the same way. Chief Inspector William Homer now have to prove that Martin Pendred is the killer. He got arrested but later released on technicality after intervention of his solicitor, Helena Flemming.
Beverly Wharton begins to fear for her career when another murder occurred and Martin cannot found. She calls on John Eisenmenger who had been the pathologist on the original murders, and he immediately noticed a different technique between the past and present murders.
He soon discover the last piece of evidence that will show who is behind the current murders.
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William F. Aldrich
William Farrington Aldrich ( born March 11, 1853 in Palmyra, Wayne County, New York, † October 30, 1925 in Birmingham, Jefferson County, Alabama ) was an American politician ( Republican). He was the brother of Truman H. Aldrich, and great great grandfather of William J. Edwards, also U.S. Representative from Alabama.
William Farrington Aldrich attended the public school in his hometown. Then he moved in 1865 with his father to New York City where he visited several schools and in 1873 at Warren's Military Academy in Poughkeepsie (New York) graduated. In the following year he moved to Alabama, where he pursued mining and factory shops. He also built the town of Aldrich, which bears his name.
Aldrich also pursued a political career. He has twice successfully challenged the re-election of Gaston A. Robbins ( 54th and 56th Congress ) and once the election of Thomas S. Plowman ( 55th Congress ) in the U.S. Congress. Aldrich served in the U.S. House of Representatives on 13 March 1896 to 3 March 1897 then on 9 February 1898 to 3 March 1899, finally on 8 March 1900 to March 3, 1901. He declined in 1900 for reelection from the U.S. Congress.
He then worked as an editor, owner and publisher of the Birmingham Times. He took in 1904 at the Republican National Convention in Chicago in part. He also occupied himself until his death in 1925 with the development of natural resources. His body was cremated and the family vault in the Rock Creek Cemetery in Washington DC buried.
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Sir Willard White, CBE, OM, with Governor General of Jamaica at Awards Ceremony at Kings House
Sir Willard White, CBE, receives OM from Governor General of Jamaica
Sir Willard Wentworth White, OM, CBE Patron of Music Unites Jamaica Foundation
Sir Willard Wentworth White, world renowned bass-baritone, was born on October 10, 1946, in Ewarton, Jamaica.
Willard White, a graduate of Excelsior High School in Kingston and founding member of the Jamaican Folk Singers, commenced formal musical training at the Jamaica School of Music and continued his studies at The Julliard School in New York where he received several scholarships during his studies at the conservatory.
He made his professional operatic debut with New York City Opera, where he played the character of Colline in La Bohème in 1974. His European debut was with Welsh National Opera in Cardiff, Wales, where he played Osmin in Mozart's The Abduction from the Seraglio. He has since gone on to perform in the world's major opera houses, and his powerful voice and commanding stage presence have made him a popular and admired singer across a wide range of musical styles. White is best known for performing as Mephistopheles in The Damnation of Faust, a role he has played many times. Besides his traditional classical repertoire, he is celebrated for his performances as Porgy in Porgy and Bess.
In recognition of his extraordinary contribution to classical music, Sir Willard has received several awards during his career: In 1995, he was awarded the Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (CBE) and the Gold Musgrave Medal by the Institute of Jamaica. He was presented with the Order of Merit (OM) in 2000 by the Government of Jamaica. Sir Willard was knighted in the Birthday Honours ofQueen Elizabeth II in 2004. in 2015 Sir Willard White received the National Chorale of Jamaica Medal of Excellence.
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Hello, there! Thank you for choosing to at least check out what this is all about.
So, for the six of you that care, I would like to apologize. I actually wanted to publish something earlier back in late June. Originally, I had a Season 6 writeup planned that would’ve delved into my thoughts regarding the season. I had the outline and everything, but it just never translated into prose the way I wanted, so I scrapped it.
However, I did like the bit I had about Richard in that writeup, so I decided to flesh it out and make it its own full article! In this piece, I’ll be talking about why I loved Richard so much in Season 6, and why this season made him one of my favorite characters.
Be forewarned, though: this is a bit on the lengthy side. It’s shorter than some of my more """recent""" works, but if reading long stuff isn’t your thing, feel free to turn back.
With all that said, let us begin.
Season 6 was a very interesting time in the show’s history. Season 5 had cast the show in a direction I personally found less than favorable, so I was interested as to how the final season would play out. To concisely summarize everything, I thought Season 6 was quite the step-up from Season 5, and a good final note on which to wrap up the series in general. It took what Season 5 aimed to do and essentially refined it; despite this, Season 6 was not without its apparent flaws, mainly its subpar integration of satire and pop culture and the shaky characterizations of its stars. However, one aspect of the season I found to be consistently great, even at its lower points, was Richard Watterson.
Prior to the sixth season, Richard was a character of whom I held somewhat mixed opinions. This is not to say that he was a bad character; he had a fair number of good traits and brought about some intriguing wrinkles to his characterization. While he had his share of enjoyable episodes, he had moments that played the trite incompetent dad archetype straight a tad too often, and these moments were frequent enough to dampen my appreciation for the character.
So, what changed in Season 6 that made him so great? Fundamentally, not much: he was the same dim-witted and gluttonous hedonist he has been for years. It was one small shift in what the writers prioritized that made him go from a character to whom I remained dicey on for years to one of my favorites on the show: sincerity. Richard has always had a degree of sincerity to him, but Season 6 made it the consistent cornerstone of Richard’s character— nearly everything he did felt like it had some genuine heart. He became a character who, despite his idiocy, was a straightforward guy who wanted to enjoy his life with those he held dear.
Richard’s six most prominent appearances for the season—"The Founder," "The Slip," "The Lady," "The Master," "The Possession," and "The Father"—serve to demonstrate how making sincerity the focal point of his character made him more endearing comically, relatably, and poignantly.
Both “The Founder” and “The Slip” put Richard’s good faith in more comedic lights. “The Founder” has the simple-minded Richard wander into the Chanax headquarters looking for a snack. In an earnest attempt to simply get the food and leave without any altercations, Richard finds himself at the top of the Chanax hierarchy and is pressured into thinking he somehow belongs there. What ensues is comic insanity, with Richard’s ideas manifesting into an absolute fun-functional catastrophe; that in itself is already funny, but that Richard is only doing this because he trusts others’ assumptions about him more than his own is simply charming.
“The Slip,” on the other hand, threatens to make itself unenjoyable by focusing on Richard’s laziness (something that has not gone too well for the show in the past), but never really gets to that point, indebted to the episode manifesting Richard’s sincerity into tenacity. He has a simple yet clear goal—not having to drive to the depot to retrieve his package—and he himself will stop at nothing to avoid such a fate. Unlike something such as “The Menu,” in which he cast his two sons to do most of the work, Richard is taking this on mostly by himself, with the boys only serving as straight men. All of these bizarre shenanigans Richard finds himself in are the result of his own sincere drive to beat Mr. Gruber at his own game, adding to the fun of the episode.
“The Lady” and “The Master” are not particularly emotional episodes and are more focused on simply being hilarious than anything else, but they both manage to touch upon more poignant facets of Richard and his hobbies through his genuineness. Beneath The Golden Girl-inspired cross-dressing antics of “The Lady” is a lonely and isolated Richard whose inability to be traditionally masculine leaves him with a limited social circle. All he wants to do is find some friends to call his own, but alas, his candid search has proven that it is simply not meant to be—that is, until he meets the faux Golden Girls. Donning feminine clothing, Richard goes out and finally finds people that get him; he finds that straightforward camaraderie he wanted. Despite what the Watterson brothers’ initial misunderstanding might have one believe, there are no catches; he simply wants some friends, adding a certain sweetness to an otherwise typical episode.
“The Master” uses its fun Dungeons and Dragons front to paint Richard as the heart of the family in his own weird way. For Richard, family game night is more than just an opportunity to gush about the various nuances of the game (although that is part of the fun); as corny as it sounds, it is about enjoying the moment with the rest of the family. Whatever petty grudges that happened earlier in the day do not matter anymore because there are new moments waiting to be made, and this loving earnestness is what allows “The Master” to be a complete package with all its bickering, and makes the sweet ending that much more endearing when Richard’s efforts have finally paid off with everyone else going against him. His sincerity allows him to be a lovable straight man easy to rally behind throughout the episode.
“The Possession” and “The Father” are some of the season’s most sentimental entries, and both reveal some fascinating emotional depth through the lens of his sincere nature. “The Possession” subverts expectations in regards to Richard’s gluttonous tendencies to provide some perspective as to how he views possessions and the memories attached to them. At first, the episode leads viewers into thinking his attachment to the refrigerator is just another dig at his love for food, but the episode soon flips the script and reveals there is more to it than that. The fridge (literally) holds some of his fondest memories—recollections of the people and experiences that have helped to define him as a person. There is an honest love Richard has for that fridge and a legitimate fear that a part of him would die if the fridge were to ever be removed from his life. It is a type of sincerity that only adds to the touching power of the already phenomenal “The Possession” and makes Richard relatable.
Richard has always struggled with his parental abandonment issues, but everything comes full-circle in “The Father.” On one hand, Richard yearns to reconcile with his father and compensate for what time they lost during his thirty-year absence, but he is also aware of the fact that Frankie is a hard-wired criminal and that he lives in a completely different world. This internal conflict leads not only a pile of raw emotions that makes him a more sympathetic character; it also gives insight into how Frankie’s abandonment has shaped him as a person and how that plays into his one passion—being the best father he can be for his children. Richard himself said it best:
- Richard: I didn't start off as a good father. But your kids… they see you as better than you are, so every day, you bust your chops and try to live up to that.
- Frankie: It's too late for me.
- Richard: No. Not true. You know what my kids taught me today? The future starts now.
I believe this exchange sums up best what has made Richard an absolute blast this season. He is not just some foodie dolt. He is an honest man simply trying to be the best for both himself and for others, and one best be sure he will try his hardest even if he does not completely know how.
The Closing Notes
I appreciate it if you made it to the end! Thanks for reading.
Anyways, what do you think about Richard? Do you think Season 6 has been good to him? Still not fond of him? Think my analysis is completely off? Please, write a comment; some discussion has never hurt anybody.
nicole article coming yeeeeeeeee
That’s all I have for now. Until later, take care! :)
- ↑ Turns out the term "pop culture" alone doesn't include satire, so I edited the word in post-publication. Thank you Zoe for catching that!
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Michael John Everitt
Died 1779. He was the son of Captain Michael Everitt 1716-76 of Fareham, Hampshire, and of his wife, Elizabeth Gayton. His younger brother was Admiral Charles Holmes Everitt Calmady, and he was the nephew of Admiral Clark Gayton and of Vice-Admiral George Gayton.
Everitt was commissioned lieutenant on 5 September 1772 and in this capacity served as a lieutenant of the brig Badger 12 to his younger brother, Commander Charles Holmes Everitt, from the end of 1776.
On 6 September 1777 he succeeded his younger brother as the captain of the Badger in Port Royal, Jamaica. In November this vessel was condemned, but Everitt and his crew were turned over by his uncle, the commander-in-chief Vice-Admiral Clark Gayton, to a newly purchased vessel, confusingly renamed Badger, and carrying sixteen guns. On 28 December this vessel, having sailed north, captured the Bostonian brig Elizabeth off Long Island. His immediate successor when he left the Badger at the end of 1778 was Horatio Nelson.
In January 1779 Everitt commissioned the captured French privateer Comte de Maurepas as the Port Royal 18 at Jamaica, but later in the spring he was appointed to the Ruby 64 in succession to the terminally ill Captain Joseph Deane, being posted captain by the new commander-in-chief, Vice-Admiral Sir Peter Parker, on 18 May.
On 2 June the Ruby, being in company with the Aeolus 32, Captain Christopher Atkins, fell in with the French frigate Prudente 36 in the Bay of Gonave off Haiti, and set off in pursuit. During a chase over several hours Everitt and one of his men were cut down by the enemy’s stern-chasers, although having got within close range the Ruby eventually compelled the Prudente to strike.
A monument to Everitt’s memory was erected in the Church of St. Peter and St, Paul, Fareham.
His wife, Mary, received a pension of £100 following his untimely death. His name was often spelt as Everett, as it was on his memorial.
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