Tag: life

Fury of the Wind

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excerpt

…housewives and excited children. After checking off the names of
volunteers who manned each booth, he moved on to the next. Few
of the women had time for more than a glance and a nod in his
direction, but preparations appeared to be progressing well.
As he approached the bake sale table, an annual endeavour of the
Anglican Church ladies group, he spotted his wife working at the
table with Mrs. Carson and Mrs. McKinnon. But before he could
greet them he heard his name called. Will turned to see Mrs. Draper,
a director’s wife, hurrying towards him.
“Oh, Mr. Andrews,” she said breathlessly, “I’ve been looking all
over for you. Janet Peterson was supposed to be helping me with
the preserves booth but her husband just told me she’s sick and
won’t be here.” Beads of perspiration from her forehead were sliding
down each side of her moon-shaped face. “I can’t handle it on
my own, there’s so much coming in, and that judge from Bradshaw
doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
“All right,” Will said, “you go back to the booth and I’ll send
someone over.”
Muriel Draper extracted a crumpled handkerchief from the
puffed sleeve of her cotton dress. She mopped her face, muttering
as she turned away, “And it’s already so hot. I don’t know how we’ll
survive in this building all day.”
Will thought if Mrs. Draper calmed down she wouldn’t feel the
heat so much. As he turned back to the bake table, he wondered
idly how poor Charlie Draper could stand his wife’s whining day
after day.
“Molly,” he said, after nodding briefly to his wife’s companions,
“will you go over to the preserves section and help Mrs. Draper?
Her partner isn’t coming and she’s snowed under. You know how
excited she gets.”
Molly gave him a sour look. “Really, Will, can’t you find someone
else? You know I’m needed at this table to help with pricing and
sales.”
“I’ll find someone else to come here then,” Will said firmly, “but
there’s no one else who knows how to arrange exhibits like you
do.”
Mrs. Andrews, not in the least mollified by his compliment,
shrugged her shoulders irritably, picked up her purse from under…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073530

Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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Rordan waited for an answer but none came. Ula merely smiled to see his thumb
caress the top of her hand.
Suddenly aware of what he was doing, Rordan withdrew his hand.
“My problem was with my father,” Rordan said. “He used to get the local bullies
after me just to toughen me up. Then when I wouldn’t fight with them, he’d beat me
with a cudgel. I finally ran away and travelled with a surgeon to the south of France.
I learned a lot from the Saracen doctors in Córdoba but I refused to become a Mohommedan
and had to leave Spain or be made a slave. The only way I could return
to Éirinn was to travel with soldiers, so the very life I wished to avoid was forced on
me. Still, like you, I survived.”
It was through singing that they came to a mutual understanding and respect. Ula
had a beautiful voice and their harmonies echoed through the wooded hills. Sometimes
they made up songs where Rordan would sing the first part and Ula would
complete the phrase:
Thank you birds … for your beautiful songs
Thank you sun … for your warming smile
Thank you trees … for your perfume in the air
Thank you breeze … for blowing through my hair
Thank you God … for bringing us together
Rordan longed to tell Ula of his growing love for her but couldn’t bring himself to
do so. What if she rejected him and thought him strange like Finten and the Brothers
did? He didn’t want to lose their newfound friendship. Ula also had her own feelings
of love but, for the same reason, couldn’t share them with Rordan.
After four frigid months at the hunting camp, the band moved back to their home
by the sea, convinced at last that the devil ship would not return. Upon arrival in the
village, the community of Natives gathered to build a special lodge for the White
Devils who had become Friends of the First Light People.
Through the coldest days, when muted conversations and irritating coughs grated
through the smoky lodges of the hunting camp, Brother Rordan had sat apart, whittling
a piece of deer breastbone with a small flint blade. Now he presented a Celtic
cross to Father Finten. For the first time the young poet could remember, his mentor
offered genuine praise and appreciation, acknowledging this expression of his art.
Finten raised his eyebrows, smiled, and took and blessed the cross. “This is truly
beautiful, Brother. I think your cross should stand above the entrance to our lodge,
that all may see the symbol and be reminded of our crucified Saviour.”
The cross became a meaningful emblem, not only to the Brothers, but also to
everyone in the village. When Bjorn and Ari expressed interest, Finten talked about
Christ. The two Norsemen had been exposed to Christian teachings as children but
had understood little. Finten was careful not to overstep the bonds of friendship by
aggressive preaching.
White Eagle and the First Light people had their own interpretation of the sacred
symbol and likened it to the medicine wheel, which represented the sacred number
four. White Eagle explained that there are four directions and four winds…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562826

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763106

Arrows

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“Why do you want me to baptize your baby again?” I asked her,
sipping from a cup of hot chocolate sweetened with honey. I knew
well enough that was the usual procedure, but she probably didn’t.
The house was not well located. It was on the perimeter of the
town, near the place where the Indians had made their temporary
encampment. We sat on rickety chairs at the table in her kitchen, her
slave minding the baby outside. I could see them through a window
that was nothing more than a squared opening in the wattle and
daub wall.
Josefa had aged since I last saw her; left behind was the young
woman that shivered every time the monkeys howled or a jaguar
roared in the mountains. This was a weathered woman with hands
reddened and swollen from work. But in her big brown eyes, the girl
lingered, and she could still make me shrink inside when she burst
into tears.
“What? What is it, Josefa?”
She sobbed and wiped her face with the edge of her apron.
“Nothing, really. I’m very happy to see you, Friar Salvador. I
missed you terribly.”
“So am I to see you, but tell me, why are you crying?”
I didn’t have time for this. I was tired from the time spent writing
the letter for Losada and worried by their content. I reached out and
held her hand.
“Josefa, is there something you wish to tell me?”
She stopped sobbing and looked at me, deadly serious, then
glanced through the window.
“Only if it is as a confession. All I tell you in confession is secret,
isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
I was not expecting her to speak so plainly.
“He circumcised my baby. He spoke in a strange tongue and he
circumcised my baby. He is a Jew! And now my baby is a Jew as
well! Am I damned?”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562848

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Still Waters

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And why shouldn’t she be happy? She had just committed to marrying
a wonderful man, who obviously adored her. They were of the
same faith … no problems there. And Morley had found a woman
who shared his faith … no problems there, either. So why should she
not be literally dancing with joy?
I’m tired, that’s all. Tomorrow, I’ll be fine. Just let me go to bed now,
and I’ll be fresh as a daisy to take Cam to church tomorrow … my church
… his church. Thank God, no more conflict with Mom and Dad. Aunt
Millie … what will Aunt Millie say? She’ll be happy, of course, even if
she has always favoured Morley. No more worries, Tyne.
She was jolted from her thoughts by the others making a move to
leave the table, and she heard Cam say to her dad. “I’d like a word
with you, sir, if you have a minute.”
Oh no, Cam, not tonight, let’s wait a day or so. She knew he planned
to ask her dad for her hand in marriage. Why did he always have to
be so formal, his manners so impeccable? Now she would be obligated
to stay up and join them all in the living room after Cam had
his talk with her dad. There would be hilarity, maybe even toasts. Jeff
Milligan would declare he must break out his best bottle of wine. He
always professed to have one on hand for joyous occasions, although
Tyne had yet to see him open one.
She got up quickly to help her dad out of his chair but he was
already on his feet, grasping the corner of the dining table with one
hand and his cane with the other. He waved her away when she offered
to help him into the living room, but she noticed that he took
Cam’s arm and let the younger man guide him through the doorway.
No indeed, no more worries. She had done the right thing by accepting
Cam’s marriage proposal.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763068

Straits and Turns

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I had a good bite of my sandwich, turned the food in my mouth and chewed slowly while I stared at the beautiful Goddess who was observing me and after I slowly chewed and swallowed my food while she was chewing hers and while my wife was sipping her red wine, I sent towards the Minoan beauty a kiss with an imperceptible movement of my lips to which the Minoan Goddess reciprocated with an even sweeter kiss sent my way and the pact of the day was sealed, the
beauty the up to now dull day had changed into, brought back my
thoughts about the travellers in the Atocha train station in the bowels
of which thousands of people go through, like that blonde traveller I
met yesterday, who played footsies with me and who would probably
was with her lover, yes at this moment in time, in this big city of
Madrid, she was surely enjoying the body of her husband, or lover,
or Lesbian partner, while the Minoan beauty, who had just finished
paying her waitress, got up and walking towards us and quite unexpectedly
she faced my wife and asked, “visitors?” to which my wife
said “yes”, “Having a good time in Madrid?” “Yes,” my wife said, “how
long have you been here?”, “a week, but we go home tomorrow” my
wife added, “have a great time and safe travels back home…by the way
where is home?”, the Minoan beauty asked, “Vancouver, in Canada,”
my wife said, “well enjoy your stay in Spain” the young woman added,
to which my wife and I said in unison, “thank you” and the Minoan
beauty turned and walked away showing us the calligraphy of her
buttocks, knowing well that I’d make sure I’d pay attention to them
as I paid attention to the unimaginable images she graced me with,
images that surely I’ll keep in my mind for the rest of my life.

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763866

Jazz with Ella

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The atmosphere on the airplane was like the aftermath of a party gone wrong—at which the host had done something embarrassing or insulted esteemed guests. He or she is mortified but defiant, and secretly the other guests have enjoyed the spectacle while publicly shaking their heads and frowning.
As the victim of a wrong, Professor Chopyk refused to meet Jennifer’s gaze as she and Volodya shuffled down the aisle to their seats, a few rows removed from the others. It was just as well because she could barely contain her sense of relief at the moment. She was as mortified as the embarrassed host for having drawn so many people into this conspiracy, but she couldn’t help feeling jubilant that it had turned out so well. Just Canada Customs left to hurdle—and that would be far easier.
Lona arrived next and settled by the window with a magazine on her lap, looking smug and ignoring them. David was grinning from ear to ear, visibly relieved. Ted appeared nervous and uncomfortable. Hank winked. The twins were oblivious as usual. Maria, just one row over in an aisle seat, gave Jennifer and Volodya the thumbs up.
No matter, they had done it—left the Soviet Union. Volodya would be free. She pictured him in Canada listening to live gospel music for the first time—an expression of awe and gratitude on his face. In Vancouver, she would take him to the Hot Jazz Club, an after-hours dive off Broadway, or they would dance together on the sprung floor of the Commodore on a Saturday night. Somehow they would find work—she didn’t expect to be given much gainful employment in the Russian Department after this escapade was over. Maybe she would work in a nightclub—or write a novel and forget about Russia.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562892

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246

Water in the Wilderness

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Maybe they were still asleep. Opening the door, she walked cautiously down the hall but picked up her pace when she heard muted voices from the kitchen.
Moe and Ken sat at the table, fully dressed and with mugs of coffee in front of them. They turned towards her.
“Good morning, kiddo. You had a good long sleep.” Moe jumped to her feet. “Okay, first a cup of fresh coffee, then I’ll make your breakfast.”
Tyne glanced from one to the other, trying to read their expressions. But Moe, in spite of dark patches under her eyes, exhibited her old cheerful demeanor. Ken was smiling. “Morning, Tyne,” he said as he got up and pulled a chair out from the table.
Tyne hesitated. Did they have something to tell her? Were they acting normal to lessen the shock? Before she allowed herself to sit down and accept the coffee Moe handed her, she had to know.
“Have you heard anything?” Her voice was little more than a whisper.
Both of them shook their heads, and Ken said, “It’s a little soon. I’m sure they’ll be in touch with us today.”
Tyne’s sigh was louder than she expected. “I know, I’m being overanxious.” She sat down across from Ken and stirred cream into her coffee. “I didn’t mean to sleep so long. I told Bobby and Ronald I’d be back to the see them this morning, at least for a few minutes.”
“You’re too late, kiddo,” Moe said as she broke eggs into a bowl. “Aunt Millie left over an hour ago for the hospital. The boys are well looked after. Right now you’re going to have breakfast.”
“Thanks Moe, but I’m not really hungry.” Tyne took a sip of coffee. “I don’t think I can eat.”
“Nevertheless,” Moe said as she whisked the eggs, “you’re going to try. And I’m going to stand over you until you do.”
Tyne had to smile. “Do you realize you’re beginning to sound more and more like Aunt Millie?”
In spite of her assertion that she was not hungry, Tyne ate most of the scrambled eggs and toast Moe placed before her…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562884

https://www.amazon.com/dp/192676319X

Redemption

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He was in his room with his mind wandering to faraway lands
where he might have to go for a while. Yes, he had to accept the offer.
This position was going to be his post. Even if he had to go abroad, it
would be just for a while. He liked the idea of being around the young
people who could be moulded to his way of thinking. He could be a
craftsman who would take soil and plant it into a pot of his liking.
Yes, this was a position he had to accept.
“Everything will go the way it was supposed to go,” Hermes
told himself.
Cleaned and dressed, he went downstairs. His aunt was there.
“Ready to go, my boy?”
“Yes, dear Aunt. I shouldn’t be late.”
“You are right. Go then and try to learn everything, so you
know what you will get yourself into, conditions, demands, everything,
okay? Remember, nobody these days offers you something
without expecting something in return.”
“Yes, I know, I will find out the best I can. Don’t worry. I’ll tell
you all about it when I’m back.”
“Are you going to be late?”
“No, and I’m not going to Eleni’s after this, if that’s what you are
saying,” he answered and went to the door.
Half an hour later, he was at the doorstep of the dean’s house
and rang the bell.
The dean himself opened.
“Good evening, Dean.”
“Good evening, Hermes. Come in.”
He walked in and sat down in an armchair. The house was
rich, lordly, with thick carpets and furniture of a conservative style.
All kinds of paintings hung on the walls. Some of them were classic
styled and coloured pieces, although a couple of them looked
modern, especially one, an abstract painting, flooded by an overhead
light, looked very impressive as it caught Hermes’ glance, which
focused on it for a few extra seconds, not to be missed by the dean,
who smiled and, sitting across from Hermes, asked,

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763858

Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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Ari found a special friendship in Grey Wolf, once Grey Wolf learned from Ari that
he had been avenged for the loss of his ear. Grey Wolf and Leaping Water expected
their first child before the end of the next summer.
Throughout the winter, Rordan and Ula created a deep special connection with
Running Deer and the other camp children, teaching them simple songs in the Celtic
of his own childhood. They called Ula, Aira, meaning Of The Wind, because she
could run like the wind and beat almost anybody in a race. She was expert at throwing
a knife and could hit a target at twenty paces. Ula didn’t mind the new name
because both names sounded so similar and she loved the acknowledgment of her
prowess and strength. The Natives gave Brother Rordan the name Mountain Thrush
for his pleasing voice and happy laugh, though many of the elders referred to him as
Ominotago, Beautiful Voice. The children were also fascinated with his blonde hair,
almost the colour of the cotton traders brought from the Lands of Winter Sun.
For the first time in many years, Brother Rordan had found his niche as a singer
and teacher of song among the Natives. Finten regarded the transformation from
surly boy to happy Brother as a miracle and didn’t object that Rordan and Ula
seemed to spend all their time together. Perhaps this was God’s country after all. He
often thought that if singing were praying twice, the singing of the children would
surely bring conversions.
Music contains a power stronger than many medicines and Brother Rordan’s
chanting was healing Ula’s sadness but she still remained wary, especially toward
Father Finten and Bjorn, both so much older than she or the Brothers. It took a
period of fever, when Ula had to be nursed by Chochmingwu Corn Mother, Brown
Bear’s wife, for Rordan to reach a new closeness with Ula. It was then that he saw her
vulnerability, as she revealed her childhood suffering through fevered ravings and as
he witnessed her tears.
Since her daughter’s murder by Illska, Corn Mother had dedicated herself to healing
the village children and young people. It was a testament to her loving heart that
she nursed one of the white strangers. She also appreciated Rordan’s commitment to
the children and so she reached out to his constant companion.
Corn Mother’s herbs worked their magic. Ula began to speak to Rordan of her
past as she recovered from the fever that had racked her for two weeks, and as she
saw the relief and warmth in Rordan’s eyes.
“How did I come to be a slave? No, I wasn’t taken by Vikings. My parents weren’t
killed in an awful raid. I didn’t crawl out of the flames. My pigshit mother thought
I’d make a good nun and sold me to a convent. A good nun, ha! Could you see me
in a convent?
“My father? I had three fathers. All of them were my father. None of those assholes
was. I was traded to the convent for six chickens and a pig. A pig! My mother got the
better of the deal: She got the pig; they got me.
“I was there a whole bloody year. Thought they’d rescued me from a life of shame
following my mother’s trade. I was their prisoner, more like it. Stale straw and kitchen
slops and prayers, prayers, prayers, morning, noon and night. So I ran off dressed
as a boy. Then they were going to hang me up for a loaf of stale bloody bread. The
sheriff sold me to a Norseman instead.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562826

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763106

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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…grandly feted and on another day, he and Marsha visited the village that
had been his home. They walked up the Avenue of Princes and stopped
in front of number twelve – his home. In the garden, he saw a couple
talking with the gardener. Ken leaned over the garden wall, introduced
himself, and asked if he could look inside his old boyhood home. The
couple frowned, turned their backs on him, and walked into the house,
locking the door behind them.
The gardener said, “You’re Ken.”
“Yes.”
“I’m Francisco’s nephew.”
“How wonderful to meet you. But why are they so upset?”
“They think you’ve come back to claim the house.”
Ken laughed. “I just wanted to go inside and look. I thought it might
be very nice.”
“Oh no. People have been wondering when you would return to take
back what is yours.”
“I’ve never considered it mine,” he said.
They walked on through the village and then down to the beach. Nothing
had changed. The wall he and Francisco had built was still there and
still trapping the sand to create a beautiful stretch of beach. Even the
remains of Francisco’s cabin still clung to the cliffs.
They drove to Peniche, the home of their friend, the Count. Even here
Ken was recognized, not so much for himself, but for his father; a saint
according to the owner of a restaurant, who closed the café in celebration
of Ken’s visit and served up a feast for his honoured guests.
Back in Toronto, Ken settled into a routine that was continuously interrupted.
When he was not working on Isumataq he painted canvases
for the gallery and for the financial company’s new collection. His biggest
challenge was that the media liked him too much. They wanted to know
why he was meeting with presidents in Europe; they wanted to know his
plans – what was next? Too much good press was boring so they sought
out the malcontents – those who had accused him of appropriating a
culture that wasn’t his. He needled them until they fired back. He had
come back from his latest Arctic trip with letters from the grandmothers,
written in Inuktitut and translated into English, stating that they not
only approved of his art, but had also asked him expressly to do what he
was doing. The letters were tucked in a file that Ken suspected might be
useful one day.
Bad press was interesting but outrageous press was better. He had
about twenty unfinished paintings, stacked in a corner of the studio, that
he would likely never complete. He spread them out on the floor and
paced between them.
“What are you doing?” Diane asked, poking her head into the studio.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562830

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573