5.5 The Pooka’s Wife
The man who had caused all this stress was waiting for me, and I suddenly remembered that I wanted to do this, go through with this ceremony so he and I could be merged, the way marriage ceremonies were supposed to do that subtle magic. I took a step forward, aware of Mr. Simons holding out his arm and me clinging to his fancy silk jacket sleeve. He looked down and gave me an encouraging smile. Behind me I felt the presence of the four ladies following, each escorted by a handsome groomsman. There were no flower girls. As I’d wished, the wedding was supposed to be simple. I was unconsciously doing the sedate slow-step march. Had such a pattern once been utilized to give the bride lots of time to question this grandiose decision? Did brides often reach the altar and then cry out “no” just before they ran off into the night? Or was the slowness of the movement only for drama, allowing all those seated in the aisle time to analyze the bride’s dress and hair? Timothy was smiling broadly, his smile so big, his mouth must be stretched to breaking. When I’d almost reached him, I turned to hand my bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath to Simone, who was indicating that I should pass them to her. Then I turned back to accept Timothy’s outstretched hand. His was warm and only slightly sweaty. Did that mean that he, too, felt intimidated by all this? “It’s not too late to back out, Penelope, if . . .” he whispered into my ear. I lifted the fingers of my other hand and placed them over his mouth to stop his words. “I love you, Timothy. No second thoughts.” I was pretty sure that my words were firm and honest. I wanted Timothy, there was no question about that. Hand and hand, the two of us turned to face the officiant. The man, a complete stranger to me, nodded at us, then gave a kindly smile. Looking into the man’s face, I almost burst out laughing. He was like Santa Claus without the red suit and bag of toys: a whitish beard and hair, blue eyes as clear as the sky on a sunny day, ears the slightest bit flappy, and a rotund belly only partially covered by a yellow three piece silk suit. His tie was vibrant in shades of green and yellow. He seemed like a caricature, a buffoon of a marriage officiant, but since Simone had chosen him, I was sure he was authentic.
5.4 The Pooka’s Wife
The quartet downstairs was starting up. Pachelbel’s Canon would be the piece that drove us down the stairs. This selection sounded more like Debussy. “Okay. You’ve all cheered me up,” I said, turning to face the four ladies. “You’re right, Judy. I’m among friends and about to marry the most incredible man in the world. And, thanks to you all, this wedding is absolutely perfect! So, should we get this show on the road?” The four of them laughed. Then Sammy got all serious. “Do you have something blue and something new . . . “And something borrowed?” Cara added. I nodded. Judy had lent me a blue sapphire bracelet that I was wearing over the long sleeves of my satin gown. It was both borrowed and blue. The something new was, of course, my wedding gown. I refused to put a six pence in my shoes, even if I had one. Cara giggled. “And what about the garter?” I shook my head. “There’s no way I’d participate in that. Timothy knows it, too.” “Here. The final touch,” Simone said, attaching the veil, then draping it down over my face. “I’m not crazy about this part. I guess it improves the way I look if I cover my face,” I joked, but Simone wagged her finger at me. “You make a beautiful bride. None of that, Penelope, even in jest.” And then we heard the Pachelbel start to play. That was our signal. Judy handed me my bouquet, and the others gathered up theirs. We opened the door where Mr. Simons was waiting. I placed my hand on his arm, and we descended down Timothy’s fancy staircase. We were saving the formal two-step wedding march for the flat ground in the fancy living room, the largest of Timothy’s chamber, which had been cleared especially to embrace folding chairs on each side of the required aisle. All too soon, I was standing in the entryway, where I was to begin the slow-step rhythm that would march me up to the place where Timothy awaited me. Earlier, we’d figured that this room would be sufficiently roomy for the small number of people we’d invited, but as I reached the threshold and scanned the room, I let out a small gasp: one part amazement and one part dismay. Each row of chairs was filled with people. Every seat had somebody in it, and some guests had even been forced to stand on the sides. Where had all these guests come from? I didn’t know this many people. Had Timothy invited them all? I had a flash of timidity and a stray thought brushed my mind: Turn around, leave, and return to my bedroom. Of course, I didn’t. I couldn’t do that, not to my friends, our guests, or to Timothy. Down at the end of the aisle, I saw his face. He was reading my thoughts. A flash of worry streaked across his face. He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but he closed his lips and smiled warmly. Then he lifted his right arm, turned his hand with the palm-side up, and beckoned me.
5.3 The Pooka’s Wife
I had no parents or grandmother to joyfully watch such an affair, so, even the idea of having a marriage ceremony made me sad. Wasn’t a wedding ceremony supposed to be more than a celebration of love, but also the joining of families? Timothy was more or less family-less, as was I, so . . . “You have us here,” Sammy quickly said when I wiped a tear over such thoughts. She threw her arms around me, and Cara also participated our impromptu love fest of hugs. Simone didn’t join in, nor did Judy. They’d both just walked back into my bedroom for last minute bridal preparations that they felt might be needed. Apparently, they heard my words. “Shame on you, Penelope,” Judy lectured me. “You are the luckiest girl in the world. You’re marrying Timothy who is absolutely made for you. You have your friends here to cheer you on, and Ed is going to walk you down the aisle. This is a day for celebration, not for sadness.” “She feels too much,” Simone said, giving her input in the matter. “That’s what Timothy told me once.” She frowned, then shook her head at me. “But I agree with Judy and your two charming roommates. You are starting your future today here, Penelope. Everything will change now — for the better. You must believe that, Penelope. And looking into the future, I see a family, a baby. No two, and maybe more. That part is hazy and unformed. But I can see happiness clearly.” I gasped. “Really?” There was something in Simone’s eyes that told me she knew things that couldn’t be shared. She wasn’t making this up. She was serious. Judy beamed from ear to ear. “Yes, I see it, too,” she said, giggling like a young girl. My two best friends began to giggle, too, but they let go of me, not wishing to crinkle my dress. I was pretty sure that wedding dress wrinkles wouldn’t be possible. Simone knew how to prevent such things. Perhaps, it was in the material she chose. Or maybe it was like with Chef Stevens — Ben, he’d told me to call him. Ben could touch a cup and heat it up. Maybe Simone could uncrinkle material with her touch? I knew she was magical in some way. Was she Fae . . . or something else? I didn’t really think that being Fae was her route into the supernatural world. I was leaning toward believing that Simone might be a vampire. That would explain why Timothy suggested our wedding ceremony take place after dark so Simone could attend. But, she had none of the characteristics that I’d read about: no cold hands, no super pale skin, no fangs, I couldn’t be sure. Whatever Simone was, I knew that both she and Judy were super naturals of some kind. That was one thing I was certain about. Thank goodness that Jack Peterson hadn’t been around lately with his inaccurate knowledge of vampires and with all those dark and ominous predictions. I’d heard that the drug dealers he’d investigated before had finally caught up with him. Jack wasn’t dead, but the mobsters had sent him to the hospital. At least, that’s what Andrew had told me when I’d tapped him for information about Peterson, the plague of San Diego.
5.2 The Pooka’s Wife
I have a beautiful white dress, thanks to Simone’s excellent assistance. My hair and make-up are model/movie star perfect, and my two best friends, Sammy and Cara, are all dressed up in gorgeous light green dresses, mint green that reflects light like the leaves of an elm or sycamore tree — exactly the same hue as the bedspread back at the fancy hotel where Timothy and I stayed in San Diego. That was kind of a joke of ours, but no one seemed to object to the color I’d chosen. Simone is wearing the maid of honor dress, also mint green, and somewhere among all the confusion downstairs, my matron of honor, Judy, my boss’s wife, wears one that is almost identical. I’d decided to have the wedding in Timothy’s house. No place could be more suitable in my opinion, and Timothy was willing to do whatever it was that pleased me. I guess one of the reasons for choosing his house instead of the chapel, was that I really didn’t want a lot of people at our ceremony. My parents were dead, as was the grandmother who’d raised me from age twelve. So, all I had to support me were the people in our wedding party. Timothy’s best man was, Andrew, of course, and he’s in attendance, probably with his girlfriend, who I’ve yet to meet. Timothy recruited Chef Stevens, at my request, since I was really fond of the guy, plus two business associates that are strangers to me. Mr. Simons, my boss (and Judy’s husband) agreed to walk me down the aisle. So, the setting, choreography, music (Timothy hired a quartet that played classical music,) flowers (Judy and Ed Simons’ gift to me,) and the dainty deliciousnesses of hors d’oeuvres, strawberries and melon slices, plus a variety of tiny finger foods (all prepared by Chef Stevens, including a three-tier cake,) are assembled and ready for their moment to shine. Oh, and the official wedding officiate, who was a friend of Simone’s will marry us. I haven’t met him yet, but Simone said he will provide us with a wonderful ceremony, leaning on the Celtic Irish side, whatever that means. I’d told both Timothy and Simone that I didn’t want any religious stuff and neither of them thought that was awful. “Oh, and no obeying,” I’d added when we were discussing such things. Timothy had appeared puzzled over that and glanced at Simone as if she’d know what I was talking about. But then he let out a voluminous laugh and teased me. “That was an option?” he asked. And now the day is here. Timothy hadn’t wanted a bachelor’s party, I’d negated any offerings of a bridal shower, to Judy’s disappointment, and there was no bride’s night out. Simplicity was my mantra. Low key. Just get the show on the road and let me get back to normality, well, as much normality as there would be married to a pooka. No, it wasn’t that I lacked romance, as Cara had accused, but this show of a wedding was a kind of beside the point. Timothy and I had been sleeping together for months. No bride and groom on their honeymoon could be cleaved any tighter than we were.
5.1 The Pooka’s Wife: The Beginning
The Pooka’s Wife Book 2 of the WonderLand Series NOTE: Please read Book 1: The Abyss of WonderLand first. K.S. Riggin Chapter One Everyone is excited on their wedding day. It’s a magical day. I am no different in that respect. I’m one part scared out of my skin, nervous about everything to come, intimidated by the idea of being front and center before a horde of eyes, and . . . bridal shy. There is no doubt that Timothy is my soul mate, and I can’t wait to marry him since we love each other wholeheartedly. Everyday together reinforces that belief. My only doubts are about his true identity. It is quite a leap for an ordinary female like me to jump into the supernatural world, to become one of them, and the fact that Timothy has a history he doesn’t want to talk about, hundreds of years of history, well that’s all a bit of a chiller! You see, my fiancé, my husband to be, is a pooka. If you’re like I was, you’ve never heard of them. Pookas in Irish literature were known for being mischievous. They teased people, but never did any harm. A good example, I learned, was in the movie, Harvey, where the mysterious rabbit that only Harvey could see, popped in at out, basically entertaining his buddy, Harvey, but also, managing to solve some problems. I’ve seen the movie several times now, becoming better acquainted with how pookas supposedly acted. I’ve also read books that included stories about pookas. Most commonly, pookas become wild black stallions who offer rides to folks. But once on the pooka, the passenger can’t get off until the pooka allows it. According to such tales, it’s a rough ride for some, but no one ever gets hurt. That’s s the nature of the pooka, at least, according to what few stories I can find. I guess, the most important detail, is that a pooka can change its shape. It can be a wild horse, a giant rabbit, or whatever animal it chooses. Shape changing is cool, but impossible to understand, especially since the act of transforming his body doesn’t hurt the pooka. No pain like with Hollywood werewolves. That’s because it’s magic, Timothy tells me. Secondly, a pooka lives a long, long time. How many years or centuries is unknown. Timothy and his friend, Andrew, who voluntarily received a pooka’s bit back in his childhood, have lived through medieval times, have spent years in palaces with kings and knights, and have witnessed the birth of our American nation. They even saw fought in the Napoleonic wars, met Queen Elizabeth, and participated in California’s Gold Rush. (Sadly, they never met Shakespeare, Benjamin Franklin, or any of the famous people I asked about since their failure to age forced the two men to hide out, away from any public figures or any kind of residential stability.) The third detail that’s important is that when a pooka gives you his bite, he can turn that person into a supernatural. That’s where I come into the picture. Timothy will bite me on our wedding night, and then I’ll live the same long life he does. Oh, and as if that’s not enough, I’m learning that there are other super naturals among us: like vampires, werewolves, and the Fae. My eyes are opening to many vistas, as Timothy puts it. That’s a lot to take in for a shy twenty-three-year old, straight out of college and still a bit lost in even the human world.
4.30 The Abyss of WonderLand
Why had I suddenly become so suspicious of him . . . and of us? What was the cause of my hesitation? Sure, I was young, but lots of couples married even younger. Some marriages began just after high school graduation. Yes, marrying Timothy would require my life to change. If I did, I’d have to adapt . . . But, why the if? I’d already committed to our relationship. I’d agreed to marry Timothy. I’d told him I would. We loved each other. We jived, as my roommates would have put it. We found bliss in bed. Wasn’t that a complete capitulation? No, not a capitulation. Capitulation meant defeat. Getting married didn’t mean I was surrendering to Timothy’s wishes. I wanted this relationship, too. It would be lovely to be with him fulltime. What did it matter where we spent that time? Why was I clinging to a past, wanting an apartment just because my grandmother had lived there? And why did I want to hold onto a job I really didn’t like? Timothy had left me to my thoughts to start up his shower. I listened as the water thundered, hitting the floor tile and one very hunky, handsome man, a man who wanted to marry me. Timothy was perfect, yet I continued hesitating as if . . . I heaved a giant sigh, stopping those doubts from forming ever bigger in my mind. I remembered something my grandmother used to say. Sometimes, you just have to take a leap. Didn’t that apply here? Before I allowed my overly cautious nature to drag me back again into uncertainty, I discovered that my feet were walking me towards the shower. I shed my clothes as I neared the room. Then, finally, naked, I opened the door to the bathroom. Grandma was right. Sometimes you just had to take a leap, and I was ready to do so. Amazingly, in deciding that, my heart sped up, and the uncertainties that had been plaguing me all day seemed to depart. The shower water was just the right temperature as I stepped inside: perfect, and so was the man whose arms enclosed me. And it was right. The End of the first draft of Book One: The Abyss of WonderLand
4.29 The Abyss of WonderLand
“They’ve spoiled us again,” Penelope said, noticing my appraisal of the table full of guest items. I noticed she wasn’t reaching for anything. She was probably too warn out, too exhausted from the day. Had I allowed her to get over-taxed? I probably shouldn’t have said it, but I couldn’t help myself from spouting off. “I would spoil you every day if you wanted it, my darling, but I have figured out that you prefer the simplest things. Since jewels and orchids are not to your taste, I guess I’ll just have to focus on bunny slippers and shiny red apples.” She laughed, as I’d hoped she would. “And what should I buy for you?” she asked. “What is it that a rich man wants?” My mouth knew no caution. I blurted it out like a spoiled child. “A wife who loves me.” I gulped like a young boy, my voice turning raspy, quivery. Embarrassed, I turned to look out through the large picture window. Perhaps if I pretended to have been joking? Silence was her response. I read that as rejection. I stood up and walked toward the bathroom, grabbing my robe on the way. Penelope Timothy didn’t kiss me or touch my hand after those wistful words. He simply left the thought exposed in a kind of bleakness, as if that particular gift was something he thought he’d never receive and perhaps didn’t even deserve. I sat in silence, thinking about his voice, his words, and then about the day we’d just shared. Then my mind wandered off, into the past three days. Timothy on the airplane ride. His patience over my ridiculous fears. The way he’d looked handing out the shirts and jackets he’d bought me, his eyes all lit up as if his major joy came from doling out presents. And there were the many moments of shared delight in the animals we’d seen during our zoo visits. Our exchanges and whispered words. The kisses, too, and all the lovely moments under the green bedspread here in the hotel room. Oh, my. But, even before that, the way he’d wanted my opinion on various paintings. The encouragement. The support. The listening. Timothy had been wonderful — every moment. And I loved him. Wholeheartedly.
4.28 The Abyss of WonderLand
There were thankfully no reporters hanging out in front of our door that day. The guys headed for their own rooms, and Timothy and I walked inside ours, then slumped down into a couple of comfy leather chairs. I think we were too tired to move. I glanced over at him. His face was lined, pallid and almost sickly. Had he gotten too much sun? Had the ocean cruise depleted his energy? Or was he tired of me, ready to go home, eager to do so, in fact. Perhaps Timothy was ready for someone more vivacious, more model-like, more sophisticated. I’d been afraid of that before. Now the feelings swept over me once again. Insecurities rushed in. I felt like a sagging helium balloon, my buoyancy almost touching the ground. Timothy It was all I could do not to focus on her words: She wanted to go home, to move back into her apartment, and to return to her job. Penelope’s words were barbed tips of arrows piercing my skin. Didn’t she realize that? Yet, she’d only stated the truth, the way she saw it. All I desired was for Penelope to stay with me, to be with me in a relationship that lasted the rest of our lives — while she longed only to return to her tiny apartment . . . and her simple life. That was the essence of it. She favored a life separate from mine. It wasn’t that I was a pooka. I think Penelope had accepted that part of my existence. But she wasn’t ready to exchange her life for what I envisioned. Could I deal with that? Could I let her go? And what choice did I have? I had given it my best, but I’d failed. As I sat in the chair, too shattered by the catastrophe, I tried not to show my feelings. I needed to carry on, to give Penelope the independence she so craved, but I felt sick inside. I felt exactly as Andrew must have felt when his wife turned on him, desolation. Penelope was eying the table where the hotel staff had left our usual platter of delectables, all of it sitting on ice. Today’s bounty held red-waxed cheeses, some grapes and strawberries without chocolate, and some fresh slices of melon. In a bowl where her favorite Red Delicious apples had been, there was a fruit basket filled with greenish-yellow bananas, apples, pears, kiwi, and plums. Beside that bowl sat a platter of cookies, the pretty kind that usually tasted like cardboard with a bit of sugar. Each cookie looked to be individually sealed in plastic.
4.27 The Abyss
When we returned to the hotel, I was disappointed that the fancy lobby seemed to have lost some of its appeal. All of a sudden, it looked cold and over-decorated. How had it moved from glamourous to only highly ornate? The same chandeliers sparkled down at me. The outer circular door was so clean it looked like the glass wasn’t even there. And my old favorite, the polished and glossy copper elevator was unexpectedly just an elevator. Timothy turned to look at me. “Getting jaded already?” he asked with a smile. I shrugged. “I love San Diego. Everything we’ve seen has been incredibly marvelous, but I guess I just want to go home. I want to move back into my apartment, to return to my job, and to gaze at the paintings in your gallery. San Jose is calling me,” I said with a laugh. He nodded, then smiled. “Yes, I know what you mean. I really do understand. Let’s rest here tonight. I’ll get us tickets for a flight out tomorrow, if you’re sure this isn’t just fatigue from the ocean trip talking.” We’d reached the elevator. Terry punched the right button, the one that went to our room on the new floor. I stepped inside and then sort of leaned against Timothy. He was right. I was tired, but, also, I yearned to go home. The guys had been listening to the conversation. Bob said, “No more delicious apples? No more zoos or whale watches?” I shrugged again. “It has been fun, but being spoiled gets tedious. When we no longer appreciate shiny doors, bowls of apples, or chocolate covered strawberries, then it’s time to go. My grandmother used to say that familiarity feels comfortable because it’s home.” Terry opened his mouth to speak but then shut it as quickly. He swallowed his words, then asked, “So should we be ready to head out in the morning, Boss?” Timothy glanced down at me, smiled, then nodded. “Unless Penelope changes her mind during the night.” I laughed and shook my head. “Nope. Time to go home.”
4.26 The Abyss of WonderLand
Despite the beauty of the day and my wonder at seeing so many incredible creatures, I was ready to get off the boat by the time we returned to port. The captain was steering the yacht to the same pier from which we’d disembarked. The sun was shining brilliantly, and the ocean breeze seemed to have stilled, so it felt luxuriously delicious to feel the warmth on my skin. (Although some of that warmth might be caused from having already gotten too much sun from our long day at sea?) The captain pulled up into his spot. Kyle jumped off and strapped the boat in securely. Yes, that probably wasn’t the right terminology. When we reached the wooden pier or dock, and the yacht slipped into its berth, Kyle picked up the loops of heavy rope and moored the vessel by tying it to the solid metal cleats. Once he finished all that, it was time for us to step off. Kyle stood there, offering his hand to each of us. Terry went first, followed by Bob. Then it was my turn. It was the strangest thing. As I disembarked off the gangplank and stepped onto the more or less stable pier, my legs felt shaky, as if I’d forgotten how to walk on land. For a moment, I missed the sway from the ocean water. Did that mean I’d earned my sea legs? Thanks to Timothy calling our reliable limo driver from the yacht’s deck as the vessel chugged into the berth, Alan, the chauffeur, was waiting for us. The four of us climbed inside the behemoth vehicle, which had arrived the moment we walked off the wooden surface of the pier to trod onto the parking lot. Alan greeted us with a smile and opened the door, offering his hand to me. As we crawled in, each of us sank into the luxurious seats and gave a big sigh of contentment. Even the guys looked exhausted, their faces slightly smudgy with grime, which was puzzling since the yacht had been immaculate. Perhaps they’d touched a post or beam on the pier and accidentally swabbed their faces? Inside the limo, almost at the same moment, we each reached for a bottle of chilled water. What is it about being on a liquidy ocean that makes you want to drink more fluids? Timothy opened my bottle, something he was prone to do, as if I couldn’t do it myself, but it was a simple curtesy, no matter how silly it seemed. I smiled happily. This had been the best day of my life. Of course, each of our other days in San Diego had been best days, too. I had a feeling that was due to Timothy. He was pretty great! In fact, I was falling for him — truthfully, already crazy in love. What would my grandmother say? I mentally shrugged. It was too late now. My smile was a permanent crease on my lips. My heart was open wide.