2.18 The Abyss of WonderLand
There,” Chris said, suddenly stopping, although the music had not. “Was that painful?” I glanced over at Timothy. A moment before we’d discussed my oatmeal churning indecision, but I saw that the porridge mess had clearly jumped to his face. Shades of jealousy, a touch of indignation, crossness, and stern self-control; his face was drawn so tight, he looked like he’d just had Botox injections. Chris was still holding my hand. He walked me over to Timothy and handed me over to Timothy, like he was a father passing a bride to her new husband. Timothy didn’t object. He swung me up against me and nuzzled his lips on my neck. “That was agony,” he said. “Sometimes my old-world mores fail to adapt to modern times. I did not like seeing you in the arms of another.” “It was just a lesson. Or maybe, an advertisement?” We were holding each other, once more lost in our own world. The stranger, Chris, cleared his voice again. “Now, if you are ready,” he said. “I will begin my instruction with both of you.” Chris turned to adjust his music system, then added, “Do you know how to position your lady, Mr. Caldwell?” Our dance posture was the same configuration that I’d been in with Chris, but Timothy’s touch seemed completely different. I felt fused with Timothy, like we were somehow a unit. The way he was holding me felt like a caress that seemed not only right, but natural. “Excellent. We have chemistry. That will make this lesson as easy as breathing,” Chris crooned. I didn’t know about that. With his words, I stiffened. “You are my soul, darling,” Timothy said. “Relax. I would no sooner hurt you than plunge a knife into my thigh.” The gentle softness of Timothy’s words did allow me to relax. I was suddenly aware of the trust I felt for him. His words were a promise, an affirmation, and my body corresponded, giving into his touch.
2.17 The Abyss of WonderLand
We broke apart and looked to see who’d invaded our romantic scene. A stranger stood there in the house’s exit out to the swim area. He wasn’t the golfer who’d disrespected our privacy, but someone new. Timothy Surely, the fates laugh at me. I was almost forgiven, almost back in her good graces, and then the interruption. Who is this man? How dare he enter my house, frighten my darling one, and destroy a moment so precious it perhaps will never come again? But she is softening to me again? Isn’t she? Chapter Eleven Penelope “Sorry to intrude,” the man said. “My name is Chris Shafer. I’m here because you called about a dance lesson?” “You didn’t,” I said, pushing away from Timothy with a dramatic rolling of the eyes. “As you recall, you said that you didn’t want any public lessons. This is private, and if you don’t like the lesson, we won’t sign up for anymore.” Chris, a nice-looking black guy probably about my age, made a face over Timothy’s words. “That isn’t going to convince her. Why don’t you let me try.” This very athletic but lithe man had brought his own sound system. He turned it on, then walked over to me, and said, “Will you dance a moment with me?” I glanced at Timothy. I don’t know why. Was I seeking permission? But then my mouth opened, and I said, “I’m a foot stamper and a klutz. You wouldn’t want to dance with me, even for a moment.” As if he hadn’t heard me, he reached out to take my hand, unfurled me like a cowboy gathering up his thrown rope, then somehow positioned me, and before I’d had a chance to squeak, we were whirling about in some kind of dance step while he counted, one, two, three, one, two, three. He hadn’t given me a single word of instruction, yet his body rhythm was throwing me into the movement. No fancy footwork on my part, but I did manage to leave his feet untrampled. It was a miracle.
2.16 The Abyss of WonderLand
I stood up and walked over to the pool. I dipped my foot in, wondering if I should suggest a swim, but we’d just eaten, and besides, wasn’t that just another excuse on my part for avoiding making a decision. Did I love Timothy? It all rested on that. Did I love Timothy enough to deal with all the ramifications of being with a pooka? “No decision is necessary now, Penelope,” Timothy said. Let’s just see how the week goes. Then after you return to your apartment — if you decide that’s what you want to do — you will have a long time before you need to make a permanent commitment. We can just continue to date – if you’ll allow me to take you out. You do trust me that much, right?” I turned to face him. “Yes. I would like that, Timothy, because I think I’m falling in love with you, and inside I feel like I’m an oatmeal porridge of indecision. Does that make sense?” “I think I’d be in trouble if I laughed, but your description is a little over the top, wouldn’t you say?” He jumped up from his position and strode towards me with all the force of an el torro bull seeing red. I stood my ground, and when he embraced me with arms that made me want to surrender myself to everything he offered, for a moment I relented and allowed the comfort. Our lips melded, but it was only for a brief respite. “You are falling in love with me? Now I understand completely. I’ve turned into porridge, too, all warm and gooey with delight. I am yours my darling. How ever much you are willing to offer, even if it’s just tiny tastes of happiness, I’ll accept them.” Another kiss was needed to seal that tender offering, and perhaps it would have traveled further, but a man’s voice suddenly coughed and cleared his throat.
2.15 The Abyss of WonderLand
I felt like I’d just read a history book. Timothy’s story was unbelievable. “Did you meet Shakespeare?” “No. I knew of him, but, as I said, we were disgusted by London: sewers in the streets, vermin everywhere, and rampant disease. We spent little time there, and our sporadic visits were only at the request of Queen Elizabeth.” “So, you knew Sir Frances Bacon and Charles Darwin?” “Bacon, I knew of. Darwin came much later. We were already in the Americas by then. We weren’t readers, Penelope. It was centuries before we took the time to develop a library. Books weren’t common for a lot of our early days.” “Of course. Did you get to know Benjamin Franklin?” “No, sorry. We tried to keep away from the glare of publicity. There were early newsprints, and we often read those, but it was only in the missions in California where you could find many printed books. Andrew and I started collecting them. Of course, we had to leave most of them behind each time we moved.” “So, you never met Benjamin Franklin, George Washington, Hamilton, or Lincoln?” “I think we missed out on all the famous men in your history books. Remember we avoided groups and crowds where we might be recognized. It was always important to move before the mobs attacked.” “I get it.,” said nodding, because it did make sense. “And now? How long will you be able to stay in San Jose?” He reached out to take my hand and bent his head to kiss my palm. “That is the big problem, my darling. Twenty, twenty-five years. Will you be willing to accept that kind of life? Will you join me in my travels?” “I would like to see Paris and London. Vienna and . . .” “We can do that. You can choose our next residence.” “And how would Andrew feel about that? About me making it a party of three?” “Probably jealous. He’d like to find someone who was willing to join him in his life. He would not be sorry if you accompanied us, though. He likes you.”
2.14 The Abyss of WonderLand
“But change was always rather slow,” he told me. “I liked the progress, actually. My first house had rats, lice, and fleas. No running water, no toilets, and no coffee. People didn’t live long and often died in gruesome manners. “In the small villages that Andrew and I lived in, there was often suspicion of newcomers. About the time we were accepted, it was time to move on, since we’d both attained our adulthood and then stopped growing physically. We had numerous relationships with women. I won’t hide that from you, but none were like what I feel for you. I never gave any of them a pooka bite. NO children were ever born from such associations, by the way, so I never left a mate with a brood of children, nor did Andrew. “When the Anglo Normans entered our lands, we learned French, or at least the language they were speaking then. We lived in manors and castles for a while and learned to fight like knights. “When we left the islands, we journeyed across the channel and sampled bits of countries that, of course, weren’t countries as we know them today, but, for Andrew and me, our travel was a desperate search for meaning and for a place to belong. We probably lived in France, Belgium, Germany, and Italy. Markers were not clear. “Languages varied. Andrew and I became fluent in the early versions of German, Italian, and Rumanian, as well as Gallic, Irish, and English with sprinklings of old Norse from the frequent raids of the Vikings. We dabbled with some of the early Scandinavian and Russian tongues, but never became proficient. I’d be afraid to use most of what we learned then. The words would be outdated, like reading Chaucer if your primary tongue is English. “When Queen Elizabeth came to the throne, Andrew and I returned to England, but London had become foul with sewage in the streets and rats everywhere. We fled to the countryside, this time with a pile of gold we’d earned over our travels. We traded that for pounds and sovereigns. Working in the queen’s court earned us an estate, where we settled for a bit. But there was always the problem of not ageing like everyone else. We solved that by selling everything and paying our way on a ship to America. “The queen had granted each of us a deed to an estate in the new lands. I believe our plantation was in what they now call Virginia. Not a suitable place for a black man, I’m afraid, and, of course, we were still plagued with the other problem. Constancy to one place provoked potential questions. “That’s why Andrew and I became explorers of this new world. We journeyed up into the Canadian territory and as far west as here in California. We mined for gold and silver, doubled our riches and settled in various places, lasting no longer than ten or fifteen years. And so, we made our way to your time period, one which I find extremely comfortable and enjoyable, especially now that I’ve found you.”
2.13 The Abyss of WonderLand
Timothy changed the topic then, telling Andrew how I’d ridden Molly. “Yes, I sat on top of her. It’s not like I guided her or did anything other than cling to the horn thing.” “You rode like a cowgirl,” Timothy defended me, which made me laugh. *** The next day I was ready for more input. I asked if we could eat breakfast out by the pool, so, of course, we received our French toast and strawberries under the umbrella, next to the sparkling pool that neither of us had swum in that morning. We had a pot of coffee in the delightfully heavy white mugs. It was the perfect place for prying into the life of a pooka. “What benefits do you get from being a pooka?” was my first question. I wanted to know if Timothy had abilities that he hadn’t explained yet. “The main ones are shape changing and dream walking.” “And?” “Sometimes I get stray thoughts and emotions from others.” “Like from me?” “More than most. You are a sender. Your thoughts ripple in the air currents.” “So, all those times I thought you were reading my thoughts, you really were.” He shook his head. “Not exactly, my love. Only sometimes. Oddly, when you blush. That seems to spur your thoughts into a higher wavelength. But like right now, other than the fact, that you’re part curious and part anxious, I’m not receiving anything. Remember emotion is the key. If you were to get angry, I’m sure I would feel that as clearly as if you spit in my face.” “I don’t spit in faces.” In the conversation that followed, I learned that pookas lived an extraordinarily long time, something Timothy had already mentioned before. He didn’t seem to know how long that would be, but apparently his early years were spent in an Irish village in probably the early 1200’s. That was a very, very long time ago. The fact that Timothy could adopt to today’s lifestyle was a remarkable testament to his adaptability.
2.12 The Abyss of WonderLand
I knew what he was asking. I nodded a second time. “Yes, Andrew. I was glad you had the friendship you had growing up. I bet that helped you to endure the hardships.” “And being different?” he asked, eyeing me as if he could stare my thoughts from my brain. I nodded again, shoved the rest of my cake to the side, and drank some lemonade. “Yes, he told me about being a pooka, Andrew.” Timothy had been studiously eating his big piece of cake. He didn’t seem interested in adding anything or indicating that this chat might go south. He carefully kept his eyes on the small plate with part of his cake still sat. “And how do you feel about it?” Andrew asked. “Do you want to go home and run away from the difference?” Timothy looked up then, growled, and put his fork down. His plate was empty, so it wasn’t like he’d lost his appetite and stopped eating. I think he was waiting to see what I’d say, but a bit irritated by Andrew’s wording. But, I wondered. Was Andrew’s predictable question why Timothy had brought me to see Andrew? Was this my opportunity to run screaming into the night, so to speak? “I think I’m still percolating the whole thing,” I said. “I need time to figure out if this will work. I mean, it’s not like you two are human. That’s a hard thing to accept, you know?” Andrew nodded. “I’m not sure if that’s true, Penelope. Maybe a pooka is a cross between a Fairie and a human. Or it could be that a pooka is an earlier branch of humanity. You look at the two of us. Do you see anything strange? Doesn’t that make you think that he and I are as much a product of nature as any of the rest of this wide world of diversity? I’m just saying that you shouldn’t cross us out of your comfort zone because there might be something different about us.” Andrew was someone that I decidedly liked. I’d thought so before from my brief interchanges with him, but after our cake eating session, I was more sure than ever. He was a kind person. I could read that in his eyes, and I liked the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The fact that he was gorgeous, of course, had nothing to do with it. Even if he’d been the ugliest ogre in the world, I think I’d have wanted to be his friend. “Thank you. I appreciate your saying those things,” I told him. “I’ll put that inside the rest of the magic box that contains everything I’ve learned.”
2.11 The Abyss of WonderLand
Andrew smiled at her, the full force of which almost toppled her onto her butt. She didn’t criticize our cake after that, but just smiled and moved on. Timothy and I both ended up sticky, but when our cake was done, we got to take it with us, carrying it back to the house. “Where is Andrew?” “He lives out back,” Timothy said. “Do you want to wash up or go directly there? Doses of sticky happened every time we jiggled the tray that we were carrying, I told him it was better if we just continued on. Andrew didn’t look anything like the chauffeur Andrew I’d come to know. For one thing he wasn’t sitting inside the fancy limo or costumed in his uniform. Instead, he was bent over a patch of vegetables, wearing jeans and an old tee, gloves on his hands, and big boots that looked like they belonged to his father — if his father was a giant. “Andrew,” Timothy said. “We made something for you.” The man’s head raised up, and his eyes found me, then traveled to the cake. “Um,” he said, then pulled off the gloves and stuck them in his back pocket. “Cake decorating?” he said after a moment. “The spots are pink roses,” I told him, wanting to explain why the cake had blotches on the sides. “Is it your birthday?” “No, but I appreciate the thought. Would you like to come inside? We can sample your efforts.” His house wasn’t as fancy as Timothy’s, but it was trimmed in rock and natural wood. I’d never tell Timothy, but I actually liked Andrew’s place better. It was cozy. We sat in the kitchen at an old wooden table, the kind that are probably sold in antique stores for big bucks. I loved it and sat there tracing the gouges in the wood with my fingers. Andrew poured us some lemonade he’d made, then sliced up the cake. His slices were man-sized, but I didn’t complain. Their house, their rules, as my grandmother used to say when we went visiting. The chocolate frosting was yummy, and the person who’d baked the cake had gotten it out of the oven at exactly the right moment so it was perfectly moist and delicious. The added pink icing, although it tasted predominantly of almond flavoring, powdered sugar, and butter, was a tasty addition. All in all, I thought the cake decorating had gone spectacularly. (Although I don’t recommend lemonade with cake.) Some small talk issued as we tasted and gobbled. Andrew wanted to know if I liked Timothy’s house and whether I was enjoying my stay. I nodded. What else could I say? Andrew got to the meat of what he wanted to ask. “Did he share any tall tales with you?”
2.10 The Abyss of WonderLand
The ride was uneventful, which was a super good thing. Not falling off was a big win. But then it was time to dismount, and the ground looked far away, and for some reason, my body felt rigid and stiff. I don’t think I could have gotten off the horse if Timothy hadn’t lifted me down. That was a scary thought. Stuck forever on top of a horse? I could barely walk when Timothy set me on the ground. It felt like someone had taken my body away and replaced it with an old person’s. Timothy laughed when I told him that, but he said it would get better as we walked. He was right. I felt almost my real age by the time we returned to the house. “A hot shower will remove any aches,” Timothy told me. He was right again. Breakfast had been delish, and lunch was even more so. We had fresh greens from the garden and turkey sandwiches with a side of the most incredible potato salad I’d ever eaten. Chef Stevens seemed pleased by my praise and told me that the secret was in using Greek yogurt instead of mayonnaise. Plus, he’d put in sweet pickles, celery, and sliced up boiled eggs. I could willingly have made a meal of the potato salad. But, of course, I didn’t. Cake decorating. What can I say? It was hilarious. Timothy was the only male there, and the women all wanted to stand next to him and gush over his muscled bod, but he gave all his attention to me. We decorated our cake with chocolate icing, my choice, then piped pink icing on the top which said Happy Birthday, Andrew. Timothy wasn’t sure when the chauffeur’s birthday was, but he said it must be soon. “Does Andrew like cake?” I asked, and Timothy just smiled and shrugged. ‘Have you and Penelope been together long?” one of the women asked, giving Timothy a come hither look. I said, “no,” and Timothy said, “yes,” which seemed odd to the others. Then he clarified. “Not long in time, but I recognized her from the moment I saw her. She’d been in my dreams forever.” “Ahhhhh,” the women all murmured. I elbowed him, and said, “Cheesy?” “Maybe, but sincere,” Thankfully, he said that into my ear, and the others probably thought he was kissing me. After we piped our pink, we were supposed to do roses on the side. Actually, we did them on waxed paper and needed to transfer them onto the cake. Poor Andrew would probably think we’d given him a cake with pink cheetah spots. When the teacher came to our cake, she raised her eyebrows forehead high and asked, “Is this your first cake decorating class?”
2.9 The Abyss of WonderLand
I grinned at that. I was probably one of those people, but maybe it was like garlic. If you and your partner ate something with garlic, the smell no longer offended the partakers? “So, here’s what I propose,” Timothy continued. “We eat breakfast, and then, wearing jeans and comfortable shoes, we mosey over to the waterfall. The stable is near that. Do you have any boots? They’re required.” I nodded. I’d seen a pair in my closet. Yay, Simone! “Okay, a horseback ride through the hills, then we return for lunch, change clothes, and try out the cake decorating, and finally, return home for dinner.” “That sounds like fun. Thank you, Timothy. This is a real treat.” I was starting to feel cold. It wasn’t that the air was chilly, but a wet body always seems to attract the shivers. “I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast first,” he called out, and I waved a hand as I scampered off. As days go, it was one of the best I’d had since . . . well, next to our zoo visit in San Francisco. The hike to the waterfall was fun. The falls were small but lovely. The horse stable was a big challenge. I think I would have chickened out, except Timothy had called ahead, and when we got there, Molly was all saddled and ready for me. I patted her neck, and she seemed to feel my fear. She stood perfectly still while Timothy lifted me up onto her back. Even after I was sitting on her, Molly didn’t move an inch. She seemed to be waiting for me to decide that I was ready to have her walk. Timothy swung onto his horse, a beautiful, dappled-gray gelding.( He told me what the color was called and explained what a gelding was.) His gelding was prettier than mine, but I could see at a glance that his horse was nothing like Molly. It tossed its head and seemed eager to get a move on. I received some instruction from Timothy with a couple of hints from the groom, then holding the reins in my hands, but afraid to hurt Molly by pulling on them, I said, “Let’s go, Molly,” and she did. Of course, that could have had something to do with the giant horse that Timothy was on. Perhaps Molly liked being next to him. We walked forward slowly. The gray didn’t like that much. His head bobbing grew frantic, but Timothy seemed to know what he was doing, and the horse settled down after a bit. A while later, Timothy asked if I’d like to go faster. “I don’t want to gallop,” I said. He laughed. “No. No galloping for you today. I was thinking that we could just walk a little faster.” I was okay with that, and Molly seemed to be comfortable matching the long legs of the gray. We walked back to the waterfall and then behind it where there were a whole bunch of trails for the horses. Timothy chose one, and Molly and I happily kept up, me not doing a thing to guide her. Although I’d been told I shouldn’t grab the horn, my hands remained tightly fastened around it. We rode for about half an hour before Timothy turned us around and headed us back to the stable. Both horses perked up at that. I think Molly even did a trot a couple of times. I didn’t like the feel of that and said, “whoa” and she slowed back to a sedate walk.