5.15 The Pooka’s Wife
The officiate was still talking. I snapped my mind back to his questions about the exchange of rings. Rings? It had never occurred to me that Timothy might want a ring. How could a pooka change into a horse while wearing one? Beside me, Timothy chuckled. “This is great fun,” he whispered. “Your thoughts are an absolute maze of ponderings. Of course I will wear your ring on me finger.” I half-ignored him as I watched his pal, Andrew, hand over two gold rings, giving one to Timothy and one to me. I thanked Timothy’s best friend and gave him a big smile, then waited to see what would come next in this extremely strange ceremony we were participating in. I remembered what other nuptials were like. I’d seen lots of them in movies: the beautiful dress, the brides maids spatting with each other, the grooms in spiffy suits, looking handsome. I’d even been to a college friend’s wedding not that many years ago, too. The bride, Jessica, and I hadn’t been close, but I think she wanted huge numbers of guests so she’d get lots of wedding gifts. I hoped she liked the #15 chafing dish with tiny blue flowers around the edges I’d purchased. It had been on her list. Charles Piermont Montgomery III had invited me to his wedding, too. The chump! But no longer curious about wedding ceremonies, I’d sent him a curt rejection. He and his dear bride didn’t get a wedding present from me, either. I almost wrote the woman to inform her that she was making a big mistake, that she’d find herself divorcing Charles in a year (or sooner,) but it really wasn’t proper to send such a letter to a prospective bride, and she wouldn’t have believed me anyway. Sometimes I wondered if the two of them were still married or if the love-dust sprinkled in her eyes had faded away shortly after the honeymoon ended. The officiate had started speaking again. “Repeat after me: “With this ring, I, Penelope Casey, pledge you my love for now and forever.” I said the words with a slightly shaky voice, but I think I was clear and loud. I was supposed to slip the ring on Timothy’s finger next, but that wasn’t as easy as it sounds. I suppose that was because my hands were trembling worse than California’s San Andreas fault. My wedding had been very stressful so far. In the last half hour Jack Peters had tried to forbid our ceremony, a woman from Faerie had more or less commanded that I come see her, then she’d told me that I was going to have a bunch of sons, and, finally, the realization, after hearing someone cough, that a whole room full of people were waiting to see if I was going to accidentally drop Timothy’s ring instead of slipping it onto his finger.
5.14 The Pooka’s Wife
I’d love to say that the woman disappeared in a puff of smoke or a sparkly shimmer, but there was none of that. She, her court of followers who’d been disguised among my human friends, plus Jack Peterson, just winked out with no disturbance of air, no clap of sound, no smell of greenery, or any other announcement of magic. They were just present and then not present. At the same moment that the faery queen left us, the people around us began to stir. Timothy and I scooted back to our place in front of the officiate, and after a quick view backwards at the seated guests, followed by quiet blinks and the clearing of the officiant’s voice, the judge began again, repeating those troublesome words of: if anyone had a reason for this marriage not to take place . . . The room was silent this time. No disturbance. No voice calling out an objection. No Jack Peterson. Before that point, I’d noticed that the living room had been on overflow, but those still standing quickly realized that there were plenty of vacant seats and scurried to find themselves one. The folks who had already been sitting, were still looking dazed and slightly disoriented. (Several had been frozen with an arm up to soothe back a hair, to scratch a nose, or possibly to pat the hand of the person beside them. Would that arm be sore, fatigued, or weighty now that they had their freedom of movement again?) When no one called out to deny us the right to be married (luckily,) the officiate continued with his words. Timothy and I swore to cherish and honor each other in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth. I cracked up at that one, and Timothy, knowing exactly what I thought about all his riches, just smiled and squeezed my hand. Money was rather the big abyss between us. I wanted to abstain from accessing his bank accounts and his piles of green bills, and he was ardent in his insistence that whatever he owned was mine. (Yes, I know, my viewpoint was slightly particular — Timothy called it my moral stubbornness, but my grandmother had taught me to stand on my own feet, not be a sponge of someone else’s wealth. So sue me for my oddness.) The truth of the matter is that we’d met with a lawyer a few days before our wedding. He’d made us sign a bunch of documents. A summary of that session, which lapsed into arguments several times as I rebelled against Timothy’s dictatorial attitude concerning the whole process, is that Timothy’s wealth was mine and mine was his. (Like I had any.) The lawyer wanted me to sign another form in case of divorce, but Timothy negated that, his face looking so dire, that if I’d been the attorney, I would have crawled under his desk. “That cannot happen,” Timothy said. Yeah, there was that. This Pooka thing was a forever. Andrew had explained that, making sure that I understood the nature of it.
5.13 The Pooka’s Wife
“As for the one who calls himself Ben at the moment, “ the woman with the queen’s bearing said, glancing over at the chef, “You are to accompany the couple. I wish you to remain with them wherever they go, even in Faerie. You must protect them against all others.” Whoa, this had gotten even stranger. A strange lady in a ball gown, who was wearing a crown and getting everyone – at least those awake and not in some kind of stasis – to go down on their knees in obeisance, now had started issuing orders to Timothy’s chief chef? And the woman knew about pookas and was discussing Faerie, although Timothy had said to never to do so? My brain was wheeling. I felt dizzy. I wondered if I’d actually fainted and was dreaming all this. The woman drew near us, her elegant gown rustling like a nest of serpents. How she transported herself, I had no idea. I never saw her legs move, yet, she was instantly beside me, touching my head, her face soft and almost motherly. “Be fertile, youngling. There is a need. And know that I will stand by you when you call. Henceforth, you belong to me. Even before the bite of the pooka, I have enclosed you in the blessing of the Fae.” She stepped back then and was once more was standing in the middle of the people bowing and all the seated guests. “As to this barbarian Human, I shall take him with me. Too bad that means a shortened stay for me at your ceremony, but it is better that way. The currents of magic, although not acknowledged by Humans, may give them a sensation of unease. Sometimes, it even makes them feel dizzy,” she said, looking directly at me again. “Pardon the intrusion, Cadarone,” she said, glancing at Timothy. “Although you have kept separate from me, and I have permitted it, I was too eager to meet your choice of brides to wait any longer. Congratulations, Penelope and Timothy Caldwell. I bid you long life, great happiness, and exuberant prolificacy.” Timothy, still head bowed, pulled me up so we were standing together side by side. “Forgive me for my past weaknesses, Your Majesty. It was cowardly for me to have run. I am grateful for your grace,” he said, bowing his head once more. Following suit, I did the same thing, although I was barely functioning, my brain such a whirl of disbelief and amazed awe (and worry over the last word the queen had used, a word which I was pretty sure meant fertility.)
5.12 The Pooka’s Wife
The officiate was a statue. A glance to the left, said that Cara and Sammy had gone into the twilight zone of zombiehood, too. But not Judy and Simone. The latter even winked at me, although they were both in a kneeling position, showing homage to the queen or whatever she was. I felt Timothy breathing heartily. He was awake and aware, but why was I? I wasn’t supernatural. I should be one of the seated frozen. Why wasn’t I a zombie? The woman smiled at me as she turned her head to glance at me again. “You, Penelope, sweetest of human children, are in the becoming,” she said. “You will soon be as Andrew is — and more.” I glanced in Andrew’s direction. Both he and Chef Ben were looking at me. Neither seemed overly alarmed by all this craziness. I guess Andrew had seen a lot of odd stuff in his time. And Chef Ben. Oh, yes, he was Fae. No wonder he was taking it in so calmly. “Yes, Penelope Sweetness. I will make sure of that. The prince deserves a partner fitting to his worth and position, and I am quite pleased with you. Your verbal attack on the Human, and the way you stood up to the prince in spite of his strength and his manly cunning shows me that you not only have a brain, but courage. Yes, you are pleasingly well rounded and suitable.” It was nice to receive compliments, but I still had no idea what was happening and why this strange woman was standing in the middle of the room, delivering her speech. It was supposed to be a wedding event. How had everything gone bonkers? “Cadarone,” she continued, apparently ignoring my thoughts this time, “you will bring your bride to us so we can become better acquainted. I command it. I give you my bond that there will be no attempted seduction on my part or punishment for past offences. So, do not flee from me again. I give you my word now that you and she will be free to come and go. And no, I will not harm a lovely hair on this darling one’s head. I mean her to restore the pooka race. She will bear you many sons. “Meanwhile, you two will prosper in your happiness for three months. Then you will return to us at Beltane. I shall rename her, of course, Cadarone, although I rather like the name Penelope Sweetness.” The woman chuckled to herself, then twirled about, casting sparkles of diamond twinkles and changing the hue of her dress. It darkened from yellow into a lovely shade of pastel green, as if she had noted the colors of my brides maids and wanted to join in. She nodded her head, then continued speaking. “Cadarone, you have waited too long. I can feel your imbalance. Your magic needs recharging. Oh, and bring this one, Andrew Sturns. I have a mate for him, I believe. His loneliness is sending out an atmosphere of disquiet that disturbs my peace. Several of the maidens have begun weeping at random times. I believe that may be his fault.
5.11 The Pooka’s Wife
The woman focused her eyes then on Timothy. “Well met, my young prince. You have chosen well with this young girl for she is sweetness and light. She will be good for you. Mores the pity, because I’d always hoped you’d come around to sharing my bed.” Of course, I gasped at that, but for once I kept my mouth shut. There was something about the woman that told me she was not a person one should argue with. But to say something like that at a wedding! Or, publicly. Or, at all! “Well thought,” the woman said, once more scanning me with her eyes. I supposed she meant the part about my choosing not to argue with her. It certainly couldn’t be my opinion of her statement. (Thankfully, she didn’t react to my view of her openly expressed lust for Timothy. Could she have been joking?) The woman suddenly spun about in a ballerina’s pirouette, which opened up her yellow taffeta dress like an unfurled cape. Silk and fluff enlarged to take twice the space of a moment before, and the dress lengthened and acquired a ballroom appearance. A myriad of diamonds brilliantly sprang into sparkle in a cascade of jewels that practically saturated her whole body. And on her head sat a crown so bespeckled with gems that it almost hurt to look at it. The room where we had gathered was quite without any sunshine, and the lights were dim. What had livened the gown and the crown to star shine? But my thoughts were pummeled by the queenlike figure as she whirled to verbally pounce on Mr. Peterson. “You,” she said, her left arm, outstretched, the fingers level and pointed at Mr. Peterson. “I cannot decide if you have enhanced the entertainment or disordered it. You have surely taken the tedium out of what might have been a dry ritual, yet your accusations are entirely unfounded and ludicrous. The prince is no vampire. Of that you can be assured, but that is neither here nor there. The truth of it is that you have greatly displeased me, Human. My court will tell you that such an attitude always carries retribution.” Jack Peters looked frozen at that point. His eyes stared forward, his limbs appeared rigid and inflexible in their positioning. I think the woman had put him into some kind of stasis. Mr. Vampire Hunter blinked, which showed me that at least he was conscious, although I didn’t think any of the seated guests were. They were closed eyes, slumped over, and frozen in whatever position they’d been at the point of the woman’s bolting upward.
5.10 The Pooka’s Wife
Mr. Crazy ignoring all that, just kept hobbling forward, his eyes glued to Timothy, not even noticing the lovely draped flowers and the beautifully gowned bridesmaids, (No, I hadn’t made my friends wear the traditionally ugly bride’s maid dresses. I’d asked them to wear whatever dress they wanted to wear, preferably in a shade of green, and they had all done so and looked lovely.) On Timothy’s side of the wedding party, all the men were wearing sharp-looking suits of black. I knew Andrew and Chef Ben, of course, but not the other two handsome males, whom Timothy had said were friends from his businesses. (I wondered if they were married. Cara and Sammy weren’t yet. Maybe I could introduce them. Whoops, of course, they’d already been introduced since the men had walked the ladies down the aisle.) Such strange thoughts were entering my mind when I should be focused on what was happening at the moment in the middle of my wedding, and who was the strange woman gathering eyes like some famous Hollywood movie star? Why was she interfering? Why was everyone bowing to her? Why did my almost husband, a magical pooka, seem humbled by her presence? Jack Peterson’s eyes lifted to the judge who was supposed to be pronouncing us man and wife. The officiate had paused. He wasn’t bowing to the woman in the audience, but he wasn’t frozen either like the people who weren’t giving her homage. “You cannot marry this couple. This man is a vampire,” Jack Peterson, Mr. Crazy, proclaimed. “This poor, innocent young woman has no idea of the danger she’s putting herself in. It would be a crime and a sin to go on with this marriage. I absolutely forbid it.” “You fool,” said the lady standing in the middle of all the seats, surrounded by kneeling people. I was still kneeling, too, because Timothy had jerked me down, but I could see the woman clearly. She could have been Helen of Troy, Aphrodite, or one of her goddess peers, for she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. No movie star, no beauty queen, no top model could ever compete with what the fates had given her. She was perfection. “Thank you,” the woman said, her eyes transferring from the fixed stare at Mr. Crazy to look directly into my eyes. “Penelope, Child, your thoughts are kind, and complements are always lovely.”
5.9 The Pooka’s Wife
“Taking advantage of the guards’ release of his arms, Mr. Peterson advanced into the room, hobbling. Terry handed him back his crutches, so that Peterson could hobble his way forward. The foot and leg injury was probably rating the guy some sympathy from our seated guests, but Timothy’s face was mottled with raging fury. He was stiff from the tension. His shoulders were hunched in, and his neck was tucked down like a prize fighter’s. Timothy gently tried to push me behind him in a protective manner, but I refused to allow that. I figured that Timothy might as well grasp the notion, if he hadn’t done so already, that I had no intention of becoming a passive partner in our relationship. I might be a coward on rollercoasters (and airplanes,) but I was a fighter when it mattered. Instead of being the quivering little woman in the background, I thrust out my chest and took up my karate position. (Yes, I’d been getting lessons most days. Timothy had insisted, and the karate lessons meant I didn’t have to go to the gym at 5:00 am, so all good.) Taking a step, which required me to duck away from Timothy’s second grab, I yelled, “How dare you enter this house and disrupt our wedding. You are nothing but a baboon who sees vampires and demons right and left.” “Let me handle this, my darling,” Timothy said firmly as he once more tried to make me stand behind him. “Handle it? No, this idiot thinks he can . . .” “Enough,” a woman said, with a voice like hard crystal — a clanging, super-charged, discordant demand that not only silenced me, but everyone else who might have decided to talk. She had stood up in the midst of the guests, having blended in as human, but I knew instantly that she wasn’t one of us. I had no idea who she was — or what she was, but she reeked of power. A witch? A vampire? A Fae? Timothy collapsed onto his knees and urged me down. Among the guests, many left their seats and bent to their knees with bowed heads, all showing their respect for the woman in their midst. And every one of the guests on their knees were strangers that I’d never seen before. I wondered if Timothy knew them. Obviously he knew this woman. Jack Peters remained unfazed by what was happening in the rows of chairs: the people kneeling, the tall woman standing, and Timothy and me bowing, while everyone sitting had gone absolutely still and silent.
5.8 The Pooka’s Wife
I somehow heard the scattered “ahs” from the people seated, but their responses weren’t the important ones, not at that moment. It was only Timothy that I wanted to hear from. He was the one who needed to know that I was 100% committed to him. I accepted his being a pooka, his being rich, and everything else that had stood between us. He needed to know that I would do whatever was required to stay together no matter what . . . and no matter where we had to go when our time in San Jose was over. My soon-to-be-husband nodded that he understood my meanings, and I knew that he was reading my emotions as well, because besides the words, I was also sending him all my love with the full force of my thoughts. Timothy squeezed my hand and leaned forward to meet his lips to mine. Then, as if it were practiced, the two of us simultaneously turned to face the wedding officiate, our individual promises now given. The yellow-clothed Santa took his cue from that, cleared his voice, and went on with the ceremony. “I have to ask this question. Sorry, Penelope and Timothy. But does anyone have a reason why these two should not be legally wed? If so, you must step forward and speak now or henceforth hold your peace.” Silence throughout the room assured us that no one would dispute our wedding. The officiate took in a breath, and said, “As there are no objections . . .” “Wait!” came a voice from the back of the room. “I object.” The disruption came from even further than that . . . from the outer door, the one where Terry and Bob were standing guard. And from the sound of that voice, Timothy and I both knew who had caused the commotion: Jack Peterson had somehow found us again and had come to halt the proceedings. The officiate stopped. Timothy and I turned to face the door, as did every seated guest. Heads were spinning. Whispers were rampant. Several people stood up and allowed their heads to swing back and forth. Bob and Terry latched onto the man. In seconds they were trying to bolt Peterson’s hands behind his back, only it wasn’t easy because the man was hurt and could barely stand. We could see that Peterson’s right foot and leg were covered in a big white cast, and his crutches, once knocked from his arms, were dropping to the floor. It was too late to stop the man’s interference. The wedding had been paused as efficiently as Peterson had desired. Timothy waved the guards to bring the jerk of a vampire hunter into the house. I guessed that it was wisest to get the man’s objections over as quickly as possible. But what could Peterson say? Would he call Timothy a vampire again?
5.7 The Pooka’s Wife
The living room full of guests were all laughing, apparently, thoroughly enjoying the story. That surprised me. I’d never captured an audience before. I’d never been a public speaker. For a moment I panicked, wanting to shut down the story, to retreat back into silence, but this was important. I couldn’t leave the speech where I’d left it. There was more to explain, and I had to lead the Timothy/Penelope drama to its conclusion, so I took in a deep breath of air and continued. “But by the end of that evening, Timothy had wormed himself into my heart. Five hours, that was all it took to fall in love. Who could have predicted that? It took no more than a week before I realized that I couldn’t live without Timothy. I didn’t want to live without him. He had become my everything.” I know I cheated a little, stealing Timothy’s line, but the wording felt right, describing what had happened perfectly. A truth laid out in its own shiny reflection. I turned to face Timothy. His lips were curved in a gentle smile. His eyes cast golden highlights. Somehow, I could read them in that moment. Read them enough to know that he loved hearing my confession, this public broadcast of my inner thoughts and memories. Yet, I worried that he might not have appreciated my telling everyone about how rude he’d been that day. “Sorry about revealing that moment when we first met.” I said, squeezing his hand. “I guess I shouldn’t have mentioned how you acted then, but, Timothy, since then, I’ve grown to trust you and to see you through the eyes of deep affection, friendship, and love. You have given me the confidence to laugh, to try new things, like riding a horse, and that awful airplane ride . . .” I chuckled and shook my head, wondering if I should have confessed my cowardice about plane rides. But it was a day for acknowledgements, a day for truth-letting. “Timothy, you’ve transformed me into someone I wanted to be but never was, and I thank you for that.” I’d become long-winded. It was time to stop, yet, I still wasn’t finished, couldn’t stop yet. Another big breath, a scan of the audience, then a slight posture movement so that I was facing Timothy. “You are my inspiration and my guiding light to happiness. I want us to be together always, and no matter what life brings us. I promise to remain at your side, faithful, adoring, and supportive, because I love you, Timothy, with all my heart.”
5.6 The Pooka’s Wife
The yellow Santa Claus guy began his speech. “We are here today to celebrate the joining of Timothy Caldwell and Penelope Casey. I’ve been told that their love has the depth of ancient soul mates. I can see the wisdom in their eyes as they look at each other with devotion, and I can feel the warmth of their emotion. It is a positive force that binds them fast. “Do either of you, Penelope or Timothy, wish to share words with the group assembled here to witness your wedding?” Timothy glanced at me, then nodded. “Yes.” Keeping my hand in his, he turned us to face the guests. “I have waited a lifetime for the wondrous gift of Penelope. She wears a pure heart, a loving nature, and an intellect that is keen and bursting with enthusiasm for the joy of learning. She is my everything, and I am delighted that she has agreed to join her life with mine.” He looked away then from the crowd and stared deeply into my eyes. “I will never betray you, Penelope, in any way. I will stand by your side no matter what hardships we face. I will love you more each day, each month, each year, and into forever.” He let go of my hand and bent down to his knee. Then taking both of my hands in his, he said. “I pledge my troth to you, my darling and beloved Penelope. Will you accept me?” I think my heart melted a new into some kind of ecstatic splender. I nodded and then cried out, “YES!” As I’d said, we had not discussed the ceremony, nor practiced it. I guess I’d thought the officiant would just say some silly words, and we’d be married. But Timothy’s tribute was so unexpected, I felt tongue-tied, yet I knew I had to reciprocate. I couldn’t leave him with only my half-way yelled Yes. “Timothy,” I said, then tried to pull him up, but he shook his head. “I kneel before you my gentle bride. I want you to know that. I am yours,” he said, “Good, then stand up,” I ordered, pulling a chuckle from the crowd. “I can’t say that it was love at first sight,” I told the guests, most of whom I’d never seen before, but they were there, so I figured they must care and were thus worthy of hearing how I felt. “Timothy was really quite rude the first time we met. It was at one of those dinners that Judy plans so well. She and her husband, Ed, had invited me to what I thought would be a big group event. Not so. It was only Timothy who’d been invited, discourteous, Timothy.