7.30 The Pooka’s Wife
That was not the agreement we’d made, but then I hadn’t had the opportunity to get an attorney to look over any such document. In fact, I almost chuckled over such a thought. As if a kidnappee could ask for an attorney to verify that queenly vows were valid. The guard who was walking me to my chamber had large feet and big steps. I asked him to slow down, but either he didn’t hear me, or he refused to take orders from a lowly human. The good part was that I wasn’t tied in ropes or knotted up in iron chains. The bad part was that I was still a prisoner. After a very long walk through dusty halls and cobwebs, we finally arrived at the dreaded door. Guess what. Yes, it was painted gray. Some of the doors we’d passed had been painted in cheerful colors: reds, greens, yellows . . . One even had a decorative sun painted in the center. But my gray door was plain and . . . gray, dingy gray, the exact hue you would never want to use on anything inside your house. The guard pulled a large keychain from his belt buckle, not unfastening it, but stretching it out so that he could insert the key into the gray door’s lock. The inner works clicked, and the guard threw the door open. “Get inside,” the jerk said with a threatening look on his face that said if I wasn’t spry, he was going to toss me inside and slam the door on my rear end. As the door was shut behind me and locked, I glanced about. No light. The place was dark as a cave. Touching the wall, then walking along it, I made my way to the shuttered window, and after a moment’s finger inspection, figured out how to open the wooden closure. It wasn’t a full moon night, unfortunately, but there was a partial moon, when the moon resembled a crescent cookie set in the middle of a black night full of stars. It was rather a pretty night. Of course, I tried to escape through the window, but there was not only a set of iron grids that kept me from doing so, but when I looked out, I found that I was at a height that would keep me from trying to jump even if I could. Thankfully, the moon’s light was enough to allow me to see what was inside my chamber: a full bed heaped with thick furs, a nightstand beside it with a small lamp, and on the floor, a very pretty rug with a tapestry picture of a unicorn with deer all about. The animals were doing their best to shorten the meadow grass. The rug was actually the best part of the room. I made my way toward the lamp, hoping that the bulb inside it would give me better light. No such luck. No electricity, for one thing. I think the lamp was an oil lamp, but it held no liquid inside it, and even if it had, I think matches would have been required to ignite it. By the moon’s light, I could see that the room was thankfully free from cobwebs and their busy occupants. The floor looked freshly swept, and the dust that covered the rest of the palace seemed to have left this room undisturbed. In the corner I found a chamber pot. I gagged at that. No modern plumbing? No running water. No HOT water for a bath. Oh, my. I used the pot and did the best I could to finish the process without the advantages of good old toilet paper. (Alas.) But beggars couldn’t be choosers, especially the ones who’d been kidnapped. At least, there was a bowl of water sitting on an old, wobbly shelf. I was grateful for that as I washed my face and hands.
6.12 The Pooka’s Wife
The quiet in the Club was appreciated, especially as it came after the drama of meeting a Faerie Queen in the middle of my wedding, as well, as a nice break coming before having to get on a scary as heck airplane. The trip to San Diego hadn’t actually been that bad, but it was a short trip. How long was a flight to Florida? “Our flight takes off around ten at night, Penelope. Then we’ll all go to sleep and wake up in the morning, and ,presto, we’ll be in sunny Florida.” “What time will we get there?” I asked, not sure how sleeping on a plane worked. “If the flight’s on schedule, about nine in the morning, just after we’ve been given a nice breakfast with coffee and orange juice,” Timothy said, smiling at me. “You’re not worried about flying are you?” Of course, I shook my head and denied such a thing. It might have worked to convince everyone if Bob hadn’t snorted loudly in disbelief. The guys all got up for dessert. I kind of wanted some of that soft serve ice cream, but the idea of eating anything more than I’d already had didn’t sit real well. Pancakes and omelets, plus ice cream? Even the coffee was curdling in my stomach. I watched the guys shoveling in the gooey and sweets they’d just gotten, but I remained firm about having eaten my full. Even the chocolate chip cookie that Timothy had brought me remained on its plate until Bob asked if he could have it and then gobbled it up. It must be nice to have a wolf constitution that enabled unlimited eating without its doing more than increasing his already bulging muscles. *** Since I was an experienced flyer now, as Timothy put it, I carried through with the boarding process with great aplomb. No worries over the passport and my ticket, no anxiety over a plane that seemed hidden behind a bunch of carboard walls, and no resentment when the stewardess openly flirted with Timothy. (I did lift up my hand and flash my ring a bit, but she probably didn’t notice, since her eyes were glued to his handsome features.)
10.21 The Witchling Shama: The Conclusion – Copy
I suppose you want to know if I gathered the shreds of hope about me enough to trust in Frank. Would we marry? Would the town overlook my witchy side? There was also the question of the outcome for the men who falsified my past. Would the town’s judgement board cast them out or jail them? Would those two liars and do-no-goods retreat or be taken away from my presence — or would they keep returning to plague me for evermore? Some of you will ask what is to happen between the doctor and Mrs. Penn? Will romance flow into both their hearts in equal measure? Will Mrs. Penn’s abilities in witchcraft strengthen with Willow’s presence and mine? I have heard that such can happen. Would the good doctor marry a witch? How will Frances like school next month, and will he adjust to being among children of his own age? Will the students mock him for being the son of a murderer? That opens up another question: what will happen to the boys’ father? The sentencing is yet to come. Will a legal case like that rip away the healing scars and cast the boys back into the gloominess they’d dwelt in such a short time before? As if that were not enough to send me nightmares, I worry about what Mrs. Penn’s daughter will say about the dear lady wanting to adopt me? Will her daughter rage with jealousy and bitterness, storming into Tinker Town like a spinning tornado, eager to chase me away? Will her heart be stone, even when she sees the sweetness of the boys? And, I must not forget that since Mrs. Penn has witch heritage, her daughter may also have that potential. Will an angry, untrained witch be just one more threat that forces me to jump on Frey and gallop out of town? If all those problems would suddenly disappear, then I’d ask Mother Earth if she’d help Willow and me to find the rare relationship of a fully grown witch and her familiar. Will I one day be able to communicate with Willow as Mrs. Penn already can? If that should come to pass, then would my magic bloom inside me and allow me to brew tonics and potions like Old Mother could? There are so many questions I have about the future, but since I cannot read tea leaves or routinely dream prophesies of what the Fates are bringing. Like all the rest of us, I can only cross my thumbs and murmur the old children’s saying: Wishing and washing, cat in the tree Tell of the fortune that belongs to me May it be good. May it bring smiles Else I shall run for miles and miles. Except Mrs. Penn told me sternly that I can’t keep running. She said I must learn to take the good with the bad. With her eyes crinkled into lines that spoke of love, she held my hand and whispered, “A woman who wants to give you a name and to form us into a family, a man who wants to marry you and will cherish you as you deserve, children who already adore you and call you their mother, your good buddy, Frey, and this precious little kitty, Willow. Those are the building blocks of your happiness, Shama, if only you will make it so.” I think she was right. That’s why I didn’t run away. I gave my trust to Tinker Town. Maybe as Mrs. Penn said, happiness is worth a little pain. And besides, there’s Frank, who despite his occasional disbelief, sometimes kisses me, smiles into my eyes with love, encourages me, and now speaks of our future. And if I’m truthful in my heart, although I quiver in fear, a kernel of hope is growing. The potential of what Mrs. Penn saw for me, for all of us, is a carrot too wondrous to ignore. I will let you know how my story continues, whether Tinker Town can give me a home and a place to grow the roots that were ripped away so cruelly. But that tale is no more than a promise, and I will continue it in: A Witchling in Tinker Town Book 2 in the Shama Series
6.10 The Witchling Shama
Only the man didn’t say what I’d assumed he would, because Mrs. Penn interrupted him. “Officer, I need to get back. I have matters to take care of. Can we all get into the buggy and head out?” I don’t think Mrs. Penn expected any argument over that, because she turned and made her way back to the conveyance, and then without any assistance, climbed up. Had she forgotten about the two little boys, or was Officer Krugle supposed to manhandle them into the vehicle? “Have you ever gotten to ride in a buggy?” I asked the boys. I was chiefly talking to Frances, since Carlo, although his sobs had settled down, was still in no condition to respond. “No, ma’am,” Frances said. “We’ve never had a chance to do that.” “Well, here’s your opportunity. It will be fun.” Geez, I couldn’t believe I was spouting such nonsense. Fun? Should a person talk about having fun only minutes after hearing how the lives of these boys had suddenly crashed? I was stripped down to wordlessness then, trying to think of something else to say when Frances said, “Please, will you go with us? Please?” “I think that’s a good idea, Shama. It would make things easier on the boys,” Officer Krugle said. I glanced up at him, surprised that he wanted me to go into town with them. “I thought you’d tell me to leave. I’m a stranger, and I don’t even know these boys. I only met them today.” “But you bonded with them.” He rubbed his cheek, like his freshly shaved chin might need a razor again. Apparently, it passed his touch inspection because he dropped his hand and curled his fingers into the belt loops on each side of his pants. “You said you were an orphan, Shama. You, of all people, should understand how these boys need you right now. You’re their only stability.” Needles and pins. I don’t know why I hadn’t expected this. Why had I thought that the clinginess of the boys would instantly change into a burst of enthusiasm when I’d suggested going for a buggy ride? And now, getting guilt trips from a policeman? Wouldn’t the boys be just fine without me? I wasn’t their family. I didn’t have any connection with them. Not really. Once more, I attempted to untangle the fingers so tightly pressing down on my skin that I would probably have bruises. Emotional manipulation by handsome officers of the law should have no effect on me. I wasn’t a fool. I closed my eyes and sought for a way to get out of the obligation he was trying to foist on me. Carlo lifted his head and stared up at me. “We don’t have a mommy anymore. Will you be our new mommy. Please?”
5.22 The Witchling Shama
I was lucky to be slightly dark of skin. My eyes were green and my hair a dark, brownish red, so I had few problem with sunburns, but I was always cautious. When I thought I’d dried off enough from my icy water bath, I moved under a tall tree and let its shade filter the sun’s harshness. I think Frey was also taking a nap. It was hard to tell since he often slept standing up, his eyes at half-mast, as if partly awake so that if a cougar or wolf approached, he’d be ready to gallop off. At the moment, he was resting his right fore leg, barely touching the ground with the front of his hoof. As I eyed his position, Frey shifted so that the left fore leg got a moment of rest. He flinched suddenly, apparently becoming aware that I was watching him. Frey’s eyes opened fully, and he nickered softly, turning his head slightly to glance at me. He removed the lock position that takes over the body of a sleep-standing horse and firmly planted all four feet. Then he took a step toward me and nuzzled me because I was still lying there on the ground. Perhaps that was a summons to get up and get back on the road. I yawned, stretched, stood, then stretched some more. Although the grass was soft, the ground underneath it wasn’t. My body felt stiff. I did a couple of simple exercises and heard my back crack back into position. What an ugly sound. Was I getting old?
5.21 The Witchling Shama
We passed a turtle lying in the sun, and, later, several small frogs croaked as we passed by. Both creatures fled from our presence, plopping back into the water as if we were predators come to eat them. Later as we rode on, we saw a beautiful red fox. It had a snow-white breast, perky ears, a black button nose, and an amazingly gorgeous tail. I yearned to reach out and touch the fox. I wondered if people ever kept such animals as pets. This one was wild, of course, and didn’t stick around to discuss the question with me. When we stopped for lunch and a siesta, I removed Frey’s tack. He quickly let me know that he was ready for another roll in the grass. His circles and the way his legs looked like he was about to collapse were sure signs of his intent. I suppose such maneuvers were the result of my failure to relieve his itchiness since I had no curry comb. I’d also heard that dust kept animals free from fly bites. I hoped so, at least that would provide a good reason for his dirt collection. But already he felt like sandpaper when I petted him. I ate my fill of watercress and miner’s lettuce and then sat down to gnaw at my cattail shoots. Once again, after I’d bathed in the stream, being careful not to get close and personal with any snakes, I sat in the sun to dry off and grew sleepy.