Into the Light by Calisa Rhose

Into the Light

          Wendy Parson placed a hand over her pounding heart. If the crystals were right, Ren was in the ostentatious manor in front of her. She ogled the rock and mortar building in awe and a touch of fear. After all, this wasthe infamous Dracula’s castle and he would be the party host with his built in ghost, or so rumors claimed.

     Wendy wondered how true it was that Cupid’s ghost haunted those great halls within. Why not? She herself was a direct descendant of the modern-day cartooned Wendy the good witch. If people only knew the cute little witch in red that befriended Casper was actually real, would they believe it? Probably not. Perhaps Cupid’s ghost was only a wild rumor.

     Wendy lifted her skirt and made her way in, following a group of party-goers through the wide doors, immediately swept into the euphoric atmosphere. “Here goes nothing.”

     No sense guessing when she had a hand delivered invitation from Dracula to see firsthand. She wasn’t sure why the vampire wanted her there…probably to take a juicy bite. She almost hadn’t gone but the scrys called, so here she was, fighting a shiver of eerie anticipation.

     After ten long years she hoped to see her beloved once again. The fury that had driven her for so long tried to surface but she pushed it away. 

She needed answers. Why had Ren left, broken her heart without a word?

     Her goal was clear. Find Ren and get what she needed, then make him pay. That was the necessary order of this night. And pay, he would.

     If her magic cooperated.

     Igor greeted guests, his arms piled high with coats and hats nearly burying his head, making his hunched back seem more prominent than she suspected it actually was. Wendy added her cape with a sympathetic smile for the misshapen man.

     A footman offered drinks and she accepted a glass of something red. Not blood, thankfully, by its sweet aroma. Wendy mingled, slowly taking in each face one by one. After an hour she had not recognized a single face. Finding somewhere to conduct a little spell was critical. She gazed around and side-stepped another guest, then bumped into someone else.

     “Sorry,” a voice mumbled from behind.

     “Excuse me.” Her arm brushed the person again. Confused, she turned to move out of the way, but there was no one near her. The closest patron stood a good five feet from her. “Odd.”

* * * *

     Rengal Fisher stepped to one side as the lady whirled, an apology uttered from those lovely red lips. His darling, Wendy. The love of his heart. Once upon a time. In a time before the evil Tessa revealed her jealousy. Her malevolent intent as obvious as the bold white streak in Wendy’s raven locks.

     Ren studied the vision before him and his heart cracked open. How he’d missed her. Yes. She was his love. He’d recognize that unpigmented strip of hair anywhere. The scrys had spoken to her just as the gypsy promised they would.

     

     But now that Wendy stood before him, he hadn’t a clue how to reach out to her. She would never accept him as he was, as Tessa had cursed him to live. How could Wendy take him back when she couldn’t even see him? She’d probably believe it was some kind of cruel trick.

     

     Not that he’d blame her.

     Ren watched her swing one way then other trying to find the source of her apparent confusion. Wishing he could speak her name, knowing he shouldn’t until he had a face for her to see. Ren spun and bolted into the cold night.

     

     He’d been a fool to think the Harvest Moon Ball was the time or place to reclaim her. But having come this far…he stumbled to a standstill, gasping for air, and glared angrily back at the mansion.

     Suddenly, just talking to her seemed lame. He needed a better strategy. The pain, or perhaps anger on her face each time she suspected she’d seen him was unbearable. Of course every man she secretly stalked wasn’t him. He’d watched from a discreet distance. Had witnessed the hope, the deep anger that followed, and then the despair at her repeated mistakes.

    The pain of her emotions ate into Ren’s very soul. Still, he couldn’t give away his secret. Not yet. For ten years he’d been torn. Had Tessa’s words been truth or cloaked with another black lie? Had Wendy truly asked her cousin to curse Ren into nothingness, leaving him to walk the earth as a ghost?

     Not a ghost, for even spirits could be seen by those who believed. He was an invisible man without a ghost of a chance at happiness. He’d only drawn Wendy to Transylvania to see her one last time before taking his own life, ending both their misery. She wouldn’t even know he was there, that he’d smelled her lavender scent, touched her silky hair as she passed by. She would return to America none the wiser, if not a little less hopeful of ever seeing him again.

     Then again, if Wendy had set him up after that horrible argument Tessa had engineered so long ago…was she really as miserable as him? He found it hard to accept that she’d believed he’d ever touch her wicked witch of a cousin. That she could take Tessa’s word over his.

     Unless…

* * * *

     Another look around and Wendy decided to scry again. Using magic crystals was the unobtrusive way to search without being discovered. Perhaps she’d been mistaken? It wouldn’t be the first time. Magic seemed to have it in for her, never working right. Well, not “never” since there was that time nine years ago when she put that wart on Tessa’s nose. That was fun. Her evil cousin still hadn’t managed to override and remove the growth. It hadn’t taught the witch to keep her nose out of Wendy’s affairs though.

     Accepting another drink to replace the now-warm first one, she forced a smile as she wended her way through the raucous crowd. She’d barely avoided a nasty pass from Dracula and was searching for somewhere quiet to scry. If only the tingling in her chest would go away.

     Strange. About the time the vicious vampire nuzzled her neck, in the pretense of smelling her perfume, a sharp pain struck in her chest and spread like fire, pleasantly warm but slightly uncomfortable. It had finally eased into an annoying, almost pleasurable sizzle she tried to ignore. Dracula had also moved on without biting.

     Finding a quiet room to work in, she surveyed the dark corners, making sure she was alone. A cluster of black candles on a center table was the only light in the chilly room. Perfect. She reached into the air and retrieved her bag and set it on a stool. Lying out a silk scarf, she then set travel-size crystal ball in the center of the white cloth.

     "If he’s near, spare my heart,

     Reveal my love, if he’s far.

     Show me now whom I seek,

    Rengal Fisher, as I speak."

     Instant thick fog gathered within the crystal. Swirling, dancing before her eyes.

     The mist seemed confused, clearing here, then there around the inner globe. “Wonderful. Just dandy.” Of course magic failed her. Nothing new about that. Despair gripped her.

          At last the mist parted and cleared to reveal a room. The room she stood in right then. “Stupid ball. I know where I am.” She lifted the ball and shook it like an etch-a-sketch to clear it, then shoved it back into her bag and shook the bag. With a toss into the air,  the bag it faded to nothing. Of course inane magic cooperated. She spun toward the door to return to the party, then stalled.

          Before her, the mist from the crystal ball seemed to have escaped into the room, swirled in a hazy smoke. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, shook her head and still the mist drifted.

          With a gasp she watched as the outline of a man came into shimmering view. “Ren?” She was barely able to whisper as her throat constricted. The form altered and the mist dissipated. “That was weird.” And not Ren. “Stupid magic.”

          “My love.”

          The voice was faint and disembodied, eerie. Fighting off a shiver as the room suddenly chilled more, she wrenched open the door and slammed it behind her as sounds of the party consumed her, heat soaking into her. “I have nothing to feel remorse for. He left. I never should have come here.”

          She passed the wide French doors leading out to a patio as one door swung open and closed again. No one was there. Maybe it was Cupid. She was a ghost, right? Wendy stared at the door, waiting to see if it would open again. Minutes passed. Nothing.

          Determined to get out of the mansion as quickly as she could, Wendy searched for the cloak closet where Igor had stashed her cape. Coming back around to the grand ballroom she glanced back at the door to see a beautiful dark-haired woman in a long green gown hurry through. She pulled the door tight but it opened again only a minute later.

          A tall man stepped through and met her gaze instantly. Wendy glanced around and back to him. What there was of him. Wendy saw only a face—most of a face—hidden behind a black mask.

          Dark blue eyes peered through the mask at her. Familiar eyes. But there was nothing above or below the mask. No hair, no legs or feet, no hands. No body. And when he turned fully toward her…no lower part of a face. Where the three-quartered mask ended, so did he. He was nothing more than a floating mask.

          Except for the hazy mist outlining his invisible body. She trembled as recognition settled over her with the force of a hammer. He took a first step toward her.

* * * *

          Several witches had tried and none could reverse the spell set on him by Tessa. Hope was a dream. Ren had fought the urge to call to Wendy in that dark room he’d followed her into. But he’d failed. He’d given in and cried out with his very heart and she’d heard him.

          She was searching, calling to him and he shouldn’t have answered. Not until he could be seen and be able to convince her of his presence, to tell her he’d left in desperation to save them both. Whether saving them meant staying apart, or proving they belonged together, he couldn’t be certain. Not until he knew Wendy hadn’t sent Tessa after him. Ten years and it had been hopeless.

     Until he’d met up with the seer on the balcony, a woman running from demons of her own. Her soul mate was a wounded man as well. He’d understood Ren’s plight and graciously offered the magical mask. Ren knew it was working because Wendy stood not ten feet from him, staring through him…literally. Yet, she recognized him. It was in her hazel gaze.

     “Ren?"

     She whispered his name and a jolt shot through the short distance to pierce Ren’s chest like an electric charge. Not that she’d know, but he grabbed his chest and winced at the shocking pain his name on her lips caused.

     “Wendy.” He prayed she hadn’t had a part in her wicked cousin’s deed. 

     “Tell me it was a lie.”

     “What? Are…is it truly you?”

     “It is. A good man gave me this magic mask so you could see me.”

     “Why? What happened? Please tell me. Why did you leave?”

     Did she really not know? “Tessa said you’d sent her after me, that you believed we, she and I…had betrayed you.”

     Wendy moved closer and reached a hand out and cupped his face. Life filled him for the first time in all these years. “I never knew. She did this to you?”

     “She cursed me.”

     “I came here to get revenge. To make you pay for breaking my heart. Why haven’t you found someone to undo it and return to me?”

     Ren wanted to laugh. Did she actually think he’d gone merrily on with his life? Given up without a fight? “Five powerful witches couldn’t undo Tessa’s magic.”

     Wendy pressed her bow-shaped lips together in the determination he recalled in her spirit. “Well, I can.”

Ren smiled. He remembered her magic. How sweet her confidence in her powers was. Could it be possible she had finally mastered her wayward magic? “Set me free, my love.”

     She nodded and led Ren back into the dark room. “I came here looking for you not long ago. I swear I heard your voice. Was it you?”

     “Yes. I was afraid to reveal myself. I didn’t want to scare you off, so I let you leave.”

     “Now it makes sense. My calling mist showed you to me, or your outline, but I couldn’t see you so I thought the magic was misbehaving as usual.” She laughed then. The sound was magic to his lost soul.

     It had always been one of the things he’d loved about his little witch. Her ability to laugh at herself was amazing in a sorceress with her familial background of extreme powers. “Perhaps you’d like to take your time and say a prayer that something will work this time? I don’t relish the idea of being a frog for the next ten years.”

     “Look at the bright side, Ren. If my magic doesn’t work—at least no one will see you hopping around.” Wendy grinned with pure wicked mischief and held out her hands.

     “Not funny, my favorite little witch.”

     Her bag appeared in her hands. It impressed him that one thing had never failed since she’d learned how to vanish and retrieve the mystical bag from thin air. She dug in and pulled out a red candle and a batch of sage and lavender. He knew the routine. Cleanse the room first. She had skipped that step earlier in her haste. She suddenly seemed nervous and the emotion transferred to him. If she was worried…

     “Okay. Do you remember any of the words Tessa said that day?”

     He’d never forgotten them. “Poof of proof, go insane Forever aloof, time to wane.”

     Wendy arranged the candle on a silk scarf as he spoke and lit it. When he stopped speaking she turned to face him. “What else?”

     Wasn’t that enough? “That’s it.”

     “Are you certain?”

     “Positive.”

     “She said ‘go insane and time to wane?’”

     “Yes. Why?”

     “Because…if I know Tessa,” she grimaced. “And I do all too well, she did nothing more than put an insanity spell on everyone you come into contact with. What I mean is, you aren’t invisible. Others just can’t see you.”

     “Isn’t that the same thing? Wouldn’t I at least be able to see myself?” Her theory didn’t make sense.

     “You’d think so, but no. Tessa likes to complicate spells. That’s why no one has been able to undo it. The spell isn’t on you, but on everyone including you, that lays eyes on you. I mean, she just made it impossible for us to see you, but you’re really here. We…just can’t see you. Oh, Ren, if only you’d come to me years ago. I know it makes no sense, but I know how to undo what my terrible cousin has done.”

     “How?”

     Wendy smiled, and his heart surged. “She did it to me one time. After you left. She now sports a lovely wart on her perfect nose that plastic surgery can’t erase no matter how many times she has it taken off.”

     “Remind me not to cross you, my darling. Can we do this now?” The thought of his gentle Wendy pulling such vindictive magic on her ridiculously vain cousin made Ren realize what a dangerous foe she could be, and was glad she was on his side.

     “Absolutely. Stare into this.” Wendy held out a small object.

     He took the little square mirror and it faded to nothing. As expected. And he saw nothing, as expected. He hadn’t seen his reflection in ten years. Wendy laughed as he set the mirror down so it would reappear on the table. She lifted it to set it on a statue.

     “See if you can see into it now. Imagine yourself in it and don’t look away. Focus only on seeing you in there. Oh, are you wearing anything? Other than the mask, I mean.” Wendy touched the mask and frowned. “This has dark magic in it. I’ll need you to take it off before I start.”

     “I was warned it was bad. But the mask has served its purpose. I’m wearing clothes, not that we can see them. Once I put anything on it disappears too.”

     “Hmm. That’s the spell.” Wendy waved the sage around murmuring quietly for a moment. Next she pointed at the mirror and grabbed the blood red opal hanging around her neck. “Step into the light as it comes and look in there.”

     He obeyed, moving closer to her as the opal began to lighten in her grasp. The light grew to encompass them both. He turned his attention to the mirror, unable to ignore the doubt creeping in after so many failed attempts to heal him of this curse, but still hopeful.

     The opal glowed red as light escaped to brighten the room, and he imagined she released the stone to allow its brilliance to shine. I believe in Wendy. No matter what happens, I know she means well.

* * * *

     Wendy put the sage aside and shut her eyes as she sent a prayer for guidance and direction to the elements. With a breath of courage she began to recite the spell Tessa had put on Ren. It figured her cousin would use such a cheesy one for her dubious doings.

     "Poof of proof, go insane.

     Forever aloof, time to wane.

     Lapse in time, insanity restored.

     Forever ends, wane no more.”

     Three times she chanted the words, not daring to check on Ren. Failure was not an option. Yet, her magic had let her down so many times she was afraid this would be no different. It wasn’t that she didn’t know the right words, but they didn’t seem to go to the right corners of the wind. Or at least that was her reasoning. Wendy really didn’t know why her spells rarely worked.

     After a slow count to ten she inhaled deeply. It was now or never. Before she opened her eyes warm hands touched her shoulders. Then look, she did, and tears welled. “Oh!” Spinning, she stared into the most beautiful blue eyes. Tears filled and trickled from them and she reached and touched the moisture on his cheeks. Cheeks she could see, touch. “It worked. Ren, I see you!”

     “I see me too,” he whispered staring at his hands. “You did it, Wendy.”

     “I’m so glad. I love you so much. I’ve missed you.” Wendy didn’t fight the tears on her face as she smoothed her hands along his rough jaws. It seemed incredible he was here, in her arms again.

     “I’ve never loved another as I love you. Thank you, my Darling.”

     “Come home with me.” She had a certain cousin to go see.

     “Forever.”

* * * *

Thank you for spending Halloween with the OKRWA Wildokie Writers.

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Love and War

Love and War

by

Callie Hutton

 

Santa Fe, New Mexico

August, 1919

 

Deanie Lawrence stopped a few buildings down from the Loretto Chapel and took a deep breath. She chewed her lip in contemplation. This was not a good idea. Despite Father Ryan’s assurances, she doubted coming face to face with Peter after all this time would heal the anger in his soul. No. Her former fiancé despised her, and with good reason.

The church stood outlined against the crystal blue New Mexico sky. It had always brought her comfort, especially during her darkest hours. The majestic rise of the steeple and gothic design of the building itself brought a sense of calm to her raging nerves. Wiping her sweaty palms down the front of her skirt, she started forward. She would do this for Joey’s sake. No fear was too great that she wouldn’t face it for him. Her resolve strengthened, she hurried forward, now anxious to get the meeting over with.

The coolness of the church’s interior slid over her as she pulled on the heavy wooden door. Familiar smells of candle wax and incense lured her in. The well-known and miraculously constructed staircase to the left of the pulpit brought visitors from all over the world. It was a peaceful place, soothing for both sinners and saints alike.

When Father Ryan had approached her about this plan, he’d told her Peter was doing repairs to the church, apparently the only job he could obtain after returning home. He’d been discharged from the hospital in Paris a few months after the end of the Great War, missing one eye. After a long trek home, Peter discovered his family home and property had been lost for taxes, and his family scattered. The last she’d heard Mrs. Wilson had died of Influenza and Mr. Wilson now resided with Peter’s sister, Jane, and her family in Texas.

How he must hate her for what he considered her betrayal. Less than two months after he left with the First Infantry Regiment, New Mexico National Guard, for California, and then Europe, she’d married Russell Lawrence.

Good, kind, Russell. Old enough to be her father, but so protective of her. He’d made it clear from the start that he would always take care of her, and not allow anyone to disparage her. The strength of his name and reputation had kept her from being cast out of the community. Until the end of her days, she would always remember his kindness. The small bouquet of flowers she placed on his grave each week for the past few months was a pittance compared to what he’d done for her.

She slowly made her way up the aisle, her eyes darting back and forth in the cool dimness, seeking the man she still loved with all her heart. Her breath caught when she spotted him on his knees, examining a church pew. The sun peeking through an open window that bathed his profile brought a rush of emotions, almost choking her. His brown and golden hair was long, tucked carelessly behind his ears. The strong chin, straight nose and high cheekbones were as familiar to her as her own face. How she’d loved his face. For years. From the time they were children, until she kissed him goodbye as he went off to war.

No. She’d continued to love him even after he’d left, and served his country overseas. Now he’d returned a wounded warrior. Her warrior. She drank in the sight of him, sure that once she made her presence known he’d likely snarl at her and stalk off. He turned, perhaps aware of someone watching him, and she gasped.

A black patch covered one eye, but aside from that, the rest of him looked perfect. Strong muscular chest, solid arms, the lower part exposed from where he’d rolled up his sleeves. Without conscious effort, tears flooded her eyes. She gripped her hands together, attempting to stop the shaking. Her muscles ached from holding her body stiff, preventing her from rushing forward and throwing herself into his arms. “Peter?”

Slowly, he climbed to his feet, a flicker of something warm and loving skimmed over his face before his features froze into a mask, and any love she’d gotten a glimmer of, shut off, turning his expression to stone. Cold stone.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Jezebel.”

She covered her mouth with her hand to keep from crying out. Although she’d expected it, hearing his deep voice condemning her cut her heart into little slivers. Oh, how she must disgust him.

“I heard you returned a few weeks ago.” Her shaky voice barely rose above a whisper.

He placed the tools he held on the bench and crossed his arms. “And now you’re here to chastise me for not running to you right off? Why? Is your bed too cold now that your husband is dead?

If he’d walked up to her and slapped her, it wouldn’t have hurt as much as his words and obvious loathing. Her mouth dried up, and she fought the urge to turn and race from the building. From that condemning face.

Deanie swallowed bile, and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry about your eye.”

Peter shrugged. “Very few returned from the war the way they left.”

“Are you well otherwise?”

He placed his hands on his hips. “Why are you here, Deanie?” When she didn’t answer him, he continued, “If it’s to tell me how sorry you are, and spurt sympathy over my injury, you can leave now.” He bent and picked up a hammer. “I have work to do.”

She moved closer. “I thought since we both live in the same town, we could at least be friends.”

****

We could at least be friends.

Either somewhere along the line he’d missed how cruel she was, or she’d lost the intelligent mind he remembered. He and Deanie had been friends for years before they declared their love for one another. They’d become engaged, and then he’d been called to war.  Memories of their few nights together had been what kept him going all the lonely months in foxholes, praying for the Good Lord to spare his life so he could return to her. But to learn after he’d returned that she’d married someone else merely weeks after he’d left had cut him like no amount of agony the battlefield could have delivered.

Despite the knife turning in his heart, he laughed. A brittle sound from deep inside, not meant to provide humor, but to remind him that even though he still loved this woman, he’d never let her know. Never give her the opportunity to rip his world apart once more.

“Ah. I don’t think we could be friends. I don’t generally allow my friends to deceive me.” He cringed, wishing the words back. The last thing he wanted was for Deanie to know how deeply she’d hurt him. How she could give him her love so freely, promise to wait forever for his return, then walk down this very aisle with Russell Lawrence before the dust from his retreating army boots had cleared the air? No. It was best to end the conversation before he acted on this overwhelming desire to ask why.

“I’m sorry.”

Peter closed his eyes, not wanting to see the tears running down her cheeks. To watch her hands twist the fabric of her skirt, hear the catch in her voice. His arms ached to hold her.

He gripped the hammer harder. “As I said. I have work to do. Father Ryan is expecting these repairs to be made.” He turned and headed toward the side door.

“You have a son. Joey.”

Although the words were soft, they bounced off the walls of the church, entering his ears like the beating of a drum.

A son?

If she’d intended to stop him in his tracks, success was hers. He lost his breath as if someone had sucked out all of the air from the room. Slowly numbness melted into anger, and then to a spark of joy. A son. He took a deep breath before pivoting to face her. “I left you with a child?”

Deanie nodded, and wiped her wet cheeks with shaky fingers. Peter reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief. He moved closer and held it out to her. Her soft skin as it brushed his hand sent heat spiraling throughout his body. Closer now, with the sunlight streaming through the window, he got a good look at her.

She’d matured from the girl he’d left behind. Her face was fuller, her body more lush. Did childbirth do that to a woman? But the deep blue eyes were the same. He’d always felt she could see right to his very soul. He mentally shook himself. She’d just uttered words that rocked his world, and here he was admiring her. Perhaps the brain’s way of dealing with shock. Focus on something else, holding at bay all the emotions getting ready to slam into you full force, like a boulder bouncing on the mountain above you, about to crush you under its weight.

“Why should I believe any child of yours is mine?”

She took a step back, her face the color of new snow. She hugged her middle, tensing as if to take flight, but then stiffened her spine and raised her chin. “You are the only man I’ve ever been with.”

The laugh burst forth before he even realized it. A bitter, harsh sound; totally mirthless. “I’ve been back a few weeks, Deanie. People talk. I know you were married for more than two years.” He tugged his fingers through his unruly hair. “Are you trying to tell me Russell Lawrence never came to your bed?”

****

She shook her head. “That was our deal.” This was all wrong. Peter didn’t believe her, and since the town had accepted Joey as Russell’s son, he might never be convinced. And Joey would never know his father. The wonderful man who stood before her, radiating hurt. Hurt that she’d caused. “I feel a bit shaky. Is it all right if I sit for a minute?”

Peter nodded, but didn’t join her on the church pew. Instead, he walked in circles, his head down, his hands on his hips. “So what is this deal you had?”

Deanie wiped the sweat beading her upper lip and took a deep breath. “Not too long after you left I discovered I was with child.” God, her voice didn’t sound like her own. His pacing was making her more nervous than she already was. “Um. Could you stop?”

He came to an abrupt halt and studied her. “Sorry.” He cracked his knuckles and sat alongside her, leaving enough distance that she almost felt the need to shout.

“When my parents discovered my shame, they threw me out.” Her eyes filled with tears remembering the terror at being all alone with a child on the way.

“Why didn’t you write to me?”

“I did!” She took another deep breath to calm herself. Shouting wouldn’t get her anywhere. “I did.”

He studied her with narrowed eyes. “I never got a letter from you. Not the entire time I was gone.”

Deanie reached out and touched his arm, grateful that he didn’t pull back. “I wrote you every day for weeks. I prayed. I spent more time on my knees than I slept.”

“How did Lawrence become involved?”

“I was staying in the back of the old Benson dry goods store. Sadie at the café let me wash dishes for meals.” Slowly all the fear and desperation of that time returned, releasing a torrent of tears to course down her face.

Peter moved closer. “Go on.”

“I was so scared.” She shook her head. “I even considered. . .”

“What?”

She licked a tear from her upper lip. “One morning I came here, to the church, and asked Father Ryan for guidance. I was close to. . .” She shuddered. “But I never would have. I could take my own life, but not that of my baby.”

****

Peter reared back at her confession, all the blood leaving his face. His anger melted with the vision of a desperate young woman, with no home, no husband, and no way to support herself, and a child on the way. He inched even closer, and covered her tightly fisted hands with his.

“Father Ryan told me to pray and return the following day. I spent hours on my knees, praying for a miracle. The next morning as I entered the chapel, Russell was sitting right here in this pew. Father Ryan left us alone, and that’s when I found peace for the first time since you’d left.”

As she told her story, her body seemed to ease. He found himself rubbing her knuckles with his thumb, pleased to feel her ice cold hands warming. “And?”

“Russell explained that Father Ryan had spoken to him of my trouble. He didn’t judge me. He said if I would allow it, he’d be honored to have me as his wife, and claim my baby as his own child.”

His eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Why would he do that?”

Deanie shrugged. “He is—was—a wonderful man. He’d buried his wife years before, but was tired of being alone. He wanted someone to share the remaining years of his life, and was thrilled at the idea of having a child to leave his hardware business to.”

He fought a wave of guilt that almost brought him to his knees. How could he have ever thought Deanie would betray him? His hurt and anger had consumed him, causing him to push away the one woman he’d always loved, and would always love.

“Russell explained that he wouldn’t expect me to be his wife in truth, since he was so much older than me, and all he wanted was companionship.” She turned to him, fresh tears standing in her eyes. “I loved him. So much.” She shook her head. “Not like I love. . .”

Peter cupped her chin, and turned her face toward him. “Not like you love...”

Deanie glanced away from him. “Anyway, I just wanted to explain, hoping to ease some of your pain.”

He leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. “I was hiding in foxholes or on the move from the time I left until the war ended.” He turned his head to look at her. “That’s probably why I never received any of your letters.”

“I understand.” She nodded and stood, brushing off her long black skirt.

“Mama!” The small voice echoed throughout the church, sending chills down Peter’s spine.

He continued to stare straight ahead, listening to the sound of small feet toddling up the aisle. Until now it had all seemed unreal. Once he turned, he’d face the small boy who would change his life forever.

Peter glanced to the side when Deanie grunted as a small body hurled itself into her arms. “Mama. Cookie!”

Unable to stop himself, he twisted his neck and stared at the image of himself in the worn photograph he’d carried in his pocket for years. He and his twin sister, Jane, him grinning, and her looking very much the little lady. His breath left him as if a powerful fist had punched him in the stomach.

“Joey?” His voice rasped, and he licked his dry lips. “Isn’t that your name?”

The little boy ducked his head against his mother’s chest, and slid two fingers into his mouth. “Yeth.” Light brown curls, golden at the tips in the sunlight from the window, covered the child’s head. Two chocolate brown eyes he’d seen in his own mirror for years stared back at him with curiosity.

His gaze left Joey’s, and he regarded Deanie. Tears tracked down her cheeks as she hugged the small body to her and rocked him.

Within seconds Peter stood and wrapped his arms around his family, the baby scent of Joey and flowery scent of Deanie enveloping him. He hugged them close, never wanting to let go, not even embarrassed to have his tears fall on Deanie’s hair.

A soft cough brought their attention to the old priest who stood behind them, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth.  “And sure it’s time for me to make a suggestion, lass?”

Deanie nodded, her head resting against Peter’s chest.

“Would you be after me going for a couple of witnesses so we can get on with the wedding I’m sure you’re both wanting?”

She lifted her head, and looked at Peter, love glowing on her face.

“Deanie Lawrence, I’ve loved you forever, and don’t want to spend another minute without you. Would you grant me the privilege of becoming my wife?”

She rested her hand on his cheek. “I’ve never stopped loving you, either. And I would be honored to be your wife.”

“Me wife, too?” Joey looked back and forth between his parents, a frown on his small forehead.

Deanie and Peter both laughed and hugged their little boy as Father Ryan hurried from the church, mumbling a thankful prayer.

~ The End ~

Be sure to stop in tomorrow for the next story in our Inspirational series. Thank you so much for joining us today.

Rainbow's End

RAINBOW'S END 

By 

Christy Gronlund

 

Aiden passed a pint to the old man sitting at the bar. Gnarled fingers latched onto the mug. Aidan barely heard the muttered thank you. His focus was on the six gold coins laying on the bar. It had taken over two hundred years to figure out the key to retrieving his gold. The answer was so simple he should have reasoned it out long ago. He snapped a rag from the rack and wiped down the counter with more force than necessary.

“Careful there, fella.” The man at the counter took another sip from his pint. “Don’t wanna worry a hole in this fine piece of wood, do ye?”

Aidan glared at the shriveled up troll. His grey eyes were too big for his face. His nose crooked down in a severe angle while his thin lips spread into a large toothy grin. An unfortunate combination of features, yet the face was kind. Aidan bit down a nasty retort and swung the towel over his shoulder. “No, ye’re right. I’m a bit preoccupied.”

“Of course I’m right, Aidan.” The old man chortled.

“Do I know ye?” Aidan peered closer, trying to detect a bit of glamour but found no haze around the old man. There was nothing familiar about his patron, but his magic had been stretched beyond the point of usefulness during his matchmaking activities.

“Yer the bartender, aren’t ye? Everyone knows your name. You can call me Odin.”

“Right.” That made sense, but a quiver of anticipation sparked through him. He looked back at the coins carelessly strewn across the counter. Naked. Vulnerable. With a flick his fingers, Aidan cast a charm of protection. Magic fled his body, leaving fatigue in its wake. His magic was almost gone. He didn’t have enough to unite the next couple. That meant he wouldn’t get the seventh coin. Without it, he couldn’t summon the rainbow. He placed his hands against the edge of the counter. He was close. So close. To wait another year would kill him. Now that he knew his way back home, one more year would pass longer than the hundreds he had already endured as a banished leprechaun.

“Don’t look so down, lad.” Odin patted his arm. “Nothing is as bad as you imagine.”

“I don’t know. I can imagine terrible things.” A hard edge tinged his words. It was bad enough he had been sent to this arid desolate place when he lost his pot of gold. To never see his homeland again was unthinkable.

Odin lifted his eyebrows. “You need to find yerself a girl.”

In spite of the dismal future looming before him, a laugh escaped Aidan’s lips. “Thanks for the advice, but a mere girl won’t solve me problems. Can I get you anything else?” He pulled the towel from his shoulder and wiped the counter more vigorously than before. Bent fingers grasped his arm. He regarded the man’s earnest expression and stopped scrubbing.

“Let me give one small piece of wisdom. A girl is always the answer. Love will show you the way.” With that strange sentiment, Odin plopped a single coin onto the bar. “Remember that, my friend.”

Aidan slipped the money into his hand, letting the weight settle in the center of his palm. A tingle of recognition bolted up his arm. “How did you. . .”

But Odin had vanished. Aidan stared at the recently vacated spot puzzling over his good fortune, then back at the coin. He held the last and final piece. Now his gold would call to him. He closed his eyes and waited for the airy pan pipe music to filter back into his awareness. But all he heard was the faint tingle of the bell over the pub door

Aidan opened his eyes. A petite woman stepped into his bar, her dark green skirt blown backward by a breeze that didn’t exist. Long curls of red dropped passed her waist. A slender finger gracefully hooked a loose tress behind her ear. Her eyes were the color of a deep ocean filled with depths he longed to lose himself in. She sauntered up to the counter, her eyes never wavering.

You need to find yerself a girl.

“I believe I found meself one.” His hand flew to his chin, verifying his jaw hadn’t dropped to the floor.

She placed those delicate hands on the counter never uttering a word. She smelled like heather and sunshine. Like home. A wave of vertigo came over him forcing him to steady himself against the bar. As he did, his fingers grazed the gold coins. The sensation sent a jolt of panic through him. He quickly slid the coins from the surface into his pants pocket. Her gaze followed his movements resting on his pocket before she locked eyes with him.

 "Can I get ye something?" His strained voice barely audible.

Her lips curved into a broad smile. "Aye, surprise me."

She sat upon a stool with an amused air. He sized her up a moment. She was a woman who liked a deep rich brew. A stout. He filled a stein with the dark foaming liquid and set it before her. And waited. She was here for a reason. He could sense it like clouds gathering for a spring thunderstorm. She sipped the beer regarding him steadily over the rim of the mug. But, alas, said nothing more.

Annoyed, Aidan turned back to the task of wiping the counter surface. At this rate, he really would wear it down to nothing. He was half way along the counter when he felt a tug at his pants. He grasped his pocket. The gold pulsed beneath his palm. With a slither, one of the coins emerged and floated toward the woman's waiting hand. He pulled it out of the air shoving it back into his pocket with the others.

"Are ye after my gold, then?" He swallowed. A sour burn snaked its trail down into his gullet. He bit back the bitter taste as his heart constricted to the size of a pea. She wanted his gold. Not him. He compressed his lips. Why that should bother him so much, he couldn't fathom.

"Nay, ’tis my gold." She said with too much certainty,

"It was you?" Aidan tossed the towel away and covered the space between them in two short strides. He leaned in so close their noses almost touched. Ignoring the dizzying effect her scent inundated him with, he said. "I want me pot of gold back, wench."

***

"You were stripped of the right to claim that gold the minute you let a human defile its contents." Jenna O'hare scrutinized her adversary. He was thin with just enough muscles to fill out shoulders at a huggable breadth. Wiry brown hair that refused to be tamed crowned his head. Deep emerald eyes glinted with a sharpness that sent a strange thrill through her. Here was a man who knew how to satisfy his needs. Compelling every female he encountered to submit to his desires. La, apparently, she was no exception. Her eyes traveled to the hidden coins. She noticed the slight bulge just to the right of them. If only he wasn’t her enemy.

"I have suffered through years of exile for that error." He pounded his fist against the oak, disturbing glassware in the process. "But ye couldn't ’ave failed to notice that the coins returned to me not you."

"Is that right?" She wrapped her fingers around her mug. Within the depths of his green eyes burned a passion that went far beyond his anger at having his gold filched from beneath his very nose. "Then how do you explain my presence at the exact time you had collected them all."

"I puzzled out how to retrieve them. Ye aren't here to take them back." With a flick of his wrist he busied himself resetting the toppled glasses, but she knew his attention remained on her. That knowledge wasn't unpleasant. As her eyes drifted back to the gold, she wondered what would happen if she reached deep into his pockets for the coins. Her skin tingled at the thought.

"So sure of yerself are ye?" She jumped off her stool and swung underneath the staff entrance.

"Get out of here." Aidan tried to shoo her away but she stood her ground, inching closer to him until his back was against the cash register. She placed her arms on either side of him pressing against his chest. Her pulse quickened as his breath rose and fell in ragged gasps, uncaring that his presence distracted her from her purpose. She would enjoy his proximity a moment longer. She trailed a finger up his arm allowing the warmth to spread through her entire being. She gazed up at him through hooded lids. "This is nice," she whispered. She hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

He shook his head slowly, gently pushing her aside, cooling the heat between them. "Quit muddling the issue."

She sighed accepting the inevitable. She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. "I'm Jenna the leprechaun. That's what I do."

***

"Sure ye are." Aidan headed into the open area clearing off vacated tables as he went. It wasn't his job but he needed to clear his head. Jenna's nearness made it difficult to solve the problem of getting his property back. After over two hundred years, reuniting with his pot of gold was long overdue. He had all seven coins so he didn't need Jenna. Or did he?

He glanced in her direction. She stood poised shamelessly behind the bar watching him without bothering to hide it. Her grin broadened at his attention. What was it about her he found so captivating? To be sure, she was the first leprechaun he had seen in a long time. But it was more than that. Her inner essence glowed sending out an aura full of red, orange, green, yellow, blue, indigo and violet. All the colors of the rainbow. All the colors of home.

He narrowed his eyes on her. If she had his gold then why was she here? Mayhap she needed him. He dropped the plates he carried on a nearby table and turned in her direction.

"Miss me?" She quirked an eyebrow.

"Tell me lass." He descended upon her with more confidence than when she’d first arrived—strange —he was no longer sure his fortune was more important than her. "How are ye enjoying my pot of gold?"

"Immensely, thank you." She blew an errant strand of hair off her face. He resisted the urge to wrap it around his finger.

"Then I’m supposin’ yer need for these seven is nil."

Her eyes grew wide. "Oh, but I do need them."

A low chuckle burst from his chest. "I'd wager, ye haven't even seen my gold."

She bowed her head, drawing clover leafs with her fingers on polished wood. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He lifted her chin until deep blue eyes gazed into his. "I think ye do."

She didn't move. He reveled in the sudden stillness, closing the distance between his lips to hers. The surge of electricity that followed energized every nerve ending in his body. How he longed to stay in that pose for eternity. But he had to be sure of her. Had to know she felt the same. His pulse quickened as he thought of the risk he was taking but he had to know. He forced himself away from her and pulled the coins from his pocket. They plopped on the counter with a clank.

"Let love light the way." He walked away hoping he was right. The worst that could happen was being exiled right where he was. He shrugged. If that was the absolute worst when he desired so much more, then what did it matter?

***

Jenna watched Aidan walk away. A mixture of relief and disappointment filled her. Her lips still tingled from their kiss. Her breathing still ragged, obstinately refusing to return to normal. She almost shouted after him until the lure of the gold took over. This was the moment she would gain access to the elusive pot of gold. Ownership didn't guarantee the ability to summon the rainbow. She needed all the coins to do that. With one last glance over her shoulder, she grabbed the coins and ran out the door.

Although it was well into evening, the sun blinded her as she stepped onto the rocky terrain the natives called western landscaping. No matter, soon she would be home to the velvet green pastures of Ireland. She ignored the hollow ache in her heart and the niggling voice telling her it wasn't enough. She entered a clearing and raised her fist clasping the gold in the air. She closed her eyes waiting for the gold to call. Her arm went numb and still she waited until it felt like lead weighing her down. She massaged her arm attempting to find the reason she couldn't hear the music of the gold.

"Can't do it, can ye?" Aidan stood in front of her his arm crossed, his smirk mocked her impotence.

"What did you do to them?"

"Nothing. For a leprechaun, ye don't appear to know much about me pot of gold."

"What do you mean?" A fog descended on her mind. He stepped so close she could feel his breath. She leaned in catching the scent of spices and mint. "You're the one who lost it. I doubt you know much more."

His grin was so maddening she wanted to wipe off—or kiss it away. The thought caught her by surprise. "Aye, it took me some time to figure it out. Then I realized seven coins were taken on the heels of love."

"I don't understand."

He cocked his head to one side, those emerald eyes regarding her with amusement and something else. Hope? "Love bound the coins when Finn and his lass, Lady Allison, declared their affection. With every couple that has found love these past few days, I’ve retrieved one coin. I’ve one left, the seventh."

"But, I have them all." She opened her hand. "If they're all here the curse has to be broken."

He shook his head. She steeled herself. How could this man be so daft?

"There's one last couple to unite."

"Who?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he stared at her with a huge grin on his handsome mug.

"Am I missing something?"

He took hold of both her arms squaring her before him. "I was given the seventh coin when Finn and Lady Allison found them. The seventh coin belonged to me."

She froze processing this bit of information. If she followed his logic accurately, that would mean...a heady giggle bubbled up inside her. "You mean?"

"I love ye Jenna. What I need to know is if ye love me, as well."

She flung herself into his arms. "Yes. I do." A surge of joy rushed through her veins followed by a grand sense of relief

He kissed her raising his hand to the sky. The rainbow of colors engulfed them in a splash that melded at the ground shooting buttery golden light back up in response. Amidst the center their pot of gold gleamed. Together Aidan and Jenna stepped into the fold.

"Let's go home."

A small wrinkle furrowed her forehead. "What about your bar?"

"Don't worry, ’tis left it in Ciara's capable hands."
 

~ The End ~

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

From
 

The Wildokie Writers

Thank you, everyone for stopping by to read our St. Patrick's Day stories. We hope you enjoyed.

Stay tuned for our Inspirational series coming soon.