Today's excerpt is from Faerie Lights

​Meara knew the couple must have continued to see each other or she wouldn’t be here. “Did they run away together?”
“I figured they must have. Since one day she was at home, the next day not. Over a year later, a letter came from Beacon, Wales. Sorcha told me how happy she was and that she was expecting a babe any day.  My first impulse was to find a freighter heading that way, but I couldn’t leave.”

“Why?” The question popped out of her mouth before she fully thought it through. It was a habit she’d worked hard to correct without success. Especially since her saying, what she thought was a sign of uncontrolled spirit. Her shoulders hunched for the expected lash she’d receive, but it didn’t come, neither did the verbal reprimand.

“When Sorcha left, my da took to his bed. Some say it was his heart, which I know to be true because it was broken. My da lingered on death’s doorsteps for many years. In the intervening time, I met my wife, Erin. She helped care for Da and even urged me to seek out Sorcha, which is what I did.”

Meara squirmed in the hard chair wanting to ask what took him so long, but she’d already had one outburst. Instead, she asked with her eyes full of pleading for more details.

Angus answered, instead. He leaned forward, resting his large hands on his knees. “This isn’t Simon’s first trip. The first one took place about six years past after your grandda died. Went down to the Brecon area, but mouths were tight and none mentioned Sorcha by name.”

Simon shook his head. “If only I had taken more interest in Fulmen. I didn’t even know his last name. As extraordinary as the name sounds, there were more than handful of Fulmens in the place, but none were Sorcha’s Fulmen.  Even offered to pay people for information. Even though they were Celts as much as I was, they told me nothing. Erin was expecting our own babe so returned back to Galway. Two years later, I made another trip with almost the same result. It felt as if Sorcha and Fulmen vanished from the earth. I made up cards with my name, contact information and passed them out. This year I received a letter for my efforts.”

“What did it say?” Meara pressed her hands together in a prayer like position against her heart, forgetting her vow to forgo any future outbursts.

“The sender refused to give his name because his own relatives took part in the dastardly act.  Fulmen’s cousin died without any children and left prime farmland to Fulmen. It was a big holding sought after by many. Along with it, came the house and holdings. Some of the best in the area. A few offered to buy the land from Fulmen, but offered an insulting low bid. Fulmen intended to stay on the farm until Sorcha delivered, maybe indefinitely. The writer didn’t know. All he knew was that his da and uncle were worked up about it. Because the Druid squatter wasn’t welcome there. The writer claims he was only a child at the time and overheard talk when they thought he was asleep.”

As much as she wanted to hear about her parents, this tale was not going the way she wished. It didn’t seem like her parents had a fair life the short time they were together. Her mother abandoned her family for love and apparently stepped into a desperate mess in England.

Simon stopped talking and glance back at Angus, who cut his eyes in Meara’s direction. “Go on, I want to know,” she urged, knowing they had reached a difficult point in the retelling.

Her uncle cleared his throat. “To put it plainly, they meant only to scare Fulmen off the land, but he was determined to protect you and your mother. Your father’s death may have been accidental, but the results were the same. Your mother fled to the scene, apparently walking for days through the woods until she came across the convent where she had you.”

The brutal ending story didn’t surprise her, but it did push on her with great waves of sadness. She’d hoped her mother had lived a happy life until the time she died. Unfortunately, that hadn’t been the case, a desperate escape after witnessing her husband struck down. A sigh escaped her. “Poor Sorcha. Poor Fulmen. What happened to the farm?”

​Angus raised his eyebrows. “Now, that sounds like something a Cleary might ask?” At Meara’s surprised look, he explained. “You’re a Cleary. It’s the family name of both Sorcha and Simon. It means clerk, which suits since the Clearys always know the bottom line.”

Today's prompt is paint. See if you can find it.

Setup: Meara is in Mother Superior's Office with the two men she saw on the road. This is the first time she ever finds out anything about her mother.
​
“My mother’s name is Sorcha. I never heard it before.”

This somehow angered Simon, who threw another accusing glance at Mother Superior who huffed making no verbal reply.

He reached for her hand clasping it in his large, masculine hand. Warmth flowed between their skin along with a sense of connection she never felt before. “You are,” she tried to shape the word she wanted, but it eluded her since all talk of families were forbidden because that was the past. “Family?”

Mother Superior moved faster than she had ever witnessed and pulled their hands apart. “No touching is permitted.”
Her hand felt suddenly alone after the brief touch. Worse, she lost the connection. The only time she felt a sense of belonging, outside the forest. Mother Superior spoke true; touch wasn’t permitted except in dire circumstances, such as healing or catching a sister who might be falling. Even then, if the sister was only falling a little distance she was not assisted because it could be a divine lesson. Many a sister had tripped on the uneven stones and resulting in a headfirst fall on the hard flooring.

The seated man's lips pulled down in a forbidding frown that could have peeled paint. Meara watched with interest, not only because she’d never witnessed such a display of emotions, but she’d never seen anyone go up against whatever pronouncement Mother Superior made. Inside the convent walls, she served as a direction extension of the patriarchal deity they bound themselves too, which meant a stern, unforgiving figure who hated laughter and frivolity.

Simon turned to face her with his former smile returning. “I can’t believe I finally found you. Sorcha wrote me that I’d be an uncle a donkey’s age ago.” He looked past Meara’s shoulder as he took a long, unsteady breath.

Angus stood and dropped his hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed. He nodded his head at Meara. “It’s hard on your uncle. Travel is never that easy between the countries, but now with the rumors of wars and the various navies crowding the sea, made it a diabolical trip, fer sure. Simon never gave up on Sorcha. We came on the university’s dime to join a team heading for Egypt.”

“Egypt,” she repeated the word, trying to think where she’d heard it before. A bump caused her to look back in the direction of Mother Superior who managed to shuffle closer while Angus spoke.

Simon transferred his gaze from the wall to her. He threw a black look back at the black-garbed nun daring her to say anything. “Forgive my behavior, it’s just, that, he paused, gulping loudly, “I always assumed Sorcha lived. My sister, your mother could be a stubborn one. She gave her love freely and strong. On the other hand, no one could hold a grudge like her.”

Angus leaned in to add, “Sorcha was known to be the right grudge holder of Galaway County. People did not cross her.”
“That she was,” Simon agreed. “My sister did everything with passion. I remember when she met your father who was visiting his people nearby. She marched home all smiles and told me she intended to marry Fulmen.”

“Fulmen,” she said the name slowly sounding it out. Even though, she’d never heard her mother’s name, having an actual father’s name made her beginning more tangible. She wasn’t a changeling, a gypsy’s git, or any of the other unflattering terms whispered about her.

“Aye, I asked her what type of name was Fulmen.”

Meara wondered too, although, the only male names she knew belonged to the saints.

“Ah, Sorcha put both hands on her hips and proudly announce the name was Druidic and meant lightning.”

A feminine gasp announced Mother Superior’s close location. The woman must have scuttled closer rather spider-like. Not a fair comparison to a creature that had never done her any harm.

Simon continued with a sad smile. “She told me he stole her heart just as fast as lightning. Sorcha was proud, as the day is long. She threw her flaming hair over her shoulder and declared she’d have no man, but him. I should have realized she meant what she said.”

“What happened?” The love story of her parents fascinated her. It’s the first love story she’d ever heard because the sisters never spoke of their pasts. If as green as she was, she knew if a woman had a great love she wouldn’t become a sister, or if she did, her beloved must have perished.

“Da, both Sorcha’s and my father, forbade the union.” Before he could continue, Mother Superior harrumphed her way into the conversation.

“Well, she should. No good would come from hooking up with a heathen.”

​Simon threw her another dark look that had her sliding back a few steps. “My da, your grandda, was a great one for the church, although he attended services on the high holidays. In his grief over my mother’s death, he turned bitter and hard. The only thing that mattered to him was family. All he saw in your father was an Englishman who would steal his daughter away, one of the last living remnants of his beloved Colleen.”

A low growl emanated from the man’s throat. The other man placed a hand on his shoulder while speaking loud enough for her to hear. “Careful Simon, don’t be doing something you might regret.”

He shook off the man’s hand before addressing Mother Superior. “Meara is my mother’s name. A good Celtic name my sister chose to preserve in the family. It means the sea. As for my sister, you ruined her name with your slander. She was married to one of your kinsmen, an Englishman.” He spat the last word as if it were poison and needed to be out of his mouth.

‘Meara, come closer.” He gestured to a chair close to him.

She regarded it the same way she did the large cat she’d encountered in the woods. It was an unknown and possibly dangerous creature. Once she reached the hard wooden chair, she slid into it since her legs had turned weak.

“Could you give us a few moments alone,” he directed the comment to Mother Superior.

“Certainly not. I have the girl’s welfare to consider. Whatever you have to say can be said in front of me.

The man called Simon mumbled some unfamiliar words. They were enough to make the abbess gasp in consternation, which made them very powerful words indeed. She wished she knew them. The other man touched his companion.

“Remember where we are, this isn’t a public house.”

“Sorry, Meara.” He nodded at her and smiled again. The simple lifting of the lips caused his own face to light up. Even his eyes sparkled. He studied her as if she were an unusual bug. “You have the look of my sister, Sorcha, when she was younger. Doesn’t she Angus?”

​The other man gave her a measuring look before replying, “She does indeed.”

What was more surprising was that Gabriella knew she snuck out on a regular basis or that Mother Superior requested her attendance? Her left hand smoothed down her tunic and pulling it off the evil brick that snagged it.  Mother Superior‘s request had to be connected with her outside visits. An image of a gate into the natural world slammed shut.
Inside the cloistered walls running was against the rules, along with talking in a loud voice. It didn’t matter since she had no desire to do either now. A sense of foreboding pressed down on her shoulders. Her already sedate pace slowed more.  A desire to escape back to the forest glen tugged at her. Back underneath the trees, she felt safe and welcome.
​
Years of obedience kept her feet moving forward despite her desire to do otherwise. The sisters kept her out of Christian charity. They fed, clothed her, and even educated her, a luxury for many of her gender. All she ever read were the scriptures, but even those were limited for fear she might tear or soil the delicate pages. Sister Gabriella once spoke of a wonderful place called a library full of books, but it existed outside of the walls. What would it be like to read into the late evening hours? The possibility distracted her a little from the upcoming meeting. No books would come inside the convent walls. Even if they did, reading would require an extravagant use of lamp fuel.

Once she’d picked up a shiny scrap of metal on her unsupervised walks outside. The scrap was smaller than her fist. When she held it up to her face; she could see one eye staring back at her and the bridge of her nose. It fascinated her since the sisters didn’t look at their own reflections to prevent the sin of vanity. No mirrors existed anywhere. Meara had never ever seen her face, except for that one wide, unblinking eye.

The scrap would have caused trouble if found in her tiny cell of a room, but it vanished mysteriously, although she suspected Sister Gabriella. The woman gently guided her more with actions than words. Often, she felt the young sister was her only true friend.

A large door with an arch at the top separated her from Mother Superior and whatever edict she would issue. Someone as low as she never received too much of the Holy Mother’s time. When she did, it was never good. The last time she’d entered the hallowed room was in reference to her habit of whistling. Her poor efforts were to mimic the birds, perhaps even call them to her side. Someone heard her while gardening and reported it. After doing a three-day indulgence that included crawling to the chapel, which made her knees bloody, she never whistled again inside the convent walls. Mother Superior believed whistling kept company with the sins of vanity and pride.  After all, it drew attention to oneself. Her eyes narrowed as she searched her memory for any recent whistling. None, she could recall.

Her raised fist hung in the air before hitting the prescribed three knocks of medium force. The door swung open before she had mentally prepared herself for the ordeal. No matter what the infraction levied against her, she couldn’t show any emotion. Any tears, pleading or remonstrations fell under the sin of pride, and possibility falsehood.

The tall robed figure of Mother Superior filled most of the doorway, but the sliver of a pants leg of a seated man drew her eyes more than the frowning matron did.

“Mary, you are late.”

The name always grated, giving her a mental jar strong enough to bring her back to the current situation. Her gaze dropped to the floor. “Sorry Mother, I came as soon as Sister Gabriella told me.” She sucked in her bottom lip wondering if Gabriella had been searching long. It was not her intention to transfer blame to the kind sister.

Mother Superior snorted her belief, but rather than say anything else, she stepped aside and gestured for her to enter.  
Meara’s shoe stuck to the stone floor as if she’d stepped in spilt honey. Both men stood and turned curious gazes her way. Her eyes traveled over them both, memorizing their features and their strange clothes. Later, when she was alone in her cell, she’d reexamine them in her mind.

A flash of white teeth showed in one man’s beard. A smile, she recognized it without being told, although smiles were rare inside the walls. It was a sign of frivolity, a lightheartedness that did not become a bride of Christ.

Even though the sisters accepted that their God took male form, they seldom spoke of the male gender at all. This other sex could roam free outside the walls without worrying about falling prey to the temptations of the world. How could this be?

“Make haste, Mary.” Mother Superior slapped her hands together, which bespoke her irritation.

Meara shook off her initial fear and strode into the room, stopping short of the door. The smiling man’s expression changed as he sent a sharp look at the Mother Superior.

“You told me her name was Meara.”

Her heart leapt. Outside of Sister Gabriella whispering her name when she asked for details about her mother, she’d never ever heard another person say it. Mentally, she called herself Meara because she didn’t want to lose that slender wire that connected her to her mother.

The woman swung around so fast that her black veil fluttered from the motion. Even though, she couldn’t see her expression Meara knew it would be stern enough to cause trembling in the most stalwart of the sisters. The man did not seem intimidated. Strange.
​
“Meara is a heathen name. Even though her mother chose to name her Meara. I chose the name of Mary to inspire the child who came from a sinful union.”