Brotherly Love: Peck and Promise Grene

Declaration of Love 1: Brotherly Love: Peck and Promise Grene

Declarations of love are a staple in fiction and they vary enormously according to author, audience, characters and situation. We mostly think of such effusions as romantic. We hope they're truthful, and we hope (usually) that they'll be made and received in a positive manner. Love's not always romantic though, so not all the declarations in this sub-set will be between romantic partners.

First off the blocks is a dose of brotherly love from Peck Grene to his sister Promise. Peck and Promise were the only children of LeeLee and Mal Grene. LeeLee and Mal grew up together and married young. After thirty years of marriage they were still devoted and tended to live in their own little bubble. They loved their children, but as Prom reflected, they didn't need them. As a result, Prom, at twenty-five, felt she'd never come first with anyone. Since a peculiar incident in her childhood, she didn't think she ever would. When she came home for a rare visit on the occasion of her brother's wedding, she and Peck had a couple of enlightening conversations which made Prom see her usually taciturn and grumpy brother in a somewhat different light. The first was about their parents.

“Do you think Ma and Dad love us?” Prom asked.

“What kind of question is that?” 

“A serious one.”

“Don’t be daft. Why wouldn’t they?”

“Because they’re complete the way they are. They live in a charmed circle. They don’t need anyone else.”

Peck said, “They don’t need us, which is just as well, since you’re never here. That doesn’t mean they didn’t want us or love us. It doesn’t matter now, anyway. We’re grown and gone.”

“I’m gone. You’re not gone.”

“I still live here, but I’m not theirs anymore. I’m all Chloe’s.”

This statement implied that, again, Prom came first with no one. A later conversation changed her perspective, though it began with Peck being possessive about his wife-to-be.

"Chloe is mine, and I don’t share. And before you kick me, I know I’m not supposed to say things like that.”

“You just did say it,” Promise pointed out.

“You don’t count.”

Okay. That hurt. My own fault for saying what I did.

“I didn’t mean it like that! I mean I can say anything to you because you’re the only person I’ve ever loved from day one and never stopped loving.”

What? Great bogle! That was almost worthy of an interrobang, so Promise mentally attached one.

Peck went on, “I remember the day you were born. It was exciting because I was hoping you’d come in time for Christmas. You made it with a few hours to spare. You were squalling and covered with icky stuff. Dad wrapped you in a shawl and handed you to me, and you smelled of chamomile. There was a big Christmas tree in the room, all lit with candles and we all sang the tree for you. We’d been singing it ever since Ma and Dad knew you were on the way. And you know what? You were my best Christmas present ever. You were the first person I cared for who didn’t already care for me. That’s why I can say things to you. You’re mine in a way no one else can ever be.” He got up with the agile movement humans apparently found so enviable in pixies, reached over and pulled Promise to her feet. “You can say anything to me, too. Anything. Always. Ever. Okay?”

 “That’s about the nicest thing anyone ever said about me.”

 “It’s true. And if I can help you with anything, you ask me. You’ll have to ask straight out though. I’m not very intuitive.”

Peck might not have been intuitive, but he managed to say exactly what his sister needed to hear. Prom didn't really understand she had Chloe to thank for this in part. Two years with Chloe had cracked the hard nut that was Peck Grene and encouraged him to express what he felt. That wasn't always a good thing, but in this case, it was.

The excerpts above are from "I Promise", a Christmas novella which will be available in December 2018. This is part of a series, but it has a brief foreword that brings new readers up to speed.

Cordelia Petros’ Mysteriously Missing Pink Plaid Suitcase

Object Post 145: 

Cordelia Petros’

Mysteriously Missing Pink Plaid Suitcase

From The Peacock’s Pearl

Significance: It was a case in point and also an example of one of the secrets Cat Mahal kept from her mother

Related to: A number of other items, all distressingly loud or implausible

~~~~~

I thought it would be quite difficult to lose a box that big, but then I remembered Mum’s pink plaid suitcase bound with a ribbon featuring the Greek flag.

Cordelia’s pink plaid suitcase didn’t really reflect Cordelia’s taste. It did reflect her practicality. She certainly didn’t want to waste her time at the baggage carousel trying to recognise her case, so she made sure it was memorable and recognisable at fifty paces.

Her daughter Cat knew this perfectly well, but she wasn’t prepared to put up with the embarrassment of being associated with the monstrosity so she didn’t. As a Frith witch and a Beckingham witch by double descent, Cat could easily delete the case. As an ethical witch she struggled with her conscience (maybe) for all of five seconds.

That had vanished on a flight to Scotland and no amount of filling forms, waiting in queues or badgering Baggage Station had ever found out where it went.

What? Well… let’s put it this way.

·        We flew over a lot of ocean to reach Scotland.

·        I always detested that suitcase.

·        Somehow Mum’s essential things were packed with mine. I’d made sure of that. I’m not heartless.

Cordelia’s reaction was predictable.

As Cat said;

Mum’s a good person—better than I am. The only time I had ever seen her angry was with Elizabeth. Oh, and the baggage man who couldn’t produce her pink plaid suitcase when we got to Scotland. I felt a tad guilty about that.

Sean McTavish's Braesider Kilt

Object Post 144: Sean McTavish's Braesider Kilt

From The Courting of Eileen

Source: Jenny made it from braeside wool

Significance: It marked Sean as a braeside laddie which he was, sort of.

~~~~~

Braesider men often wore kilts as a nod to their connection with Scotland. Sean McTavish felt himself to be in an anomalous position. He was a braeman by family; the fourth son of “Skirling” Lachlan McTavish and his wife Janet “Sweet Jenny” McTavish. His brothers were all big brawling redheads with heathered eyes but Sean was dark and green-eyed, with a pale complexion that had a tinge of green. To the braefolk he looked like a leprechaun and in his teens he manifested Shamus, who was indeed a leprechaun, as his second self. Lachlan explained Sean’s unusual looks to his brothers by telling them about Padraig, his great-grandfather, whose leprechaun blood had persisted to come out in Sean. Although loved and accepted by his family, Sean felt odd among the braesiders, who, with their love of nicknames, called him Leprechaun Sean. He liked the leprechauns of the green way, but the colleens there called him Highland Sean. Wearing the kilt was his way of reinforcing his family identity.

His three brothers were happily settled with forevers. Alister and Glengarry had braefolk wives, and Hamish had found a human, but Sean had problems. As he put it, when Eileen o’ the Mist said he didn’t look like a leprechaun;

 “Then I’ll be away home to the brae, where the lassies say I’m no’ braeside and the court ladies canna make out what I am, and know only that I’m not for them.”

Eileen stopped him. She had problems of a similar nature, being far taller than her sisters and the other colleens in the green way. Like Sean she had an ancestor of different blood. After a bit of skirmishing, they decided they liked one another.

The first time they met, Sean was wearing his kilt.

Someone moved up to stand beside her, and a voice said calmly, “Top of the noon to ye, Eileen o’ the Mist.”

This greeting suggested Eileen’s visitor was a leprechaun.

Eileen’s hands went on drawing down the milk in rhythmic spurts, but she tilted her head to the side to see a pair of sturdy legs and the hem of a kilt. She followed her gaze on up. That was not her brother. The man was bigger than any leprechaun she’d ever seen. He was bigger than most humans.

“Top o’ the noon to ye, laddie,” Eileen said.

The kilt, added to the size, made Eileen greet him as a braesider.

Her impression of size had been right. He stood a head taller than she, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Instead of the traditional britches and tunic of the gossoon, he wore a kilt in a startling red plaid with a teal-blue shirt.

He had black hair, luminous eyes and skin as pale as hers. He looked like a braefolk man to her, but the eyes were leprechaun green.

Eileen’s cow Cushy was a bit taken by the kilt.

“Best let her out. She’s putting me to the blush. Looks to me she wants a mouthful of my kilt.”

“She already had a mouthful of my skirts.” Eileen indicated the damp patch, streaked with chewed grass.

Later, Sean and Eileen arranged to go to a céilí, and Sean pondered what to wear.

“Are you wearing your kilt?” she asked Sean.

“That depends, lovie. Do you want to be seen wid an outsized gossoon with skin like a colleen or a braefolk laddie widout heathering who’s strayed into Shamrock parts?”

“Wear what you please. I will be proud to dance with you whatever you choose.”

“Then I’ll take the kilt,” he said and in a moment, he was clad.

“You changed your shirt,” Eileen said, running her fingers along the ruffled white lawn that replaced his blue one.

He took her hand. “This is my dress shirt. Away to the céili.”

Naturally, Eileen didn't care what Sean was...

Corrie Guise Heineke's Nullard Dress

Object Post 143: Corrie Guise Heineke's Nullard Dress
From Under the Waterfall

Source: The Damer Eberclere provided it

Significance: It signified that Corrie was a non-person

~~~~~

…the dull-spun dress of a nullard.

Corrie was in trouble. She’d swum under a waterfall to the calm place beyond to get a little respite from her brain-damaged brother Ethan, for whom she was responsible while her parents went for a walk. When she swam back, she found Ethan gone, the camp empty and everything changed. She’d moved to another world called Sisterin, a strongly matriarchal society where women ruled and everyone was expected to contribute. Those who could not or would not take up a crede, (a job, vocation or craft) were termed nullards. They wore drab clothing which made them stand out among the brilliantly clad Sisterins, and were given condescending, and sometimes disdainful, charity. If clearly disabled, they were treated with reasonable kindness, but if not they were as welcome as a wasp at a picnic.

Corrie became the responsibility of Athen Bard, a bright boy who, despite being a boi and not a gell, as the Sisterins put it, had a three-colour crede. That was about as high as he could ever rise, even though his mother, Mem, was a dama who ruled her own damerie. Corrie obviously knew nothing of the society and had no crede. She was clearly able-bodied, and so was an anomaly; a female with a lower status than the boi who cared for her. Since she’d arrived in Sisterin covered with insect bites and wearing only her bathers and a bracelet, the only clothing available to her was a nullard’s dress.

When Athen first met her, he had no idea who or what she was, but he saw she was in distress.

I came to another dilemma. It would be very wrong to leave a gell unclad and in such discomfort, but she could not wear the bard dress unless she were a bard. "Your crede?" I asked, but she didn't understand.

I gave her the rough wool cape from my pack, for anyone may wear these, even a nullard. And I gave her wrappings for her feet, and had to show her how to put them on.

When it devolved that Corrie was unqualified for any crede clothing, Athen’s mother, the Damer Eberclere provided nullard’s dress. Corrie had to accept. To make it even worse, the Sisterin folk spoke a variant of English and Corrie could barely understand them.

The damer jerked her head at Aleezubuth, who stumped off and came back to fling an armful of fawnish-coloured cloth at me.

"Go," said the damer to me. "Teek it es go."

So I scrambled the cloth into my arms. As I bent down, the sheet came off. I was so angry I stepped out of it and stalked out of the room just as I was.

…I scrambled into the nullard clothes. From the disgust they'd all shown, I would have expected the things to be prickly or filthy or ragged, but they were quite wearable. The tunic was a soft dull-coloured cotton, there were sort of loose harem pants to go underneath, footwrappings and a plain cape. I still had scabs here and there from the stingfly bites, but at least they didn't itch any more.

Corrie had great cause to be grateful to Athen, who looked after her uncomplainingly. When they eventually parted, she would always remember him very fondly, especially since he was the mirror image of her brother. Seeing Athen’s talents and qualities made her determined to try to help Ethan achieve whatever was possible for him. There’s nothing like being a non-person for a while to make one appreciate what one has.

Captain Ferrars' Ship of Silence

Object Post 142: Captain Ferrars' Ship of Silence

From The Ship of Silence

(In Love with the Wind and Other Stories)

Frequented: The waters near Seahaven

Belonged to: Captain Ferrars

~~~~~

The mist billowed, and around the point sailed a fully rigged ship.

Red was on holiday,  but rather than participate in organised activities, she preferred exploring alone.

She often saw another loner; a boy she referred to in her thoughts as Beachboy. When she first saw the sailing ship, she spoke to Beachboy for the firsttime.

She gazed at the fairytale sight for a full ten seconds before it turned and sailed back out to sea.

She glanced at Beachboy, expecting him to be rapt as well, but he was bending over a piece of flotsam.

‘Look!’ she called, and pointed.

He jumped as her voice shattered the misty quiet, then turned to follow the direction of her pointing. He watched for a second, then went back to his fossicking.

‘Can’t you see it?’ she insisted.

Beachboy lifted one shoulder. ‘O’ course. She comes on the morning fog, an’ leaves on the ebb.’  Clearly, he wasn’t interested in the magical sailing ship, so Red left him and headed back towards the village.

Red mentioned the ship to Rillie, one of the organisers. Rillie had an explanation, of sorts.

 ‘Rillie, have you seen a sailing ship?’

Rillie blinked. ‘Why do you ask?’

 ‘I saw one today,’ said Red, ‘and someone said it was often here.’ She described the ship and Rillie forced a smile.

‘That’s the Ship of Silence. Our local ghostly galleon, you know.’

‘I didn’t know,’ said Red.

‘It’s an old story,’ said Rillie. ‘It’s supposed to be an East Indiaman ship whose captain was disgraced. The story goes that he’s cursed to sail forever. He tries to land, but must always turn back on the ebbing tide.’

Red found other people who had heard of the Ship of Silence, but no one knew much more about it than Rillie. Red went back to interview Beachboy.

‘That ship,’ said Red, ‘the Ship of Silence.’

‘What about it?’

‘Do you know who’s doing it and what they’re trying to prove?’

‘Cap’n Ferrars is trying to land,’ said Beachboy with a shrug. ‘He’s cursed, see, and won’t never set foot ashore because o’ his disgrace.’

‘That’s the story,’ said Red. ‘But what’s it really about?’

‘You daft or something?’ asked Beachboy. ‘I just tell ee what it’s about. Cap’n Ferrars...’

Red, a persistent girl, wanted a better look at the magical ship. When she managed to get on board, she wasn’t impressed.

Now she was actually on the deck, she could see it wasn’t really so magically beautiful. ‘Grubby’ was more the word...

Red didn’t approve of grubby phantom ships, so she set out to fix the situation