Overcomer - The Journey, Judy Colella [book reader for pc txt] 📗

nearly an octave, and acquired a tremble.

“Bye,” the girls replied.

Now they sounded like they couldn’t breath. What? “Afternoon, ma’am.” Cian gave her a polite smile.

The woman’s right hand fluttered to her chest over her heart and she smiled back, but didn’t speak.

The school looked deserted by this time. The girls rushed down the hallway ahead of him to the outer doors. He caught up with them a moment later, in time to see Katie pull out her cell phone and burst into hysterical laughter. “‘Children?!’” she shrieked. “Since when did Miss Bertoni ever call any of us that?”

“Like never!” Celeste was half-choking, doubled over with hilarity. “She sounded… like… like the Good Witch… of the East!”

After several more minutes of this, Katie grew calmer. “I’d better call my mom. The bus will be stopping at our street soon, and obviously I’m not on it.” A few last chuckles escaped as she tapped the screen and put the phone to her ear. Then, “Hey, Mom – it’s me. I had to go to the school library and missed the bus… what? Oh. Yes. She’s right here. Want me to – huh? Okay, if you want. I’ll tell her… yup… No, nothing unusual. We wanted to meet a friend there… yes, she does. Uh, bye, mom. See you when you get… huh?… Let me ask, but I doubt it.” She put the phone against her shoulder and looked up at Cian. “You got a ride?”

“I live nearby. I could be home before your mother gets here, so no, but thank you for asking.”

She nodded and put the phone back to her ear. “No, but thanks for asking…Yeah, uh-huh… Okay. Fifteen minutes.” She hung up. “She’s gonna let your mother know,” she told Celeste, who had seated herself on the bench next to a line of metal stands against which Cian had seen bikes leaning when he’d first gotten to school. “Hey, we could go to the regular library and look up stuff about Ireland, if you like.” Katie gave him a shrug, removed her backpack and set it down between her feet.

Cian nodded. “Good idea. But tell me, are there still Druids?” That topic had been derailed, but he needed to know.

“A few,” Celeste answered. “The last time we went to Ireland to visit my Dad’s family, some of them were hanging around at a street festival, holding hands and chanting about the sun or something.”

“They were? How odd.” He thought about her description for a moment. “How did you know they were Druids?”

Celeste shrugged. “I don’t know. It could’ve been the big sign they were standing next to that said ‘Druidic Rites’ and the fact that they were the only ones dressed in white robes. They looked like American tree-huggers to me, but at least one had an Irish accent.”

Stepping over the unrecognized phrase he asked, “Were they speaking English?”

“Well, yeah. The only time we heard Gaelic at all was once in a pub. Some old guy was talking to someone in a corner, and since I couldn’t understand a word they were saying, I assumed it was Gaelic.”

“I see.” He nodded. Her name was right. She had visions – about Druids, it seemed. But she didn’t speak their tongue… or maybe… taking a risk for the sake of getting confirmation, he turned to face her directly. “Go raibh mile maith agaibh as bhur gcunamh.”

“Ta' failte romhat,” Celeste replied. A second later, she clapped a hand over her mouth and stared at him, and then up at Katie, wild-eyed.

He’d found her.

Katie gaped. “What is going on here?”

“I said, ‘thank you very much for your help,’” Cian answered, “and Celeste said, ‘you’re welcome.’ In Gaelic.”

Katie’s chin trembled and she compressed her lips for a second. “How did she do that?”

“I think I know, but we need to talk more before I explain it.”

“Talk?” Katie’s voice had risen a few pitches. “Talk about what? The fact that my friend can speak a language she never learned? The fact that you’re so... so abnormally gorgeous and strange at the same time? The fact that you keep saying things that make it seem like you’re some kind of I-don’t-know-what who belongs somewhere else entirely?” By this time she was waving her hands around and nearly shouting. “And what is this crap about time?!”

“Your mom is here.” Celeste pointed.

“Right!” Katie yelled. “My mom’s here!” She spun around, stared at the Mercedes pulling up at the curb, and then swung back to face Cian. “My mom’s here,” she repeated, calmer. Grabbing her backpack she swung it onto her shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She wagged a finger at him. “And believe me mister, we have some talking to do! Right, Celeste?”

Celeste nodded while Cian replied, “Okay.” He hated being called “mister.”

“Right.” Katie turned toward the car as her mother was starting to get out. “Oh, no, Celeste – quick!” She grabbed her friend’s arm and dragged her toward the car. “She’s seen him!”

“Duh.” Celeste trotted in Katie’s wake, still attached.

Now why would that upset Katie? Cian wondered, watching as they got into the car. He stood, pulling the straps of his backpack over both shoulders. Katie’s mother, he saw, was staring at him over the roof of the car. Her mouth fell open.

Not waiting to see any more of that, he turned and headed away at a rapid walk. What a day this had been – still… he smiled. At least he’d found one answer, and at last allowed himself to believe there was hope.

 

*******

 

Kristen Grandol stared over the roof of the car at the young man who had been talking with her daughter. “Who – ?”

“Never mind, Mom – let’s go.” Katie slammed her door. “Come on!”

“But who –”

“Mom! Hurry up! I have to pee really bad!”

“Me, too!” Celeste added.

Kristen got back in. “Wow!” she said, putting the car in gear. “Where did he come from?”

“Georgia.” Katie said this at the same time Celeste said, “Ireland.”

“That’s not what – who is he?” Her hand was on the gearshift but she wasn’t moving. Even at a distance –

“Mom? Can we go?”

“What?”

“Put the car in drive, and step on the gas pedal.”

Blinking a few times, Kristen took a deep breath and looked into the rear-view mirror. “Thank you, dear. I think I know how to drive.”

Katie stared back at her reflection, shaking her head and smirking.

“Oh, come on!” Frustrated by her sudden inability to understand what had just happened, Kristen pulled away from the curb. “You can’t tell me he isn’t incredible to look at. Talk about ‘eye candy’! Is he a movie star or something? I mean, normal people don’t look like that!”

“Mom! My God! He’s my age! What are you thinking?! And no, he’s not a movie star – sheesh.”

Kristen chortled. “Knock it off. I’m older, not dead. I can appreciate good looks, too. Then again, he’s way beyond the ‘good looks’ category, isn’t he.” Why did I feel paralyzed like that?

“You should see the way all the girls – and female teachers – react to him at school!” Katie shook her head.

Glad to hear she wasn’t the only one who’d experienced such an extreme reaction she gave a soft snort. “I bet. Looks that good can be a handicap.”

“Good point, but anyway, Mom, I was wondering if I could go to Celeste’s for dinner. She got a harp!”

“Really! What kind? Celeste?”

“Oh. An Irish harp.” Celeste sat straighter. “My dad got it at an estate sale yesterday. It’s really old.” She yawned.

“I saw it for about two seconds last night, but it was amazing.”

“Since when are you interested in harps?” Kristen shot a glance at her daughter in the mirror.

“Since last night. Besides, some stuff happened at school we need to go over.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“History stuff.”

“What? How does ‘history stuff’ happen in school?” She slowed to a stop behind another car at a red light. “You’re sounding kind of cryptic, Katie. Explain.”

“Okay, it’s not really ‘stuff,’ not like… some new stuff was talked about in History class, is all, and it’s confusing.”

Kristen turned to look at Katie in time to see her shrug, eyes wide.

“Light’s green.” Celeste pointed.

“Fine.” Turning back to focus on the traffic, Kristen nodded. “I guess if it’s okay with your mom, sure. It’s a school night though, so Katie can’t stay too late.”

Celeste took out her cell and called her mother, handing the phone to Kristen to confirm that Katie could be dropped off at Celeste’s house, stay for supper, take another look at the harp, and then go home – the Kellys were as strict about school nights as the Grandols were.

Passing the phone back to Celeste, Kristen had the lingering impression there was more to the request than a harp and a history lesson. More likely, it had everything to do with whomever that stunner was they’d been so quick to try and distract her from discussing.

A few minutes later, she glanced again into the rearview and saw the girls’ heads together as they whispered something, no doubt about that luscious young man. Kristen’s smile went crooked – oh, to be that young. At least she had her own luscious man at home. The smile widened. Yeah, nothing wrong with not being that young after all.

FIVE

 

Georgia - Five Years Earlier

 

Primitive, made of wood, the sword was hardly recognizable as such, hilt and blade being one piece, but it was sturdy, thick, and in skilled hands could – he believed – do a lot of damage. Cian, now 12 years old, had crafted it from something he’d found in the basement. He’d recognized the wood as ash, knew it was strong and solid, but couldn’t have said how he knew about ash trees. Perhaps something slumbering in his memory had tossed in its sleep, whispering significance into his ears.

At some point in his earlier life he’d seen pictures of these objects, the original configuration something thick, long, tapering near one end and smooth, used for hitting small white spheres as part of some game. Over several months Cian had transformed it into its present shape using a dull pocketknife and some sandpaper.

A few final swipes with the coarse square. A quick check in the dull light from the window. Done. Far better than the smaller swords his previous, clumsier efforts had produced. Those, made of old boards stacked near the cellar walls, didn’t hold up, were ill balanced, asymmetrical, and he’d destroyed them, breaking each into pieces that bore no resemblance to swords. Had Letitia found them, she might have used them as yet another way of hurting him. Lessons learned.

Holding this latest effort parallel to the floor and raising it to eye level, Cian sighted down its length. Looked straight enough. Using his forefinger as a fulcrum, he tested its balance. Perfect. He smiled.

The smile turned rueful a moment later. How much better it would have turned out if he’d had access a blacksmith’s tools! The significance of that thought with its implication that he would know how to work with such tools escaped him until a future year. His name was Cian, yes, but he was also called Unacceptable, and that person was always more concerned with survival than exploring inexplicable recollections. Staying alive was simple. Understanding why he needed to fight