Legacy

Rowan shook her head "No plans as such. I even gave up my chance at breaking out, didn't I?"

Sean said "Yes" softly and in a tone of finality that was reminiscent of a door clicking shut. "If you didn't mean harm when Corrine saw you first, then it's simply you. And she wants you."

Rowan spoke in a quiet voice. "She wants me for you?"

Sean considered. "It's possible."

Rowan replied "Ethan said that might be it."

Sean conceded. "Then it's probable. See how the question about what I want is often irrelevant?"

Rowan let out a deep sigh. "I'm sorry. You couldn't possibly want a woman whose entire knowledge of your family's ancestry comes from Scooby Doo."

Sean started to laugh again. "What I want and what you want, are now equally irrelevant. Now we try to survive matchmaking attempts. Hopefully with fewer broken bones."

Rowan melted into a flurry of apology again until he tipped up her chin and kissed her to make her stop.

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Like everybody who is not in love, he thought one chose the person to be loved after endless deliberations and on the basis of particular qualities or advantages. -- Marcel Proust

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Rowan and Sean were caught in the moment together, the kiss an exploration of pleasure that skated along some thin line of trust and shared experience that could support it. It began with surprise on both sides. His impulse to kiss her had been sudden, unplanned. She was boiling with emotion and the kiss surprised and calmed her, relieved that he'd want to kiss her at all. Sensation started to lick at the kiss, setting sparks that landed in emotional tinder, burning bright and fast for both of them.

Drawing back before the moment snapped or burned through, questions and emotions sparked but were banked by curiosity of each other's motives and feelings.

Rowan spoke first, teasing, "I think I'm drunk and possessed. What did you put in that flask?"

Sean smiled. "Whatever was in it, I drank it too. I'm afraid we're equally drugged."

They sat in peace for a moment, just breathing. Sean did break the silence ultimately and say "My foot hurts like hell. Help me inside please? Apologize again and I'll kiss you again."

She lifted herself from his arms and offered her hand, helping him to his feet and offering support for him to lean on as he began to limp inside slowly.

She said lightly "That might not be a very good threat."

He winced once as he stubbed his toe and then replied "Good. Win-win situations are best."

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Those who don't love themselves as they are rarely love life as it is either. Most people have come to prefer certain of life's experiences and deny and reject others, unaware of the value of the hidden things that may come wrapped in plain or even ugly paper. In avoiding all pain and seeking comfort at all cost, we may be left without intimacy or compassion; in rejecting change and risk we often cheat ourselves of the quest; in denying our suffering we may never know our strength or our greatness. Or even that the love we have been given can be trusted. -- Rachel Naomi Remen

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They made their way slowly back inside, through the greenhouse, addressing and waving off concern and assistance. Randy insisted on helping them through the last hallway and holding the door open, making sure they got inside safely and without incident. Randy also brought up some scissors, gauze, medical tape and a salve, offering to help further, but Rowan said she'd take care of it. Sean helped himself to a shot of brandy from a cut-glass carafe and Rowan started to cut away at his boot.

Rowan spoke "Randy's a very nice guy."

Sean tilted his head back against the headboard. "I know. I really hate him."

Her hands stilled as she tried not to laugh and jar his foot any more than necessary. "Why would you hate him?"

As she started to ease the boot off, his eyes closed "I think he's a spare."

She nodded as if that made perfect sense, a light touch on his foot making the job easier, it wasn't as bad as she'd thought it might be after she'd cut off his sock. Smaller toes affected, discolored, but no laceration through the skin. She could probably just tape them. "I have no idea what you're talking about. A spare what?"

Sean was sweating and a little pale from the pain, but he played along. "I think if I don't do what they want, I'll end up another course of bricks on the well and he will end up owning and running the place. Perhaps obedience and niceness are of higher value than blood."

She was appalled. "That's horrible. How could you think that."

"Lady, what part of a well made out of people didn't get through to you? Some of those people didn't even really die all the way. You try growing up here and not thinking thoughts like that."

She nodded. "Fair enough. I suppose I haven't thought it all through. What's in this?" She held up the tin of salve.

He put his hand over hers, brought the tin to his nose and breathed in the scent, then released her hand. "That one's beeswax, olive oil, calendula, chamomile, vitamin E and some menthol. Good for skin and circulation. Probably other stuff I don't want to know about. Not right now."

She dabbed some onto his toes carefully, wrapped them with gauze and tape, and propped his foot up on a pillow. She stared at his foot long enough to become self conscious, imagining his eyes burning holes into the back of her head. Wondering where to go from here. If she could go anywhere. What to say, what to do?

She turned to look at him and his arms were crossed over his chest. He spoke lightly "Coward."

She shrugged. "I'm new at this. I don't know my lines."

He conceded. "It is a little difficult to know your lines. Especially since there aren't many do-overs or rehearsals. Get it wrong once and you don't get to say them. Someone else says them and then you're sick as hell."

"What happens now?"

"Damned if I know. You and Randy live happily ever after and I limp along until I have an unfortunate stroke?"

She smiles. "He is pretty cute."

"I swear, I will kill you both and build an outhouse with the bones and make soap from the rendered human fat."

"So you're not quite helpless?"

He rubbed his eyes. "Enraged, yes. In pain, yes. Helpless, yes. So supplemented helplessness."

She sighed. "I think we're supposed to have sex, right? Procreate? Or am I supposed to work on the books?"

He laughed until he coughed and then swore from the pain in his foot. "Are you up for it? Feeling like a sacrificial lamb today? There's a special, two for one."

She stepped around the bed and lay down on the other side of him. "I haven't the slightest idea of what I feel or should feel or will feel." She raised a finger in revelation. "BUT! I know I don't want to become an outhouse or a salve."

His voice was appreciative. "Now you're catching on. Keep thinking like that and you just might make it."

She whispered softly "If I kissed you, would your family consider it an assault?"

He whispered back "I'm more afraid that if one of us doesn't kiss the other, my family will possess us and make us have sex anyway and that won't be near as much fun as doing it ourselves."

"That's horrible."

"And yet."

"I see your point. Is this the passion part or the sacrifice part?"

He trailed a fingertip along her cheek. "I'd say all three. Faith, passion, and sacrifice. You in?"

She leaned in to kiss him lightly and pulled back again to confirm. "All three. I'm in. You can be my unicorn."

His laughter was light. "You can be my unicorn too. How many chances do you think I've had with women in this place?"

"Two virgins? What are the odds?"

"Think we'll manage?"

She leaned in to kiss him again. "If we can't figure it out, I'm sure we'll get pointers. Let's try, shall we?"

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Hope is a belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one's life. Hope implies a certain amount of perseverance — i.e., believing that a positive outcome is possible even when there is some evidence to the contrary.

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A new generation was ushered in, taking the form of a 7 pound, 3 ounce baby girl. Her parents named her Hope. Normal childhood woes and worries were amplified by the presence of two overprotective guardian spirits who nearly killed anyone who looked at her funny, so Hope grew up around strange occurrences where she never detected anyone ever looked at her funny. Smoke and cloud were her constant companions.

From the moment she could toddle she'd disappear into the forest with her ethereal family, her parents trailing behind, fascinated. Hope had a knack for herbalism, it appeared. She and Corrine more often than not were found out in the woods at all hours. Three in the morning wasn't unusual because apparently only certain stuff bloomed at that time, or that's when the bugs came out.

Her parents stopped asking or worrying at a certain point. Prosperity seemed to settle over the property as an enchantment. Hope's parents hoped she would cure cancer some day, although her father might be heard to acerbically claim she would cause it. The prospect of her growing up and wanting to leave never seemed to arrive. She showed no interest in anything else.

Sean watched the guests as Hope grew older, waiting for catastrophe to strike. Hope was in a world of her own, one of her creation, one she loved. She rarely looked up at anyone other than to smile in a way that tended to stupefy people and clasp them in a tight hug before she was off to solve some mystery, find some new friend.

Her father would joke about the poor bastard who'd be love struck and helpless to her whims.

Her mother would just smile and say he should only be so lucky.