Pride
An Ordinary Woman
I am an ordinary woman with a strong sense of pride for my family. I have decided to keep a diary and record the events of my humble existence. My lineage is common. I claim no heroes or persons of interest to entice you to read my story. I have a fine husband and five well-behaved children. I live in the town of Pride in a house that is unremarkable. We are not poor or wealthy but comfortable within our means. Pride is not an extraordinary place; we have a king and a grand castle that sits majestically on a hill. Trolls do not inhabit our mote although rumors would have you believe otherwise. If you travel to the north, south, east or west there are other kings and other towns many claim inhabitants of wizards, fairies, griffins, gnomes and other mystical creatures.
Today, I am tired and feel moody. I want to return home, crawl into bed, and hide from the world. Unfortunately, that isn’t an option. I have to work. My husband and children depend on me to help provide. I am envious of the lucky ones who are financially stable and fortunate enough to stay at home. I shouldn’t complain. I have a roof over my head and food on my table. Many people who could benefit from employment are unemployed. Their lives are dreary in comparison to mine.
I was exhausted by the time I crawled into bed last night at 10pm. My gallant husband worked the night shift. He was assisting the town physician. Sadly, he wasn’t home to sleep beside me. I have always needed his touch to fall into peaceful slumber. Without him, I am a restless sleeper. Last night I dreamt a bizarre dream about floating in the clouds. I was lost and uncertain of my flight path. Blue birds filled the sky and spoke to me. I struggled to understand their message as strange images filled my head. For unknown reasons my eyes popped open a few minutes after midnight. I sat up in bed with an overwhelming feeling of confusion and the need to remember something important. Enticing my brain to be quiet and sleep again was difficult.
I woke at 5:45am. Surprisingly, my youngest daughter was asleep beside me. I don’t know when she climbed into my bed; I usually wake at the slightest crack of the floor boards leading to my room. The child has developed the stealthiest of footsteps and uncanny ability to slither into my bed unnoticed, a skill her older siblings never achieved. My husband offered to fix the creaking floor boards years ago but I declined his offer. The boards have always been an early warning system of sorts and a comfort on the nights that I must sleep alone.
After a quick shower, I stumbled down the stairs for coffee. It is nearly an impossible task to start my day without a dose of caffeine. I left for work shortly thereafter. I moaned the entire way hoping an excuse would drop from the sky and give me reason to return home.
I am covering for Beth at visitor control this week. She has taken leave to spend time with her husband whom she has not seen or had contact for more than a year. He is a member of the king’s peacekeeping regiment and has been away on a special duty assignment. Except for official letters, mail service is practically nonexistent from that part of the world. The only communication Beth received from her husband was a short message via emissary on her birthday.
This work is quiet, too quiet. I prefer the constant work of my office. The King is busy. His secretary has only approved a handful of visitors today. Verifying authenticity of documents and audience approval only takes a moment and then I sit and wait for the next visitor. I spend a great deal of time pacing around my desk or playing with my pencil.
Time moves slow as I sit in my chair behind these gray walls. I ponder what other people are doing. The only noise I hear is the air conditioning unit and the movement of the second-hand on the grandfather clock. I occasionally hear the clicking of taps on the wood floor from the guard’s shoes as he passes. The silence is driving me insane. I need music or the distraction of conversation.
People occasionally walk by my window on the way to other parts of the castle. I stop and look. I am able to see the tops of heads, their identities a mystery and so I play a guessing game. I wonder where they are going and if their business is important. I haven’t heard at peep out of any of the people in the nearby administration offices all day except for a single sneeze. I replied, “Bless you” but got no answer in reply.
Dragons
I am a woman of considerable age and I admit the stories my grandfather told me as a child still bring fear to my soul.
The last two mornings I have traveled to work in a dense fog. The fog was so thick in spots I was unable to see more than an arm’s length away. If I hadn’t known where I was going I would have gotten lost in the scariness. My grandfather was a storyteller. The best Pride has ever seen. I loved his stories, even the ones that frightened me. Many a night after listening to my grandfather, tell his tales I crouched beneath my bed quilts in fear.
My favorite stories contained the mighty and ferocious dragons. According to my grandfather, dragons were wondrous creatures of flight that were misunderstood. A dragon by nature was not a killing beast but a guardian of gateways to magical realms. They only ate bad children who continuously misbehaved and caused their parents unbearable stress and grief. Dragons hid in the early morning mist and used the fog to travel between the realms.
This morning after reaching the Clinch River Bridge, the memories of my youth came flooding back. The dense fog reminded me of dragons. The bridge is old and needs replaced. A slow steady pace is required on a clear day. The journey across on a day when you can’t see where you are going is treacherous. Halfway across I stumble over a broken board. I fell and scraped my knee. The pain took me by surprise. I yelled a few words that I won’t repeat here. As I picked myself up, I saw two emerald green eyes racing toward me and hear a screeching that sounded very much like the cry of a dragon. I covered my head and crouched in fear. There was a brief moment when I was certain a dragon was going to eat me.
It was not a dragon but Mr. Fredericks driving a motor cart. He was on his way home. If I hadn’t fallen on my knee and cried out in pain, he wouldn’t have known I was on the bridge. Mr. Fredericks apologized for nearly running me over and promised not to tell my husband I swear like a sailor.
A Shade of red like no other
I planted our family garden in the spring. There has been no shortage of rain this year. The garden is growing and producing wonderful tasting fruits and vegetables. Our evening meals would make the King envious. Juliet planted her own garden this year. I am very proud of her efforts. In her garden, she lovingly planted six seeds acquired from a traveling peddler, her choice of flowers a mystery to me. The shape and color of the foliage is unique and not of this region.
My neighbor, Gloria who is president of the local floriculture guild is also mystified. Last week she escorted several guild members to Juliet’s garden. For more than half a day a dozen people who claim to be flower specialist stood in bewilderment and scratched their heads as to the origin of the plant. The foliage measured and the peculiarities cataloged. A leaf carefully removed for further examination and study. Gloria has asked that when and if the plants bloom that, I notify her immediately. I promised to comply.
Over the last few months, my youngest child has watched her garden grow. Sadly, the plants bore no pretty flowers. That is until yesterday. Juliet went outside to water her garden as she did everyday rain or shine. I was in the kitchen washing dishes. I suddenly hear bloodcurdling yells coming from Juliet. I thought a snake or some other hideous creature had stumbled into her garden. It is common for gnomes to invade, nasty creatures with sharp claws and teeth. I ran outside with a butcher knife in hand. I was prepared to do battle with whatever disagreeable creature she had encountered. Thankfully, it was neither a snake, nor a gnome.
I have never seen the child more excited. Juliet was standing beside the most gorgeous flowers; a shade of red like no other. The blooms extraordinary in design, I have seen nothing like them. Pride filled my heart as I hugged her for her efforts. After I calmed down, I lovingly swatted the backside of her britches for scaring me to death. The floriculture guild and an envoy from the castle have set up camp in our back yard. A guard posted to protect the delicate flowers. Gloria said the King summoned a botanist from a nearby town. It seems Juliet’s flowers have caused quite a commotion. Juliet is not happy.
Halfway to 90
Today, I’m half-way to 90. I don’t feel old, not really. My mind is still hanging on to the young vibrant woman I was in my twenties. Externally, it is obvious I have been upon this world for a considerable amount of time.
My reflection in the mirror reminds me of my longevity. My face is showing its age. Crow’s feet draw attention away from my hazel eyes. My eyes have served me well but they have started to dim. The world around me is hazy. I can no longer spot a cardinal resting high in the treetops or point out the cloaked hare quietly resting in the brush. I require glasses to read. Threading a needle is nearly impossible.
My body no longer maintains the slimness of my youth. I have birthed several children and have become a woman of substance; my children and husband insist I am full of cuteness. Perhaps this is so. Not long ago, when I was in a moment of sadness, my daughter Emma reminded me that beauty fades with time but cuteness last forever. Sometimes, my children are wise beyond their years.
Yesterday the University Emissary approached me, as I attended my garden. He inquired about my name and association with my daughter Emma. He then thrust an envelope into my hands. The boy was in such a hurry that he left me no time to inquire about the envelope’s contents. I stood in the center of my garden staring at the envelope. It was a grand envelope embossed with the Universities seal. On the front, my daughter Emma’s full name. It took all of my self-control not to open the envelope. Respectfully, I placed the envelope on the mantel above the fireplace in the family room. Impatiently, I waited for my second child to return home from the market.
Children often have a difficult time deciding on an occupation. Emma struggled with her choices for a long time. She is a gifted artist but had little potential for income. Very few artists make a decent living being artist. A fact, Emma was all too aware. After much deliberation, she has decided to pursue a career in the medical field. The opportunities in this particular endeavor are great.
A great burden of debt lifted from our house. The letter from the University contained a grant award letter. Joyfully, grant money will pay for more than half of Emma’s yearly tuition. The grant money was a surprise. My husband and I were expecting to be indebted for the full cost of our second child’s education.
This day is almost over; I am looking forward to my party this evening. Birthdays are always a joyous occasion. Awaiting my discovery, my husband and children have hidden presents throughout our house. I love presents.
A Dream of Dragons
Last night I dreamt of dragons. The land in which I found myself seemed familiar. I was not afraid. I felt as if I belonged. Within this land, I traveled freely. In my hand, I carried an old wooden box. It was empty.
Majestically flying above my head were dragons of every shape and size. I stood upon a cliff overlooking a great valley. A small slip of my foot and I would have fallen to my death. In the wind, I hear my grandfather’s voice but the squawks of the enormous flying beasts made listening difficult. I struggled to hear his words and maintain my footing. I raised my arms and begged for the beasts to be quiet so that I might hear.
I called for my grandfather. For a moment, I was a child, my grandfather’s hand in mine. We are in the middle of a great bazaar. My grandfather is looking for someone as he pulls me thru the crowd. He purchases a trinket from a merchant dressed in a business suit. The man looks out of place, not a seller of wares. My grandfather places the trinket in my wooden box and whispers a secret in my ear. I place the box in my pocket for safekeeping. My grandfather nods approval as he disappears into nothingness leaving me alone.
I am grown and standing at the edge of a forest. A winding path lies at my feet. Above my head a flock of dragons dance across the sky; their movements as elegant as dancers. They are singing in cadence. I feel the rhythm of their song in my body. I put my hand over my heart. It beats with the dragons. Again, I hear my grandfather’s voice. He mimics the cadence of the dragons as he shares another secret.
I see a mountain on the horizon, upon its peak rests a grand castle. I continue on the path at my feet but keep getting lost. The forks in the road continuously lead me off in the wrong direction. I adjust my course repeatedly. Each change in direction brings me to something wondrous, a purposeful distraction from my task. My grandfather used to describe the land of the dragons as inhospitable and treacherous to humans. This land was not dark and ghastly or unfriendly to the eyes. It looked serene, an Eden of wondrous beauty.
The dragons cared not that I was there. My presence ignored like the solitary ant stealing a crystal of sugar from a sugar bowl. I was not afraid. I yelled out for assistance but received no reply. I yelled out repeatedly as I traveled along the path. I called the dragons by name but my cries remained unanswered. I held up the box I cradled in my hand. I flip open the lid. I have this I yelled. Their cadence stops.
The land of enormous beauty is suddenly a dark and dreary place. An impenetrable circle of angry dragons surrounds me. There is no escape. Their eyes glow red as they stare at my box. An ugly gray beast with enormous jaws filled with long jagged teeth steps forward and snaps at my hand. I was not afraid.
My slumber ended as my gallant husband grabs my waist to pull me close. The town of Pride has a new pastry shop. The smells drifting from the establishment are heavenly. The owner makes the most delightful pastries. I am certain last night’s dessert caused my dream. I should have stopped at one piece of pie.
Grandfather
Night after night, as I lie in slumber I dream of my grandfather and the wooden box. The feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me the wooden box has value and importance, the trinket inside priceless. I have shared these nightly dreams with no one. I don’t want my husband or children to think my mind unstable. I have considered visiting the town physician but I hesitate. I fear a breach in confidentiality. The town physician is an honorable man but he works closely with my husband. My husband is aware of all that occurs at the physician’s office.
I struggle to understand the images my dreams convey. Intertwined with the images of my grandfather is the man from the bazaar. Their meetings are of a clandestine nature or so it seems. Many of the meetings are heated discussions. The two men yell and pace the floor. I can see their discourse but I can’t hear. I feel at times that I am the subject of these meetings; fingers pointed at me bring uneasiness. Other times I am watching from a distance, my presence unknown or possibly insignificant to the moment.
I spent a great deal of time with my grandfather when I was small. My grandfather lived in a hut in a dense forest far away from people. My mother said he preferred the solitude and the quietness. My mother and I always traveled to my grandfather’s house under the light of the full moon. I would undoubtedly fall asleep during the journey and wake upon my grandfather’s couch to the smell of bacon and eggs. To the dismay of my mother, I spent hours playing hide and seek with my grandfather amongst the trees or diving from the edge of a cliff into a warm spring. My grandfather was fearless.
On occasion, my grandfather would surprise us with a visit. I remember the thrill as I saw him walk up the dirt road to our house. These visits would only last a day or two but he filled them with stories and laughter. My grandfather never said goodbye upon leaving he simply walked up the road during a moment of distraction. Upon discovery of his departure, I would try to follow; my attempts always ended in failure and tears.
When my grandfather died, I felt a deep loss. A messenger informing my mother of his demise delivered a note one day while I was attending school. Although it is customary to view and place blessing upon the dead I was not given this opportunity.
Sickness invades our home
I have asked for a reprieve from my duties at the castle. It was a difficult request to make. I always hesitate asking for audience from the king. I struggle with the need to fulfill my duties efficiently at the castle and my desire to attend my family in motherly fashion.
The King has generously given his approval. I attribute his attitude toward family and acceptance of my need for a leave of absence to his loving wife, the Queen. She maintains a firm belief; the greatest good comes from happy healthy families. For the next few days, I will focus my intentions solely on my family and all that occurs under this roof.
I depend greatly on my husband’s strength and his clarity in times of crisis. Sickness has invaded our home and the homes of many others in town. My husband’s duties at the physician’s office take priority over the needs of his family. There are times when I selfishly wish the needs of others came second. I am ashamed of this admission.
My daughter Juliet is ill. You can see the discomfort in her face. The darkness in her eyes is disturbing. The town physician is baffled and uncertain of a diagnosis. He sent Juliet home with precautionary antibiotics and strict bed rest. I have been watching her closely looking for signs her symptoms are worsening. The physician instructed I return Juliet to his office if improvement fails to occur within a day or two. Without protest, Juliet lies in bed, her beloved unicorn tucked in close to her side. It saddens me to see her this way.
I have spent hours cleaning what I have already cleaned. I am attempting to destroy the germs that rudely invade my home. A gift from my mother when I married, the ancient almanac instructs I fill my home with incense and medicinal spices. My home smells of sandalwood, cinnamon and cloves. I placed basil, rosemary and garlic near her bed and sooth her thirst with fresh water from the Calico stream. I have done all I can do. I have faith she will recover and play again.
The new moon gives no comfort on this night. I need my husband’s touch but he is unavailable. Peaceful slumber is allusive and beyond my reach. I can’t lie still and so I quietly walk the floor leading to my children’s rooms. I tiptoe in and with a gentle kiss; I feel each forehead. There is no fever. I breathe a sigh of relief and return to my room. My son objects to the intrusion. His door locked to prevent further entry.
An Unannounced Visit
My mood is not pleasant when I am stressed and worried. I have my mother’s temperament; my wrath wicked when stirred. I have no tolerance for forgotten or poorly tended chores. When happy and content, I am as peaceful and lovely as a spring morning. I prefer to think I contain more of the second mannerism. My family would undoubtedly disagree with my assumption on this day. Their feet tread lightly upon these floors.
My valiant husband reminded me with a sympathetic kiss shortly before he left for work, that we are one in the fight against this illness. That may be so, but he spends most of his time at the physician’s office caring for others. Caring for our sick child has become my burden and my burden alone. The situation is less than ideal. I need my husband. I need his hands upon my shoulders in a show of strength and encouragement.
Juliet’s fever is a cause of great concern; it further weakens her already compromised body. Twice in the night, Emma and I changed her sweat soaked sheets. I am frightened, the feeling in my heart heavy with sadness. In spite of my efforts, Juliet is losing her battle against this unwelcome enemy of the body. I fear the Fates will take from me what I hold most dear, the life of my child. I could not bear this loss. I have done everything the town physician has instructed. I have followed the old-ways of the almanac to the letter. I fear this is not enough and now the beetle that protects my home from all that is evil has abandoned his post on my front porch. If the creature does not return soon I fear all that my husband and I have built will crumble into dust.
A loud commotion in my backyard shortly after sunrise forced an early and objectionable exodus from my bed this morning. A large crowd of unwanted guests invaded my property. The chaos that ensued woke my entire house. My temper flaring, wearing only my pajamas and a robe, I stormed out the backdoor to protest the intrusion upon our privacy at such an early hour. If I were a dragon a dozen people would have lost their heads before a single word uttered in explanation.
I angrily pushed myself through the crowd until I was standing in the center of the mob. To my panicked surprise, I stumbled upon the King standing in the center of Juliet’s garden admiring her flowers. The imposition upon my house was an unplanned event, a heartfelt apology given for the untimely intrusion. I asked forgiveness for my appearance and sharp tongue as I bowed to the king and prayed he would not withdraw my service from the castle. My prayer heard, I maintain employment.
The King inquired about Juliet and asked if he might possess one of her flowers to place in the Royal Garden. On behalf of my youngest daughter, I graciously offered the most vibrant of the plants. Even in her weakened state, this news pleased Juliet. For the first time in three days, I witnessed a smile upon her face.
A Dream with an Answer
Last night as I sat in my chair alongside Juliet’s bed, I dreamt of the land of dragons. I was lost in a fog, the moon above my head barely visible. I am a young adult. Below my feet the Clinch River Bridge, I can smell the river and hear it crash against the bank. I inch forward as I feel my way across avoiding broken planks and holes that lead into nothingness. Above my head, I hear flying beast, their cadence strong and comforting. They swoop in and out of sight. Their silhouettes dance across the moon as I urge one to come near so that I might take a ride. My request ignored.
My grandfather’s voice in my head, I close my eyes and listen as he tells me a secret. I am a child. I feel for the wooden box kept in my pocket. Resting in the palm of my hand, the box opens revealing a shiny red stone. I grasped the stone with my hand and step forward into the mist. The fog disappears, replaced by a land of beauty. I am standing on the edge of a cliff, my footing uncertain. The valley below a field of Juliet’s flowers, the fragrance amazing. I breathe in deep filling my lungs with the intoxicating aroma. A sudden gust of wind and a loose pebble sends me tumbling off my perch. Startled from the fall, I wake from my dream with my husband’s hand upon my shoulder. He kisses my forehead and hands me a cup of coffee.
The almanac encourages the use of flowers and other plants in the healing process. Some consumed in a meal to drive out toxins while other emit fragrances that restore health in mystical ways. I am certain my dream was a message. I sent my husband to acquire a spray of flowers from my youngest child’s garden. Without question, he did as I ask. I did not share my dream, only my desire for the flowers. I placed the flowers in a vase upon Juliet’s nightstand and waited as the aromatic fragrance filled the room. Within an hour’s time, Juliet woke from her fever-induced slumber and ate breakfast. She spent most of the morning in bed reading books although her desire was to run and play.
My joy short lived. Her fever spiked shortly thereafter. My husband has sent word to the town physician requesting a home consultation.
Hope and Despair
Moments of hope followed by moments of despair, a crushing sadness fills my heart this day. The Fates have made a gross mistake and allowed death to claim a child. Dressed in ceremonial robes and ringing bells, the town criers announce the news for all to hear.
Little Suzette has passed away. She is the first to succumb to the illness that tears through our little town. I pray she is the last. There was no baby sweeter. Joyous and lively, even on a rainy day this small child brought sunshine. I will miss the little hands, the nose and the smile. Good honorable people, my heart aches for her parents. I have instructed my older children to keep this news from Juliet. I do not wish to cause her pain in an already compromised condition.
Juliet sleeps, her older sister Emma sits by her side as I take a moment to care for myself. My youngest child’s health remains in doubt. Twice her condition improved. Twice the fever returned with vigor. I am certain I caught a glimpse of death hiding in the shadows of my own home this day. He awaits opportunity to steal what is mine. I will not relinquish my child without a fight.
My words heartfelt but surely inadequate, I penned my condolences to Suzette’s parents in a letter. The letter entrusted to a weary messenger boy traveling upon our road less than an hour ago. On this day, his bag full of heartbreak and cold condolences. The boy looked sad and tired. His feet sore from tiny pebbles that invade his shoes. I offered food, drink and a moments rest. He gladly accepted and then continued on his way.
Secrets
I sat beside my daughter’s bed, afraid to move more than an arm’s length away. My child dying before my eyes, with each passing moment the ache in my heart grew more agonizing than the last. I could do nothing but sit and wait for the inevitable. Each breath a shallow remnant of the last, I held her small hand in mine as I prayed to the powers that be and begged for mercy.
My mind tired and playing tricks from the multitude of sleepless nights, I foresee a scissor, my daughter’s lifeline in peril. The Fates mock me, their laughter pounding in my head. They pay no heed to my requests. With each falling tear I shed, I plead and make promises of reckoning. I listed a thousand reasons why taking such a young child would be an immeasurable mistake.
Emma offers a cup of tea before returning to her room to study, the liquid within calming to body and soul. In my relaxed state, I drift off to sleep. I’m in a marsh, lost among the crocodiles; a hungry beast slips into the muddy water. He swims toward me eager for a feast of flesh. Green slime between my toes and a vile stench in my nose, I hear my grandfather, he urges calm and advises I listen to my heart. I instinctively reach into my pocket and retrieve the red stone from the wooden box. I step into the mist my footing uncertain, my destination unknown.
I am a child in the land of the dragons. I stand upon a familiar ledge, a waterfall cascades beneath my feet. The sun high in the sky, its blazing heat uncomfortable, I shield my eyes and look up. Bluebirds fly in mass above my head, Juliet’s flowers in their beaks. I make a leap of faith and plunge into the cool water below.
I am a young woman standing beside a cool spring, the sky above full of mighty dragons. Juliet’s flowers fall from the sky like rain and come to rest upon the water. The familiar aroma comforts me. I step into the water to reach for a flower. Startled by a noise, I look up. A feeble dragon stands upon the edge of the spring. He reaches forward with his giant head and drinks from the cool water. He raises his mighty wings and stretches them wide. In the light of the sun, his dull gray scales change to a vibrant sheen.
As a child, I listened to the tales of the dragon upon my grandfather’s knee. Beneath the stars and moon great stories unfolded. Many of the stories frightened me but I attentively listened to every word. The nights would end with my mother exasperated because I refused to sleep.
These dreams I dare not share, I think a blessing. If my mind has fallen unstable, I care not. On this day, I banished death from my house and ripped the scissor from the hands of Fate. The botanist had gotten things wrong. Juliet’s flowers, a shade of red like no other are not simply beautiful, a life saving secret hides within each petal. I brewed the petals into a tea and enticed Juliet to drink. Weak from fever she drank but a sip. The sip sufficient, Juliet is restored to health.