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My plan was to write Ashley’s Story during National Novel Writing Month in November 2010. That plan was set aside while I finished up the final editing of my first three novels in The Women’s Circle series. When would I sit down to write this young woman’s story?
A few weeks ago I found a lump in my left breast. It was a Saturday night and there was nothing to do but wait until Monday morning when I could call and schedule a mammogram. I’d had my annual check-up just 60 days earlier and everything was clear so this lump had grown rapidly.
I couldn’t keep my mind from going back to my first mammogram in December 1991 when two lumps were found. Lumps so deep only the mammogram could ‘see’ them. I had a needle located biopsy and both lumps removed. One was benign and the other pre-malignant.
Since then? Nothing. Every test clear. What does this have to do with Ashley?
Ashley is a breast cancer survivor. It’s been almost twenty years since I experienced the numbness that accompanied the technician’s words “suspicious mass”. This month I got to live through 60 hours of uncertainty and find ways to take care of myself, to keep the fear at bay. And then I thought Ashley has these feelings, these thoughts. Allowing myself to experience the feelings, reminding myself that this was good because I’d be more realistic when I wrote about Ashley actually helped.
I kept myself busy. Ashley can do that, she’s three young children and a husband.
I batted down the fear and replaced it with at least neutral thoughts. Ashley can do that too.
I wore one of my favorite necklaces. Ashley has her personal totem, the dragonfly, to stay with her through her journey.
I hoped I was imagining things – nope, it was still there when next I checked. Ashley can only hope she survives.
Monday I was calling to schedule my diagnostic appointment just before 8 a.m. My gratitude was profound when they worked me into the schedule the next day. Only 60 hours not 72 to wonder and distract myself from worrying. Ashley has dreams of being cancer free, of having a whole body but also worries that she will not see her children grow up, will lose her husband who hates her being sick. Her gratitude is for the other women in The Circle who hold her in healing light and step in to take care of her children, her house, and her.
My relief was also profound when the technician told me I had two liquid filled cysts that needed to be watched but nothing more needed to be done that day. The rough draft of Ashley’s story needs to be written soon.
To Have It All
The Lady and The Sacred GroveI was very fortunate to be able to visit Ireland for two weeks in 1994. It was a memorable trip for many reasons: traveling with my good friend, Judith and helping her celebrate her retirement as a high school counselor, seeing the country where my maternal great grandmother came from, staying at the Ashford Castle and experiencing the warmth and hospitality of Ireland as well as some of the best scones I’ve ever eaten!
What does that have to do with Elizabeth?
Since childhood Elizabeth has had dreams and visions of a woman dressed in long blue robes with a blue crescent mark on her forehead. Golden light shimmers around her, her arms raised in prayer she stands in a circle of trees with a spring bubbling nearby – The Sacred Grove.
The Lady came to me before Elizabeth. You can read about that experience at my June 3, 2011 post at www.RomancingTheGenres.blogspot.com. Suffice it to say, as I wrote about The Lady and The Sacred Grove it didn’t feel like I was at home in the Pacific Northwest. It felt like I was in Ireland.
I went on a search for my photo album and travel diary when I was writing. I couldn’t find them. Months later, just before an editing session I had to clear everything out of my basement due to mold. Thirty-plus years of boxes, bins, sacks, piles and file cabinet(s) were hauled out and put on my back deck. Over the next few days I went through everything and lo and behold, where I’d sworn it wasn’t – it was - my diary and album.
Sitting down I relived that trip. The flat tire as we left the Dublin airport. The Garde coming to our rescue and changing it (our luggage piled on the sidewalk, the rain pouring down). The drive across Ireland to the Ashford Castle, a boat trip to the ruins of a church where St. Patrick preached, Connemara Marble, sheep, banks of fuchsias, the drive around the Ring of Kerry, three flat tires in one day and the gracious young couple who helped us get everything fixed, our first taste of Guinness, real Irish Coffee, my first experience with Bailey’s Irish Cream and every day comments about the people: open, friendly, helpful people who joked and teased or took very good care of us (especially on the day with three flat tires).
Elizabeth’s journey does not match or mirror mine but there are similarities. She and Michael do stay at the Ashford Castle for example. However, she visits The New Grange and I did not. She falls in love with an Irishman, I did not. She loved the feel of the place, a sense of coming home and I felt that also. One of the real joys was taking that feeling, that sense of place and creating my own little piece of Ireland. Enjoy the current version of Elizabeth’s Story.
Chapter One
The Hotel Lir
Limerick, IrelandElizabeth Elliott stopped in mid-step, her eyes widening, her mouth agape in awe as her gaze took in the stunning statue of the Children of Lir morphing from humans to swans set in a crystal lake in the center of the hotel lobby.
One minute she was agog at the sight before her, the next she was bumped from behind, stumbling forward, reaching out to catch herself. But there was nothing to grab, only air. Her heart pounded, her screamed froze in her throat as she felt herself pitch forward.
Strong arms banded her waist and instead of landing on the marble-tiled floor; she was pulled back against a masculine chest. There was something familiar about the scent surrounding her. Relaxing now that she was safe from falling, Elizabeth tilted her head to the side to catch a glimpse of the man who still clutched her.
Him. The man who’d sat next to her on the flight from Cincinnati to Ireland. Michael Murphy. She remembered the easy banter and laughter they’d shared on the long flight. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of the rightness she’d felt when he’d fallen asleep on her shoulder, his hand resting on her thigh. The firm hold on her body eased and she shifted to turn, to thank him for catching her when it hit her that he was the reason she’d almost fallen in the first place. He should be apologizing to her.
He’d dropped his arms and stepped back. He was not pleased, she realized as she took in the scowl on his face, the set of his jaw, his blue eyes darker than she remembered. Not that she expected him to be pleased to see her, but she didn’t expect the anger; anger directed at her.
“You stopped,” Michael Murphy glared at the petite dark-haired woman before him. She’d been a pleasant companion chattering about her travel plans. And truth be told, that surge of lust with her back pressed to his chest hadn’t quite died. Another wave of arousal hit him with the memory of her sleeping in his arms and the other of his waking, his hand resting on her trim thigh. More than once he’d found himself thinking about offering to show her around.
The tap, tap, tapping registered and Michael saw her irritation evident in the rhythmic movement of her foot matched by the fingers of her right hand on her left arm. She was mad at him? He could see she was waiting for him to do something but couldn’t imagine what it was so he stood where he was staring her down. She didn’t wilt under his glower as most did.
They stood at an impasse neither budging nor giving an inch in the silent war they waged.
“Mr. Murphy, sir?” a tentative voice at his shoulder queried.
Michael turned his glare on the young bellman with the worried look on his face standing next to him.
“Sir,” the young man, clearly uncomfortable, nervously gestured around him. “You and the young lady are blocking the doors.”
Michael looked around. They were blocking the main doorway to the hotel lobby; several other patrons and a stack of suitcases waited to enter or were diverted through a smaller side-door. Without thinking, Michael took Elizabeth’s elbow, turned her, and dragged her to the side.
Caught by surprise, Elizabeth found herself pulled to a side of the lobby and noted the rush of activity that followed their moving from the doorway. Her cheeks flamed as she realized the scene they’d just created for all these people to see. A great way to start my time in a new country. She glared up at the cause of her embarrassment.
They started to speak at the same time, stopped, glowering at each other in stony silence.
Elizabeth broke it. “Why don’t you look where you’re going?” she challenged.
“Me,” Michael sputtered. “I’m not the one who stopped dead for no reason.”
Elizabeth flushed. She had just stopped, but there was a reason: the awe-inspiring center- piece of the lobby. She gestured, waving her hand in its general direction. “I. It’s.” She started to explain but didn’t have the words yet to describe how the statue had affected her.
Michael looked in the direction her hand fluttered, saw the statue, and squinted trying to see it from her perspective: the first time. It was a spectacular piece of art and he did remember the first time he’d seen it. If only she’d taken a couple more steps inside…but she hadn’t. “Beautiful, isn’t it, luv,” Michael bent down speaking softly in her ear.
“It’s, it’s fantastic,” Elizabeth turned her gaze now on the scene, her eyes shining in wonder. “This alone is worth the trip,” her soft smile lighting her face, all animosity gone, she walked slowly toward the lobby’s star feature.
She passed large leather chairs and sofas set in conversation groups around the scene, her fingers trailed across side tables fashioned to look like crystal rocks. Behind her, flanking the entrance were crystal stands with large vases of fresh flowers their fragrance filling the air and adding to the atmosphere.
Elizabeth stopped, closed her eyes, went deep within and knew in her soul that this was where she was to be. The Lady, who had appeared in her dreams and visions since childhood, shimmered before her, arms opened wide, and then She was gone.
Michael, who had followed her, chuckled. “If this hotel lobby alone is worth the trip, then you’re certainly in for one hellofa experience, luv.” He nudged her forward. “Go on, take a closer look.”
Elizabeth walked over to the statue. It towered over her five foot two frame leaving her feeling very small and inconsequential in comparison. A small stand to one side gave the specifications: eight feet tall and six feet in diameter; carved from granite and marble; sand-like grains of crystal covered some surfaces casting rainbows around the room; all of this was set on a bluish-mirror-like surface that simulated a lake reflecting the scene as if in shadows.
Another small stand told the story of the Children of Lir who were transformed into swans by their jealous stepmother, Aoife. Elizabeth read the story although she already knew it by heart since it was one of the stories she’d read to prepare for this trip. Because of the swan who in her spiritual tradition mated for life and were devoted to their young, it had quickly become one of her favorites.
According to legend, the children of the King of Lir were cursed by Aoife to spend three hundred years as swans in Westmeath on Loch Derravaragh; three hundred years in the strait of Moyle; and three hundred years on the open seas. The statue depicted their transformation to swans on Loch Derravaragh.
Elizabeth circled the work of art, looking closely at the details on each piece. One was already a swan, the details of the feathers such that she wanted to reach out expecting warmth and softness at her touch. One was only human from the knees down; the rest of her body, a swan. The one who was mostly human still featured the head, neck, and upper torso of a swan. The fourth child was half swan and half human. Each of the Children of Lir was adorned with a strand of gold and diamonds draped around her neck, a large diamond atop her head.
Elizabeth felt the power of the scene before her. Even in the middle of the bustle, the business of a large hotel lobby, there was something sacred about this place, this legend that told of the dangers of jealousy. In my tradition, swans are known for their beauty, grace, and power. She paused realizing this was an opportunity to look at something from a different perspective. Swans can be seen as a symbol of the dangers of jealousy if I think of the legend of the Children of Lir.
“Need more time, luv?” a deep voice rumbled close. He’d been watching her, watching the emotions flicker across her face, watching her tuck memories away. She seemed fragile to him and his need to protect her was roused as was a part of his anatomy. He did know she wasn’t as fragile as she appeared --- she’d certainly stood toe-to-toe with him.
“No, I guess not. I’m ready for a hot shower and a change of clothes, perhaps a meal and some sleep.” Elizabeth turned away from the scene and accompanied Michael across the lobby to check in. As they stood side-by-side, the same desk clerk checking them in, she found herself wondering what it’d be like to really check in with this handsome man, to share a room with him. There had been times on the flight when she’d felt the heat of attraction to him and knew it was reciprocated. He was kind, witty, and since she was being honest, at least with herself, the sexiest man she’d ever been around. Just standing next to him, his scent tantalizing, she felt the
heat of desire he evoked in her. The idea that she could throw caution to the wind and have a fling with this man took hold. After all, I’m in a strange country. No one will know.If the opportunity arises, she smiled at her pun, I’ll take it.
Michael finished registering first and walked toward the bellman standing by a pile of luggage. As she signed her credit card slip, she looked across the lobby, noticed Michael standing by the elevator, a cart and bellman with both of their luggage beside him. She walked toward him, smiled and saw his answering grin. Closer now, she saw the look in his eyes: a look that took her breath away; a look of desire burning bright. Her breath hitched and she stumbled, strong hands grabbed her upper arms and steadied her.
“I I I must be more t t tired than I feel,” Elizabeth stuttered as heat prickled her skin where Michael’s hands still gripped her.
He pulled her close, tucked her against his side, and guided her into the waiting elevator. A young man pushed the button for the Eighth floor and the whish as the elevator started its upward climb was the only sound. When the doors opened, the young man gestured them out. Chatting about the sights near the hotel, he guided them down the hall, finally stopping in front of one of the rooms. Opening the door, he stepped aside as they entered. He handed the key to Elizabeth as a knock sounded at the door. She turned to see a bellman outside the door with the luggage cart.
Michael stepped forward. “These three bags in this room,” he gestured to Elizabeth’s suitcases. “The rest in the room next door.” He handed the young man a gratuity as he unloaded Elizabeth’s suitcases onto the racks next to the closet. “My room key, please.” He held out a folded bill and exchanged it for his room key which he tucked in his pocket. “That’ll be all.”
“Thank you, sir,” both young men spoke at once.
“We’ll be about our duties then. Give us a call if you need anything. I’m Sean,” the first young man said pointing to himself. “That there’s Liam,” he gestured to the second young man still standing in the doorway.
“Anything at all, Mr. Murphy,” Liam chimed in. “Just let us know and we’ll get it for you.”
“Thanks, lads. If either Ms. Elliott or I need something we’ll ask for you. Now get those bags in my room and be off to your duties.”
“Yes sir,” they chorused as the door shut behind them.
In the stillness, the air sizzled with repressed energy. Michael lounged against the desk, hands resting on the surface behind him, ankles crossed, his eyes never leaving her.
Elizabeth nervously chewed her bottom lip, looking everywhere except at the man whose presence filled the room. Now was a chance to put her conservative life aside and live for the moment. No one would know unless she told them. She shook her head at the lie she’d just told herself, swallowed and smiled. This is what I want right now. A night with this man. A night that’ll start my adventure in a way I hadn’t thought. She twisted and looked right at Michael, blue eyes met blue eyes a smile of seduction on her lips.
Lily ~ The Creation of Lily
Diana ~ Diana and The Tarot
I’d joined Wild Women Writers in December 1999 for the purpose of turning a personal growth workshop I’d developed into a ‘self-help’ book. We started out with six people and soon became five. Such a diverse group! A poet, a young adult novelist, a memoirist, a ‘self-help’ book writer, and a woman who was sorting out what she wanted to write.
Searching books for different formats, digging out my original work and looking at the material with fresh eyes, starting to rewrite parts of it as well as participating in the reading and critiquing of the other’s work and diving into the various writing exercises brought me to the realization that I had much to learn.
My father had died on March 8th 1998 and my brother was diagnosed with emphysema. My mother’s health problems escalated and she died March 4th 2002. My brother was given one year to live. I realized at that point in my life that I needed something different in my life if I was going to live through this phase with grace. I turned to reading romance novels. Oh, I’d read a few here and there but I always read more ‘serious’ books about life, death, the universe, etc.
Between the time of my mother’s death and my brother’s (March 26th, 2004) the women of The Women’s Circle novels had haunted me to the point that I’d begun to write Lily’s Story. I give thanks to the members of Wild Women Writers for bearing with me as I struggled to find my voice, my writing style, a way to tell these stories and not put the reader to sleep or worse have her throw the book across the room in frustration.
There are several parallels between Lily’s life and mine. We were both child protective service workers, we changed professions and worked with the elderly, we were both single parents of sons, we both found a sacred women’s circle and rejoiced in the many blessings that came with that discovery. Other events are based loosely on my experiences.
I know Lily on many levels. I know how she prides herself on being strong, in control, able to manage/take care of everything. I know how hard it is for her to rely on, depend on someone else. I know she has to be brought to her knees literally and figuratively before she can reach out to others, ask for help, be dependent.
Jackson? No, I don’t know him at all but I wish I did. Proud, stubborn, passionate, creative, but willing to do what’s necessary to win Lily’s heart and mind.
I can’t remember the number of nights I fell asleep hearing their voices, seeing a scene in my mind. But that is how Lily’s Story came to me. Flashes, vignettes, bits and pieces (thankfully following the time line of the book) and an occasional “what’s that all about” as I read something that seemed to write itself across the computer screen. Followed by “Oh, of course” as Lily reached through me to tell her story.
Cherry’s Challenge encouraged me to ‘Finish the Damn Book’ and I thought it was done and I could move on to the next story. But, as I’ve continued to learn the craft of writing, I could see that more needed to be done.
All but one time when I’ve pitched Trust Comes…Slowly, I’ve had a request to submit. But then I sit down and read it over and see something else to improve. Now I’m ready. There may be ways to tweak it a bit more but at some point, it is time to stop and submit. I’m blessed to have a request from Deb Werksman, Senior Editor, Sourcebooks Publishing for everything I’ve completed. So, Lily is ready to go and here is a peek at the first pages (after many revisions) I wrote.
Prologue
August, 1985
Chinook County, OregonThe steering wheel was slick from her sweat soaked hands. Lily maneuvered the car up the rutted dirt drive to the dilapidated old farm house. Sweat dripped off her nose and ran in rivulets between her breasts flowing over the pendant of a lioness she wore around her neck. Her sleeveless lavender blouse and dark purple skirt were plastered to her body, her blond hair to her head. What a day to be doing this, she thought.
The dashboard clock showed 2:30 p.m. “Oh darn,” she exclaimed to herself. “I’ll be late. Paul will be furious.” With a shake of her head, Lily thought about the ugly scene she would face when she got home. Paul, her husband of almost two years, still didn’t understand her job.
A smile flickered across her face, momentarily softening the lines that had grown harsh as she thought about her marriage, husband, and home life. Her eleven month old son, Charlie, was the real love of her life and one of the reasons she did what she did. She wanted all children to be loved and cared for, to be safe and cherished.
Easing to a stop, Lily got slowly out of the car glancing over her shoulder at the car coming up the drive behind her. I’m afraid John’ll get the worst of it she thought as his county car came to a stop beside hers but I’m so glad I’m not doing this alone. Feeling the tension in every part of her body and the anxiety building, Lily turned to greet her colleague.
“Take care in there, Lily,” he said.
“You, too,” she replied with a slight smile. Thank goodness the county juvenile department was willing to give me John as back up, she thought as she turned and started up the path toward the steps to the back door. She stopped as she always did to scratch behind the ears of the emaciated dog chained at the bottom of the steps. She always told him what a wonderful old dog he was and today when she bent down to pet him she whispered, “You’ll be safe and have a new home by tonight, Dobbs.”
Straightening, she took a fortifying breath and started up the rickety steps feeling the anxiety drift away as she heard John’s feet on the steps behind her. At the top she looked in the screen door and saw two faces peaking shyly from around the corner. “Hi there,” Lily said softly. “Is your Mommy home?”
“Get the hell back in your room,” a woman’s voice shouted. The faces quickly disappeared.
“What ya want?” the slim woman snarled looking out from the kitchen to the hall and the back door, her brown hair dirty, stringy and pulled tightly back in an unkempt ponytail.
“Hi, Jane,” Lily said with what she hoped was warmth. “May we come in?”
Jane stalked over, shoved the screen door open, nearly knocking it into Lily. Taking a deep breath, Lily walked calmly into the kitchen. The place looked worse than when she had been there two days ago. Nothing had been cleaned up and more dirty dishes, pots and pans had been added. Even with the doors and windows open the smell of urine, feces, and rotten food was enough to have her swallowing hard. Lily introduced John and began to explain the reason for their visit.
“Jane, you know I’ve been out to see you and the children a couple of times a week for almost two months. We’ve talked about many things during those times,” she started. “I had someone available to help you take care of your house and children. The baby’s been hospitalized twice now and the doctor says he isn’t growing like he should. Your oldest daughter has more responsibility than she should have at her age,” Lily went on hurriedly not mentioning the bruises and marks on the middle girl. That was all listed in the papers. “I want you to know this isn’t about whether you love your children or want to do better by them. It’s just that right now they need more than you are able to give them.”
“Yer not taken my kids,” Jane growled, advancing toward Lily.
Taking the papers out of her bag, Lily handed them to Jane. “These are the legal papers that say I will be taking them with me today, Jane. The petition” she said pointing to the top paper, continuing to speak calmly, “lists the reasons.”
John stepped forward taking the papers from Lily. “Jane, let me go over these papers with you so you know what’s happening.” He gently steered Jane toward the kitchen counter so her back was partially turned from Lily.
Just like I planned it , Lily thought, taking advantage of the opportunity of John’s distraction to duck down the hallway. She found the three children huddled in the first bedroom, the oldest, a girl of eight, holding her six-month-old baby brother. A mattress on the floor, a cardboard box for a dresser, paint peeling, broken window and screen, and holes in the walls described the chaos and destruction in this room. Quietly she told the oldest to gather her things together, giving her a large black plastic bag most people used for garbage.
“Can you pack your brother’s things also?” she asked. At the young girl’s nod, Lily gave her a second bag. She knelt beside the four-year-old and asked her to put her things in another of the black plastic bags, holding it open for her. She had brought three bags in her big purse so the children would have something to put their belongings in. Lily fought back the tears that welled up in her blue eyes as she watched the small girl take her meager belongings from the box on the floor. They barely covered the bottom of the bag.
“Come,” Lily said softly to the children. “I’m taking you where you will be safe.”
Both girls’ eyes flew open, fear, stark terror showing. “But,” the oldest stammered, “she’ll find me and hit me.”
“No,” Lily whispered. “She won’t ever hit you again.”
With her arm around the four year old’s slim shoulders, Lily looked at the children. The oldest girl was still holding her baby brother. Her black garbage bag showed she’d done her packing.
“Do you have a few diapers for the baby?” she asked looking at her.
“Only two,” she whispered back. They could hear their mother starting to yell. “I put his blanket in here,” she pointed to one of the black plastic bags with her foot and then pointing her foot to a dirty bottle on the floor she added, “We’ve got that for him if he gets hungry.”
Lily stood motionless, lost in the pain of it all, hearing the agony and anguish in Jane’s screaming, seeing the fear and terror on the faces of the two older children. The baby’s eyes just got wide; he’d already learned not to cry when startled or scared.
“You’ve done such a good job taking care of everything and everyone for so long,” she said looking gently at the oldest girl. “I can see you’ve done your best for your baby brother.” Her words were met by a solemn face with large brown eyes.
“Now,” Lily said quietly. “I need you both to be quick and brave for me. Can you be quick?” Two heads nodded up and down. “Can you carry your baby brother and one sack of things?” she asked the oldest. Turning to the four-year-old she asked, “Can you carry these two sacks?” Again her questions were met with two nods. “Right now being quick is more important than being brave,” Lily smiled to reassure them. “You know what my car looks like? The green one with the big sticker on it?” Two heads again nodded solemnly. “I need you to go quickly, get in my car and shut the doors. Do not get out at all unless I tell you to. Can you do that?”
Again two heads nodded yes. Moving down the hall with them behind her, Lily stopped at the doorway to the kitchen. Looking back she motioned to the children to go on. Frozen to the spot, eyes huge with terror, they stood as if rooted to the floor. Jane was screaming. “NO ONE is gonna take my kids! NO ONE! They’re MINE!” she shrieked.
Bending down to the children’s level, Lily said quietly, “This is where I need you to be brave. Go quick when I walk into the kitchen. Keep going until you’re in my car. Close and lock the doors and you’ll be safe until I get there. I’m taking you someplace safe. Can you do that for me? Get in the car and lock the doors?” Two small heads looked at her with trust in their eyes and nodded ‘yes’. Using her body as a shield to block their exit as best she could, Lily walked slowly into the kitchen. John was still talking to Jane and trying to keep her distracted so Lily could get the children out of the house.
Shit, shit, shit, Lily screamed in her head as the screen door slammed behind the children.
Jane spun around and saw Lily coming into the kitchen. Instantly she knew it wasn’t Lily who had left. Lily was in her kitchen. Looking out the window she saw her children scrambling into the back seat of the State car, Lily’s car.
“You bitch,” Jane shrieked. “I’ll kill you. They’re mine!” Her face was contorted in rage. Picking up a butcher knife, she raised it over her head and charged toward Lily.
John grabbed for Jane shouting “Get out Lily! Get the hell out now!” and she did.
Lily sprinted down the steps and ran to her car only to find the children had done as she said and she was locked out. Fumbling for her keys, she found them in seconds that felt like minutes. Once in the car, she sat taking deep breathes to calm herself. She turned to the back seat and checked that the children were all right and had their seat belts on.
“You’ve done so well,” she told them in what she hoped was a reassuring voice.
She started the car and began to back out. When she glanced toward the house again, she saw Jane at the top of the stairs, pain and outrage etched on her face. She was still screaming. Behind her John stood keeping her from bolting down the steps and to the car. He looked okay, no bloody gashes showed. She prayed he was okay. Lily continued to back the car around and then sped out of the driveway.
It was 9:30 that night when Lily finally got home. She was exhausted after taking the children to a shelter home. She’d stayed with them while the foster mother made a dash to the store to get a few things for them and then stayed through dinner, bath time, and tucked them into bed with promises she’d be back in the morning. She’d had a chance to make a quick call to confirm that John had gotten away safely and felt a weight she hadn’t realized, slide from her when she heard his voice and he told her he was okay.
At her front door, Lily stopped a moment to compose herself. She didn’t pretend everything would be all right. She knew better. When she opened the door to her home and walked in, she was immediately aware of the tension and silence. To the left was the hallway to the bedrooms. First thing on her list was to check on Charlie. From his doorway with the hall light behind her, she could see him. Tiptoeing to his crib she looked down to see him sleeping quietly, his fist in his mouth. Gently she pulled it away, brushed his hair from his brow, and bent over to kiss his forehead. The light from the hallway dimmed and she knew Paul had come to stand in the doorway.
“You fucking bitch!” he hurled the words at her in a growl. “Where in the hell have you been! Out screwing around, you fucking bitch? And you call yourself a mother,” his voice was low, menacing, and laced with sarcasm.
Lily turned from the crib and started for the doorway. She just wanted to get out of Charlie’s room so he wouldn’t wake to the barrage of nastiness that had already started. “Please let me pass, Paul,” Lily said quietly. “We can go in the other room and you can have your say.”
“You’re damn right I’ll have my say, you whore,” the threat still in his voice, the volume increasing. Behind her she heard Charlie stir.
“You can have your say in the other room. It won’t be good for your son to wake up to a fight.”
Paul moved slightly in the doorway but to pass, Lily had to brush up against him. Keeping a calm presence, eyes downcast, Lily squeezed past him knowing what would come next. “Whore,” he whispered. “You want me don’t you, whore? He wasn’t enough for you?”
In the family room, Paul grabbed her and turned her roughly around. “You’ll look at me,” he snarled as he reached out and jerked her chin up so her eyes were on his. “You’ll look at me and listen to everything I have to say.”
Her head was tilted back so far she had no room to move it even to nod. She hated this, just hated this. If I can only look chastised and subdued maybe it will be over quicker. His mouth is still moving and the hate from his eyes…oh darn! she thought wildly as the tears began to well up. He’ll have a field day with my crying.
“What’s this? Tears? Do you really think I’ll fall for that? Not today or any day. What kind of a sucker do you take me for? So, you’re too good to answer me now?”
Lily felt the familiar fear creeping through her body and this time it was tinged with desperation. Steeling herself, Lily locked her knees to keep from buckling and willed the tears to stop. She heard Charlie now, crying in the background.
“See what you did, bitch? You woke the kid up. Well, you’re home now, you go fix it. I’m going out!” and he shoved her away so hard she stumbled and fell. Stomping past her, his foot caught the edge of her hand. Instinctively she curled her hand to her chest in a gesture of protection. And then he was gone, the slam of the front door announcing his departure. The squeal of his car’s tires a blessed sound.
Charlie’s whimpers and her own harsh breathing were all she could hear. Lily got up slowly from the floor and walked to Charlie’s room. She took him out of his crib, sat, and rocked him. The tension from the day slowly ebbed from her body.
“Your Daddy has changed, Charlie. He isn’t the same man I married. I don’t even know why he changed. I’m so sorry my love. I don’t know where I can go for help or how to get away.” The rhythmic motion of the rocking chair and the comfort of his mother’s arms lulled Charlie and he was soon asleep. Still whispering soothing words Lily felt her eyes grow heavy and she, too, was soon asleep with Charlie in her arms.
April 2010 Update:
I’ve completed the second draft of Show Me The Way and am waiting for my reader’s feedback before one final go through. While I do not use The Tarot daily or even weekly, I am comfortable with it and see it as a good resource for me. Diana certainly found it of great value as she sorted through her past, assessed her present, and took charge of her future. So might you.Diana and The Tarot, Previous
It’s November and I’m deep into National Novel Writing Month with over 15,000 words written on Diana’s Story the first week. Last year I wrote the first draft of Elizabeth’s Story To Have It All finishing 60,000+ words in November and finishing the story before Winter Solstice.
I love writing these stories. I love sitting at the computer, my fingers flying (usually) over the keys, the story unfolding before my eyes. While I know these women, the over-arcing issues, and the form of their spirituality that will support them in their stories, there is always something that comes up somewhere along the line that wasn’t even a glimmer of an idea when I began.
What can stop the fingers from flying is the research. For Trust Comes…Slowly, I had to find out exactly what the physical therapy regime would be for someone with Lily’s injuries. For To Have It All I had to learn Irish/Gaelic names for animals and places. However, for Diana’s Story, Show Me The Way, I had to learn The Tarot. I bought books and scanned them. I bought the Llewellyn deck because the pictures spoke to me (they still do). As the first of November drew closer I knew there was something more I needed to do to get ready.
I was shopping for a maiden’s necklace for my youngest granddaughter in a shop new to me, Essential Elements. The proprietress, a warm and welcoming woman, showed me a whole catalogue of Tarot Card decks and books. I picked out two of them, ordered, and a week before NaNo started picked them up.
October 25, 2009 I sat with my new deck of ‘starter cards’. The meaning is printed right on the front of the card. The instructions showed the Celtic Cross Spread. I asked the question I’d often asked “Am I going in the right direction with my writing?” as I shuffled the cards and laid them out. I continued to follow the directions, reading the first six cards before moving on to the last four.
When I had finished I’d easily read the spread, written my thoughts and interpretations into a Journal, and felt satisfied I’d found a deck to work with while I wrote Diana’s Story.
The first test came on November 2 nd. I was at the first point in Diana’s Story where she turns to The Tarot to help her make a decision about her marriage. Should she stay in her loveless, soul-stifling marriage or leave?
I got up that morning, showered, dressed, and put on makeup. I fixed myself a cup of tea. I repeated to myself that I was Diana. I referred to myself as Diana in my mutterings to myself as I gathered my Journal, cards, and cleared a space on the table. I took a few minutes to breath and center myself, repeating “I am Diana” three times before I opened the box, took out the cards, and repeated the question she asked. “I want a loving, respectful marriage to a man who will listen when I speak, hear what I am saying, and share his heart and life with me. Show me the way…”
I shuffled the cards three times, repeating “Show me the way” with each ruffle of the cards. I cut the deck into three piles, taking the middle pile of the deck up, the end pile next and the top last. Following the directions I laid out the Celtic Cross Spread.
When I’d finished the read, written in my Journal, I knew I had the bones for Chapter Two. Sitting down at my computer the words flowed through the keys onto the screen. I did have to refer to my journal as I wrote the spread into the chapter. Other than that, the chapter wrote itself.
That’s what writing Diana’s Story has been to this point: a flowing of words from my mind, through my fingers, on to the computer screen, almost effortless.
This past weekend my women’s circle met. The other three women are familiar with The Tarot, do their own readings, and have done readings for others. They know The Tarot well enough that they don’t have to refer to the book or have the words printed on the card. I read them the first two chapters. I wanted to know if my ‘read’ for Diana’s Story was ‘right’. My question was answered with smiles and nods.
It’s time to get back to Diana’s Story. Her life has turned upside down at this point. It’s time for her to turn again to The Tarot and ask Show Me The Way.
