Faerie Folly and Wizard Wands

Chapter Four

Tildie and Sabine took a large sea boat bound for England that very evening. Big, white, and modern, Sabine received an immense shock in the progressive world. She realized, as she boarded and glanced back that the bustling mass of people that teemed with cars and technology, that America had blossomed while she was tucked away in the miry wilds for all her many years. What she learned later, to her incredulous surprise, was that there was no village or area of humans that her mother had feared. The people who had come to see Granna had been odd, hippie, woodland humans, ones who were isolated from all the world but the few that lived in the deep forests. They all ignored the busy lives of the average American.

Her mother, of course, had thought the nearness of Granna to have been intense. There was no way she could have neared the great cities where the true world continued at a fast pace. Of course, to Sabine, this connection between her mother and her isolation was not thought of, for she remembered nothing of her first years. So, now, in a sudden, brilliant burst, she had entered another entire new world.

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Tildie and Sabine shared a room, second class, while in public the older woman filled the younger on worldly happenings.

"O'course, we're doing folly a travelin' by sea, but by air is worse, what with the war in the East."

"What war?"

"America-yer own country, girl, is fightin' in the East-surely, child, you know your history?"

Sabine shook her head. In botany and zoology, and very much in potion-brewing, cooking, and herbal remedies, Sabine was greatly wise. But in math and history and literature, she knew naught. Yet, for some oddly strange, incredible reason, facts and nuances spoken around her were filed away in her mind. It was as if an emptiness she had never felt suddenly opened, and was taking in information at an incredible rate, faster than seemed possible. Soon, she felt she was acquiring knowledge too quickly, and began to feel light-headed, yet the onslaught of words filled into her, and she soon felt part of the new and face-paced society.

It seemed Tildie was constantly watching her, for what, Sabine did not know, but it was odd and slightly unnerving, so, quite without realizing it, she dove deeper into her mind and her senses, and discovered she could feel better and better with each passing hour. Why, she didn't know, but she began to take to trusting her senses, and combining that with her newly discovered and learned social behaviors and lingo.

The second day sailing, Tildie and Sabine were sitting at a small table on one of the decks when a man approached them.

"Good morning, ladies."

Tildie's mouth became one red gash as she pressed her lips, then gave Sabine a meaningful stare. Uncertain as to what her look meant, Sabine gave the young man a timid smile: this was test; Tildie's actions gave that much away.

"Mind if I join you?" She let her feelings slid over him. His smile was wide and white, but his green eyes cold.

"Well-." Before she could finish, he'd drawn up a chair near her-not into her personal space, but infringing upon it.

"I couldn't help but notice two lovely ladies all alone." He oozed a false charm. For some strange reason, she could again suddenly detect every nuance of the man, and their surroundings. She heard the waters below the boat, that seemed to whisper, and the wind that sailed through her hair, and her body tingled with his presence, and it wasn't at all pleasant. She drew away.

"Perhaps it is best if we stay alone." Inwardly, she was slightly shocked at her manners, but the words poured out, cold and frosted. "I believe we would have requested a man if we wanted to be...interrupted." She granted him another smile, though this one tight and unfriendly. "Good-day." She moved so her shoulder was toward him, and quickly felt his cool and lecherous presence leave.

Tildie relaxed suddenly, her face falling back into calm and jolly lines. It seemed that Sabine had somehow passed the test.

"Very well...yer well perceptive, dear girl. More perceptive than I were at your age. O'course, you're not a-even all...part of you's not completely...yes, well, hmm. Very curious." She sipped her tea, and looked over the water.

"If you please...Tildie....do you know what makes me...strange?"

Her hazel eyes, clear and intelligent, held Sabine's. "Indeedy, I've an inkling."

"Could you tell-?"

Tildie jumped in, "You could sense the falseness of the man direct-ly, then?"

Sabine hesitated. How could her internal struggle be so obvious? How could this random woman figure on her new feelings; was it so obvious? She nodded slowly in answer.

"Good, good!" Silence lapsed, then Tildie said in her clear, British contralto, "Nay, dear Sabine, I cannot tell you; it's not for me to say. It's not often the likes of you are found, nor tis my place. Nay...you hafta discover yourself."

At this, she stood, their conversation along these lines finished, and they strolled arm in arm, speaking of droll topics, or she filled Sabine in on tiny bits of history Sabine still did not yet know. Any more questions would not be answered.

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Their arrival in England one night away, they again were out strolling after dinner, when another man approached them on the deck. The night was deep and bright and full of laughter, and Sabine hardly sensed the man as he approached.

"Excuse me? Tildie Jonas?" Both women whipped around to a wizened, elderly man, who dressed in a Hawaiian printed shirt and dress slacks with a top hat and cowboy boots.

Tildie swung around, and her face broke into a delighted grin. "Why! Mr. Parlingten! Imagine seein' you after all this time!"

He put his hand out for hers, then kissed her fingers. "What a surprise, indeed. And this is?" He straightened to look at me, and gave Tildie an unreadable glance. Sabine detected a strong undercurrent of communication between the two, but the message was encoded so that it was impossible to feel what they were exchanging.

"Sabine, this is Mr. Parlingten, a very old acquaintance. Sabine is coming to England," Tildie informed the old gentleman. He nodded, though his eyes were still curiously looking the young woman over. Something else pricked Sabine's conscious, something so subtle that it was not easy for her to understand. As she looked at the man, she realized the similarities between his strangeness and Tildie's. This man, unlike the one before, was very kind and sincere. She sensed not a bit of false charm, and peculiar way of dressing was mirrored in him. Already Sabine had learned what was considered to be "correct fashion" from magazines and observation. Tildie, however, always dressed oddly-she wore her rubber boots everywhere, and tonight a poison green riding hat, a seventies dress, and, of course, the red cape.

The two were looking at each other with intimate glances, though there did not seem to be a serious romantic attachment of any kind. It was more as old dear friends are when meeting after a long parting, and Sabine took her cue from her senses. She announced,

"Tildie-I'm of to bed, then."

Tildie nodded absently, and Sabine left. For some reason, she had a notion they were speaking of her.

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That night, as Sabine slept in the ever moving ship, she fell into one of her deepest sleeps, and she dreamt...

... of a miry wilds full of dusky gray shadow, brilliant emerald green, and Irish eyes, that were distant and unblinking... There was the faint lightness of pure forest water on her lips, and earth beneath her feet. A presence, wild and free, forever dancing and whirling beside her...The sweet tang of musky rosemary and pine, and the deep clay of the forest floor on her hands-she heard a voice in a language long forgotten in a voice so wild, yet so delicate and pale...a translucent light among the trees, and a detached lonliness, and the sting of wonderment as a creature flew away-the prick of sorrow and a spinning vision of a woman; slender and tiny...

...And then she heard the voice of a man. He sounded nearby, and he, too, spoke haltingly in the strange words; words she could not decipher; he was laughing and loving...a flash of red hair again, long, smooth, and lastly the eyes-brilliantly, incredibly blue...and goodness...and trust...and beckoning...

She woke in the wee hours of the morn. Tildie snored softly beside her. Sabine woke up, put on a dressing robe, and went to the porch outside their door, to watch the sun rise on the ocean, and to watch England creep on the horizon.

Never had the dream stayed, and it had never been so clear. Why all seemed so real to her, she could not know, only guess, and everything guessed seemed like a tall tale of Granna's storytelling. Sabine had been sheltered in a life of seclusion, though now she was thrust into the modern ways, she still had been brought to believe only what she was told. Never had she succumbed to feelings; they had seemed irrelevant and unimportant. Her life with Granna, the only one she had ever known, was that of the warm glow of the cedar house and the never-ending herbs and creams, the combining with nature left little room for feelings to nestle into her heart. She loved Granna, and thought Tildie was a dear soul, but anything else that had entered her emotions had been dismissed in the simple life. Now as the dream sifted into her soul, she grew wary of the evading feelings into her being, but she did not know how to fight it, and as England came ever nearer, Sabine began to grow still more in the recesses of her mind and heart.

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It was completely strange how the dream still was retained by the time Tildie awoke. They packed and readied for landing, and all Sabine could think of was the dream-always the dream.

As they stepped from inside the great boat to the railings, her senses were assailed with another, incredibly new world. With a startling jolt, she wondered when she would find a permanent world, where she truly belonged. England was different from America, that she could sense already, and she kept close to Tildie.

The two women said good-bye to Mr. Parlingten on the ship, and exited the boat to find their scarce luggage.

"Come, we'll miss the train." Tildie ushered Sabine from the port. The bustling mass of British and Americans swelled around them; some were tourists, some countrymen, others passerby with absolutely nothing to do with the ship. Along the two went, ignoring venders in order to make it through the new and English-mannered streets. It was so new-Sabine felt terribly lost and uprooted, and behind her eyes, her head bespoke the dream of her past night again and again.

They reached the train station nearly an hour after they arrived on the boat to the country, and as they paused by the seventh platform, Tildie handed Sabine a thick manilla folder.

"Here, then, dear Sabine, is all you need. Your passport, your residential papers, your ID-all you'll need for this time." Then she dug into a pocket in the long red cape and produced a ticket.

"Then, Platform Seven, eh?" She looked up at the number, then handed Sabine the ticket. "Up you go then, Sabine."

It suddenly struck Sabine what was different, and was astounded she hadn't discovered it sooner. At the appearance of Mr. Parlingten, Tildie's accent had changed. She no longer spoke with a mutilated accent and twisted twang to her voice; it was a perfected British tone that came from her wrinkled throat, and Sabine had little time to wonder why the change occurred before she automatically took the ticket, then paused, confused,

"Er...Tildie, aren't you coming too?" She was numbed at the thought of leaving yet another woman in her life. Tildie was the only tie she had left to any life or proof of her existence.

"No, I'm not going with you all." She put down her suitcase, and fixed Sabine's collar, reaching up high to do so. "I did my duty, bringing you where you needed to be, and now it's time to go searching, Sabine. Perhaps I'll see you later on in your life?"

She patted the young woman's hand, and shooed her on the train with quick flicks of her fingers. "Go on, then-time to start your life, there! Good-bye, dear child-and good luck."

She picked up her bag, and turned. From the shadowy door, Sabine watched her dart, with her red cape swirling, and she saw a glimpse of a Hawaiian shirt and a top hat before the train let off steam, and she went, clutching her trunk, to her seat.

The train smelled like musk and many perfumes; suddenly her senses sharpened, and Sabine almost passed into unconsciousness from the overwhelming aroma of many bodies making their way into a small area. She wondered what these odd changes were, and wondered why she was not so worried, and wondered as well when she would learn to control these surprisingly changes in her senses.