Return Chapter 5: Secrets
When weird becomes wild and wild becomes wonderful.
I rested my open hands on my lap like Forgiveness had shown me. Next, I rolled my shoulders back and, with each exhalation, let the mounting anxiety drain from my body. I’m safe. I’m clothed and fed. I have a place to sleep. My eyes took in the beauty that surrounded me. On the next inhalation, I held my breath until I felt my pulse beating in my chest and then exhaled, repeating the pattern until a calmness filled me. I’m going to be okay. I’ve got this.
What now? Glancing at the pad, I automatically read my vow, the way billboards irresistibly captured my attention. Reading was another form of comfort that transported me to new worlds. I followed my impulse upstairs to Maeve’s library. My eyes traveled along the spines and scanned the top covers of the stacks: The O’Brien Book of Irish Fairy Tales and Legends, Fiona’s Luck, Celtic Tales, until my attention landed on the tattered maroon leather cover, The Celtic Twilight by Y.B. Yeats. As I read the opening lines, each sentence baited me to read on. Yeats named Hope and Memory as beloved daughters, reminding me of my guides, Faith and Compassion. I wanted nothing more than to climb into his pages until I reached the back cover. He’d written on the wavelength I felt called to explore. I brought Yeats downstairs with me, to my newly found nest, and tucked into a high-back chair with a view.
Angus hesitated at Kat’s front door. Normally, he’d walk in, but he rapped lightly and waited. When no one answered, he detoured to the barn, but found it empty, so he returned to the house, and knocked again, shifting from foot to foot, and then entered. The house felt peaceful. He glimpsed the crown of a brunette’s head, tilted to the side of Kat’s favorite chair by the bay window, and approached quietly.
He gawked at her profile, cemented to where he stood. He recognized her—she’d appeared as a recurring character in his night dreams. Until that moment, he’d assumed she was a fictitious woman, who only existed in his unconscious. She’d challenged him in his dreams, and he’d been undeniably attracted to her, but he typically woke before anything transpired between them.
Angus sat on the edge of the other chair and roughly rubbed his face, then leaned forward as if she whispered to him. She smelled like a blend of the barn, the briny sea, and sweet strawberries. Kat had said she thought she’d seen an apparition at first. Her sensing was accurate—this woman ken how to move between the worlds.
Since she’d already visited his inner world, he decided to slip into hers. Kat would have her request fulfilled after all. His claim of disinterest in a stranger’s inner life had dissolved upon laying eyes on her. He felt as if his bones had become kindling, and seeing her lit a fire within him, offering Angus a warmth he’d not felt for years, not since his relationship with Daphne.
He knew from his dreams that her lids hid dark chocolate-colored eyes that melted him. The ridged channel that bridged her pert nose and thin upper lip moved ever so slightly as she breathed. Her bonnie looks were merely the packaging of what interested him most. She felt like a precious gift he wanted to receive, to unwrap, if only she’d give herself to him. A strand of auburn hair had fallen from her side part across her cheek. He didn’t dare tuck it behind her ear and risk waking her.
Angus closed his eyes and concentrated within as he asked permission to venture forth. When his body felt light and loose like a dandelion globe surrendering its seeds to the winds, he understood permission had been granted. Had it been denied, he’d have been met with a stone wall. Instead, visions of a mermaid resting on a reef beside a massive hook welcomed him and he wondered if he’d entered her dreamtime. He opened his eyes and pushed back in the chair, as the vision shifted into darkness, as if flying over a barren landscape of blackened lava flows and a single dead tree. He witnessed an owl’s clumsy landing on a branch and heard the tirade of a caged woman below.
He’d seen enough and released the vision. Angus had learned how to rein in his abilities so as not to garner unbidden information from strangers. He’d assure Kat that she’d made a wise choice by offering this stranger hospitality and tell her that sitting beside Sarah was similar to visiting the standing stones, where the veil thinned, and he simmered with insight. However, the nature of his visions would remain confidential. It was Sarah’s story to tell in her own time. Angus hoped she’d speak of it with him and wondered if she’d recognize him upon waking.
Even though he was impatient to meet her, he chose not to wake her. He needed fresh air to collect himself and regain his balance. He stood and delicately draped Kat’s afghan over her, leaving Yeats resting open in her lap. The man who’d knocked on Kat’s door only moments ago, set in his routines, had already departed, but he remained transfixed by this intimate stranger, as if she’d thrown him a lifeline when he didn’t even know he was drowning.
I awoke disoriented, blanketed by an unfamiliar cream-cabled afghan. Convinced I hadn’t put it on myself, I stood swiftly, turning my back to the bay window, as a thump near my feet made me jump and squeal at the book that had fallen.
I called out, “Hello? Is anyone here?” No answer. By the looks of the fading light, it was near sunset. Converting the afghan into a cape, I headed for the stairs, calling out again, but a note beside the plate of scones caught my eye. Crumbs decorated the handwriting. Who’s been eating my scones? I read, “Call if you need anything.” The note was signed “Angus” and included a telephone number. Who’s Angus? The owner of the boxer shorts?
At the foot of the stairs, I yelled, “Hello?” but only an uneasy silence followed. Ascending the stairs, I repeated, “Is anyone here? Hello. Hello?” I kept making noise the way I’d hike in bears’ habitat, not wanting to surprise anyone, but it appeared I was alone.
I borrowed a flannel shirt from the coat hook and wellies to go check on the horses and shake off the creepy feeling. Upon entering the barn, a man’s voice caused me to stop. His back was to me as he stroked Caim’s neck and spoke in gentle tones. I debated the merits of revealing myself or letting him think I was still asleep. He wore a faded denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His wavy hair nearly blended with Caim’s chestnut coloring. It partially covered his ears and my father would’ve said he needed a trim. Curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to see who Katrine shared her bed with and hoped to dodge any direct questions about myself.
I called out, “Hello.”
He turned his clean-shaven profile toward me and exited the stall. “Did ye have yerself a guid shuteye? Ah noticed what ye were readin’, and dinnae want to wake ye in case ye’r havin’ yerself an important dream, communin’ with the fairy folk. Ah covered ye as the temp’s droppin’ fast. Kat asked me to check in on ye. She wanted ye to have mah number in case ye needed some help.”
He seemed as nervous as I was. “Thank you, Angus. I’m Sarah. I saw the note.”
Maybe Katrine doesn’t trust me as much as I thought. Who could blame her? If she has any intuition, and I’m sure she has plenty, she knew something wasn’t adding up.
He closed Caim’s stall door. “Ah’v put the horses in for ye and fed them. The mares’ tails are indicatin’ a front is comin’ through. It’ll be bringin’ back the season’s cold weather.”
“What do mares’ tails look like when a front comes through?”
Angus gestured with a swirl of his hand. “All wispy-like.”
Caim’s tail was perfectly still, but we were inside.
He started laughing. “Come on, follow me. Ah’ll show ’em to ye.” Angus walked outside and pointed to the clouds, which admittedly resembled horses’ tails blowing in the wind. I chuckled at my mistake. “Let me help ye put on their rugs. Kat was frettin’ the weather would take ye by surprise. They’re her bairns now, and she’ll nae sleep worryin’ that they might be cold.”
Trailing him into the barn, I asked, “Any word on Katrine’s grandchild?”
Angus entered the tack room. “Nae, ’tis a waitin’ game now. Ah gather Brìghde has a few more hours to go. Mah ewe’s take at least five hours to dilate.”
I assumed Brìghde wouldn’t like being compared to a sheep. The upper shelves housed two stacks of six blankets, one pile in navy, the other purple. His height enabled him to remove the top two from each effortlessly and he handed me the purple ones, which had heft. I’d forgotten blankets had different weights for different purposes and felt grateful for his assistance.
“Tonight we’ll put on their lightweight stable rugs,”—he raised it in his left hand—“but ah’ll keep their waterproof ones down as ye’ll be needin’ them when ye turn them out in the mornin’. Tomorrow night, if the temperature drops, switch to the heavier stable rug.” He indicated with a glance at the remaining ones on the shelf. ‘Those have more fill for warmth.” He slipped Caim’s turnout blanket on the rod, and the metal clasps at the end of the straps clattered against the ground, then he draped her stable blanket temporarily over the stall door.
I followed his lead and hung Saorsa’s turnout blanket. “Thanks so much. Katrine left out these details during our quick walk-through.”
Angus reached for the lightweight blanket I still held. “Here, ah’ll help ye.” He brought it to Saorsa to smell, getting his approval. “Tonight we give ye a wee bit extra help stayin’ warm. Yer winter coat is comin’ in nicely.” He cast the blanket over Saorsa. “Ye want to start higher on his neck, so ye’r slidin’ it into place down here, goin’ with the direction of his coat. He’s more sensitive than most. Ah heard ye’r already on good terms with him. Let’s keep it that way. He can be a handful when he wants to be.”
I came under Saorsa’s neck, patting him, overriding my self-consciousness about talking to him with Angus listening. “You’re no trouble at all.” I fastened the buckles at his chest. “I don’t believe a word they say about you.”
Angus reached under his belly for the strap and clipped it on the diagonal. I tried to hand the other one to him, but he’d already retrieved it. “Tomorrow, if ye see any rub spots on their chest, use some detanglin’ spray. ’Tis good for their coats, too.”
I secured the straps around Saorsa’s back legs. Clearly Angus knew his way around the horses. “Which one do you ride?”
“Ah’m nae fond of mah feet leavin’ the ground. Ah leave the ridin’ to Kat. ’Tis one of the few things she’s never been able to persuade me to try. It dinnae mean ah’m nae fond of them. We’re fast friends, eye to eye.” We blanketed Caim next. “Kat tells me ye just arrived on Iona.”
My stomach clenched. “I did.”
“She says ye live near Boston, where Maeve is studyin’. How long are ye on holiday for?”
Caim’s neck was between us so he couldn’t see me biting my lip. “I haven’t bought my return ticket yet. I’m taking it a day at a time during my sabbatical.”
“Are ye a teacher then?” He’d finished fastening the straps and came around the front of Caim, locking his eyes on mine.
I patted her neck to steady myself and held his gaze as if nothing was amiss. “Yes, I am. I took a break from teaching this fall and am delighted to have met Katrine and be able to help her out this week. Some of my best childhood memories are on horseback, and Saorsa’s every girl’s fantasy. He was a dream to ride today. You’re missing out. I confess I hoped to ride again this afternoon, but as you know, I fell asleep.”
Angus walked out of Caim’s stall and stood beside the door, ready to slide it closed. “Ye did at that. Ye must have needed it as you dinnae even stir when ah covered ye. Would ye welcome company for dinner? Sunday nights, Kat and ah often eat together. Ah guess ah’v become a creature of habit.”
I felt like a deer in the dark, trying to cross the road with headlights bearing down on me. “Perhaps another night. I’ve not thought about what I’d fix for dinner, and now that I know it’s likely to rain, I’d like to clear the pasture of manure.” I bypassed Angus exiting the stall, heading for the wheelbarrow and pitchfork.
I heard Caim’s door rumble on its runners and the scrape of the latch. “Sarah, ah dinnae mean for ye to fix mah dinner. Ah’ll make it for ye and show ye some hospitality. Mah house is down the road toward the beach. Ye went through mah fields with the sheep when ye rode this mornin’.” He pointed toward the direction of it. “Ah saw ye both headin’ off, chatterin’ away.”
I pushed the wheelbarrow forward, focused on my task, but Angus blocked my passage at the barn door. “Ah’m nae chef, but ah ken mah way around the kitchen. Dinner will be ready around seven o’clock. That’ll give ye plenty of time to muck the fields. Ah’ll be glad for the company while we wait for news of Brìghde and the wee one.” He looked at the sky. “Ye’ll be wantin’ to gather the washin’.”
“Good idea. I’d forgotten about that.” Apparently, he wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Is there something I can bring?”
“Ah’d suggest a dessert of Kat’s scones. She’s a mighty fine baker.”
“Okay, I’ll see you at seven with scones in hand.”
As I traversed the pasture in search of horseshit, I contemplated what I’d say tonight that wouldn’t smell like it. My best defense was a curious mind, and luckily, I had one of those. I’ll be the one asking questions about his farm, his sheep, and his life. What man doesn’t love talking about himself? But what if that didn’t work? As Yeats said, ‘What garment of belief will I weave of my story?’ What if I simply told the truth and didn’t care if anyone believed me?
Mucking was deeply satisfying in a straightforward way. I saw a pile of shit and shoveled it. I filled the wheelbarrow and dumped it. My life had become more complicated, and my next moves weren’t so obvious.
I retrieved Katrine’s clothes from the line and folded them, leaving them on her bed. As I brought the plastic bin back to the washer, I wondered why I hadn’t found simple chores so gratifying before. Why did I resist them? My answer was immediate. You thought they were beneath you. True, my preference was to pay someone else to clean my house, but that option wasn’t affordable on my budget. So why approach my daily chores of laundry and dishes with resentment? I was the one making myself miserable. Yet another aspect of my old shit story to rewrite. My friends would be proud of me. We referred to our old shit story as the one we continued to drag around even though we didn’t like the roles we played nor the scripts we’d written for ourselves anymore.
I went downstairs to try Ian again, but my mind was still on my friends, Maggie, Jocelyn, and Veena. How will I ever explain to them where I’ve been and the new story that’s unfolding? Not being able to answer that question easily set me pacing between the kitchen and the front door.
How can I speak openly about my journey with Faith without them thinking I’ve gone off the deep end? Yet, if I stay silent about it, I’m essentially lying, which also jeopardizes our friendship. If I tell them about it, but they never believe me, it will eventually cause a rift between us.
The more I thought about this double bind, where neither option was desirable, the more tightly wound I felt. Either I spoke my truth and risked how it changed our relationship or lied and jeopardized my relationship with myself. Both my blessing and my vow invoked authenticity because I strived to live congruently. I’d stopped in the kitchen beside the phone. Maybe the question isn’t if I tell them but when and how I voice it.
We told each other everything: our hopes, our fears, our relationship struggles, our imagined futures, and our night dreams. We delved further into our unconscious together during our monthly Authentic Movement sessions[1]. We’d practiced witnessing each other and ourselves and experienced the transformational power of being seen and heard without judgment or projection. Could they bear witness to my speaking about my journey with Faith without judgment? I could request they use that muscle as they listened to me. When I put myself in their shoes, listening to me, as I shared my tale, my Skeptic stepped forward. They’re probably pissed at me for leaving without saying goodbye or reaching out in six months, and likely worried about me. What had Ian mentioned about my prolonged absence? Would he have risked speaking truthfully or kept my secret?
For now, this dilemma was on hold. First, I needed to talk to Ian. I reached for the phone. He’s the one person I can speak freely with. Thank god he witnessed me disappear with Faith.
I tried him again, but only spoke to the operator. He rarely flew on Sundays for client engagements because he’d rather wake at an ungodly hour Monday morning and take the first flight out. Why isn’t he sleeping in our bed? Don’t go there, Sarah, choose Patience. Choose Faith.
Staring into Fiona’s closet, I contemplated my wardrobe options for dinner. What are the chances Angus will recognize her clothes? If he does, he’ll either think I’ve taken liberties, which I have, or suspect I don’t have any clothes of my own, which I don’t. I decided Fiona’s jeans weren’t dirty enough to discard and sniffed my pits. Nervous sweat had left me ripe. A clean T-shirt was required.
Mermaids have no need for bathing. Just the thought of a soak in a bath followed by washing and conditioning my hair felt blissful. I ran my fingers through my hair, but they snagged in snarls before even reaching my ears.
The bath water was hot but not scalding. Goldilocks decided it was just right and stepped in. With knees bent, ankles against my butt, I submerged my upper body and let my head sink below the water. My hair spread out, floating on the surface like Medusa.
After scrubbing myself from head to toe, I emerged groggy. Maeve’s bed tempted me to collapse upon it. What if I called and canceled? The abbey bell chimed once. Was it five-thirty or six-thirty? I was incredulous there was no clock in the kitchen or bedrooms. I confronted another one of my habits, relying on my phone to tell me the time.
Reluctantly, I dressed to stave off the chill and surveyed Maeve’s closet for another layer. My attempt to extract the olive-green knit cable caused a jumble of sweaters to tumble. The cardigan lacked a tag, so I assumed it was handmade and rummaged through the ones at my feet, looking for one that was less precious, but someone had knit them all.
I put on my first choice, planning to admit I’d borrowed it if Angus noticed. I could truthfully say that I hadn’t packed warm enough clothes. He didn’t need to know I hadn’t packed any. After folding her sweater collection, I stacked them on the shelf. It looked too orderly; she’d know she hadn’t left it this way. Well, playing Goldilocks involved more than sleeping in the bed. Hopefully, Maeve wouldn’t be a bear about it.
Dressed as a mix of Fiona and Maeve, I called Ian. Again, it only rang and rang. At least the operator told me the time. It was six-thirty-five, so I treated myself to a few pages from The Celtic Twilight.
[1] Lee Fuller and Lynn Fuller, “About Authentic Movement and Witnessing,” July 25, 2022, http://leeandlynnfuller.com/about-authentic-movement-and-witnessing.