

Trees That Leave and Those Who Believe

By C.L.Bunnell

1

The First Day of Summer

The sun rose on a small Irish island as it always does once the spring showers have ended. Tearsdale was this places name, and summer had set in and now the rolling hills that were once brown had become green. The grass was growing, the leaves were blowing, and the breeze was a blessing. And it was because of this; there wasn't a person in the small village of Olean that held a sour mood.

But it wasn't always this way. There was plenty of talk about how long it had been since anyone with toes had had dry feet. Most claimed it had been awhile. But if you asked a handyman who went by the name of Reggie St Clair... he'd rub his chin, look to the left and then croak in a strong Irish accent: Mayyyyyybe two weeks out of the month; for the past three months. No more I tell ya—but no less either!

Suppose he would know because he spent a fair share of his time outdoors. But then his feet were always wet on account of he was constantly sweating, so...

But on this particular morning; there was that breeze and it could be felt as it blew over the pastures, down into the valley where Reggie's shack sat with the shutters and doors opened. He listened as the wind blow through the high grass. The grass the sheep had yet to trim, but that would soon change.

He smiled because he liked the sheep. They were a thankful breed. Hard workers who kept their heads down and minded their business. They weren't much for complaining. Never strayed, and rarely caused a problem... Unlike them wild goats. They ate everything, and some things weren't supposed to be eaten. Things like rope, and wood off the fences. The handle off his shovels. They even ate his shoes and socks. And those socks weren't clean either.

He would wake up to find them in his room. They jumped through the open window and were watching him sleep. Imagine that. And they would help themselves to food. Sometimes they ate all the leftover stew straight out of the iron kettle which was supposed to be for breakfast.

No... those goats weren't thankful at all. And since ole Reggie had an oversized heart; he just couldn't hurt them. Oh, he would yell some. But that doesn't harm anything but feelings and those goats didn't seem to have feelings ... So when this happened—Reggie would simply remind himself that there was a reason God had put them on the earth.

"Tread lightly around em," he would whisper, "for they know not how close they come... to being in the kettle, they have eaten from!"

He would laugh, shake his head and then scold his dog (Brownie) for letting them have the run of the house.

"I know ya like em," he would say, "that ain't no secret. But the least ya could do is wake me. I'll take it from there—I will, but ya have to wake me—ya hear me now?"

Brownie would cock his head to the side, act like he didn't understand, but Reggie was certain he did. Because the goats were the only thing, the dog allowed in the home. No raccoons, no squirrels, no rabbits, no sheep, only the goats.

But it wasn't always this way. No sir, it was a man named: Goat-Man-Gus, who brought them here. Sailed them in on a supply ship about ten years past. Reggie St Clair was there too; working the dock and offering assistance. Of course he hadn't a clue what was to come; because being native to the area, he hadn't seen goats before. And he was young, so he didn't really care. Besides, they looked innocent enough—well, except for the eyes. Those eyes looked a bit devilish, and they seemed a little high strung. Hard to keep in one area—and they were jumpers—sure enough, as a matter of fact, upon exiting the ship, they ran past Reggie. Jumped right over the wood fence and disappeared. Every one of them. Ran straight up into the mountains.

The only one left was ole Goat-Man-Gus, and he swore they would be no trouble. No trouble at all—and he was going after them because he said he always wanted to be a goat herder. But with a name like Goat-Man-Gus, everyone thought he already was a goat herder. But he wasn't. Said it was his dream and he had heard land was cheap on the island. Especially up in the mountains where goats are happiest. Said he was going to live up, higher than the clouds. But it's cold up beyond the clouds. Winters are long and there's always snow. The wind is frigid and there's nothing up there that's friendly. Nothing at all.

Well, Goat-Man-Gus was told this. He was warned. But he was a short fella, real short, with fire red hair, and cream colored skin. Skin that was dotted with freckles. He wore strange clothing and was thought to be a leprechaun and leprechauns always do things that make no sense. So... everyone stepped back and watched as he disappeared up into the mountains. He followed his herd and that was the last he was seen.

The next spring—much to everyone's surprise; the goats (only the goats) came down from the highlands. Some claimed the leprechaun froze to death. Others claimed he freed them once he realized he didn't want to be a herder... As for Reggie, he believed they were always free because nothing could hold them. As for what really happened—well, that's still unknown because Goat-Man-Gus's lair was never found.

For Reggie, the strangest thing about all of this is they only come down during the summer months. Then and for no known reason, in the fall, they disappear.

Do they return to Goat-Man-Gus? He wondered. Does he still live in the hills? Or do they sit on the rocks that are above the clouds and look into heaven? Reggie hadn't a clue, but he was thankful for the break.

Now as for Brownie the dog, that was another story. Brownie loved the goats because they were smart, took no lip from humans and liked to play. They were trouble all right. The bad boys and everyone likes hanging with the troublemakers. They ate well. Took what they wanted, and they were fast. Faster than lightning and seldom did those thrown rocks hit them. Most times, they would even stop and turn around. Look at the pitcher as if they were daring them to take another try. Two for two dollars! They would yell if they could speak. But they couldn't so they just stared with their devilish eyes. But for Brownie, the best part was; those goats hated sheep.

Sheep were the opposite. They weren't wild; far from it. As far as you could get. They grazed always staying close to their master. A human. They had to be fed, had to be coddled. They had to be protected. They even had to have their hair cut and that was about as sorry as an animal can get. No—there would never come a day when the goats would run with the sheep...

But presently—for Reggie who was still in bed—the goats were not a problem because only the sheep were around and they were as sweet as a newborn puppy. And they took good care of the meadows. Shoot—when the herder moved his flock; what was left was a manicured lawn that took on the emerald green colors of the Atlantic, which Reggie could see as he sat up and looked out his bedroom window.

But the sheep hadn't fed yet, and the grass was high. But that was all right because in the breeze, it looked like rolling waves, and the granite shards that rose from the earth looked like sailboats riding the tops of those rollers.

He smiled; there was nothing like a summer morning when the breeze was gentle and blew around in his small, two-room cabin. He could smell the sea and the morning sun warmed his face. The temperature was perfect. Short sleeve weather. Short underwear. Maybe some lard

under the old arm-pits ... Yeah—it was going to be that kind of day. A day like no other. The perfect day.

He remained in bed for a moment because although he always felt blessed; the feeling was rarely this strong. He relaxed and listened to the birds. He allowed his mind to wander, and then, he heard it, the sound of one of them crafty goats. A maaaaaa, sound.

He looked down to see Brownie, the goat loving dog, (a brown, medium size beast) lying on his straw bed, the dogs head didn't move, only his eyes looked up at Reggie. That was a good sign. Must be hearing things, he thought. If that were a goat, Brownie would up and heading out the door.

"Wouldn't ya boy," he said.

Brownie lightly wagged his tail, but his head remained motionless.

"Well," Reggie said as got out up. "There'll be no lyin' about, there's work to be done, Brownie... best we get to it...!"

He reached down to the floor where his clothes were. There were two stacks. One for cold days, the other for warm days. He picked the warm day pile.

He put on a short sleeve, brown, button-up shirt, then his brown socks. He stepped into his brown overalls and secured the brown straps over his shoulders. Last, he put on his brown work boots and then he walked over to the water basin, a bowl he kept by the side window. He liked looking out at the ocean while primping.

He thought of combing his hair, he ran his hand through it... It seemed to be sitting flat. Couldn't get much better than that. He did brush his teeth though; because although he liked the color brown; he didn't think it proper for teeth, although there were plenty he knew who apparently felt differently.

He ate breakfast which was nothing more than bread which he shared with Brownie who had finally gotten out of bed.

"I'll make ya this promise—I will," he said to the beast. "Tonight we'll be eaten fish—on that ya can count on. Now eat yer bread—and be happy ya have it... !"

Brownie waged his tail but the piece of bread remained untouched on the floor. He looked at it, smelled it, then went out the front door, onto the porch.

Reggie followed. He breathed in the air, he held it then let it go. The smell of salt was strong; the wind was teasing the sea. He could hear it. But that was all right because those waves were harmless. Stopped in their tracks by the sheer, cliff, rock wall that marked the end of Reggie's property. At least the north end.

He looked at the sky, it was clear with a few white, puffy clouds. He knew the wind would die down, and the seas would follow. This was important because he had promised Brownie fish, and there would be no fish if the fishermen couldn't get out on the water.

He took a seat in a wooden chair he had built out of fallen branches. He watched the seagulls as they circled over the water. He listened as they cawed, screaming something to the others. What that something was, he could only guess. Most likely "look out!"

Off to the side, he could hear the sheep. They were heading to the pasture. He turned and called to Brownie who slowly stood up and then walked over and sat beside him. He petted his dog while he took a moment to enjoy the day.

"I have ta say," he mumbled, "only those who suffer against a long, hard winter; can truly love a cool, sunny, summer morning... I'll tell ya that—I will. And I believe it to be so...!"

Reggie's eyes began to get heavy. He had things to do, sure, but there were always things to do. And they would get done and once they were done, it would only be a matter of time before they would need to be done again. So, they could wait a spell. At least long enough to take a quick nap.

So with the sound of the sea, the call of the birds. The rustle of the sheep, the cool morning breeze, and Brownie by his side. He drifted off to sleep.

2

Reggie St Clair's Beginnings

Reggie was born with, and still had, fire red hair. His skin used to be white, and still would be if it weren't for the sun. His eyes were brown, the color of his shirt, pants, socks, and shoes.

He was a big man, huge compared to most, and he was strong, much stronger than anyone who lived on the small island that was really a part of Scotland. But even on the mainland, there were few who would challenge him.

But big is big and it takes a big heart to pump blood through the veins of a big man, and there were none with a bigger heart than Reggie's. He always listened to it and he allowed it to guide his decisions. Even if it meant he would have to do something nice for a person, he didn't care for.

God... he has his reasons fer makin' us the way we are, he would say in his Irish accent. Now I don't know what he was thinkin' when he made (enter name here). But it don't mean there were a mistake made... No sir—God... he don't make yer garden variety mistakes. Ooooh--bad decisions—maybe, but no mistakes. You can put yer hat on that—ya can!'

So, on an island where the men farmed, fished, or walked around with sheep, Reggie was a handyman. A carpenter by trade, a Mason, a ditch digger, whatever needed to be done.

And when no one would step up to do it; that was where Reggie stepped in, and he loved it. He loved being appreciated and men weren't appreciated for doing the easy work.

I'll tell ya, he would say, Easy work is easy money and easy money never stuck ta my hands—it don't. And his hands were large and calloused, his palms were like leather. it's a sign of a hard-working man—it tis... One who knows his mitts are fer more than pickin up a spoon!

Reggie finds good in everything. If asked which season of the year he was partial too, he would reply he liked them all equally. He loved the fall when the sun remained above thick dark clouds. He loved when the rain turned to sleet. He claimed it was this time of year when his fair skin could heal from the sun's burn.

He would say he loved the winter when snow covered the rolling hills. He thought they look like white clouds had fallen from the sky and settled in his yard. He loved the blizzards when he and Brownie would stay inside by the fire. He loved the crisp air and ice sickles. He loved sledding and sliding. He loved the taste of warm cider on a cold day.

He loved the spring because the flowers bloomed, the leaves returned to the trees and the grass turned green. Spring was the beginning of new life, and there was nothing more special than that. The smells in the air are so sweet, they make the living come out and look around. Force them to see what they have been given, make them appreciate it; if only for a while.

There was rain, sure there was, but the rain was the reason for the season. Without the rain, there would be no green grass, no flowers, and no floral smells in the air. Rain is the secret to all life and Reggie knew this, he had a garden and he saw what happens during times of long droughts. No... there was nothing wrong with rain, nothing at all...

Then there was summer when the temperature was warm, the wind was gentle, and the seas would calm... This was when the small island was a paradise with fresh fish, lobsters, shrimp... This was the season for festivals which would be held down by the docks and the residents would gather and enjoy the festivities.

No... Reggie would say, There's no special season... Each of em work together to make them all special—they do—and that's a fact...!

So on this particular morning, on the first day of summer, as he woke up from his nap he once again petted Brownie the dog. He thought back to what his mother had told him when he was a child: 'Only a fool looks past the good to dwell on the bad--laddy... Don't be a fool son...!'

Reggie was no fool.

He had spent his entire life on the small island. It was the only life he knew and although it was simple, he found it rewarding...

I'll tell ya... he would say, Let those who cast stones live where there are a plenty. As for I... give me the smell of the sea and the green of the weeds. That'll do me fine—it will!

Truth is, he would guess most around him felt the same way. Few left for good. The mainland was a cold place, full of strangers who had no, known names. A person could walk down the streets for days and never hear a "hello Reggie," or "how's Brownie." Or a "ya see them goats yet?" or even a "shillin' fer some weedin'!"

No... the mainland was no place for Olean villagers. It was a place for hardened people who liked a world that was somewhere between this one, and the one below it.

Reggie wanted nothing to do what that world.

He had never seen it, the mainland; but he had heard stories and he believed them because mainlanders had visited the island. Most were fishermen who had ships instead of boats. They worked the deep waters, beyond the reef; out where the sea dragons slither along the surface like vipers in the tall grass. These creatures are massive in size. As long as the trees are high. And they wait for seamen to wonder a little too far from land. They feed on the foolish, and these men are foolish because the sea maps show the serpents clearly. They warn sailors to stay away, but they don't. So when one is seen, and if they can. They will come ashore until the beasts slither out for better pickings.

They do this even though they are not welcomed. They don't fit in because they are rough to the eyes. They use foul language. And they smell of something that's not fish. No... they don't fit in at all and they stay to themselves because trouble comes easy on shore just as it does on the sea. They know this and so they will leave as soon as the way is clear.

But lately, there were others. People who showed up who weren't big ship fishermen. People who were able to sort of blend in. Reggie watched them closely. Kept tabs on what came with them. Made sure there were no more goats.

Reggie, he looked down at Brownie, who was sitting while taking the pets. His eyes were closed, his ears were pulled back and Reggie was sure he was the sweetest dog there ever was, and by far the best friend he had ever had. "You're a fine dog, that ya are," he said. "Can't say I like ya runnin' with them goats. But, suppose nothin' can be done 'bout it, so..."

3

Brownie the Dog

Brownie was born with ears that were the size of a retriever. They were wide and long and should have hung down the side of his face. But they didn't. Instead, they stood up like wolves ears... but do to the size they could only make it an inch before they flopped over. When this happened, there wasn't a particular way they went. Could be forward, could be backward.

To see Brownie run was a sight; Reggie would swear his ears were working harder than his legs. The dog would start out all right, but as he picked up speed, he would open his mouth and his tongue would flop out the side. Then, his ears would start bouncing forward and back eventually covering his eyes while in the forward cycle. More than once, Brownie had come close to hitting solid objects... You know, trees and such.

Reggie was sure the reason for this was half the time the dog couldn't see. All the same, each evening he would throw sticks (only in open and un-obstructed areas) and Brownie would fetch them. More times than not, he wouldn't give them back and Reggie would have to chase him. But that was all right, Reggie believed that good company was a lot like eating shellfish. It may take a lot of work, and probably not worth it, but maybe it will be. And usually it was.

Brownie wasn't bred to be any particular type of dog. His mother wasn't a great hound with a powerful nose. His father wasn't the fastest runner, and neither boasted a high IQ. Truth is... Brownie was a mutt no different than all the dogs on the island. But that didn't stop Brownie's original owner (a man named Danny Green) from having great expectations.

Danny was a sheepherder, a neighbor of Reggie's and it was Danny's sheep who manicured Reggie's pasture. So a few years back, when Danny showed up with a little puppy, Reggie couldn't help but take notice. He also couldn't help but get a kick out of watching Danny try and train Brownie.

As the months passed, and Brownie grew, it became apparent that the dog didn't care for sheep. Reggie would describe it as Brownie saw the animals as a herd of cats, all meowing, and hissing. Purring and prancing. All wanting attention that the dog wasn't willing to give. And he wasn't going to run around pampering them. To make things more interesting; the dog didn't care what his master (Danny Green) wanted or commanded. No meant no! And it wasn't Danny Green who was saying no, it was Brownie.

Now, at the time, Reggie suspected the reason for Brownie's no-budge-stance on this was because of those ears that covered his eyes. He thought Brownie was embarrassed and why wouldn't he be? How can you be expected to herd when you can't see? And Reggie did tell this to Danny—but Danny wasn't one to listen to reason. Danny wasn't one to listen to anyone. Danny knew it all and hated anyone who thought otherwise... Actually, Danny Green was a jerk who seemed to hate everyone and now—that included Brownie.

Reggie, fearing for the dog, kept an eye on the situation, and what he found was that despite the training—by the time Brownie was a year old, the sheep weren't the only things he didn't like. It seemed the hatred between dog and master was now mutual. This angered Danny even more because he made a solid deal for the dog: A pound of wool for the best pup in the litter... Brownie was that pup.

Reggie found this comical; Brownie obviously could care less what angered the sheepherder. Brownie was his own dog, he followed his own path and no ragtag, wool-weasel was going to change him... No sir...! And Brownie knew the back of Danny's hand. Knew it well; but that mattered none, because at the end of the day, when the training was over; it was Danny who caved.

Danny Green was losing the war.

So time passed, and the day arrived when the final battle was fought... It was a nice day. A summer day. The skies were clear, the breeze was cool and Reggie was in the yard splitting some wood when he heard Ole Danny Green giving it to Brownie. "Chase—sit—right flank," he screamed. "—left flank... NO!... LEFT FLANK! LEEEEEFT FLAAAAAAAANK...!"

Then there was a moment of silence, but it didn't last. Danny began yelling again only this time, he wasn't calling out commands. He was calling the dog's name. "Brownie—brownie—BROWWWWWNIIIEEEEEEEEE!"

Reggie stopped swinging his axe. He looked over to see Brownie was heading towards him. He wasn't running, he wasn't scared, as a fact—one would think the dog was deaf. He just strolled along. Trotting like a horse. Over the hills with no particular place to go and in no hurry to get there...

The dog then walked up the steps and onto Reggie's porch, through the open door and inside his shack where he disappeared.

Reggie found this odd, Brownie had never been in his home before, and up to this point; he had paid no attention to the dog.

Danny Green, he was close behind, stomping his feet and fuming. "Where is the cursed beast!" he croaked.

Reggie pointed inside the shack and like Brownie; Danny disappeared through the open doorway.

It wasn't long; there was some yelling, then the ear-piercing yelp of a dog in pain.

Reggie took off running for the door, but when he was close; he saw Danny Green come into view. He was holding his arm, and blood was dripping down onto the floor.

"The rabid beast bit me," Danny said. "He's full of the fever, he is!" A surprised look was on his face and Reggie figured he had that same look because Old Danny Green was about to cry and that wasn't something a man often did.

"Ya must a hurt him," Reggie said. "Ya know a dog'll protect itself. I mean if it has too!"

"Only hit him once," Danny croaked. "Was no call for bitin'!"

"Suppose ya know, that was enough!" Reggie snapped back.

"Let me have yer axe, I'll be killing the beast, I will!"

"You'll be doin' no killin', Danny Green! You can leave him here. No need to go further ... Ya can see it won't turn out well for ya!"

Now there are many stories about what happened after those words were spoken. All formed by the imaginations of locals who knew no facts. Neither Danny nor Reggie would speak of it... But what is known is that in the end, Danny was allowed to continue grazing his sheep on Reggie's land, and Brownie remained with Reggie.

Now all should have been forgiven, and it was as far as Reggie was concerned. You see, as was already said: Reggie had a big heart and would show compassion, but only to a point. To go beyond that was a mistake. One made by few on the small island of Tearsdale.

Danny Green, he was tall, thin man, with long red hair. He wore the traditional herder garb, from the robe down to the staff in his hand. He was pale skinned, although weathered from the sun. Freckles that once dotted him have now run together to make a face of many colors.

He walks hunched over, with a curved spine. Rounded, with a hump that rose up to almost meet the back of his head. When he wasn't within hearing range, those who spoke of him would say he had the face of a rat and the body of ghoul. He was the Angel of death when his hood was over his head. The Grim Reaper, and there were a lot of locals that thought they would do well to be rid of Old Danny Green.

He's a witch! They would say. Him and that wife of his! Send them to the mainland with the rest of the freaks. That's where they belong, I tell ya!

But no one dared say that to Danny Green's face; nor to the face of his witchcraft, practicing, life mate either. The truth was, they were feared because most genuinely believed that he was the Reaper and the wife was a witch and up to this point, neither of the two had done anything to change that belief.

But Reggie didn't buy it. Danny was a mean man, but he held no powers beyond a sharp tongue. And his wife looked different, but that was because she came from some far away island. And she did grow strange spices, but she used them for cooking...

At least he was pretty sure she did.
4

Working Away On This Pretty Day

Around a quarter of a mile from the shack where Reggie and brownie lived, there was the ocean. But the land didn't taper down to sea level; there was no sand, no beach. Instead, the green pasture suddenly ended somewhere close to thirty feet above the high tide, water line.

There was a cliff that ran down to the water's surface. A rock wall where Reggie would sit during the pleasant evenings and watch as the sun bathed in the ocean before it totally disappeared. It was one of his favorite spots on the island.

When he looked out from the cliff; Reggie had a panoramic view of the sea. He watched the porpoise who surfaced to breathe. The whales as they rode the currents. He watched the seagulls as they hovered above and dove to feed. He watched the local fishermen in their small wooden boats. Propelled by two oars, held by two hands. The Captain's hands, unlike those on the sea ships. They used sails and the wind wasn't meant for sails. It wasn't natural. The wind was meant to cool those on land and those sails were blocking it, and that's not right ...

But anyway, the most impressive display while on the cliff was right before storms when the winds were high. So high, even those wind stealing, sea ships ran for cover... When this happened; the water would dance across the surface. Forming waves that seemed to rise all the way to the clouds, and drop all the way to the ocean floor.

Reggie was safe up on the cliff, at least for now, but man he could feel it. The strength, the power. The sound as the water crushed up against the rock wall. As it exploded into a million droplets, only to return to the sea. And she would return. Oh yes. She will hit this wall until there is no wall remaining and she doesn't care if it takes a million years. She has all the time in the world. And nothing is safe, nothing in her path, nothing that rides on her surface. Certainly not those wooden sea ships that steal the air. No—the ocean floor is littered with those remains...

But then, she would calm, her temper tantrum would become a silent sleep. The surface turns to glass, the visibility becomes as clear as the air above it. This is when the local fishermen venture offshore. They will work the reefs and later; they will display their catch on wooden tables, placed along the protected cove where they beach their boats.

The merchants and locals will then walk from table to table. They will either trade something for, or purchase the seafood.

This area—this cove—is where the town of Olean began. It's the heart of the small island, and although other trades have come along as the years have passed. The sea will always be the reason people remain.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Back on the porch, where Reggie is petting Brownie, on the first day of summer. The sun has already risen an inch above the high ground. Reggie, disgusted, looks down at Brownie and says. "Ya knew it, didn't ya? Here I'm supposed to be at the church. Just what kind a groundskeeper is late for church? God's gonna strike me dead I tell ya and ya won't have no one ta blame but yerself."

The dog wagged its tail then was still again.

"Oh I see," Reggie said. "Come ta that yer gonna go live with them crafty goats, ain't ya?"

Again, Brownie wagged his tail a couple of times then watched as Reggie walked down a beaten path that led to the church.

The church (which was where Reggie was currently employed) was so close, the steeple could be seen from the porch at his shack. All be it, the church was on higher ground.

But the bell could also be heard and they didn't just ring when it was time for service. They rang when it was time to come to work as well. And as he made his way up the trail, the bell started ringing.

Reggie, he felt bad for oversleeping, but the problem was only a problem during the warmer months. The reason for this wasn't because Reggie was an early riser during the cold and cloudy months; he wasn't. No one was, including the Priest so everyone slept in... no problem.

"Sorry fer the time," Reggie said as he walked up to the Priest, who was coming out from the bell tower.

"Don't ya worry," Father Stacy McConnell said. "You're not working for an hourly wage. Cut grass will grow again, walls will always need paintin'."

"Then why was ya ringing the bell?"

"What makes ya think I was ringing the bell?"

"I heard it."

"Did ya now?"

"I did."

"Then suppose it's best ta be gettin' on with it then."

Father Stacy McConnell was British although he wouldn't admit it. He relocated to the island after becoming a priest. He found the small village better suited his style. England was far too political, far too proper and he said so more times than Reggie could count.

McConnell was a man in his early forties. He was tall and thin. Medium build, with a short, cut, peppered hair. He had emerald colored eyes which most of the woman saw as hypnotic. His voice was a baritone, strong and influential; he was a good speaker and over time, he had adopted an Irish accent. An attempt at erasing his English background. Something only he cared about.

He was a good man, a good Priest and most of all... he knew the proper length a church service should last. That moment when the people begin to lose interest along with the feeling in their backsides. And this wasn't easy because Father McConnell loved to hear himself speak. But he knew that enough is enough, after that it's too much. So when the time came, he would set his flock free. Sometimes without even finishing his sentence.

"So," Reggie asked. "What ya want me to do?"

"Well... Let me see now," McConnell said. "You could cut the bushes that'd be nice. Or you could paint the door, she could use some sealin'. Or you could join me for a cup of tea... suppose it's up to you."

"I'd prefer the tea," Reggie said. "That is if ya want some company."

"Then... tea it is."

They went inside the modest one-room church. The walls were made of rocks, the floor wood; as was the ceiling and the beams that held it. Pews lined both sides with the walkway splitting the center. A stage with a pulpit stood in the front.

It was modest in every way, but still held a certain charm that made those who were members proud. According to Father Stacy: that's all that matters.

Reggie followed the Priest to the front of the church where there was a pot full of tea. The Priest poured two cups, then handed one to Reggie. They took a seat on the front pew. They spoke of small things. Things that needed repair. Once he was finished, Reggie excused himself and started on his chores, which first was painting the door. After that, he went outside and trimmed the bushes. He rounded them, making them look like big, green, lolly pops. He knew the children would like that. Some may even eat a leaf or two before realizing they had been fooled. He smiled as he stood back and studied his creation.

At the end of the day, Father McConnell walked up and placed two coins in his hand.

"Thank you, Father," Reggie said.

"You come back tomorrow," he replied, "We have some diggin' to do. Need more rocks if were to build the new room."

"Ya can count on me-- father," Reggie said. "And don't ya fret, I won't be late."

Father McConnell ignored this; he looked at the freshly painted door. He smiled as he nodded his head in approval and then headed home.

Reggie hung around until the holy man was no longer in sight, only then did he go home. He wasn't sure why he did this. Perhaps it was because Father McConnell may remember something he wanted Reggie to do. If Reggie wasn't there, he wouldn't be able to tell him.

That wouldn't be good because he may forget by the time the next workday begins. Then, the people may have to see untrimmed shrubs or unpainted doors. The Church could lose its charm and that's all that matters. Then, the people would be let down, and Reggie didn't want to let people down. Next to dealing with those crafty goats, it was thing that disturbed him the most.

So he waited and he watched but Father McConnell never looked back so he headed home because although the work day had ended. There were still things to do.

5

The Cove

The Island of Tearsdale had no large livestock living on it because of its small size. But the area was rich in sheep, pigs, chickens, ducks, pheasants and rabbits. Farmers grew corn, wheat, all types of vegetables. And when it came time to trade or sell... and as was already mentioned. All the vendors headed for the cove where the fisherman had their tables.

The cove was located in the historic district of Olean... And it was historic because it was believed that it was established sometime after the birth of Christ. Now I know that's a range that covers a lot of years. But there wasn't a person alive that could say they were the first to set foot on the island so no one really knew.

But there were rumors. Stories really. That was passed down from mouth to ear and over the years, it seemed, the truth may have gotten mixed up a tad. You see it is believed that at one time, Olean had a fishing hook, made of emerald flint, that was stuck in a stone and only the touch of the greatest of all fishermen could remove it.

And once this King of the Sea, retrieved what was his and only his. The ocean would be pleased and fish would swim ashore, easy for the plucking, and they would do this even during the coldest of months.

This drew people from the mainland where each tried to pull the hook and each failed. But they knew the king would one day come. So they remained and then. One day. Just like that, they awoke to find the hook was gone.

Their prayer's had been answered.

Now, that rock still sits along the shoreline and there is a slot where a hook could have been. But the fish don't swim ashore, in fact, they have to be taken by force and that isn't easy and no one can explain what happened to the hook, or why this is. But they believe the tale all the same and probably always will.

As for me, I'm more partial to the story where the islands origin was that of a fishing village. Where those who work the waters are made of flesh and blood; with hands that are callused. And during the cold months, it's not the king of the sea that brings the fish to shore. It's those callused hands that have been bitten by frost. And if there was any truth to the fable. And if the king of fishermen did pull that hook from the stone. It would be my guess he sold it on the mainland to the highest bidder; because you can ask any of the men who work out of the cove, or the sea dragons that swim the deep water outside the reef, or even the wind stealers who sail on the sea ships... They will tell you—that ocean is far from pleased.

Unlike Reggie's property... the town of Olean sat on the shallow end of a horseshoe, shaped cove. If one were to look down upon it from a great height, they would see it was shaped a lot like the open claw of a stone crab. The land bowed around the cove like the arms of an overbearing mother. It was her arms that kept out the violent waves that meant to do her children harm.

The land leading to the cove tapered down to sea level. There was a sandy beach where the fishermen pulled their vessels up onto shore. Then, there was a road that was made from carefully placed rocks. After that, stood the old stone and mortar buildings where stores were located. Simple structures with flat roofs that were as old as the King of Fishermen would be if he existed.

Reggie found himself walking down the cobblestone road that separated the cove from the shops. On his head was a hat, a green Scottish Beret. He pulled it to the right because Mrs. Carver, a villager who made him the hat; said to wear it like that if he wanted to be handsome. Reggie wasn't sure what handsome meant, but he figured it had something to do with hands and since he worked with his hands he thought it best to take no chances.

So with brown pants, a brown shirt and a green hat; Reggie walked through the crowd, and it was crowded because the fishermen had returned from the sea and their daily catch was on the tables. There were snappers, groupers. There were oysters and lobsters. Shrimp and conk. There were even some sponges that were placed out to dry.

It was time to barter, to socialize and it was such a nice afternoon to do so.

Reggie, he greeted the ladies, and there were many ladies. Tall ones, short ones. There were mothers, grandmothers. There were single girls, married women. Some were pretty, some not so much. But the one thing they all had in common... they all smiled and said hello. They asked about Brownie and warned of the arrival of the crafty goats.

Hello, Reggie.

Hello back to ya, how would ya be this evening?

Just fine... As right as the singing sparrow I found outside my window this morning.

Aaaah... The sparrow is a fine bird, it is—a fine one indeed.

Yes... They have a lovely voice, don't they.

That they do... a fine voice, much better than the crow that gets me up in da mornin'. Reggie would say then he would smile and walk on.

He did this as he passed the tables, coming to a stop when he came up to Grandel Stewart's booth.

Grandel was a short man, the same age as Reggie, which makes sense because they grew up together. Born the son of a fisherman, Grandel spent most of his childhood on the water and that hasn't changed much. The men say he's as close to a fish as a person can get. The women, all they want to talk about is his long, flowing, blonde hair.

Long hair is common among fishermen. It's the hair that protects the back of the neck from the sun. But most on the water don't have hair to die for.

The women. They will circle around him before and after church service. Ask if they can run their hands through it. All wanting to know how he did it. How he kept it so straight, golden and perfect with no split ends.

I don't brush it, he would reply, and that was a fact... Grandel didn't brush anything. Not his hair or his teeth.

When he painted his boat, he used a rag. When he swept off his table, he used his hand. Grandel had no use for brushes. He hated them for reasons that escaped Reggie. And sometimes, it kind of grossed him out.

We all have good and bad in us... Reggie would think. If ya can deal with the bad, then ya found a friend...!

And Grandel is just that. A good friend. But Reggie does worry about him. His face is leathered from the sun, wrinkled and he looks older than he is. He has few teeth so when it came to the ladies—his hair was really the only thing he has going for him. Good thing he don't care. Or at least he doesn't seem to.

He's thin, with Popeye type arms that are strong. Strong enough to drag the largest of fish into the boat. He can hold his breath longer than a whale. And it's said that if the fish doesn't bite what was on his hook—he will dive down, grab them by the lips, and drag them to the surface.

More than once, Reggie has seen his hands cut up and bleeding from where he was bitten. Yet, if asked if he was all right, he would say something like: Take a look on the table... do ya see me lying there...? Then he would Smile and show you the fish that caused his pain.

He cares nothing about hygiene, smell, or how clean his clothes were. If someone complains he set them true—stating: I'm sure the fish don't care none if the man who hooked 'em smells pretty! Or: When you're skinnin' that fish, ya go on and ask yer wife if she can smell the fish, er the man that caught it.

Reggie liked the second one best.

But now... it was summer, the ocean waters are warm so his body odor has been diluted; Grandel was spending a lot of his time in the water, diving for fish. This was as close to a bath as he would get.

So, now that Reggie was at Grandel's booth, he stood in the line that had formed. Proof that Grandel had himself a good day.

He waited patiently until it was his turn. He stepped forward. Grandel was watching him, there was a smile on his face.

"How many fish will this get?" Reggie asked as he showed the two coins he received from the Priest.

"Lobsters," Grandel replied, "one per coin."

"Lobster," Reggie said. "Again...?"

"I need ta get rid of em," Grandel said. "No one wants em, that's the only reason you get two."

"Why...?"

"Why what?"

"Why wouldn't they be wanted?"

"Aaaah, they say they eat the dead. Sea roaches is what they're callin' 'em. Have ta say, they may have a point."

"So, we don't eat live things?"

"True enough, but they want to eat the hunter, not eat what the hunter has left behind."

"Bit spoiled ain't they." Reggie said.

"Suppose they are."

Reggie kicked dirt from the ground, "Well—I hope ya don't take this wrong. I mean, they taste all right, and I don't have no problem eatin' 'em. But I promised ole Brownie fish... he ain't gonna be wantin' a lobster. Not again—I'm sure of it!"

"Then you need to ask Father McConnell to pay you a little more than two pieces of flint rock for your labor!"

"Aaaah come on now. That ain't rock, ya know it ain't."

"Yeah, well try and spend it elsewhere and see what ya get."

"So ya sayin' Father McConnell has pulled one over on me, then?"

"I'm sayin' what ya got there is good for startin' a fire. Not much else," Grandel said, then he shook his head, "Here." he handed Reggie a good size snapper. "This is for Brownie, not you—this is for you." He picked up a small lobster and tossed it to him.

Reggie fumbled around a little but caught it."It ain't easy bein' yer friend," he said. "But I'll tell Brownie of your charity, ya got my word."

"See that ya do. I'll be askin' next time I see em. I will—ya can count on it!"

6

We All Have To Eat

The sun was low in the sky as Reggie walked down the cobblestone street. The smell of salt and fish filled the air as it always did when the tide was high and the smelly barnacles were under water.

The moon had just risen up from under the seas surface, it was full and glowing. Reggie looked to his left where he saw the ocean was showing a strong tide. It was so high the incoming waves washed the sand out from under the feet of the vendors who have remained at their stations. If they don't move, soon they will have sunk down to their knees.

Reggie smiled; he felt the warm feeling of simplicity. It was all around him here. The buildings, the small wooden boats. The vender's tables. It was the same now as it was in the beginning. But that would soon change because up ahead, not more than a hundred feet, was the new part of town.

Once there, he took a right, following the freshly laid cobblestone street. The new village ran away from the ocean. The reason for this was there was an unlimited amount of land available so bigger stores could be built. Bigger homes. Bigger everything.

But bigger isn't always better, and Reggie found this part of the village to be cold and would only shop there when he had too. Most felt as he did, the stones that made up the road may be newer, the building's fancier. But when it came time for festivals, they were always held along the shore in the old part of town. And he was certain this would never change.

Up ahead, he saw a familiar face walking towards him. A pretty woman whose name was Glenda Ramsy. She smiled as she approached, then turned around and walk with him for a while.

"High Reggie," she said.

"High Miss. Ramsy," he replied.

"I see you have your dinner set for this evening.... very nice." She pointed at the fish and lobster in his hands.

"I'd ask ya to join us—Miss. Ramsy... but Grandel made it clear, the fish was for Brownie—and only Brownie."

She laughed. "I see—so what are you going to eat?"

He held up the little lobster.

"Oh my. Maybe you could talk Brownie into sharing?"

"Doubt that," Reggie said, "Brownie ain't much for sharin'. But all is well, I figure I'll carve off the meat, give it to him. Then cook the bones for myself. Brownie ain't much for fish bones."

"Bones taste good do they?" She asked.

"If you get em hot enough ta turn 'em brittle... Suppose I've had worse."

"What about the shell on the lobster, you eat that as well?"

Reggie thought a moment. "Ain't tried it, but I will and let ya know how it goes down."

"Hum," She said as she chuckled. "Suppose I'll leave you to it, then." She turned and went her original direction which was towards the sea.

"I'll be talkin' at ya later, Miss. Ramsy," Reggie said.

Glenda and Reggie met when they were very young. Ten years old and Glenda was a guarded, frail little girl who was frightened of most things. Reggie was no exception, but since her father owned the farm where Reggie's father had worked, they were forced to spend time together. Enough to where she became comfortable around him.

As they grew, Reggie would become a large, homely man, who was said to look a lot like his father and Glenda became a beautiful woman. A woman with deep blue eyes which was very rare among those with red hair and Lily white skin. So it came as no surprise that she was extremely popular among the eligible young men... As for Reggie... she was thought to be way out of his league and no one was more aware of this than him.

But friends are just that, and as long as you are friends and nothing more; there's no reason a homely man can't hang out with a beautiful woman. So they did and no one said a word because Reggie was unattractive and unattractive men don't worry about becoming what they already are. Unappealing. So when her other suitors became jealous, they knew it was wise to hold their tongues. And so they did. Because the two were just friends and nothing more and that hasn't changed.

\-------------------------------------------------

Brownie ran out to greet Reggie as he walked up to the shack. Those ears once again blinded the beast; he ran right into Reggie's legs. Surprised, he backed off a moment, then jumped up and sniffed the leaves that were wrapped around the seafood.

"Ya have ta wait 'till it's cooked!" Reggie said as he lifted the food higher in the air. Brownie, smiled, or at least seemed to, then he walked alongside his master.

Reggie had made a fire pit which he used during the summer when he didn't want to heat the home. He filled it with some wood and a couple pieces of lighter knot. He then reached into his pocket thinking he would see if those coins the Priest had given him were really flint.

Then he remembered he gave them to Grandel for the food.

But he did have some flint which he kept on a table located beside the pit. So it wasn't long, he had a healthy blaze burning. Not to large but enough to cook the food leaving little waste. Reggie didn't like to waste wood. It took forever to grow, it was hard to cut, hard to split, hard to keep the bugs from eating it, and took time to dry out. It was plentiful during the summer when it wasn't needed, and hard to find in the winter when it was.

No—there weren't many who wasted wood. Not on the island anyway.

Once there was a bed of hot coals, he placed a cast-iron skillet directly on the coal's surface, then, he cleaned the fish. He threw a spoonful of lard into the pan and once it was melted, he was ready to cook.

It was a pleasant evening; the sun had set, the air had cooled. The breeze had died down, but only recently... and in the distance, Reggie could hear the ocean waves as they bumped into the rock cliff. No harm would be done; the waves weren't much more than three foot high and were rollers. The kind even the smallest of crafts could float upon.

He placed the fish into the pan, followed by the lobster. He then took a seat along the edge of the fire pit and with Brownie at his side; he concentrated on the food. Sea critters were easy to overcook and Brownie didn't like his fish well done... This was a fact.

Once supper was ready, he pulled the meat from the bones, making sure it was clean and wouldn't choke the dog... And as promised, Brownie had his meal, and as expected, he didn't share.

Reggie, he cooked the bones good, then ate them along with the lobster. He then distanced himself from the pit where it was darker and cooler. He and Brownie sat under the stars and looked up at the full moon, it was massive in size. Bigger than he had ever seen and he wondered why this was.

It's getting closer, he thought and it certainly looked that way. The shadows on its surface appeared to be lakes. Or perhaps oceans. But he knew that was impossible because the moon was round and water will not sit on a round surface. It would roll off; it would drip down from the heavens and onto Earth like rain. But it wasn't so it couldn't be water.

So that question was answered and he was happy with it, but the moon's proximity to Earth wasn't. Why was it falling? He wondered. What holds it up there? Is it going to land on Tearsdale? And if it does, what are we going to do with it? No—if I had to bet. I would say it will drop back into the ocean where it will sink to the bottom of the deepest part and never rise again. And that would be all right with me because nothing good comes with a full moon. The tide rises too high and drops to low. The animals get restless because they don't know it's night. And strange things are known to happen. Maybe that's 'cause with all that moonlight, we can see it, not sure, but don't matter. Strange things happen when the moon's full.

Unlike Brownie, Reggie wasn't sitting with a full stomach that made him sleepy. He hadn't eaten a snapper fish, he only had the bones and a small lobster. One that had tail meat that wasn't much larger than his thumb. Hardly a meal fit for a man the size of Reggie.

So since he couldn't sleep, he daydreamed while he lay on the soft grass with his hands behind his head. He looked at the night sky, the stars... But that moon always pulled his attention right back to it. Now—his mind's eye saw tracks on the surface, like something was up there. Something was walking around on it. But that wasn't possible.

But it would be possible when it's underwater, he thought. And it's underwater all day long... Ya know, I'll just bet it's those lobsters. Like Grandel said: they're scavengers. Probably already picked the moon clean. Left nothing but sand, just like the bottom of the ocean.

And why not, they can't touch the sun, the sun's strong and the water won't put out its fire. Those lobsters would be cooked if they messed with it. But the moon, it's not very hard to touch at all. They could climb all over it if they wanted. Just go on and help themselves... Pitiful. No wonder it's coming closer to the island. Probably wants to be on dry land for a while. Get some peace...

Just then, something caught Reggie's attention... It started out a low hum. Then slowly became louder. It was a sound he had never heard before. A sound that quickly brought Brownie out of his sleep. Reggie looked at him; his ears were standing as best they could. His head cocked to one side. He was looking at the moon; so Reggie did the same.

The sound was coming from that direction. Reggie was scared and that wasn't normal. But the sound was getting louder and whatever it was, it was huge. What could it be, and what could it want? He thought but he feared he knew the answer. It was a huge lobster, a moonwalker. A scavenger that wanted to do to him what he had just done to its kin. He wanted to eat him.

And what could be done? Those claws would be massive and so powerful a human stood no chance and he thought this ironic because that little lobster he ate stood no chance. Did it? And even though he had never seen such a massive shellfish, that didn't mean they didn't exist. Because out there where the moon spends its days. The water is deep and not even the sea dragons dare wonder that far.

I could run, he thought. I should run. But he didn't because it was already too late. It was beginning to black out the moon. That meant it wasn't walking, but flying and lobster don't have wings. And that hum sound, it was ear piercing, so much so he covered them with his hands. Brownie, he began to bark.

Reggie looked at the moon, he could see it. A jet black silhouette that moved with incredible speed. It was gliding, twisting, with wings that spanned the distance of the moon. Turning the sky black. As black as the ink from a frightened squid. But this was only for a moment. Soon, he could see the body tapering, allowing some moon to shine. Continuing until the tail had passed, but that tail was passing the moon. It had yet to reach Reggie and Brownie.

As it approached, Reggie thought of a school of baitfish. Thousands of anchovies all swimming close together to form something huge. Something that appears to be powerful. So much so, a Shark would swim on by. Leave them be.

They're here now. So close Reggie closed his eyes and exhaled, flattening his body on the ground. He turned his head to the side. Was it enough? He hadn't a clue so he held his breath and braced for impact. Braced for the bad.

Then, he could feel them, something grazing his face, his arms. He could feel air, hear the flapping of wings, thousand of wings. He could hear the squealing sounds, now canceling out the barks of Brownie. It was a flurry of activity that took seconds, but seemed to last an eternity.

Then, and suddenly, they were gone and all fell silent.

Reggie opened his eyes and looked around. Brownie was jumping in the air while biting at nothing. Confused, he thought they were still here. Reggie feared he was deaf or blind, maybe both.

"Brownie!" he screamed and the dog slowed some. Then some more. Then came to a stop. He shook his head and stumbled. Then he looked at his master.

The moon had returned, the glow once again lit up the sky. Reggie took a deep breath, then exhaled. Brownie was now sitting. His ears were back and he was staring at the moon. Much to Reggie's surprise, he lifted his head and began to howl. Brownie had never howled before. Over and over; calling out to the moon: owooooooo! Owooooooooooooo...! His head started down low, then he lifted it as the sound continued on.

But it wasn't something done out of joy, or happiness. It was something else and it was the saddest thing Reggie had ever seen. He got up, went to his dog. He sat back down and pulled Brownie up close. He petted him, told him it was all right. But Brownie continued to search the moonlit sky, whimpering well past the midnight hour.

Reggie stayed up with him for as long as he could. But his eyes began to burn, his mind began to drift. He allowed himself to lie down on the grass. Telling himself he would only rest for a moment. And it felt as though that was all he did; but when he lifted those lids, the morning sun was shining and Brownie was gone...

He sat upright, brushed the grass off his shirt, then looked around. He wondered if the goats had shown up; if Brownie had run off with them. Those Goats were a bad influence. They caused trouble and when Brownie was with them, and even if the dog didn't do anything, Reggie would have to fix the damage ... Like the time Mr. Anthony's asparagus patch was eaten. Reggie found it hard to believe that his dog had suddenly taken a liking to asparagus, but that didn't matter. Mr. Anthony wanted his vegetables and since they have to be grown, that was what Reggie did. He grew a two of rows of asparagus and when they were ready for eating, he handed them over to Mr. Anthony.

But he soon canceled out the goats because no tracks were found. So he went into the house, Brownie wasn't there. He walked around the yard, calling out his name... nothing. He looked towards town; over the rolling pastures that dropped to the sea. He could see a long way... But he saw no Brownie.

In the distance, he heard the sound of sheep as they called out. This sound was so familiar, most times Reggie wouldn't notice it... But this time, he did. This time, his mind's eye showed him the man who was herding those sheep. He saw the rat-face of that no good, Danny Green.

It was no secret; Danny had never forgiven Brownie for giving him the teeth instead of taking a beating. Danny had made that known on many occasions. Stating things like: You'd be wise ta keep yer distance. Or: The Mutt most likely gave me the sickness—he has. Just waitin' I am, watin' for the death bell ta ring and you'll be answerin' fer it Reggie St Clair. You and that mutt a yers!

But Reggie didn't believe that for a moment. If Brownie was able to give the sickness, then rat-faced Danny Green would have been long dead and buried. No—Danny Green wasn't worried about the sickness, he's just angry is all. Angry and bitter and he held a grudge longer than anyone Reggie had ever known.

So just to ease his mind, Reggie walked towards the sounds of the sheep, over the higher hills that had them hidden. As soon as he could see them, he saw him—rat-faced Danny Green. The herder looked like he always did; wearing his robe and carrying his staff... His hood was up and covering his face. No doubt, the man was indeed The Grim Reaper, or if not, then his lesser known twin brother. But that didn't matter because Brownie was nowhere in sight.

Then, and as if he held some kind of magical power; Ole Danny Green waved his staff in the air and all the sheep surrounded him then came to a stop. They dropped their heads and began to graze.

Reggie couldn't help but smile; those sheep were proper animals, good animals. The island could use more like them. It was a shame they had to live with the likes of Danny Green. But the fact that they did; well, it just showed their decency. Not like the goats; they wouldn't be so easy. Reggie would love to see Old Danny Green out there with a bunch of goats. See them gather around their master. Watch as they ate the shoes off his feet, then the robe off his back and when there was nothing left but a shriveled up naked man; then, maybe they would eat some grass.

Yeah, Reggie thought, I wouldn't put it past him. The likes of him are like poison ivy. Ain't gonna do no good, but it's here all the same. He decided it was time to face ole Danny Green, so he walked down the hill. Danny turned just in time to see the big man heading towards him. He smiled as Reggie gently pushed his way through the feeding sheep. The smile was unseen due to the hood that kept his face in the shadows.

"Sorry," he could hear Reggie saying to the sheep. "Excuse me," "Just passin' through."

This went on until Danny and Reggie were face to face.

Danny was the first to speak. "Ya know them sheep don't know what yer sayin'...

"Ya don't know that," Reggie replied. "Not fer certain."

"Ya may be right, but I wouldn't put my money on it!"

"Don't ya be playin' with my feelin's, Danny Green. Ya know why I'm here—ya do...!"

"Can't say I do?"

"I can't find Brownie and I'm thinkin' ya knew where he is!" Reggie asked trying to remain calm.

"Well, ya be thinkin' wrong!" Danny pulled the hood off his head.

"Ya sure now, are ya...? Remember, I can tell if you're lyin'!" Reggie looked into his eyes, his lips were thin, his expression was one of full focus.

"That's why I took off my hood, so ya know I'm tellin' true—ya can see it, can't ya!"

"You up last night--where ya?"

"Some."

"See anythin' strange?"

"No."

"You wouldn't be lyin', now would ya?"

"No."

"Nice day ain't it."

"Seen nicer."

"When?"

"Before."

"Well—suppose I'll leave ya to your sheep then," Reggie started to walk away, then turned. "But I'll be keepin' my eye on ya. Ya can count on it! And ya can say hello to yer lovely wife fer me—she ain't had anything to do with yer tomfoolery, so I won't hold any of 'em against her".

"Ya can watch me all ya want—Reggie St Clair... And I will tell the Mrs. what ya said... but don't be spectin' no dinner invite. I won't allow it!"

"Wasn't spectin' none," Reggie said. He looked up at the sun then shook his head in shame. Off in the distance, he heard the Church bell begin to ring.

Late again, he thought.
7

Hauling Rocks

"So," Father McConnell said, he was looking down. "What we need is rocks for the churches addition." Reggie was standing beside him holding a shovel. "Now... we can't be having the grounds around the church looking muddled, so we need to keep the grass as it is. So the digging will need to be done away from sight."

"So ya talkin' 'bout over that hill, then?"

"Precisely," Father McConnell replied.

"What?"

"Precisely."

"No... I'm askin' what that word means."

"Oh," Father McConnell said, "Sorry. That means you're right in your assumption."

"Assum-- what?"

"It means yes, over the hill."

Reggie started to walk to where he thought a good place to start would be. Then he turned and looked at the Priest. "Father," he said, "ya wouldn't have found yerself awake last night; now would ya?"

"Some."

"Ya hear, or see anything strange?"

"No, but these days I don't see or hear well—why?"

"I saw somethin'," Reggie said. "Not sure what, but somethin'. Whatever it was, it was flyin' low. Then Brownie—he started howlin' at the moon... Father... now he's gone and I'm worried."

"Is that why yer late again?"

"You said it wasn't a problem."

"Was makin' ya feel better."

"What about what I just told ya?"

"Say it again, I wasn't listening, too busy thinking about ya being late, again."

Reggie repeated what had happened, this time, Father McConnell listened. Once he was through, Reggie patiently waited.

At first nothing was said, then the holy man took a few steps forward, turned, then came back. His hand on his chin; no doubt lost in deep thought. Finally, he looked at Reggie and said: "What do you think happened?"

"I don't know?"

"Hmm. And what makes ya think I would. I mean, know?"

"Well, if ya don't know, then what should we do?"

"Suppose we do the only thing we can."

"What, I'm listenin'?"

"Get some rocks for the addition!"

Behind the church, there was a shed, one made by the same mason who built the church, and both were built at the same time. No one knows when, but it was a long time ago.

You see; fishermen are like farmers, they rely heavily on luck. The farmer needs temperate weather and rain to produce a good crop... The fishermen needs calm seas and the fish to bite. And since the weather, the rain, and the appetites of fish can't be controlled by man; they will do whatever it takes to tip the odds in their favor. And there's no scale weight heavier than the one given by a higher power.

With that being said; one can look at the ole fishing shacks down along the waterfront and then the Church and see the similarities. The doors are constructed out of wood planks. A square with a plank that separates the center of the door from the sides. Then another plank that runs horizontally about three-quarters of the way up. A cross.

Thinner inlays fill in what's left and this isn't easy to do; but was done because it blessed the home. But from what? Reggie never knew. Danny Green? The goats? No—it was to block evil spirits or unlucky spirits. It was to tip those odds in their favor.

So it only made sense that the Church and shed were built right along with the old shacks along the waterline. That it was old but the Church didn't show her age and it was for this reason, Reggie, he liked the shed because it had remained original throughout time. Unlike the Church. The shed had a dirt floor, the church was now hardwood. The shed had shutters that closed the window opening; the Church now had stained glass panes. The Shed showed history where the Church showed progress. The Shed reminded Reggie of his home, where the Church was beginning to look more like something seen in the new section in Olean.

But there is no stopping the future and there's no changing the past. Reggie knew this because if he could, he would return to the night before, he wouldn't fall asleep, and he would make sure Brownie was with him when the sun rose. And right now... he wouldn't be worried about the dog's well-being.

He made his way to the shed where he pulled out a wheelbarrow which was partially made and offered by the town's blacksmith (a man named Charley Reynolds) who also made the shovels and other yard tools.

The bottom, sides and handles of the barrel were made from wood; which was becoming sparse because so much was needed for the new buildings in town. The wheel was forged from molten steel, hammered into form which was surprisingly round. There was no doubt, Thomas the blacksmith was magnificent at his craft. As for the woodwork, well, of course, it was Reggie who cut, shaved and shaped the design.

He took the wheel barrel to where he would dig for the rocks. Here, he would fill the barrel, then; Father McConnell would take them to where they would rest until the Mason found the perfect spot to place them. It was an art, being a Mason. Reggie thought of them as puzzle players. Always looking at the forms they hold and figuring out where they fit best. He had great respect for them and the sacrifice they made for the benefit of others.

Hauling stones takes a toll on a man, Reggie's father said. Watch one walk while carrying the heaviest of stones. In the end, he will be able to walk no other way.

As he pulled them from the ground, he thought his father to be a genius.

Father McConnell, he wasn't a perfectionist. As a fact, his home was about the same as Reggie's. But, he believed that the Church had to be seen as a unique, holy location. A site, not only blessed by God; but worthy of him as well. A place that was as close to Heaven as earthly hands could achieve. No doubt, God had an eye for such things as a clean lawn, freshly painted doors, trimmed shrubs. God wanted excellent pews and nothing showing that would offend the flock or allow them to realize they weren't close to, or ever would achieve perfection.

So as Reggie dug down into the black soil searching for his next stone—he didn't think much about what Father McConnell's hang-ups were. Instead, he thought of anything that would take his mind off from Brownie which at the moment was the tool he was currently using... a shovel.

He found the shovel was different than the wheel on the barrel as the shovel showed another side of the talent of the town's blacksmith (Charley Reynolds). Unlike the wheel, shovels were in high demand because everyone needed to dig at some point or another. Most had to dig quite often so Charley had plenty of practice making them. So over time, Charley had learned how to hammer and shape an excellent digging device.

Reggie looked closely at the design. He dwelled on the feel of the smooth oak wood handle, then he remembered he made the handle. He then admired the pointed blade and noticed that it still held a razor's edge. He marveled over the contour of the typically flat surface. The way it was gently rounded. It was this design that kept the dirt in place. After much contemplating... Reggie came to the conclusion: one person using Charley's shovel was the same as three people using other Blacksmiths shovels.

But that was true only if the person holding Charley's shovel dug with it. Those statistics quickly dropped when they spent all their time staring at it. And since Father McConnell had been standing there for some time watching Reggie, he was thinking he would need six men who held onto Charley's shovels to get the same amount of work done by three men who held the shovels made by a different blacksmith.

"You want to tell what it is you're seeing, son?" Father McConnell finally said. Reggie snapped out of it and immediately went back to work.

Close to noon, Reggie put down the shovel; he wiped the sweat from his brow. Father McConnell walked up with the wheel barrel and parked it.

"What are you doing their lad?" He asked he could see Reggie wasn't into his work.

"I can't take me mind off from Brownie," Reggie said.

"I think you should take the day and find him," Father McConnell said.

"You wouldn't mind... then?"

"Not at all, here," the father said as he handed two coins to Reggie.

"But Father, I didn't work the whole day?" Reggie stared at the coins in his hand.

"Nor did I," Father McConnell said. "But I feel as though I have. There, you take it. Be off with you. Go find your dog."

They put the tools back in the shed; they latched the door shut... Father McConnell watched as Reggie walked away. He whispered a silent prayer asking that Brownie is found and soon. Father McConnell was well aware of the attachment that can form between a man and his dog. A bond that not all men share with canines—but those who do, will go to the same lengths to protect their beasts as the dog will go too to protect their master. Once Reggie was out of sight, Father McConnell closed up the church and headed home.

8

Father McConnell

Father Stacy McConnell, lived a quarter mile away in a small three room house that once belonged to members of his church. The Taylor's: Maria and Jonathon Taylor to be exact.

The Taylor's were very faithful to the Church. The wife (Maria) was said to have been possessed as a child. And not by Satan but something almost as bad... A bug... one that showed up out of nowhere. One, and only one and this bug stung Maria while she was feeding the pigs.

Maria screamed because the sting was so painful, she slapped her neck. Then, while holding the bite with one hand, she reached down and picked up what was left of this unknown, smashed insect... She took it to her father, who held it, examined it, made sure it was dead, then threw it into the grass. Then—he told Maria to go see her mother who would mix up some mud and vinegar. This would take the sting away. Maria did as she was told.

Now, the mud and vinegar did take away the pain, but it couldn't take away the venom. She became sick. Close to death but survived. Even so, after that night, Maria blamed every bad thing that happened to her on that bug.

When her father passed away—it was because he handled the bug. When her mother at age eighty-nine died of heart failure—it was because of the stress that came from almost losing her daughter. Stress brought on by—the bug. When she couldn't have a child—of course, the bug. So when Jonathon (her husband) passed away—it was because he was heart broke about not having an heir; which was because of the bug. So when she tried to sell the farmhouse and move closer to Olean. No one would buy it because of the bugs.

So she remained and when it was time for the bug to take her... she left the farmhouse and animals to the only person who seemed to be immune to the bite of the bug... Father Stacy McConnell.

Upon acceptance, father McConnell was shocked to find there was a barn on the property. And a chicken coop. And along with it were ten acres of land. The barnyard had pigs, chickens, rabbits, and ducks. So he took care of them, bred them and shared the meat with those in the church and families in need. He has done this for over ten years now. And in the beginning, the flock helped with the animals. They helped feed, clean and took care of them. After all, they were sharing in the meat. But as time passed, fewer people came by and before the end of the third year—people still took the meat, but none helped with the animals.

Father McConnell never asked for assistance, after all, it was his cross to bear; the property, the farm, and animals had been given to him. But he continued on, serving the needs of the people all the same.

Then... one Sunday after Church service, a man and woman came up to him. Dorothy and Peter Strohlmen a husband and wife... and straggling close behind were their identical twin boys who went by the names: Joshua and Riley, at this time—they would be eight years of age.

"If ya pardoned us sayin'," Peter Strohlmen said. "We can't help but feel pain a takin' and never givin'."

"You needn't feel such a burden," Father McConnell said.

"But me, the wife and the boys, we been lookin' for somthin' to pass the time... Was wonderin' if ya could use a hand... ya know, on the farm...?"

Father McConnell smiled, "The good Lord," he said. "He does work in mysterious ways, doesn't he."

"Is that a yes—then?"

"It is Peter Strohlmen; that it is."

Now, as Father McConnell walked down his drive, he could see Joshua and Riley, now pushing Fifteen years of age, working the stalls. It had been six years that had past and those boys and their parents still help all they can.

Father McConnell thought of how Dorothy and Peter Strohlmen, were loyal to the Church. Attending every Sunday service and always putting what they could in the tithing plate.

Father McConnell wasn't fond of this because Dorothy and Peter Strohlmen weren't known to be lucky. As a fact, when not in hearing range, most called them The Holemen's; suggesting they had dug a hole they couldn't get out of.

It started right after they were married... Father McConnell no sooner told Peter he could kiss his new bride when it began to rain. Then it stormed dropping water that far surpassed anything seen in the area. By the end of the day, the new home Peter and his father had built was underwater, and not just for a while. A lake formed and to this day, the home is still on the bottom of it.

Before they had a chance to build another home, Dorothy learned she was pregnant, which would turn out to be Joshua and Riley, the twins. So now, Peter had a family, a home that was underwater and the land he was going to farm. Well, it was beside the underwater home, so... It was decided that it would be best if they all stayed in the two room shack with Peter's mother and father. If this wasn't bad enough, Peter's parent's farm was just big enough to feed three, now it was forced to feed six.

That was eleven years ago and it burns Father McConnell when he sees them put money in the tithing plate. He knows what they do. All that they do, and not only for him, but for all who enjoy the fruits of their labor on the farm. The others who take the meat and thank Father McConnell. He reminds them of who did the work; but the public refused to acknowledge the Strohlmen's, the reason why...? He couldn't say.

So Father McConnell would watch as Peter and Dorothy dug deep into their pockets. He wouldn't say anything or try and return it—they wouldn't allow it. The money in the plate was for God, it had to be placed there, and so it was.

"How are we doing on this fine day—boys," Father McConnell asked as he walked by Joshua and Riley.

"They're doin' fine—they are," Joshua replied. "Miss Prude (Joshua's favorite chicken) laid herself six eggs. Sort a thinkin' that has to be a record."

"You may be right," father McConnell said. Although he wasn't sure how accurate the number was. Neither of the boys could count. All the same, he looked into the basket, and there was an impressive amount of eggs. "All these come from Miss Prude—did they?" he asked.

"Not all, but most of em!"

"Impressive still... it sure is," he said. "I'll be in the house, boys, should you need me."

"Okee dokee—Father McConnell," they both replied at the same time.

Being identical twins; Father McConnell, like most, couldn't tell Riley from Joshua so his parents made them wear colored shirts that would help identify the two... Red started with an "R" so it went on Riley and since there wasn't a known color that started with "J" green went on Joshua.

Now it was no secret, that on occasions and strictly for silly reasons, the two would switch colors. But that was neither here nor there, because when those in the village spoke to one, they believed they were speaking to them both. That although they were two separate boys, they shared everything including the same mind. So they were in some strange way, only one... With this way of thinking, it didn't matter who was told what, it was assumed both had heard.

This became so common; at some point, the boys names were joined together and both would answer to the title: "Joshey."

Joshey come here! Meant: Joshua, Riley, come here! Or it could mean the person speaking wasn't sure who they were speaking to, so they would use "Joshey" so both names were covered.

The Josheys' had dark brown hair, green eyes and were thin. Not malnourished thin, but young thin. The kind of thin, that comes from constant movement. From burning fuel as fast as it is placed in the tank. That kind of thin.

They were a handsome duel, up and comers, and the local girls certainly kept their eyes on them. But those girls' fathers were watching as well. They feared the boys had been handed the black luck from their parents. The black luck that comes from seeing the black stallion. The wild steed that has no rider, no saddle, no reins; because this stallion will never be ridden, never be tamed. And where it's a sign of good luck to see a white horse in the morning, it is bad luck to see the Black stallion in its place.

But he is as mysterious as he is beautiful. With a long black mane that shines like oil. That flows while he runs like a flag in the wind. And he's always running because he knows everyone he sees wants to break him. Turn him into a work horse, make him a servant to man. He's smart, that beast.

No one knows the reason for the horses' not the black or the white steeds. Most believe they came from the mainland, but who brought them and why they were set free is a mystery. But they've been on the island for a long time, long enough to gain a reputation. Those who see the white mare can relax, they're blessed... those who see the black stallion would be wise to remain in bed.

The boys have heard the myth a million times, they grew up with it, bathed in it, hated it. Did they believe it? It didn't matter, everyone else did. That steed's the reason your land flooded. The reason your acreage is underwater. The reason you remain as you are, and guess what—that cloud of black luck has been passed down from father to son. It's been handed to you two!

It isn't the horse who's to blame, they would say. The horse only gives the message. But the message speaks is of misery. Always did and always will!

So the Josheys' weren't feeling so confident when it came to their future... This was where father McConnell stepped in.

You haven't seen this horse, he said, have ya?

No, the Josheys' replied, can't say that we have.

What about your folks, they ever see it?

No.

Then how could something you haven't seen be bringing you bad luck? You know that you have to see it in the morning in order for it to work. So why don't you forget about that nonsense and have faith in something a little more positive.

But the people sa—

Father McConnell cut them off. Don't be putting your gold out where people can take it because they will... I can promise ya that... Now I've known you both for some time and not once have I seen bad luck thrown at you... So If you want to think something's waiting for you... Then think it's something good... Why not? Good—bad—you have the same chance of getting one as the other!

It was the Priest's way of thinking that won the boys over. He gave them a chance, a future and that was more than was offered elsewhere. They would do anything for him and they loved the farm and the animals. They grieved when one of their flocks' numbers came up. But it was like Father McConnell had said: we don't ask to be born, yet here we are. We don't want to die and yet that we will. Our time is short on this earth... it is. Maybe forty years out of eternity... Would like to think something betters waiting on account of eternity is a long time... it is.

The boys thought long and hard about this statement, they discussed it in great detail. They decided the animals were going to a better place. That as farmers, their job was simple. Make the animals time here as pleasant as possible; then they could deal with the pain of the loss. Because the Black Stallion is out there in the morning. You may not notice him, but he's there, and so is the white steed. It's all in which one you chose to see.

Inside Father McConnell's home, one of the three rooms were used for nothing more than to store books. Reggie St. Clair had built shelves for the Priest. These Shelves ran from floor to ceiling and lined each of the four walls with the only the doorway and windows left open. As time passed, Father McConnell had filled the shelves as once every year, he would take a trip to the mainland and upon his return, the only thing he came home with were more books.

Strange books that most would think odd being in the home of such a man as Father McConnell. Books with titles like: Lord of Loxley, The Poor Want To Know Where The Money Went? And: Living With Henry The Eight... As Told From The Wives Perspective.

This type lined one wall, then there was the end wall which held medical books with titles like: Leaches; A Guide To Proper Infection Fighting. And: Blood Letting; Know When To Stop The Bleeding.

Then there was the third wall, which contained books on Holy matters like every Bible he had ever owned—and there were many of them. Starting out with his first which was given to him when he was eight years old, then as each year passed, he would purchase another so none would show wear. On this wall, he also kept records of people—past and present.

Then... on the last wall, the one where the doorway was located was what he called: his wall of un-proven possibilities.

Father McConnell is a spiritual man and like many who are men of faith; he believes that anything is possible. That just because he can't see it, nor explain it, doesn't mean it never happened, or that it couldn't happen. It only means it hasn't happened yet or that it happened so long ago the only thing left is legends and stories.

He believes that God is capable of anything, so to be certain something is impossible is the same as saying God has his limits and there is no one would who would make that claim, at least not a man of the Church.

So as Father McConnell walked into his room of books, he didn't walk far. He stopped as soon as he was through the doorway, then he turned to face the door, or at least the wall the doorway was cut into. He started his search on the wall of un-proven possibilities.

He ran his index finger over the bindings as he went from book to book. This continued until he found what he was searching for. He paused a moment as he relived the purchase of this extremely old document. It was fragile, with pages that were yellow parchment, protected by a dark brown, leather binding. Leather that was once smooth and jet black had become brown suede. Cracks showed where the book had been opened and closed what appeared to be a million times.

Upon seeing it in the bookstore... It was the age that caught the Priest's eyes and it was the history that lured him into reading it. Now, he would return to it once again, but he had mixed feelings. He feared what was written could be true. And if it were true, it would mean nothing good was coming. Not if what is in those pages was what Reggie St. Clair saw.

The Priest wasn't totally truthful in answering Reggie's questions. He hadn't seen anything the night before; that was true. But he heard it. It woke him up from a deep sleep and it was so loud, he feared the earth had cracked in half. That the squealing sound was the hissing of hot air as it rose up from under the Earth's hardpan crust. A crust that had cracked like the shell on an egg and like an egg, the innards were spewing out.

But it fell silent soon enough, and he hoped it was just a dream, and he would have left it at that, if Reggie hadn't said he saw it.

Carefully, he pulled the document it from its perch and as he did, the pages fell to the floor—the binding had given way. The air caught the pages and sent them sailing where they mixed in whichever order they pleased...

Father McConnell waited until they settled. He picked them up, sorted them back to their original order—then placed them in the binder. Then he closed the book so he could start anew... he looked at the Jacket which had only words seared into the leather: 'The Land Dragons' it read.

His hands began to shake because he feared dragons' and it didn't matter whether they were land, or sea dragons'. Both were far superior to man and his wimpy swords and arrows.

No—and land dragons' flew like an eagle, and walked like a lizard. They had teeth like a crocodile, and the diamond shaped retinas of a serpent, and they breathed fire like the deepest of volcanoes...

They were given all the bad that everything bad had. All wrapped up into one, slimy, massive beast. And they were always mad. Always upset and always at mankind and the reason they were angry was within the pages of this journal.

He calmed his hand and looked at the book. Oh, this book wasn't one to read before bed, this he knew. He looked out the window; there was still some day left; was it enough? He wasn't sure, but he took a seat on his reading chair located in the center of the book room.

The chair had a high back, it was wide with a cushioned leather seat and back. High armrest stood on both sides and it was positioned so the evening sun would shine through the window and light up the pages.

He cracked the cover to the first page and began to read the aged cursive, handwritten words:

For the curious souls who open this book, I tell ye now—these pages speak of blasphemous subjects. Eyes would do well to look away before the words find their way to yer brain. But should ye choose agin it—then turns the page. But mind ye—there will be no mention of the author, nor will ye find a person ta blame, question or debate. 'cause this is not a journal for minds that believe or do not believe. It is what I have seen with my own eyes. And what I heard with my own ears... no more or less.

This was all that was on the first page, and Father McConnell remembered the first time he opened the book; this was where he closed it. And it remained closed for some time. But eventually he turned to page two as he will again and read on.

9

The Journal

The pages in the book were made somewhere between the mid-fourteen hundreds to late fifteen hundreds. Just having it in his hands, just smelling it, gave Father McConnell the sensation of a time long forgotten. He imagined the person who, and back when the Kings fought the battles they waged, had taken such a chance to put something so dangerous on paper. Because if by some chance the journal found the wrong hands, it would have undoubtedly brought about the death of those who previously held it. But regardless of its past, it had survived hundreds of years only to end up in Father McConnell's possession.

He went to the second page and began to read:

The year of these words will remain unknown as time passes so quickly and I have no knowledge of what year it is, nor do I know what year came before this one, and I'm quite certain—I will never know the one that comes after.

At this time, my mind is strong and not soured. So it is for these reasons ya can bet the story ta be true. But it should be noted—my intentions are not ta provide false hope, or ta make the young and foolish believe chivalry will prevail. As I saw a power that cannot be stalled with the blade of a sword. A Power that comes from above as well as below. A Power that far surpasses the strengths and abilities of man. And to believe otherwise, would be no different than ta believe the cockroach can take down the foot that casts the shadow above it. The foot that will crush it...

These words are not written to provide trust, but rather as a warning, and that's all that can be done. With this said, we shall begin:

My story starts in the month of the ninth round moon. After the harvest was brought in from the fields. And like the year before and before that; there be a festival where the village celebrated with drink, corn, potatoes, carrots, lettuce; all the ground growth common to our soil. And there seemed to be an endless supply with the only fear being: most would spoil before the weather turned cold and harden them.

It was on this night a man rode into our village. A Knight that sat on the back of a gray stallion. A mighty steed that walked tall and proud. And the knight, he wore armor made from steel and carried a sword that was as long as the leg it rested against.

All watched because as of yet, we had seen no such warriors and although we were under the rule of the King, we were but a simple village that held no promise. So we saw no Knights, only levy collectors.

But this man, if that's what he was. He wore a steel hat with a steel grate that covered his mouth. In this grate, there were holes so he could breathe and speak. And speak he did with a voice that was deep and strong.

'Hear ye,' he wailed. 'I have come bearing terrible news. News that's origins go all the way to the King's court.'

And listen we did, not because the news came from the King, but rather because this thing that stood before us was in some way surreal. Or perhaps magical. He demanded attention, so attention he did receive.

'There is a beast that's come to your valley. A beast that's creator is none other than the enemy of the all mighty!'

Leila, a mother of three and wife to one and thought to be wise; she spoke for all in our group on such occasions. She called out in confusion: 'Ye be speakin' about who, then?'

The Knight replied: 'I speak of the all mighty God!'

'So we done somethin' ta make God angry?' And now, everyone began to mumble. All asking the same question to one another at the same time. But no one knew the answer, only the Knight did, so we quieted down.

'No!'

'Then why would he send us a beast?' Once again, everyone mumbled and once again none had the answer so we silenced ourselves.

'Listen,' the Knight said and now, he raised that steel mouth cover that had the holes and we could see he did have lips so he was a man after all, which made us want to listen even closer, and so we did: 'This serpent is evil in every way,' he gloated, 'and wants nothing less than everything. So you will be wise to listen closely and do as I say!

'If not dealt with immediately; then soon there will be no wild Rabbits, no venison, no bear, no wild boar, no raccoon, and no squirrels because although the serpent doesn't eat us, he eats everything else!'

'What about chickens?' Leila asked.

'Yes, it eats chickens. All the chickens' as a fact!'

'Pigs? Will it eat pigs?'

'Yes, it will eat pigs!'

'I've got some sheep, will it eat sheep?' Seamus the herder called out.

'Yeeees...! I said everything! It will eat everything except us!' He seemed mad at this point. But he calmed down and then said: 'So it's important that this creature is dealt with immediately.'

'How we supposed ta do that?'

'You can't. Only I can slay the beast.'

'How come?'

'Because the thing breathes fire for starters. That's why I wear this steel armor.'

'I don't know if I like the sound a that,' Leila said. 'That skillet ya got wrapped around yer body is gonna pan fry ya. Ya sure ya know what yer doin'?'

'I've been sent by the King... Is there anyone else I can speak to?'

'Ya can, but not sure yer gonna want to.' Leila replied.

So, the Knight, he didn't speak ta no one. Not even Leila. Instead, he rode off, up into the hills where the caves hold the bats. And we were sure he had done what the King wanted because we never saw him again... But he didn't because it wasn't long, another one a them Knights came around. This one didn't wear the steel suit. Said it wasn't smart on account a the fire. He also didn't have a sword. He said the beast had to be shot at from a distance, so he had a bow with some arrows. Small arrows with small tips on them.

Leila told him he would do well ta take along some help, but he said that wasn't how it was done. Said he was a serpent slayer, and slayers work alone on account a that's what makes a hero. So up to the caves he went and there's where he stayed.

As time passed, these Knights kept a comin' and they called themselves all sorts a names. There were dragon-demolishers, wing-clippers. There were fire-fighters and teeth-tamers. And they were all different with the exception of one thing... They all were going to be a hero. A hero?

Not one of us, not even Leila knew what that meant. But we were starting to think whatever it was, it was overrated. And she told them, Leila did, that the beast wasn't really a problem. That we hadn't even seen it. And there were plenty of animals around. As a matter of fact, didn't seem as though anything had changed at all.

But being a hero must rate real high. Maybe up there alongside with being a King. Because they kept coming and they did so right up real close to one year to the day of the first arrival. And this is where it gets scary.

It was the time of the tenth round moon... During the harvest festival. It was after the sun had sunk into the sea and night had set in, did the moon show something was coming. The world glowed in shadows of light and darkness. Like day and night ... It was on this night; the air blew a chill and a fog rolled along the ground, knee-high it was to the average size man.

Then, without warning, there were bats that filled the sky. Thousands, perhaps millions. They overtook the moon, the stars; they turned the world black with their numbers. And the sound of their wings catching air was so loud, the ground beneath our feet vibrated and thumped like the beating of a heart. Then... in what was no longer than twenty blinks of an eye, they were gone, the moons glow returned, but the chill and the fog remained...

It wasn't long, maybe an inch of moon movement when the dragon appeared. It soured in the moonlight; twisting and turning its reptile body. Steering into the air currents with a wingspan that measured far beyond imagination. Its eyes were as they said. Diamond shaped retinas that glowed blood red, no doubt lit by the fire that raged from inside the beast. The fire that would be released upon the parting of those massive jaws.

And it knew where we were, and there was no doubt we were the reason it had exited its lair.

It circled us, up in the sky. It looked down upon us like a buzzard that's waiting for its dinner to die.

We couldn't move. Not one of us, not even Leila. Our knees wouldn't bend. Our bodies wouldn't work. But we could think well enough and we knew now the mistake we had made. And isn't that always the case. It's when you can't change what's been completed, do you realize it shouldn't have been done.

It was simple really. The beast just wanted to be left alone. It didn't want to feel the little pricks that those arrows made, or those small swords cuts. It didn't want to breathe the black smoke from the oil-soaked torches held by men who meant harm. Men who wanted to be a hero. Men who wouldn't stop coming. And so it would move on, but those Knights, those Serpent Slayers followed and the harassment continued until the beast lashes out again. Solidifying the myth that they are indeed evil and need to feel the blade of a hero's sword; when in fact, they are far from that.

They are loners, nothing more.

But back then, at that moment, when the serpent looked down upon us, we know that mattered little and meant even less.

We were correct.

I was spared that night, but I was the only one. Why? I couldn't say. Perhaps so I could warn others. Well—I've done that. So I beg you to heed this warning. Just because we believe this world is ours and only ours, don't mean it really is.

Father McConnell was losing light. He looked around, through the window that showed the west. The sun must be close to the sea, he thought.

He closed the leather binding on the journal that now sat on his lap. He gently placed his hands on top of it. He feared those words. He feared the serpent, and he feared the men who will come after it. And they will come, because to them—this world is theirs and theirs alone.

10

The Search for Brownie

Reggie made sure he wasn't easy to spot. He was on top of a hill, looking down on that no good, Danny Green. Danny had shown no signs of guilt; all the same, Reggie had a hard time turning away. He wasn't sure Danny would show guilt, even if he was, indeed guilty.

As he watched, he wondered what would make a man turn into the likes of Danny Green. A recluse with no friends. An outsider who seemed to prefer it that way. Reggie thought it must be a strange and miserable way to live.

After a half an hour, Reggie gave up and left the hilltop. He headed west towards the high ground. And even though Reggie had spent his life on the island, he really hadn't seen much of it. There never seemed to be a reason to.

He was told the west was a barren land, with mountains that rose to elevations so high, a man couldn't catch his breath. And since Reggie liked to breathe he decided to avoid it. It was said that nothing grew up there because it was always cold. And the only things that called the place home, were the trolls, goblins and of course, those crafty goats. So with that being the case, they can have it.

So this was new territory for Reggie and as the minutes turned to hours and as he made his way along; as expected, he was heading uphill. Not rock climbing uphill; but rather a gentle grade that held a beaten path which no doubt was made by the goats. Had to be because the trolls and goblins never headed down to the sea. At least Reggie hadn't seen any and to his knowledge, neither had anyone else.

At one point, he turned around, and he was amazed to find he could see all the way down to his home. He could see the Church and the town of Olean. He could see the ocean and the fishing boats that now looked like ants. He smiled because the view was spectacular and the sea had never looked so blue. But the sun was dropping and time was wasting, so he quickly returned his focus back to his journey.

Ahead, he noticed that the landscape had changed. The grass was every bit as green as it was down by the sea. However, there were no goats, so, with the exception of the path he was on, the grass was knee high and he wondered why the goats didn't stay around here and eat it. Why they came to his home and harassed him?

"Brownie," he whispered, "they love Brownie."

Reggie wondered if Brownie felt the same way towards them. Maybe since they were late to arrive, the dog decided to go out searching.

"Jeez," he whispered. "I wouldn't be surprised to see ole Brownie leadin' the way... Bringin' em down the path to the lowland." He smiled; he longed for that to be the case. But as he walked, he looked ahead and there were no signs of the dog or the goats. There were no signs of any wildlife.

The trees were thinning. The ones standing were mostly pines and only the largest of jagged rocks, showed above the high grass. But he went on until he saw a plateau. He couldn't see past the edge, but he could see the hill he was on flattened out. He had a feeling he had reached the top of the high ground.

He paused, he took a breath to make sure breathing was still possible—no problem. He felt the air temperature—warm, like below. He then came to the conclusion that those who said they knew what was out west—may not have known much at all.

He slowed at this point, not sure what he would find. The goat's home? Maybe. The bones of the hermit who brought them here? Possibly. But should either of those be the case, they were hardly something to fear. No, the goats were crafty, sure, but they were harmless, and bones, well they don't do much but litter the ground. That left the trolls and goblins and both of them could be a problem, and if an ambush was waiting, it was waiting up there. He was certain of it.

Trolls and goblins. Both were said to be strange beings. Reggie imagined they would be a lot like Danny Green. They were ugly, they were mean and they stayed to themselves. Shoot, now, Reggie started wondering if Danny Green wasn't indeed a troll or goblin. Could even be a little of both!

He shook his head. Clearing it. Then returned his attention to the task at hand.

If there' is a troll or goblin up there, he thought, and I ain't sayin' there are, but if so, then I need to be real quiet. Surprise 'em. He looked at the ground as he took his next step. He made sure no sound was made. He did this over and over again until, finally, he slowly peered over the plateau.

Not far ahead, and much to his surprise, there was a dense forest. One that was so thick, one would think it to be a jungle. Reggie had never seen a jungle, didn't know what one was. But he knew he was looking at something special; so he climbed up onto the flat ground. Then proceeded to walk rapidly only coming to a stop when he hit the trees; which were in a perfectly, straight line.

He looked north, he looked south and the trees went in both directions and continued on past his range of sight. The trees before him, he recognized. It wasn't that long ago, they were common on the lowland. But the blade of an ax had found them. And since they take so long to grow, there were few left.

But now, here, Reggie stood in awe, these trees were mature; they were massive in size and full of leaves. There were oaks, ferns. There were hickory trees, cherry trees. There were blooming pear trees, walnut trees and apple trees. Some showing the buds that would become apples once fall arrived.

Reggie was a child when he last picked an apple from the tree. Now, and even though the island would have them when in season, and even though they still grew on trees, those trees weren't here in Tearsdale. They were on the mainland somewhere and Reggie thought that as being nothing short of sad.

The truth is... those on the island used trees to build roofs for their homes and barns. They burned the logs for warmth, and to cook with. So now, all that remained were young and of little importance. Water oaks, pine trees, scrub oaks. Most looked more like weeds than trees.

But Reggie still had some on his property and he protected them because he knew their value. It was his father who preached their conservation, stating: you can plant a seed... sure! But that seed won't make no shade in your lifetime!

But there wasn't much that could be done. The island was small and even though most wanted Tearsdale to remain unchanged... Most doesn't mean all, and there were those in the town of Olean who had high hopes of drawing mainlanders' here. Those who wanted more than a life of fishing, farming, and solitude. Those with dreams of being bankers, hotel managers and restaurant cooks.

Now, some of the ole folks claimed it was them money men who put such notions in their heads. That it was mainlanders with deep pockets who were involved and had finally found a way to invade the island. Maybe make a few changes. You know, start out by re-locating the locals. Take them to the mainland where they can be bankers, hotel managers or cooks.

Reggie wasn't certain about any of this. He knew People liked to talk, even when what they were saying may not be true. He sure hoped it wasn't true, but then, they were adding onto the town and he wasn't sure why.

To make matters worse; they were using wood that was shipped in from the mainland, instead of rocks and mortar found on the island... Another mystery.

And there were a lot of new faces around. Working too. Doing a lot of what he does. He found this strange because he offered his services to the man in charge. Told him he was real good. That he could ask anyone around town. But the man said there would never be a time when he would be needed. He said that he didn't hire locals.

This was going through Reggie's head now, and he smiled. He thought of the look he would see on the job bosses face when he told him what he had found. When he learned that no more wood would have to be shipped in because it was right up here. Reggie would get some work then, he just knew it. Heck, he could buy all the fish he wanted. He and Brownie both would end up with full bellies and that sounded real good.

But then... something happened. The forest began to change. A breeze blew strong from the west. It whistled as it bent branches and rustled green leaves that weren't ready to be pulled from the tree. The tops whipped back and forth, around in circles and looked like maracas in the hands of a talented musician.

Reggie, he was so busy looking up, he didn't notice the ground. The thick, thorny briars that rose up from the soil. A good four feet, joining tree to tree... A natural fence.

The branches that fanned and waved in the wind; now looked like arms, wide arms that were strong. Their ends grew into massive hands with the leaves becoming the fingernails. The knots on the trunk took on the features of a face. Eyes, nose, ears, mouth, teeth. And those faces were angry. They were vicious and tree after tree now had the same features and they all looked down at Reggie.

They had joined together to make one. And he knew, Oh Reggie knew, this was because they could read his mind... the human meant them harm and they were right... he did.

His mind's eye flashed stories he had heard as a child. Stories of outlaws who would seek shelter in the forest. Men with little to lose who would take the risks the King's soldiers wouldn't.

The Knights would sit on their horses and look into the mass, the same as he was doing at this very moment. They would turn; knowing nothing good was to be gained. They would devise plans to bait the wanted out into the open. They refused to enter the forest, and Reggie now understood way.

They—like he—and unlike the outlaws—were not welcomed.

"What ya be hidin'!" Reggie screamed out. "I'd be willin' ta bet, ya got some trolls in yer midst—ya have! Is that it? Come on now, ya can tell ole Reggie!" But the trees said nothing.

"Brownie!" he called out; nothing. He called out again and again, while walking up and down the tree line. As he did this, and for reasons he wasn't certain of, he made sure his feet remained in sunlight.

The thought of Brownie being in there terrified him, his stomach was knotted. He wasn't sure how trolls felt about dogs, most likely they would be a snack. But what did that matter, Brownie would be gone.

His imagination began to run on its own and he thought of only the worse possible outcomes. He thought of Brownie being tied up under a big, steel cage. A cage that had one end held up by a big stick. A stick that had a rope tied to it and the rope ran off into the woods where it disappeared into the thick brush.

But he wasn't fooling Reggie... there was a troll holding the end of that rope. A one-eyed Cyclops who was trying to lure the human in. And while Reggie untied Brownie, the rope would be pulled, and the stick would fall and so would the steel cage.

They both would be trapped. No doubt fresh meat for the troll's stew.

"Ya not be foolin' me!" he yelled. "Ya give me Brownie, and there'll be no trouble! I give ya my word!" But the trees only watched him closely. They cared little about hearing his hollow threats and he knew it. He could hear his voice as he spoke, he could hear the fear, the tremble in it. He was the only one scared here.

Suddenly, the current of air gusted. The tops of the trees shook, the sound of the wind through the leaf covered branches made him look up.

Those tree arms were waving now; those giant fists were ready to pulverize anything within striking distance. Back and forth they bowed and snapped. The sound of wood rubbing against wood creaked out and echoed through the forest. Reggie was sure they were signaling something, or someone. An entity that was even mightier than they.

He quivered at the thought of what that something could be.

Then... there was a crack, loud and instant, like that of a huge wishbone that's been split. The sound came from frail branches that were torn loose. Reggie stood—frozen as the falling debris dropped through still attached limbs, ending with a thud as the broken chunks of wood hit the ground.

What was that...? He thought. A falling limb...? Or one a them fist? No answer came.

"That could a hit me," Reggie whispered, he backed away. "I'll be havin none a that!" He Yelled. But those words were lost in the wind. A wind that was stronger than any Reggie had ever felt. And it was blowing head on, pushing him back towards the edge of the plateau. Sending him back to where he came from.

No—there was no doubt, he wasn't welcomed here.

He didn't turn away from the forest as he moved backward. He looked behind only long enough to make sure he knew where the drop off was. This went on until he was close. He then turned and ran; leaping over the edge.

He landed on his feet. But the incline was steep and he was going too fast. He lost his footing dropping onto his stomach, going into a roll. Head to feet, front to back, he went, and it seemed to go on forever, coming to a stop only when he hit a rock in the tall grass. Reggie had lost consciousness.

When he opened his eyes, he did so slowly. He wasn't sure where he was, or why he was here. He did know he wasn't home because there was no way the sheep would have allowed the grass to go unattended like this.

He was on his back, looking up into the sky. The wind blew gently and the grass danced back and forth like waves on the ocean. He was comfortable; below him was a thick cushion, one provided by the overgrown foliage that lined the ground.

It was pleasant and he could have spent time lying right there, and why not? He had no place to go, at least not that he was aware of... But then, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he did have a place to go. And there were things to do.

He sat up and felt a sharp pain shoot from one eye to the other. He reached around and felt the back of his head. There was a lump. He looked at the back of his elbows, they were raw and stung. His knees, although not seen because of his long pants, were no doubt the same.

He worked his joints, and felt his arms and legs, making sure he wasn't seriously injured. No problem, then he stood up and looked at his surroundings.

It was beautiful here. At least it was when he looked down the mountain. He felt something familiar as he saw a small shack. He wasn't sure what it was. Then there was a Church and a town. Same déjà vu feeling. There was the ocean and he kind of remembered living close to the ocean.

Then—he looked up, towards the sky and saw the plateau where he had fallen from. He saw the high grass that was pushed over and he knew this was because of him. He looked to this left, and there was the goat trail. Yes, he thought. I was following the goat trail and it led me to the plateau. The plateau where there were woods. Angry woods that didn't approve of my company. Woods that hid trolls and goblins and goats. Maybe even Brownie.

But them goats, he thought, they live in them woods? They're as brave as they are a pain!"

11

Memories of Lingering Losses

Once Reggie made it back to the low lands; he realized he hadn't eaten all day and even though he wasn't hungry; he knew he would be and there was no food at home. So he thought a moment and then realized Glenda Ramsy's (his childhood girlfriend) had her home close by.

The home really belonged to Glenda's parents who went by the name: Fred and Elma Ramsy. It was also the farm where Reggie's father used to work, it was where Reggie spent his time as a child, and (as was already mentioned) it was where he became friends with Glenda.

To this day, he spent a lot of time there, and unlike in the woods on the plateau, he was always welcomed. Truth was—he loved the old farmhouse because it brought back old memories. Memories of his father. But memories are like dreams. Not all are good ones. And since Reggie was having a bad day, his mind chose a past moment accordingly.

He could hear him speak, his father. He could see him standing there and Reggie was once again a child.

When are we goin' home, Pappa? He said. They were in the field, pulling weeds. This was the fifth day and the fourth night they had stayed at the farm. They slept outside, beside the small barn.

Ya don't take ta sleepin' under Heavens candles? His father asked.

It has notin' ta do with it. Just worried about Momma, is all.

Ya Don't be worried about your Ma... Mrs. Ramsy's a settin' with her.

But why would she be doin' that?

Ya don't need ta be askin' when ya getin a favor'... Where's yer manners?

He opened his eyes and returned to the present. He looked out at the distant farm, he could still hear his father's voice, he could hear him saying those words and he knew his father meant well. But from that point on, Reggie would only see his mother in dreams. She was taken by the fever.

Then... five years to the day, he awoke to find his father had the same fever. He went to the farm and worked in his place. When the day had ended, he wasn't surprised to learn Mrs. Ramsy wasn't around. Nor was he shocked when Mr. Ramsy (his father's boss) asked him to stay for supper.

Glenda filled a bowl, handed it to Reggie along with a chunk of fresh baked bread. Reggie picked up a wooden spoon; he took three bites, then spent the remainder of the meal pushing vegetables around in circles.

I think I'll be headin' home, he said, once dinner was complete. His voice was almost a whisper.

Now, Mr. Ramsy said, Ya don't need to be wonderin' around at this time a night, laddy. Best ya stay right here. Ya can take the floor—ya can.

Reggie stood; his eyes were locked on the rocks that made the cabin walls. He picked out one, a big one and he stared at it; but what he saw wasn't a stone. It was something his mind showed him. Something that was nothing at all and he found comfort in this white world. If only for a moment, it took him far from the old farmhouse.

Mr. Ramsy watched as Reggie returned to reality and then walked towards the door which was open. The night was pleasant, and the ninth, round moon was glowing. It was the end of the growing season and the beginning of the 'The Thinning' season.

Reggie walked out and stopped once he was on the front porch. His legs didn't want to move. They weren't sore, but they were heavy. He had put in a long day, he had worked hard, but he was young and the labor wasn't the problem. He knew this, he knew what the problem really was but he refused to admit it.

Glenda came out and stood beside him. She was already showing some of the beauty that would soon be hers. Her long curly red hair now fell past her shoulders and ran down to the middle of her back. Her blue eyes stood out against her cream colored skin. Her lips were strawberry red and thick, her teeth were straight—she had everything... She was perfect and as she looked up at Reggie... for the first time in all the years that she had known him, she felt him pull away.

She touched his arm where it bent at the elbow; he jumped, then looked down at her, he smiled, but it was forced, and she could see there was pain in those eyes. Without saying a word, he walked away.

It was the next morning, her mother returned home. Her eyes were puffy where she had been crying. They had lost another close friend, another empty space had formed, and Glenda knew that Reggie—from that point on, would be alone.

Many winters have passed then, and with the exception of Brownie; Glenda was right in her assumption: Reggie had remained alone.

The Ramsy's tried to bring him into the family, and they did come closer than anyone else. But Reggie remained distant. He did take his father's place working at the farm, but unlike his father... Reggie treated Mr. Ramsy like he was his boss, instead of his friend. He treated Mrs. Ramsy like she was the bosses wife, instead of a mother, and he treated Glenda like she was a friend, instead of a girlfriend, which Glenda hated because Reggie was the only man who treated her that way.

As for the farmhouse; under no circumstances would he enter the home. He wouldn't even walk onto the porch.

The family didn't know how to handle this, but they knew there were wounds that wouldn't heal. They hadn't a clue why Reggie would fear their home. But he did and there was a wedge that formed between them.

Mr. Ramsy (at some point) came to the conclusion that Reggie didn't want to spend his life farming. But he also knew that Reggie wouldn't walk away. So he kept the boy on until he was no longer a boy. Then... one day, Reggie showed up as planned to plant the spring seeds and Mr. Ramsy told him there would be no crops that year. That he needed to find other work.

Now, as he walked up to the old farmhouse. He thought of how ten years had passed since then. At the time, he took offense because he thought his work wasn't up to Mr. Ramsy's standards. But now, he no longer cared... He never wanted to be a full time farmer.

Once he was close, he stopped because the porch was right there and it was a fine porch as was the home. The finest dwelling on the island; most had said and still do. It was by far the largest. Boasting floors that weren't dirt, but rather wood, and they were every bit as nice as those on the Church's floor. There was a sitting room with its own fireplace, and a long, wool, padded bench seat where people could sit, or even lie down. There were high back chairs stuffed with goose feathers and covered with tanned pig's skin. Armrests which were wide and comfortable; said to made for a King.

Melted glass bottles were used to make shutters for the window openings. In the winter when they were closed, they kept in the heat while allowing sunlight to enter; making it feel like it was summer when it was far from it.

There was a large table with many wooden stools placed around its parameters where they dined, and this table had its own room. Then there was a smaller eating area with a small table and pot-bellied cooking stove. This was where breakfast and lunch was served.

There were two rooms for sleeping with one on an upper level making it the only home in the area that had more than one floor.

There was a creek that ran down from the highland, under the rear, back wall of the home. This was where the bathroom was located. Suspended over the water. Whatever was dropped in, drifted away immediately upon release, making this the only home with an indoor outhouse. A self cleaning one at that.

All this—Reggie thought of as he stood there looking at the front porch. It had been a long time since he had seen the inside. But in his mind, it was so clear, so vivid. But he wouldn't walk through those doors. No sir. He wouldn't, because bad memories have a life of their own and his live inside that house where they stare at those stone walls, and his stand on that porch and look out into the gloom. Out into the great big nothing; where to this day, they remain, scared, sad and alone.
12

Fruits and Vegetables

He shied away from the home; he walked out back to where the fields began. There was a small rock and mortar barn which stood at the leading edge of what was now no more than a garden.

As a child, Reggie remembered being inside the shed, looking at the steel tools that shined clean and looked new. There were hooks and nails where everything would hang when not in use. So Mr. Ramsy or his father could look in and easily see if something were missing, if something was left in the field.

There were pitchforks, hoes, and rakes. There were scythes, machetes and chains. Anything a man would need was in there and from a child's eye, the display was fascinating.

But back then; the farm was five times its current size. It had to be because those along the shoreline depended on what was grown here. Most fished and few farmed, but that has since changed. Now, there's an equal split between fishermen, farmers, and livestock stables. This allowed Mr. Ramsy to retire.

There was once a door on the old shed; the door had fallen off long ago. Reggie could see it leaning up against the side of the building.

Inside, the tools still hung just like he remembered. But they no longer shined. They were now red with rust that was so thick; they looked like the steel was growing fur.

Inside, under the roof, and out of the weather, there were weaved baskets which were stacked, one on top of the other. The baskets were round. Two feet wide by two feet deep. There was an oval handle which was large enough he could walk with it over his shoulder; leaving his hands free and allowing the basket to rest on his hip. Each basket was custom weaved by Mrs. Ramsy long ago; back when her fingers worked.

Reggie took one from the top; he looked at it and wondered what they were made out of. Whatever it was, it must be tough. Real tough; because they were easy enough to get to and yet those crafty goats hadn't eaten them yet, and that was saying something.

He slung it over his shoulder and made it a point to ask Mrs. Ramsy the next time he saw her.

He walked out to where the garden began. The Garden that he and Glenda grew each year. He went from row to row, taking time to pick off worms, caterpillars, and bugs. He pulled weeds and he inspected each plant only taking the vegetables that were ripe. He placed them in the basket. He worked the entire garden which took close to two hours. Once he was through he stood up straight. He put both hands on his hip; he leaned back and moaned as his muscles stretched.

Mr. Ramsy, who was standing next to the old shed said: "You look like ya could use some water." In his hand were two mugs.

"There wouldn't be some apple cider in there—would there be?" Reggie asked. A smile ran across his face.

"There is," Mr. Ramsy said.

"The apples that made the cider, they wouldn't a seen the hands of Mrs. Ramsy—now would it?"

"That they did laddy."

"Then I would be a fool ta not drink it."

"Ya would indeed."

Reggie walked over to where Mr. Ramsy stood; he put down the basket which had a fair amount of vegetables in it.

"I see the ole soil is still fertile," Mr. Ramsy said as he handed Reggie his glass of cider.

"That it is," Reggie said. "Once ya get them weeds out a there, it is. That dirt's only got so much food in it. Ain't one ta feed the weeds." He took a drink of cider then added. "Think it was you who told me that."

Mr. Ramsy smiled. "Been awhile since I've seen ya. The Miss's thinks her cookin' ain't good enough fer ya."

"No truth to it," Reggie said. "Ain't a better cook walkin' the earth—and ya can tell her I said so."

"That I will. But it would mean more comin' from you."

"I'll tell her when I see her then," he paused then asked. "How did ya know I was back here?"

"Saw ya—I did. Standing yonder and lookin' at the home."

"So ya did?"

"I did... Now I know ya think the place be meanin' ya harm... But I can assure ya, it's not like that at all—it isn't."

Reggie finished his water, he looked at Mr. Ramsy and for the first time, he saw that age was taking its toll on his friend. The man who always stood straight and strong, was now hunched over, holding onto a stick he had made into a cane. His forehead was raked with wrinkles. The sides of his eyes were as well. And those eyes looked tired and Reggie was old enough now to know what that meant. He frowned because the reality of this was simple... He was mourning the loss of someone who hadn't yet left, and for reasons that were weak minded.

But weak or not mattered none, because it changed nothing.

"I know that," Reggie said as he handed him the glass. "I really do. It's just bad memories is all—nothin' more."

"Well, ya need to let the dead go on. Before ya knew it, you'll be joinin' 'em. Then... you'll have plenty a time for workin' out yer feelings."

"Aye—ya speak true enough... but can I ask ya a question that's never left my mind?"

"Sure—laddy."

"How did ya know...? I mean, when Mrs. Ramsy sat beside my Mamma and Poppa. How did ya know she wouldn't catch the sickness?"

Mr. Ramsy smiled as he took the cup from Reggie's hand. "We didn't know," he said.

"Then why? Why would the Mrs. Ramsy take such a chance?"

"Suppose ya'd have ta ask her. But then, ta do that, ya'd have ta come on in the house... wouldn't ya ... But if I was ta guess, I would say that she wanted to protect ya—Reggie. She didn't want ya gettin' sick and she knew ya wouldn't stay away. So..."

Reggie could feel a tear begin to develop in his eye, he fought it back. "Ya haven't seen Brownie—have ya?"

"No, can't say I have. But I'll keep an eye out for 'em."

"Thank ya," Reggie said. "And tell Mrs. Ramsy, I'll be a comin' ta see her real soon."

"She'll like that."

Reggie walked with Mr. Ramsy up to the home. He stopped and watched as the old man went up the three steps that led to the front porch and then as he disappeared through the open front door. Only when he was out of sight did Reggie turn and walk back to where the basket full of vegetables waited. He picked it up, slung the strap over his shoulder and walked away.
13

Meat the Greens

Reggie went into Olean. He walked past the new section of town, went straight to the docks where some of the fishermen had already come ashore. The seagulls were thick overhead, circling, and squawking. They smelled fish, they saw fish and they knew when the fish were cleaned, they would receive what wasn't wanted. They knew this because fishing required a certain amount of luck. And luck could come from wishful thinking, or it could be handed down by a higher power. But it didn't matter where it came from, as long as it came. So it is best to not take chances and none did, so nothing was wasted.

The villagers hadn't begun working the tables as of yet. The sun still had a couple of hours left in the sky. But they would come, the evening was a fair one, and the days catch looked plentiful.

Reggie waved to those who saw him, the others; he left alone so they could prepare. He went to a store called: 'MEAT the GREENS!' This was where Glenda worked. She ran the counter.

As is expected on pleasant days, the door was open so he walked in and as his eyes adjusted to the low light, Glenda came into view... She was standing at her station; smiling at him.

"Not bad, aye...?" he said as he put the basket close to her, on top the counter.

The store was the same as the others in the old section. There was a covered deck; a gable design, sealed with well placed, twisted thatch. The front looked to be twenty feet wide with a door in the middle, windows on both sides. Stone and mortar and in no way fancy.

Once inside, there was four feet between the front wall and a counter that ran from one sidewall to the other. This was the customers' area. Under the counter, there were shelves where the fresh vegetables would be placed so the interested party could feel them, smell them, tap on them, then decide if they were worthy. If they were... they would be placed on top of the counter along with sweets or other items of interest. Behind that, there was a three-feet walkway, which like the counter, ran from side wall to side wall and this was so Glenda could restock under the counter or follow the customer to a particular vegetable that took on a look that needed explaining. It was also where the money tin was and where the final deal would be negotiated and settled.

Then... there was the wall which separated both of the front areas from the butcher shop, which was located in the back. In the center, there was a door. This was where meat would be cut, fish would be cleaned and where the stock would be stored.

'The Backroom,' as it was called was where the owner of the business worked. A man named Carl Stamos. Carl was a tall, thin man, bald, with a boisterous voice. He wore a hat that only had a visor, no top or sides. He claimed a real hat was too hot, but he needed the visor as he could make better cuts without the glare of the lanterns or sun. He argued that with proper lighting--he could shave the meat so close—the dogs wouldn't waste time burying the bones.

Reggie had his doubts on that one. Brownie was picky, but he wouldn't pass on a bone. Even if it was clean of meat.

But ole Carl, he would clean and cut whatever came into the store. Ducks, doves, rodents, venison, pigs, anything, including cleaning fish. Now, as Reggie stood there, he felt a sharp pain roll through his heart because he was reminded of Brownie. This store was his favorite place; Carl always had some scraps left he would throw to him. Then... he would send Reggie home with some, so he could make bean soup with it.

Glenda, she saw something was bothering Reggie. She pulled back her long, curly hair; she tied it into a ponytail. Then she pulled the produce from the basket, laid it out on the counter. "Don't look bad at all," she said.

"Don't get much better..." Reggie replied.

She walked to the door where she cracked it and asked Carl to come take a look. He purchased most of what wasn't sold out on the street. He stored it in a cellar which was dug under the back rooms floor. It wasn't long, they heard the door open and Carl appeared. He was wiping his hands on his apron and as he walked up, so did the smell of the backroom and Reggie was reminded of the reason the wall and door were there.

Carl, he reached up, pulled off his visor, then looked; "Hmmm," he said, "Looks like you're pickin' 'em a little early."

"Not true, any longer and you'd be lookin' at bugs—ya know it—ya do!" Reggie replied.

Carl ignored him, he picked up a tomato, smelled it. He fingered the green beans, snapping one of the pea pods, it was crisp. He squeezed the eggplant, nodded his head in agreement. "So be it," he said, "twenty pence, I'll add it to yer pay," Carl said, looking at Glenda.

"That would be worth at least forty pence," she replied.

"Thirty it is...! Now if ya don't mind, I'm cuttin' pork back there. So if our business is through, then I'll be beggin' yer pardon."

"Aye, that it is..." Glenda replied.

Carl, he turned and started for the door, then stopped and asked: "Where's the dog?"

"I don't know," Reggie said. "I woke and he was gone. Been lookin' for him I have."

Carl thought a moment, "Cheer up," he said. "Dog ain't gonna find a better home, he'll return."

"Sure hope so."

"Ya want some pig fat?"

"Na... Won't be cookin' for a while, thanks all the same."

"Got some fiiiinnne pork pies... ya sure now?"

"As sure as this day was long."

"Yeah, she was a long one indeed." Carl walked to the rear, closing the door behind him.

"If he was a painter, he'd be a fine one, he would."

Glenda smiled, "You don't have very high standards..., do ya?"

"Not sure what yer words means...?"

"It means simply, you like the way Carl cuts meat."

"That I do."

"There ya have it then."

"Have you seen Brownie around?" Reggie asked.

"Haven't seen him."

"Woke up in the mornin', he was gone."

"So ya just said."

"When?"

"Just now, ya told Carl—I was standin' right here."

"So ya were."

"It isn't like Brownie ta run off... now is it?" Glenda asked.

"No, it isn't."

"You think maybe Danny Green had somethin' ta do with it?" Glenda asked.

"For his sake, I hope not."

"But you're sure to find out?"

"Aye..., I'm sure ta find out. But I'll tell ya, should it be 'em, I'll lose my temper."

"I don't blame ya."

"So, suppose I'll be takin' a supper potato and wheat bread... that's if you would?" He put the two coins down he got from Father McConnell on the counter.

"What would you be buying with that?" she asked looking at it.

"I will be buying a potato and bread!"

"That won't buy the potato or the bread."

"Well, it's all I got, isn't it."

"Take it then—along with the potato and bread... Consider it payment for yer garden work."

Reggie took the food, turned and walked to the door when he heard; "Don't forget your flint rock." They were still on the counter.

"That ain't rock..., is it?"

"Close enough."

Reggie took his coins then headed down to where Grandel was standing with a customer. They were talking about what a small snapper should go for. Then a deal was made and the customer walked on with his fish.

"So now," Grandel said, "how did Brownie like the snapper?"

"I don't know, he's gone missin'."

"Nooo!"

"He has—woke this mornin', he was gone... Haven't seen him have ya?"

"No."

"I know what you're thinkin'," Reggie said.

"That Danny Green is behind it?" Grandel replied.

"That would be it, I tell ya, I've been watching him, there's no sweat on his brow."

"Nerves are calm are they?"

"Aye."

"Most likely the dog'll show up, only needs some time."

"Hope so, you know I'm fond of the beast."

"Aye, so am I. Wouldn't give a good eatin' fish to just any dog—now would I?"

"No... Well, if ya see 'em, you'll send him home then?"

"I will."

Reggie, as this point, should have left. There was no reason to stay because Grandel couldn't talk. He had customers to tend too. But he didn't leave; instead he walked over to the side of the booth and stood like a perched pelican.

Grandel watched knowing what he was doing, which was wasting time until Glenda got off work. He smiled because Reggie wasn't good at blending in and anyone who saw him would know he was waiting for Glenda. His eyes were locked on that opened door that led to where she worked the counter. And he wasn't blinking, at least not much. And his left hand rocked around when he was nervous and it was rocking now.

"Why don't ya just ask her out?" Grandel asked chuckling.

"What is it you're speakin' of?" Reggie asked.

"Glenda, who do you think I be speakin' of?"

"She's too good fer me and ya know it."

"I don't know why ya say that, she's always there for ya... aint she?"

Reggie thought a moment, "Well, truth of it is—I would say I was always there fer her."

"Either way—it don't matter, if she didn't want ya around, ya wouldn't be around."

"We're friends, me and her, always have been, simple as that."

"I don't think so."

"She's too pretty, she would never take to the likes of me."

"She's only pretty `cause ya see her that way."

"What ya mean?"

"If she was as pretty ta others, as she is ta you, would she still be single?"

"She's single `cause she chooses to be."

"She's single `cause she's waitin' fer ya to change it! But ya don't and she won't wait around fer ever and ya know it!"

Reggie thought a moment, then shook the notion out from his head. He hung around a while longer than looked at Grandel. "So—ya will send Brownie home then?"

"I said I would."

"So be it—I'll be seein' ya."

"Ya will indeed."

Reggie walked down the shoreline; he kicked at the packed sand that still held salt water. He thought about what Grandel had said. It wasn't the first time he had heard it and there was no one who wanted it to be true more so than Reggie.

But it wasn't. Plain and simple. Glenda treated him the same as she always had. Nothing more than a friend and that hurt him, but it could be worse and worse was what he feared it would be if he pursued what wasn't meant for him.

But the mind does have a mind of its own. A subconscious mind that does what it wants and cares little about worthless things like, embarrassment or consequences. And it was this subconscious mind that walked Reggie around in one big circle. A circle that was timed perfectly so when Glenda walked out of the door after work, she ran right into the side of him.

"Oh, Reggie!" she said, as she stumbled. She was on her way to the ground when Reggie grabbed her by the arm. He helped her back to her feet.

"Sorry, Glenda," he said.

She smiled. "Well, no harm done. Be honest, I was hopin' ya would wait for me." She then walked alongside him; wrapping her left arm around his right as they strolled along the cobblestone road.

The sun was low in the sky and the waves were heard washing onto shore. The seagulls were still around, although there were fewer with only an occasional cry out. The shoreline was starting to clear; the crowd had picked up what they wanted for supper and where heading home. So it was peaceful.

There was a light breeze and the temperature felt to be in the mid-seventies. It was a beautiful evening, one where neither Reggie nor Glenda spoke much. Instead, they walked slowly; they listened to the crickets that began to chirp and the sounds of the boat riggings as they swung from their ropes. They smelled the sea air and nodded to the other islanders as they passed. And they kept a much slower pace than usual.

No, Life on the island was always good, but there was something about evenings like this one. Something magical, perhaps even healing because during this brief period, Reggie didn't think about Brownie. He didn't think about Danny Green, or the trees that meant him harm. He had forgotten the night his mother passed, as well as his father. On this night there was only here, and only now, and it wouldn't last. So he cleared his mind of all the bad things that were going on around him. And he took one step, and then another, all the while, the woman of his dreams remained beside him. Her hands in his, her head on his shoulder.

They walked until they were at Glenda's house only then did she pull away. She kissed him on the side of his mouth. "Thank ya, Reggie," she said. Then she smiled and walked away.

Reggie waited until she was inside the house and now, she closed the door.

Reggie, he turned and looked at the sun which still had an inch to travel before it would give way to the moon. He went home, cooked his potato over an outside fire. As expected, the magical feeling he had earlier was gone so he sat and thought and nothing good came to mind. He listened for the howl of a dog, the flapping of monster wings, but only the crickets and sound of the breeze blowing through the grass could be heard. It would be a long night, one with little sleep. He would stare at the moon, which seemed even closer now, then the night before.

This went on until the sun started to glow amber over the eastern skyline. He watched it rise and wondered if there was a time during the night when he slept. He thought not, but it didn't matter. A new day was upon him and there were things to do.

Best get to it, he thought.

14

The Legend of Brandan's Fall

In a time before the birth of Reggie St. Clair and before Fred Ramsy held a name in the living world. The property that now belonged to Reggie was (at that time) deeded to a farmer who went by the name: Percy Riley.

Percy was a small man in comparison to others around him. He was thin, only had head hair along both sides and the back of his skull. His teeth were yellow and his clothes always showed his chosen profession which was raising pigs.

Percy married young as most did because life was short at this time with the average lifespan being not much more than thirty-five years old, or twenty-five years old if you raised pigs.

The reason for the shorter lifespan wasn't known, although it was suspected that eating pork meals three times a day, three hundred and fifty-two times a year, may not be the best for a person's health. But as Percy would say: nothin's proven ya know... And until it is, I'll be eatin' somethin' that has bones bigger than the needle that hems a dress! Ye'll see... ya will. Ya won't be talkin' that trash when yer throat's full a bones—and it will be—ya wait an see!

Percy didn't care for fishermen. Some would say it was jealousy. The seamen were first on the island. They also made better returns on their efforts. And when the weather was bad, they took the day off or the week off, or months off.

Percy, he couldn't take a day off. The pigs didn't care that it was storming, or freezing, nor did they care that a blizzard was ragging. The pigs had to have constant and consistent attention. So Percy (and only Percy) thought his job was more important than those who sat in boats and floated—and he made it known every chance he got.

A fisherman is no friend of the Lord...! He would croak. They have ta kill ta kill—they do... First, they kill the bait which they will use ta kill the fish... If they catch a fish they don't like, they throw it back, leave it floatin', dead enough. Damn shame it is! Nothin' around em lives and they wonder why the ocean tries to spit em off her teat!

Now a pig farmer—he only kills what he's gonna eat... no more no less... the way God intended—ya can bet on it—ya can!

The fisherman obviously didn't like what Percy was saying, so they fired back with: eat yer pig until ya choke...! The smell of the animal is the taste of the meat... That's why no one wants it. Say what ya will, you'll be the only one who eats the stinky beasts, ya will...!'

So Percy and his wife (Madeline) drew a line in the sand, an imaginary line that separated them from the fisherman and as the years passed, they would prove to become mortal enemies. And some say that's where the story ends. That time moved along and those who were bitter became tired and no longer wanted to speak of it. That—one by one—they disappeared and were replaced with a new, more open-minded generation...

But that tale doesn't roll off the tongue well—not during nights by the fire. And there were others who told another—longer version of the story. This story involved two people—young people—a woman and a man. And they were in love and like most stories of this kind; their love was separated by boundaries. And why not? On an island with little to choose from, there were few who joined hands that were in love. Most couples were brought together by parents who offered dowries to secure a livable life. Land, sheep, a fishing vessel... Anything that would feed upcoming children.

Love was only in fairy tales and most hated others who had what was (at least for them) out of reach. So on those cold nights when the fire burned hot, those who sat around enjoying the warmth would be delighted to hear the story of, Brandan's Fall which went like this:

Brandan Riley walked past the pigs which were feeding in the trough. He could hear the sounds of grunts and squeals as each animal ate as fast and as much as they could. Swallowing without chewing, never raising their snouts. Brandan stopped for a moment and watched them as they swayed from side to side; pushing each other as though they could push them away and all that extra slop would be theirs.

But that never worked and never would and Brandan thought these animals to be stupid for thinking such a thing. But they weren't stupid at all. As a matter of fact, they were quite smart and although Brandan thought them dumb now, he didn't always feel that way.

Back when he was young, he loved the pigs because he was so fair skinned, he couldn't play outside in the sun without blistering. So, he found that if he played in the pigs' pen, in the slop, the mud would cover him, then dry, leaving a protective shell that not only cooled the skin, but kept it from burning. Basically, the pigs' had the right idea, and if not for the pigs'; Brandan would have had a lousy childhood. But as he grew, his skin toughened and since pigs' smell some, he chose to forget about his past because it no longer suited him.

Now, Brandan saw the pigs' as fat, way too fat, because when Percy, his father, slaughtered one. Once it was cooked, there was a lot of fat on the plate and little else. This was something his father saw as a blessing, because there was more meat. But Brandan knew this wasn't exactly true; there was more fat, not meat, fat.

yer problem is, yer cuttin' off the fat, his father told him. But Brandon didn't like the fat and was convinced that no one else did either.

Aye--the people like to eat meat, Brandon said. Ya don't see fat hanging off the meat of their fish!

Now don't ya get ta speakin' ta me about them water rats! Percy croaked.

I only be sayin'... if we trimmed the meat lean, we would sell more than they do those water rats—that's all!

God'll tend ta them critter killers and those who buy from 'em! Ya need pay no mind.

Brandan frowned because he knew his father had fought this fight for years. That he had given up and it hurt. So Brandon desperately wanted to change the public's opinion of the pig farmers. He wanted his family to be seen as equal to the fishermen but that wasn't happening.

He walked to the cliff which looked out over the Atlantic Ocean. He would do this each day because he loved the breeze. He would watch the men in their boats below. Watch as they rowed or sat anchored. Each convinced a large fish was below them; staring at the bait. Looking closely at the hook and wondering if this easy meal in front of them was a blessing or a course. Brandon smiled because they should know there are no easy meals, not on land or underwater.

He turned and looked back towards the farm. He could hear his father walking around with a bucket of water, dumping it out to make mud. They loved mud, they loved to stink, and they loved Percy because although one day, he would remove them from this life. Until that day came, they would be treated like royalty.

It was this trait that Brandan was most proud of when he thought of his father. He loved him as he did his mother. But time was passing and their teeth were yellowing. Gray strands showed in their hair, and his father would take to his bed long before he should.

These were all signs of the body weakening. The muscles deteriorating. These were signs that what was once easy for them was becoming hard. These were signs that Brandan would need to pitch in more and then more as time passed. He didn't like these signs, and as he watched his father with the bucket of water, ankle deep in mud. He could see himself—right there, holding that bucket and his teeth were yellow, there was gray in his hair, maybe a belly from too much ale intake. And he would drink ale... oh yes—this he was sure of. He would have to; it was the ale which took the liver and once the liver was gone, so was his pig problem.

He looked back down at the water below. The waves were gentle on this day and the men fished close to the sheer wall that rose up to where he now stood. He found a boat, a wooden vessel, painted yellow, which made it stand out because not only was it bright, but it was the only boat painted.

He watched as it floated in the current. He could see the fishermen sitting; staring down at the water. There wasn't a day that passed when Brandan didn't search for that yellow boat. The reason for this, was that man sitting there, wasn't just any man. He was handsome, strong, and important. He rowed the nicest boat, lived in the nicest home, and his child were sent to the mainland where they were properly educated. Two grades, which meant they would soon be able to read and write.

And those children, they were something to see. The boy, he took after his father; strong and now rowed his own boat. And the girl, she took after her mother; beautiful in every way, and she was everything to Brandan. She was the woman he would marry... Well, that is if that man in the yellow boat wasn't her father.

Yep, he hated Brandon and he hated Percy. He hated all pig farmers because he was as old as Percy, and had stood toe to toe with him during many arguments about who was the better man. The one that smelled like fish, or pig?

Now, as Brandon looked down at him, he knew the old man was aware he was up there. Knew he was being watched but he ignored Brandon.

Don't ya be surprised if'n ya feel some water on yer brow—ole man, he whispered. Don't be thinkin' the water came from the sky, either. The truth be—it came from the bladder of a pig farmer. One who's gonna marry yer daughter... Ya can click yer heals on it—ya can!" He turned and walked away.

He went past the farm, past the pigs and the house. He went towards town where he saw his mother washing clothes along the side of a creek. He walked up to her and said. This would be yer favorite spot, wouldn't it Momma? A smile ran across his face.

Aye" she answered, the water—it runs from the high ground, fresh it is. Clean as the day God place it here. I can tell ya that.

But I wonder how fresh it is once it passes ya here. Brandon said.

We won't speak a that.

Brandon stood there a few moments. It didn't take long, his mother straightened up, she wiped the sweat from her brow and said: Is there something I can do fer ya—lad? I can't take ya staring at me like that!

I want ta ask Angie ta marry me... ya know that.

I do.

And ya know her Pa won't allow it.

I do.

What can be done about it... do ya know?

His mother thought a moment, then looked up at her son. Seems ta me, the answer is simple enough, she said.

Please then... go on.

The problem yer facin' is nothing more than who is the better man... is it not?

Suppose it is.

Then why not have a vote on it. Settle it fer once and fer all?

I'm not sure what yer sayin'

She explained it to him. When she was finished, Brandan smiled and said; Ma—ya took more than a rib from Adam—ya did.

She smiled then shoed her son away. Wouldn't take much to be smarter than Adam, she thought. The first woman he meets, smiles at him, and the whole world ends up cursed...!

15

The Vote

Brandan was shocked to find that not only was the town of Olean happy to settle the argument—they were actually excited. It seemed they hadn't ever had a vote before and the thought of banding together to settle something struck some unseen chord. It meant they would be responsible (at least partially) for the outcome. So the townspeople took this seriously and during the week before the vote took place; there was much discussion on the topic; with the end, and deciding factor turning from: who was the better man... to: who smelled the worst.

Now... there were solid arguments on both sides which transformed into a debate with some claiming the pig farmer being more pungent while others claimed it was, in fact, the fishermen. This went on all the way up to the day when they would place their votes into a bucket which was held by the impartial and acting Priest at the time—a man named: Father Lethanial McQueen.

Father McQueen didn't place his vote but made it known that in his opinion, they were even—in that they both stank and one didn't smell worse than the other. But he was the only one who shared such an opinion and on the day of the voting, they would see a turnout that consisted of every man, woman, and child that lived on the island.

Once the votes were in, Father McQueen went to the Church; he locked the doors and began to count the ballots, while, the townspeople stood around the outside of the church and waited.

It wasn't long; a spontaneous celebration erupted; one that wasn't planned but since everyone was there; why not? And it was huge, so much so, later it would be compared to the fall harvest festival which was a three-day event.

This was ideal for the townspeople, but not so great for Father McQueen, because, with all the noise, he kept losing count. And the longer he continued, the faster his count would falter. The reason for this was simple: Spontaneous fun was like a lot like a summer storm. You have no control over when it's going to show up. You have no idea how bad it's going to get. And there is a beginning, middle and end to it and you have no idea when those clouds will thin and the skies will clear.

In other words, Father McQueen was certain he was missing the best part and the longer he remained locked in his Church, the more the party would taper off.

This grew worse as the day went on, because unlike those who have solid, window shutters which are sealed when closed—the church had no shutters, instead, there were stained glass panels which allowed sunlight to enter. Since Father McQueen had spent a fair portion of his life in the structure, he learned to read the sun and its shadows like a clock.

In the morning, the sun's beams radiated through the Eastern stained glass, sending off beams of red, blue, violet and white... all the colors of the rainbow. When those beams disappeared, it meant one-quarter of the day had passed. Then—when the sun sent light down the Hearth's chimney... it meant the day was half over. Ending when the sun lit up the Western windows, or returning to the sea.

This was intentional because there were only two times people watched the sun—the morning and the evening. The two times its light doesn't harm the eyes, and the two times the colors of the afterworld lit up the sky.

This was the reason the position was chosen for the church, and most times, Father McQueen would say he loved being in it, but on this day, he wouldn't have said that at all.

It started when one-quarter of the day had passed. This was when the voting was closed and the ballots were brought into the church. This was also when the light no longer sent beams through the eastern windows. Father McQueen sat at a table which was placed for just this occasion.

His chair was a wooden, unpadded stool which he had placed there because it was handy and he wasn't planning on sitting for long. But this stool, it had no back and at first, he cared little about that, that is, until he pulled the first ballet from the woven basket.

On the ballet, there were no words, which wasn't a surprise because few in the village had a use for reading or writing. So instead of a statement, there was a roughly drawn picture of a fish...

Father McQueen took a moment; he wondered what it meant...? Was the person voting that the fishermen smelled worse? Or was he voting the fishermen smelled better?

He flipped the paper around, taking a look on the back; there was nothing and no way to know who to ask. Why would there be? He thought. The voter was supposed to remain unknown.

Father McQueen chuckled because the picture of the fish looked as though it was drawn by a two-year-old. So he decided to place the 'unknown ballets' in a pile which he would get too later. But he would soon find that this pile was the mass majority. Along with the fish, there were drawings of boats, of stick men, of pigs. There was a starfish, a rat; there was even a drawing of someone Father McQueen thought could be him. The only thing missing was a way to determine which way they wanted their vote to swing.

Then, as he tediously went through the ballots, somewhere between a quarter of a day and a half; the smell of smoke began to drift inside the Church. Then, it turned to the smell of barbecued pork, then cooked fish. Soon, he heard the sounds of laughter and children playing. It wasn't long, someone with a mandolin began strumming, followed by a drum, then a flute, all this coming to a head with the sounds of feet flailing on dirt which could only mean there was dancing going on.

It was somewhere around three-quarters of a day when Father McQueen, frustrated, confused, and desperate, finally came out of the Church seeking only answers to all those double meaning ballots. And he had them in his hands and walked around and showed the villagers. He asked if they knew who drew them, or what they meant. One person after the other he went too.

But the band never stopped playing, and the dancers kept dancing. People on the grass sat crossed legged while they ate pork, and fish, and corn that was still on the cob. It seemed they no longer cared who the better man was. The fishermen of pig farmer. And it wasn't long; Father McQueen no longer cared either.

But Brandan Riley cared. Blinded by love he cared. A love that was so strong he couldn't see that he was alone in his desire. That Sweet Angie's interests lay elsewhere, with someone who smelled like fish. A young lad who could dance as well anyone. And looked better than everyone. A muscle man who ran the fastest, swam the farthest, who fought the hardest.

No—Brandan couldn't see any of this because he refused to see. This wasn't real because what kept him from his Sweet Angie wasn't the boy who now held her hand, who twirled her about. But rather the long-running feud between fishermen and farmers. The feud that still had no answer. This was what he believed and why not... Love does make the impossible seem so, within reach.

So as the day went on, and Father McQueen grew weary of his search for accuracy. He finally decided he would do the only thing he could. He would base the results only on what he knew to be an opinion and not a guess. Those that were confusing were tossed into the hot ash.

Using this method, and only this method, he looked at Brandan, and he knew. Oh yes, he knew he was about to say the words that would destroy the boy. He didn't want to do it, but he did all the same.

Laddy, he said, and Brandan was the only one listening, the fine people of Olean have spoken... And before I release the results to ya, I want ta say it was close. But the general consensus is...: Pig farmers smell worse than fish...!

Father McQueen saw Brendan's shoulder slump, his eyes begin to water, his bottom lip quiver. Father McQueen could see Brandan was about to break down. He put a hand on the boys shoulder and in an attempt to put this whole contest into some sort of perspective, he said: Brandon, the reason they chose the fish was simple enough... fish don't stink while in the water. But hogs as ya know... smell all the time. So there's no reason this outcome should affect ya this way... Besides, look around, no one even cares!

But it did affect Brandan, and as the days passed, he became a shadow of his former self. Lost in thought. A thought that always came back to the same conclusion and that was: he would never have Sweet Angie without receiving her father's blessing.

So—and in desperation—he pulled his own father aside. I can no longer work with the hogs—ya know, he said.

Percy took on a funny facial expression. When was ya workin' with the hogs? He asked.

Well I was, but I won't no more!

So be it—laddy, Percy said and chuckled. Don't know what I'll do without ya!

Don't ya be tryin' ta stop me... My minds made up—it is!

I can see that, so be on with ya. Me and the pigs'll be fine—we will. Then Percy went back to work as though nothing happened, because nothing really did, at least nothing would create a change.

Brandon... he stood a moment, half expecting his father to make threats or plead for him to stay. But that wasn't going to happen and once enough time had passed for him to figure that out; he walked away. He went straight to the cove where he sat and waited until he saw his Sweet Angie's father's (Merrill) yellow boat heading back into port.

16

A legend is Made

I don't know why it is ya keep speakin' ta me about my daughter? Merrill said frustrated, as he pulled his boat unto shore. He had seen the boy sitting there waiting as he rowed home. He knew what he wanted; it was always the same thing and it had so little to do with him. Girls will be girls and although they could be persuaded, they couldn't be forced. This was something Brandan wasn't aware of and Merrill had already explained it time and time again so there was little point in another attempt.

So now... he found it was best to say whatever would get the young man moving along.

I quiet workin' the farm! Brandan said, excited, anxious, a smile showing teeth.

Laddy, Merrill said. I won't be sayin' I know what a woman wants... Ain't sayin' that at all... and I don't guess there's a man out there who claims they did—cause they don't. But I do know what turns the head the other way—I do... and a man with no job won't be seein' no pretty eyes a lookin' at 'em. So on with ya... I have me some work ta do!

Brandan could feel the blood run to his cheeks. He knew Merrill wasn't speaking the truth. He knew it and it was just as his father had said: ya can't trust a man that handles what ain't natural. Fish are for what lives in the sea. Ya won't find no piece a pork on a hook that's attached ta a line that's attached ta a pole which is held by a fish! Ya won't, 'cause it ain't natural...!

He's right, Brandan thought, all this time, he was speaking the truth. When Brandan looked back at Merrill, he was turned, bent over with his back to Brandan.

Ya won't be foolin' me—ole man, he said. I'm wise ta yer ways. Wise to what ya think and I can get rid of this stink... Ya wait and see and when I do... there'll be no reason ta send me on—there won't. Ya just wait..."

But Merrill ignored the lad and went on preparing his boat for the next morning.

Once again, and for the second time in one day, Brandan stomped away. It would be the following day when he would announce that he was going to leap off from the "North End Cliff," (Now known as Brandan's fall).

This would... he was sure... for once and for all... wash the pig stink from his body.

The announcement was made in the evening, while the villagers made their way around the tables. The sun was setting low and showing colors off the sea's surface. The people were calm because it was time to ease into the night. Only thing left was a full belly. The last thing they wanted was something to get them fire up and that was just what Brandan did.

He took six wooden kegs which were empty; he put one next to a stack of two, which was next to a stack of three. This made a stairs of sorts. He climbed to the top of the third keg which was a little wobbly, but that was exactly what the occasion needed. Some fluff!

I want ta let ya all know... I'll be makin' a leap from the North End Cliff! He screamed out then waited... the crowd was silent.

I do this fer the love a my life: Sweet Angie, he continued. I will win her over once the smell a pig has left my skin. I think that this can only be done by a hard hit ta the water. A force that's so powerful I'm scart it may peel the skin from my body... But if that's what it takes, then that's what it takes!

Now, if casting a vote got the villagers of Olean excited, you can only imagine what this upcoming stunt had done. The word spread like a barn fire. And even though the date for what they had named 'The cleansing' was set for the following day, it was plenty of time for all to hear and all were present.

The fishermen had their boats in the water, loaded with family members. They floated just outside of the landing spot. The rest of the spectators walked up onto the North End Cliff, where they found Brandan standing there. He was looking down and for some reason; he swore the drop had really stretched out longer overnight. He wanted to call it off, and would have if it hadn't been for that last moment when he saw that yellow boat. And it was a little closer to the landing site than those in the other boats. And in that yellow boat was none other than, Sweet Angie and working the oars, was ole man Merrill, the dad.

Brandan was certain this was it. Make the jump, peel off the pig stink; replace it with fish smells; get the blessing and then, the only thing left was to say the vows.

But taking that step out into open air wasn't so easy. And the more he looked down, the heavier his legs felt. And those waves weren't that small, but from this height, they looked like mere ripples...

But then—not far off—there she was. Sweet Angie, and she was standing in the front of the boat and she had on a long white gown, perhaps a wedding dress. And she was holding a white umbrella to shadow the sun. On her hands were white gloves; on her feet were white shoes. And he could see her golden hair and her hazel eyes. He could see it because she was no longer in the boat. She was standing right there, facing him and Father McQueen, he was just off to their side, reading from his Bible. He was saying something about death, and parting. Brandan wasn't listening; he was too caught up in those eyes, those lips and that smile.

You may kiss the bride. He heard and he wasted no time stepping towards her. One step and as he closed his eyes, and as he puckered his lips; he felt the ground fall out from under his feet.

For a moment, those watching and of sound minds, would later swear the boy was being held up by God. That he floated, but that didn't last. Down he went and those in the boats who watched from below would later speak of bad form. They would say his arms didn't rotate in the correct direction. That they didn't counter his momentum and this sent him backward. They say he flipped once and when he hit the water, it was belly first with both hands straight out to his sides. Last, they say it was a painful thing to witness.

There was a sound upon impact; one so loud, even those on top of the cliff could hear it. But it wasn't the sound of Brandan's skin being torn from his body, but rather the sound of all the gas that was being forced out of the only exit point that wasn't underwater. It was the sound of one massive fart.

Now, there was talk that the fart was the snort of a pig and perhaps it was similar, but when the water calmed, Brandan was floating face down. And those looking on were certain he wasn't moving on account of he was embarrassed... They knew it wasn't really a pig snort that they heard.

Merrill, Sweet Angie's father, he was so impressed that the boy had done such a thing for the hand of his daughter, had a change of heart. Only true love could drive a young man to do something so stupid.

He rowed the boat over closer to Brandan, so Sweet Angie could see just what a true Prince really looks like. And a true Prince doesn't always look better than everyone else. He isn't always a muscle man who can run the fastest, or swam the farthest, or even fight the hardest. Sometimes he's no more than a pig farmer.

Sweet Angie, she did look worried and for a moment, everyone standing on the cliff believed that she too had a change of heart. But then she quickly turned away while plugging her nose with one hand, and violently waving the other back and forth in front of her face. It seemed Brandan found the source of his smell—it wasn't from the pigs.

From that day on, the North End Cliff was called: Brandan's Fall. And Brandan, up until now, was still the only person who attempted to take the leap. So it was believed that it was impossible to survive such an impact. But then, it was also believed that the sun spent half its time under the sea so...

17

The Cliff

Reggie St. Clair was sitting in the grass on this morning and he watched in wonder as the eastern glow showed the sun come up from out of the ocean. He was sure he saw water dripping off from it and as it dried, the light became oh so bright. It wasn't long; he couldn't look at it.

The ocean water had been warmed and now it was time for dry land to have its share of heat. The birds, they must have felt the same way because they began chirping. He looked up to see them flying around, searching for food. There was a small sparrow dive bombing a large hawk that had flown too close to the nest. The hawk was no match for the speed of the sparrow and Reggie thought of those crafty goats who were a lot like the small bird. They did no real harm, but they sure made life miserable. Made you want to move on which is exactly what the hawk did.

He walked around the cabin, calling out for Brownie; but he was nowhere to be seen and Reggie was beginning to think his worst nightmare was about to come true.

He feared that Brownie wasn't coming home.

Tears pooled in his eyes as he thought of all the times Brownie had sat at the side of his bed when he was sick. How he would place is head close to him and stare at Reggie as though his bad, dog breath was some sort of cure. He was quite the caregiver and more than once, Reggie took the dog over to Glenda's house when one of her parents weren't feeling well.

Reggie wouldn't enter the home, but Brownie had no problems doing so. And he would remain there with them and guard them. He would lie down, but he never slept. Glenda said it was the strangest thing she had ever seen because he wouldn't eat either. Not until they were better.

And there were many times, Grandel would take the dog with him fishing. He claimed Brownie would get so excited when a fish was brought to the surface, he would jump in and attack it. Reggie knew this was the truth because he saw the fish as Grandel sat them on the table. There were teeth marks already in them. Then, when a customer would ask about it, Grandel would smile and say the dog dove down and caught that one. Brownie, he would be sitting next to him wagging his tail, his ears in his eyes.

No sir, Reggie knew the truth and it was simply that he really didn't own Brownie, everyone did. The only thing that made him different was Brownie liked him a little more. And now—there was a good chance that his friend was gone and it pained Reggie. Cut like a knife, burned like a held, hot coal. It made moving difficult, and caring even more so. But he did move, he went straight to the pasture where he knew he would find that no good, Danny Green.

He walked to the hillside where he was sure the hermit would take his sheep. He sat and waited. Two hours later there he was, the only sheepherder around that had no sheepdog.

Paaatheeeetic.

As usual, the sheep stopped on command and immediately dropped their heads and ate grass. Danny, he stood while holding his staff; he looked out among those sheep like he was some kind of God, but in Reggie's eyes; he was far from that.

Just then, he turned and looked at Reggie, no doubt, he felt the stare burning his skin. They locked eyes for a few moments, then Danny returned his gaze to his flock.

His hood was down and Reggie could see that long pointed nose that made him look like a rat. His fire red hair was matted and spiked straight out of the back of his head and looked like flames burning in a strong wind. His multicolored facial skin was salted and leathered. This made Danny Green look like a lot like what everyone thought he was... A large rodent.

Reggie knew there was no reason to speak to him. Rats don't talk much and when they do, it's usually to squeal on someone.

He stood up and walked away, not coming to a stop until he was standing at the door of Danny Greens home.

He knocked.

A moment later, Marianna Green opened the door. She slowly looked up and down Reggie St. Clair. Her black eyes then locked onto Reggie's eyes. Now, she stood silent and stared and Reggie swore she was looking inside his skull. Searching around, gathering information on the man who was foolish enough to have come calling.

Her thin frame towered over Reggie by at least three inches. Her long, black, dreadlocked hair, fanned out over her head making her look like the Greek Goddess, Medusa. These, snake-like locks, arched up, then out and down; stopping when they were close to the middle of her back. She was a beauty with pearl white teeth, full plump lips. She was a chocolate goddess who was rumored to practice the dark arts and that made Reggie fear her. It made all the villagers fear her.

He had seen her a few times, but only from a distance. Ole Danny Green kept her out of sight. It was rumored this was because he was a rodent, and she was a serpent, and most times, the two don't get along. Looking at her, Reggie wondered why she hadn't already eaten the rat. Rid the world of his evilness. He was sure she could because he swore as she looked into his eyes, she was thinking of having him for dinner. Literally.

His fear began to consume him, so much so, he found it hard to breathe.

"What is it you want... man?" she asked in a heavy Caribbean accent.

Reggie, he sort of pulled out of her spell and stuttered. "I-I-I wondered if ya seen my dog?"

"Seen yer dog...? Is that what ya want? Now why would a man as big as da likes a you be in need of a dog?"

"Y-y-y-ya sayin' you seen him?"

"Look around ya... man! Of all ta things I need, a dog, ya won't see. What I'm sayin', is a man I need, not a dog!"

"But—yer husband, he don't like my dog and he may a done somethin' to 'em."

She smiled and cocked her head to the side. "Aaaaah. Now I know who ya are.... You're ta man who took da bittin' dog!"

"I am, but Brownie didn't like 'em. He wouldn't bite no one else. Promise ya that."

"Brownie would be the name of da dog, then?"

"It would."

Marianna's brow dropped. "Well," she said, "I can see ya be worried." Her voice was quiet and calm. "But ya should be, 'cause I've been lookin' into me ball of crystal. I can tell ya one thing!."

"What?"

"Da dog ain't here, haven't seen em!" She laughed.

Reggie, he was upset. "I don't have ta let your sheep on my property, ya best know it!" Reggie croaked.

"Ya let the sheep feed 'cause ya like da short grass—man. Yer only foolin' yerself."

Reggie knew she had a point. "Please," he said. "Would ya tell me; have ya seen my dog?"

"I told ya no! Look around if ya like. But leave what's ours be." There was a pause, "I'll be watchin'!"

"Thank ya," Reggie said, "I promise ta not touch noth--

Marianna closed the door.

Reggie checked the ground, looking for fresh black dirt, a mound or something that would represent a burial. Thankfully, there was nothing. He then walked around the home. Nothing.

He thought perhaps Danny wasn't stupid enough to bury the dog so close. He started walking around in circles, each time taking a wider path, expanding his search. This went on for most the day until he was desperate for water. There was no way he was going to ask Marianna for some, so he headed home.

He stopped when he came to where Danny had stood over his sheep. To his surprise, they had the valley clean. This meant Danny Green would seek another field the next day. The question was—which one?

He looked at the sun; there were a couple of hours left before it set. He thought of the forest, he thought of Danny Green, he thought of Marianne Green. He thought of Father McConnell and remembered he was supposed to help him dig up rocks for the church's addition.

"Shooooooot," he screamed. "I fergot again! I'll tell ya, it's too late now!"

Frustrated; he strolled over to the cliff where he looked out over the ocean. The fishing boats were already in; Grandel was most likely set up and selling by this time.

He thought about heading into town, but other than the flint rocks that no one wanted; he had no money for food, so on this night, he would do without. He wasn't hungry anyhow.

The sea was calm, almost flat like an endless pond. Only ripples blew across the surface. He sat and hung his legs over the drop-off. He looked down and the water was so clear; he could see the rocks on the bottom and this wasn't normal. But those rocks looked sharp, jagged, unforgiving reefs. And he was so sure the water was deep down there, but it sure didn't look deep. Not on this afternoon.

His mind drifted away. The sea had him mesmerized because it was rising and falling, but so slow and gentle, one had to stare to see it. One had to watch the water on the rock cliff.

There were seagulls sailing in the air streams above. There was a rather large fish, one too big for even Grandel to catch, rolling on the surface. Reggie wondered what, and how big it was. He thought perhaps it was a sea dragon, he was glad it was heading back out to deeper water.

Then, and out of nowhere, there was a loud CRACK! And in the time it takes to breathe one breath, something hit the center of Reggie's back, pushing him right over the edge of Brandan's fall!

Acting on instinct, which his were much better than Brandan Riley's, he tucked into a ball holding his legs to his chest. As he did, his rotation picked up. He did a flip, straightening out, right before impact, his feet driving down into the water, his body following.

Now, his mind was as sharp as the razor that shaves his chin. He was underwater, but traveling deeper to where he knew those jagged rocks were waiting. He slightly arched his back, changing his trajectory to more of a sideways, or horizontal ride. He slowed finally coming to a stop.

But he wasn't in the clear yet. He was turned around; he was deep, and desperate for air. He had one chance at making it to the surface, but which way was up? Thank God his mind was razor sharp. He exhaled just enough to see bubbles as they rose to the surface. He followed.

He jetted out of the water like a whale. Mouth open, eyes wide and taking in air. Then he settled back onto the surface where he treaded water and allowed his mind to catch up.

The bottom of his feet stung. The impact as he landed in the salt water felt like they had been hit with a bow whip. His underwear was packed up into his butt cheeks. His shirt was bunched up around his neck. And he was furious.

He was alive, he was safe. So now that his mind no longer had to worry about surviving; it turned to rage.

He rotated to where he was facing the cliff, then he looked up to see that no good, Danny Green was up there and he was looking down at him. His rat face held the same stare it had earlier when they locked eyes. As Reggie treaded water, he gave the Rat the dirtiest look he could muster. But the Rat showed no fear, or remorse. He turned and walked out of sight.

Reggie, he felt something touching him. He looked to see there was a branch floating next to him.

Using the branch as a flotation device, he swam the shoreline, past the cliffs to the cove. He came to where the fisherman's boats were already pulled onto shore.

He stood when he could touch bottom. Then dragging the limb for no known reason, he walked up, onto the beach only letting it go once it was on dry ground, right beside Grandel's boat.

Grandel, he was close by watching. "What are ya doin'?" He asked.

"Ya aren't gonna believe this, I'll tell ya," Reggie said. "Danny Green, he pushed me off the side of Brandan's fall, he did!"

"Surely yer jokin'," replied Grandel. "Brandan didn't live ta see the surface, how could ya have done it?"

"It was a thing a beauty, I'll tell ya," Reggie replied losing all his anger. "I was twistin' and turnin' in da air. I wish ya could a seen it."

"All the years we thought a jumpin'," Grandel said, "and you go on and do it... Now—at our age?"

"I did, but won't again, I'll tell ya that," Reggie replied.

"Well then, suppose I'll have ta take yer word fer it... So... did ya find Brownie?"

Reggie's lost his smile. "No, can't say I did."

The following day, Reggie was at the church digging up rocks while Father McConnell wheeled them behind the church. The pile was finally showing some progress.

In town, the mason, a man named Peter Higgins, was waiting for word that there were enough materials to get started. Peter, plagued with a bad back, couldn't carry the rocks, but he could set them and offered his labor for free.

"I suppose it's about time to start the walls, Reggie," Father McConnell said, as he set down the barrel for re-filling.

Reggie stuck his shovel in the sand; he pulled a rag from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Suppose that means I'll be needin' ta look fer work," he said.

"Suppose so. But who's to say, maybe Peter will ask you to handle the rocks for him."

"I thought ya said he was workin' fer free?"

"He is."

"Then how's he gonna pay me, if ya ain't payin' him?"

"Good point," Said Father McConnell. He took a seat on a rock, Reggie did the same.

Father McConnell thought for a moment, then said. "Ya see anymore of that thing. Ya know, what ya saw the night ya lost Brownie?"

"Can't say that I have," replied Reggie.

"If ya did see them again, you'd say so, right?"

"I would, why, what ya thinkin'?"

Father McConnell was silent a moment, "I have a book that tells about bats that fill the sky. Nothin' good comes from it."

"Ya, what happened?"

"Dragon's, that's what happened."

"What's that you're sayin'?"

"In the book they claim it was dragons that ran the bats out of the caves. Land dragons that fly like birds and breathe fire."

"Breathe fire?

"That's what it said."

"Hmm. Can't say I've heard a such a thing... Land dragons ya say?"

"Yep, and in the book, they claim the dragons lived in caves, deep in them, hoping we wouldn't mess with them. But it didn't work on account a we kept comin' around, pokin' and a proddin' at them."

"Pokin' and Proddin'...? So what happened?"

"I guess the dragons got mad and came a callin'. Like I said, nothin' good come from it."

Reggie thought a moment and said: "Soooo, how come we was messin' with 'em? I mean—if they can fly and breathe fire, seems like we ought a leave 'em be."

"Seems like it. But we didn't, so..."

"So—what?"

"So, I wanna know if what ya saw could a been a bunch of bats, or a dragon?"

Reggie took a moment, then said: "Couldn't say."

"Well, I been thinkin'. Bat's ain't the only ones that call caves their home. Bears do too... Ya seen any bears wanderin' around?"

"No."

"Hmm ... No bears—not sure about the bats... What about dragons...? Ya seen any dragons wandering flyin' around?"

"No. I already told ya that."

"Yeah, suppose ya did... Well... keep your eyes out."

"I will."

"If ya see one, I mean a dragon, ya let 'em be. Come on back to Olean, gather the townspeople. Then, we'll go after the beast."

Reggie confused, said: "Wouldn't that be a lot like pokin' and proddin' 'em?"

"Suppose, but we can't just let somethin' like that be. I mean, them creatures would be eatin' the sheep, and God help the pigs. Why—be my guess the only thing that'd be safe would be the fish. Even then, the fish would swim deep when a dragon's shadow was cast over the water. Probably so deep, the men couldn't get a hook down to 'em... Ya wouldn't want that now would ya? I mean think a Grandel for Pete's sake!"

"No, suppose not." Reggie was quiet for a moment and then said: "Father? Ya don't think one a them dragon's got a hold a Brownie, do ya?"

Father McConnell, realizing his mistake, stood up. "Naw," He said. "They may eat sheep and pigs, and they may scare fish, but a dog has nothin' ta fear. No, not a dog... Come on, let's get back ta work."

Reggie worked but his mind was on Brownie and the dragon. He wondered where there was a cave that would capable of hiding away something so large. And he feared Brownie was hunting the beast. If so, what would be his chances of survival?

Oh my God, he thought, what if he's fighting a troll and a dragon!

A few miles away, in Olean, the news of Reggie's jump was being passed along. Mouth to ear. There was a flurry of excitement brewing, because every man wished he had the courage to make the jump, and every woman had dreamed her man had made the jump. That her husband, and for true love, had taken the ultimate risk. Basically, they wanted them to more like Brandan Riley and less like Barney Fife... Change that—now, they wanted them to be more like Reggie St. Clair.

18

The Willows'

Since his talk with Father McConnell on the possibility of dragons; Reggie spent the next three days panning the sky. If there were dragons on the loose, they were remaining out sight.

Father McConnell had made him promise not to speak of the beasts in public, not until one was spotted. No sense starting a panic.

Peter, the mason, was working on the addition to the church. As predicted, he needed no help. Father McConnell took the job of stone hander. That meant Reggie was spending his time in town where he was the local hero.

But the attention hadn't gone to his head. His mind remained on Brownie, even though no clues to his whereabouts had been found. And then there was that no good, Danny Green, who had pushed him off the cliff. But he wasn't sure how to feel about that on account of the push had made him so popular. Basically, he wasn't sure whether to spank him or thank him.

So on the morning after the quarter moon, while he was outside his shack, and of course, searching the sky for dragons. He heard the sound of horses' hooves walking down the gravel path. The whinnying and snorting sounds they made were known, but not normal on the island. Then there was the clanging of steel and the rolling sound of wagon wheels as they crushed pebbles into dust.

Someone was coming for a visit.

Reggie, he lowered the hand that shaded is eyes. At the same time, he looked down from the sky. And there it was; two horses came over the hill and into view, and sitting in a wagon was a man who loosely held the reins.

The buggy wasn't like one Reggie had seen in the past. This one was long with high sides. There were saws and other tools hanging from hooks. They clanged as the cart's wheels hit holes along the way, making the metallic sound that drew Reggie's attention.

And the man did have Reggie's attention because he was strange looking. No doubt, a mainlander. His hair was short, cut with scissors. His mustache was bushy and joined in with his beard. Both were allowed to grow free. He was big, wore a long sleeve shirt, long pants. He wore a hat with a large brim; his eyes were hardly open and showed little white. Around his neck were chains, large, long chains, larger than any seen on the island. And he had them wrapped around in circles making a steel vest that had to weigh a ton.

Reggie thought it strange to abuse one's body for no known reason but he didn't say anything.

As he came up alongside Reggie, the man pulled hard on the reins bringing the horses to a stop. Then with his left foot, he pushed a lever that applied the brakes. He reached up, pulled his hat a little higher on his brow, then asked in a strange accent: "You wouldn't be Reggie St Clair by chance, would ya?"

"I would be."

"Good. Good. You see I've been riding around for some time searching for you, Mr. St. Clair. I heard about your little episode. You know, sheeeeeuuuuooo, (he whistled while making a falling gesture with his hand) off the old cliff ..." He said. "Well—I thought perhaps, maybe I could shed some light on just what exactly transpired. You know, find the facts, as they say.

"The truth is, I have come all the way from jolly old England, although I don't find the place that jolly. Depressing may be a better term. But anyway, I do digress ... I go by the name of: Timberman Dan. Perhaps you've heard of me?"

"No, can't say I have. But don't know many mainlanders. Don't care too, ta be honest."

"Yes, well, honesty is a lovely quality, although it can be a bit abrasive at times."

"Huh?"

Timberman Dan ignored this. "Anyway," he said, "the reason I'm here is because I'm what they call: an arborist. Now, I'm certain a simpleton such as yourself wouldn't know what that means, so I'll tell you... It mean's, I know a lot about trees."

Reggie looked around; there were few trees. "Why ya here then? Surely you ain't thinkin' a takin' what few are remainin'?"

"No, of course not," Timberman Dan replied. "But I was told that you were recently pushed off of a cliff and swam to shore while holding onto the branch that I have here in the back of my wagon.... Would that be a fact?"

Surprised, Reggie took a look in the wagon, sure enough, there was the limb he had placed beside Grandel's boat. "That would be the branch all right," he said, "but it was that no good Danny Green who pushed me. Haven't settled the score yet, but I'm certain I will!"

"Of course, of course. But for now, I was wondering if you would take me to the tree that dropped this limb."

"Why?"

Timberman Dan frowned and said: "You see Mr. St Clair; timber is in high demand around these parts. And I do fear for the few trees that are remaining. And so when I saw this branch, you can understand why I took interest."

Reggie took another look at the branch and said: "No, not really."

"Well, that branch came from a Great Eastern Oak. An old one by the looks of it. I would guess three hundred; to three hundred and fifty years old ... No, these oaks grow real slow so it is important to keep what few are still around, uncut, and unharmed. If we're not careful, they will disappear altogether and I'm sure you wouldn't want that."

"No, suppose not."

"Well then, if you would kindly take me to the tree, I will be happy to certify that it is indeed a Great Eastern Oak, and tag it as a species that is under the protection of the King. That will ensure that it is left standing and free from the blade of an ax man."

Reggie, confused said: "I thought ya was an ax man... I mean ya got 'em hangin' all over yer wagon there."

"No, as I said, I'm an arborist. Totally different animal."

"Whaaat?"

Once again, Timberman Dan ignored Reggie and kept the conversation on track. "So what do you say old boy, can I take a look at the tree?"

Reggie thought a moment, "Suppose no harm in lookin'."

"All right then ole boy, jump on up on the wagon and we will proceed."

Reggie climbed up onto the bench seat, then showed Timberman Dan where to go.

Once there, Reggie pointed out the tree. Timberman Dan didn't move for a moment, then he stepped down from the buggy and pulled what looked like a pick, off from one of the hangers attached to the wagon. He walked over to the tree and started prodding around.

Reggie kept his eyes on him; he was indeed thorough. He treated the tree like it was a sick baby and he was the towns doctor who was searching for what ailed the infant. But this was a tree, and by the looks of it; other than where that branch had broken off, there was nothing wrong with it. So the whole thing was confusing. But then, Reggie did just realize that the branch that he used to float to shore had indeed, come from the tree, so what did that mean?

It meant that maybe Danny Green didn't push me over, Reggie thought.

Timberman Dan, he was caught up in his work so Reggie remained silent. He noticed the Arborist took great interest in the bark of the tree. He would stick it with the pick, then look up at the branches. Then he would walk around and do the same.

Finally he turned to Reggie and asked: "Is that where the branch came from?"

"Couldn't say fer sure, so..."

"I see then." He walked back to the wagon; he leaned against the side and stared at the tree. Reggie walked up, stood next to him, doing the same thing.

"Well," Timberman Dan said. "Unfortunately, what ya have here isn't a Great Eastern Oak, but rather a wandering willow!"

"A what?"

"A wandering willow... Chances are, the others in its tribe are around here somewhere."

"What are ya sayin'?"

"I'm saying this tree hasn't been here long. Most likely just showed up a month or so ago. That's what they do. They move slowly so you don't notice them. Then, they take root and make you think they've been there all the time... Tell me, do you remember not seeing the tree here?"

Reggie thought a moment, "No. Seems it's always been here."

"Yeeeep! That's what they do. Tricksters they are. Be honest, you'd would be wise to cut it down."

"Cut it down? I don't know about all that." He thought a moment. "How much would I get for the lumber?"

"Mr. St Clair, you don't get money for the removal of a wandering willow... you pay to have them taken away!"

Reggie frowned. "She'll have to stay then. I don't have no money."

Timberman Dan pulled off his hat. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow; all the while, he looked at the tree. "Mr. St Clair," he said, "you would be making a mistake. You leave it here and others will come. Like roaches they are. I mean, come on... this one's already tried to kill ya once!"

"What are ya sayin'?" Reggie asked.

"I'm saying the trees are mean, they have no soul. Be my guess, the man you thought pushed you over the cliff. Well—he was probably trying to warn you. He most likely saw the tree moving. Knew what was coming. Yes sir, that would be my guess all right and it's only going to get worse... That is unless you show them they can't live here."

"But I got no money!"

"Well then," Timberman Dan said as he reached into his cart and grabbed the tree limb. "Suppose I'll be leaving you with this." He threw the limb towards the tree. He then loaded up onto his wagon. "I'll be seeing you, Mr. St Clair. When you're ready; I'll be in town. But I'm warning you; from this point on, it will not get cheaper!"

Once Timberman Dan was gone, Reggie walked over to the tree. He looked at the bark, the limbs, the leaves. The broken branch that fell. He noticed it was the only branch that could have hit him where he sat. Coincidence? He doubted it.

"Stupid wandering willow," He mumbled. "Good thing I didn't settle with Danny Green then."

Over the next couple of weeks, Timberman Dan was seen going up and down the road that ran alongside Reggie's place. It seemed there was already an infestation of wandering willows in the area. Some were found on Father McConnell's land, the Churches land, and Glenda's farm and those were only the places Reggie knew of.

But no worries, Timberman Dan was hard at work clearing out the invasion. At the end of each day, another wandering willow trunk would be seen in the arborist's trailer. And every day, Timberman Dan stopped and asked if Reggie was ready to have his removed.

I ain't got no money. I already told ya, Reggie replied.

But Reggie was nervous. As time passed, he noticed other wandering willows and he was sure they had always been there, but then it was like Timberman Dan had said. Trickery was at play. And if those willows were allowed to invade his land, then the land would become dense woods and that would attract those troll's, those goblins, and maybe even the dragons.

They start out slow, Timberman Dan had told him. Real slow so you don't notice them. And they'll look like they mean you no harm. But don't be fooled. They want what you have. They want your land and the only way they can get it, is if you're not on it! Better give that some thought and save your money before it's too late!

Desperate, Reggie went to see Father McConnell, see what he paid to have them removed. But as he walked up into the Church's clearing, he stopped. He looked around at the stumps, at the fallen branches, at the wood chips, at the death. And it was death because those trees were alive and Reggie knew it. They were able to wander and he had been to the magic forest where the trees swat at intruders. The magic forest he had kept a secret for reasons he wasn't sure of until right this very second.

"What can I do for you, Reggie?" Father McConnell asked as he walked up.

Reggie was so lost in thought he didn't notice the Priest heading his way. "I was wondering what it cost for. Ya know—this?" he said, pointing at a stump.

"It goes by the size of the tree."

"How come he left the stumps?" Reggie asked.

"Well, he said he could take them, but suggested against it. Said the other willows will see what's waitin' for them and keep movin'. He said they'll go on by, head straight to your land."

"Ya think he know's what he's sayin'?" Reggie asked.

Father McConnell smiled; he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crude, charcoal drawing. It was a tree. "You see this, Reggie?"

"A tree?"

"It is, you see how when you turn a tree upside down, it looks a lot like a person?" he rotated the drawing.

"Not really."

"You see how the roots look like hair; the split is the legs, the branches the feet."

"Now, suppose I do."

"That's how they walk, Reggie."

"Where'd ya get that?" Reggie pointed to the drawing.

"Well, Timberman Dan of course."

"I suppose that's it then."

"Suppose it is."

Manny the Mason who was working on the addition, he came walking up and said to Reggie: "Ya need ta get rid a those willows! Yer gonna wind up infectin' us all!"

"Suppose I see yer point," Reggie said as he turned and walked away.

Father McConnell and Manny the Mason went back to work. Once Reggie was out of hearing range Manny the Mason said. "Ya know, I'm thinkin' ya got them wanderin' willows from him. Wasn't a problem until he started comin' around. I can tell ya that!"

"Hard ta say," Father McConnell said, as he handed him a rock. "Suppose a man shouldn't own property if he ain't gonna look after it properly."

"That's what I mean," Manny the Mason said, as he mortared the rock and set it in place.
19

The Two Wishes

After his talk with Father McConnell and Manny the Mason; Reggie walked back up the mountain, to where the magical forest was located. Once there, he looked at the trees, one by one he studied them. There were a lot of willows in there. The same willows that were on his land.

He found on this trip, something was different. It took a moment and then realized that the trees weren't angry. As a matter of fact, they looked like regular trees that stood tall, full of leaves with no wind to bother them.

Reggie called out for Brownie; this time he heard something dart off deep into the woods. Could have been a deer, a wild boar, or anything that was large. But it wasn't a troll, or Goblin. They don't move that fast.

He walked around the tree line, keeping his feet in direct sunlight. He called out but no more sounds were heard.

Desperate, he left, walking fast and he didn't stop until once again, he was standing at the door of Marianna Green.

"What tis it this time?" She scowled standing in her doorway. The scent of tea followed the moving air that came from inside the home. Reggie could smell it, even while standing outside the doorway. It had a green, spicy aroma that he found calming and pleasant.

"I heard ya are a witch..., is it true?" He asked.

"Depends, on what ya think a witch be, man. Would ya be talkin' 'bout spells, or magic?"

"No, I'm speakin' 'bout hearin' from the dead."

"Aaaah, man. Now I can do some tings, but no one can speak ta da dead!"

Reggie frowned, then he turned. Marianna watched as he walked away, she could feel the desperation. She could hear it in his voice and she could see it in the way he walked.

"Wait!" she said. "What is it ya want me ta do?"

Reggie turned, "I want ta know what happened ta Brownie."

Marianna shook her head slowly. "I can't see tings," she said. "But I can help ya ta see fer yerself."

Reggie reached into his pockets, "I don't have money, I only have these two pieces of rock." He showed her the coins Father McConnell had given him.

"Ya can keep your rocks, man," she said. "Come on in, ya'll owe me, I'll tell ya that."

Inside the home, it wasn't anything like Reggie thought it would be. It was clean with white sheepskins covering the furniture. Dried herbs were hung in various locations, sending out pleasant smells that changed as you walked around the room. There were bottles lined up on shelves, none had words on them but they all had some unknown substance in them. Some powder, some dried leaves. Marianna knew what they were by sight.

In the corner, there was a table where she pointed at the seat where Reggie was to sit. He did.

She went to one of the shelves that held the bottles. Using her finger, she slowly went from one jar to the next, each time; she hesitated for a moment before moving on. Then she finally stopped and grabbed a bottle from the row.

She said nothing.

She pulled out the cork, then carefully, she tapped out just a pinch of what looked like dried, grounded bones into a teacup. Then, she added some tea, stirring the potion around with a wooden spoon. While the liquid still spun in the glass, she lifted it to her nose and smelled. Satisfied, she walked over and sat the cup down in front of Reggie. She then took her seat which was opposite of Reggie's.

Reggie, he sat there looking at the cup.

"That is fer you," she said. "Now, I'll warn ya, the only way tis works is if ya believe. I mean truly believe and I can tell if ya do or don't, so no foolin'."

"What will it do?"

"It will let ya see what's really there instead a what yer eyes tell ya's there!"

"For real?" Reggie asked.

"Go on, give it a try."

Reggie drank the tea just like he would drink hot apple cider. He sipped it, being careful not to burn his mouth.

The first hour, they sat there looking at each other. Nothing happened so she told Reggie to walk around. Look at her home, concentrate what was in it. Nothing happened.

Then she sent him outside, told him to do the same. He walked around the barn, he looked at the pens where the sheep would be locked away, safe from the wolves the dragons and other sheep eaters.

He looked at the solid rock walls that would stand forever. He felt so safe, so secure, so at home. He wondered if this was how the sheep felt when they were here. He was sure it was. Those sheep are such a grateful breed.

He left the barn because he knew that although he was comfortable there, he wasn't a sheep and it's not right to take someone else's home. So he walked around to the back of Marianna Green's shack and here he saw a trail that led off into the horizon.

But it wasn't just any trail; this path had streams that ran down both sides. Mountain streams that flowed, cold, clear water. So cold, it cooled the path in the middle making walking on it more comfortable than it would be elsewhere.

Reggie, he followed the path because somehow, he knew it was put there just for him. And as he walked along, the world around him came alive with the sounds of water flowing over rocks. Frogs croaking on lily pads, and trout jumping after flies.

It pulled him back, back in time, to when he was young, a child.

His smile grew with each step he took on the short, carpet grass that blanketed the center of the trail. He looked behind him; the Green's home was still there. But he wouldn't return because he was on a quest, and one can't complete a quest by going back, forward is the only way, and he knew this.

As the minutes turned to hours, the sun never moved, or at least didn't seem to be moving. But his surroundings had changed and there were no longer the pleasant sounds that had pulled him back to his youth.

The creeks had dried up, and he had entered into a wooded area. But the skies showed no birds, the trees held no squirrels and there was something ahead of him and whatever it was, they were both moving at the same rate of speed. It was matching him.

Reggie couldn't see it, so he called out for Brownie but he knew it wasn't his dog. Brownie wouldn't be able to stay away. No, whatever this was, it was curious, but also cautious.

To make things worse, up ahead there was a line where the light would no longer penetrate the dark. The line between day and night, it was defined precisely with a wall that went as far as the eye could see, and rose up to the heavens.

Reggie stopped when he came up to it.

He looked down at his shoes; the toes had passed into the black and nothing happened so he took another step. He passed through and much to his surprise, he could see, not well, but well enough. Well enough to know where he was: he was in the back side of the magical forest.

He looked around; the growth was dense and above him, the trees and vines had grown together to make a canopy that allowed little light to enter. But yet, there was some light, and only now did Reggie realize that this world was being illuminated by the tails of a million fireflies.

Like snow in a snow globe, they were everywhere. From ground to canopy. Their tails flashed neon blue and provided a beacon that showed the way through an otherwise, impassable forest.

So he followed them and even though they flew up, down and side to side, for the most part, their direction was the same direction. Farther into the woods. And then, they stopped when they came to another wall. This one wasn't a white wall, but more of a gray wall. But it was light, too light for the flies to pass through.

Reggie, he had no problem with light, so after thanking the fireflies for their service, he walked through the wall and on the other side, it was much lighter, with shards of sunlight, beaming down into an otherwise heavily shaded area. The shade that was provided by the natural canopy that was still above him.

Up ahead, he could see there was a stream that flowed mountain water. A larger stream that ran in a different direction than those that were located on both sides of the path. This stream had water that moved fast over rocks and obstacles. Where the other creeks were gentle, this one was the opposite. This one would drown those frogs that were on the lily pads.

Once he was on the edge, he could see the water was clear, but in the low light, he couldn't see the bottom. He walked upstream and he found some deep spots, where the water slowed and spun in circles. In one of these holes, there was a fair size fish that hovered just under the surface.

Reggie, he stopped to get a closer look.

The fish was like none he had ever seen. It was about the size of his right foot, dirty white colored with dark spots, huge lips and green eyes. It was the eyes that made it stand out. Well, the eyes and those lips because let's face it; it's not often you see a set of lips on a fish.

Reggie, he couldn't help but think this thing was watching him, so he moved around some, and as suspected, the fish followed. He then reached out and stuck his thumb in the water and twirled it around. This seemed to excite the fish and it swam closer to shore, closer to him.

Soon, it was so close, Reggie was sure he could reach out and grab the thing by those big lips, and like Grandel, he could drag it out of the water. So moving slowly, he placed the tip of his thumb in its mouth, gently parting the lips, and he when he knew he could grab hold, he clamped down. And pulled as hard as he could...

Now he wasn't going to keep the fish, in reality, he only wanted to do it so he could say he had. But the fish had no way of knowing that, and didn't really care what Reggie's intentions were, because it didn't come out of the water. It didn't move at all, and before Reggie could figure out what had happened, he felt a pain shoot up his arm. A sharp stab that was so strong, it took his breath away. He brought up his hand and the tip of his thumb was gone. Bit off clean; nail and all. In shock, he looked back at the fish and it was waiting there, patiently, as though it thought Reggie was going to give it more food.

Reggie, he stuck his injured thumb up under his armpit, all the while keeping his eyes on the fish. He stood up, backing away from the water, then he headed upstream, but the fish followed him.

This scared Reggie because he had never been eaten by a fish, especially one that was pan frying size. But if it was going to happen, this was certainly the fish that could pull it off. And those green eyes, man they were bright and seemed to glow like the tails of those fireflies. A constant reminder that not only was the fish still there, but liked the taste of finger and was ready for some more.

Reggie, he pulled his thumb out from under his armpit and took a closer look. Luckily, just the very tip was gone. Those oversize lips had made it seem like his thumb was farther in that big mouth then it actually was.

He pulled out a piece of nose blowing cloth from his pocket, and wrapped up the thumb. Then he continued upstream in search of a bridge because there was no way he was going in the water.
20

Willy, Butch and Dodge

It wasn't long, the flora changed. There were plants growing, ferns as thick as grass lined the water's edge. But still there were no birds, no frogs, no jumping trout. But there was that green-eyed, big lipped, fish, and it swam as close to shore as it could get and Reggie just knew it was hoping he would trip and fall in. Just a foot, that would be enough to fill the belly of this beast. So in order to keep that from happening, Reggie put a little more distance between his feet and the water line.

Finally, he came to a fallen tree. One that had dropped right across the creek. He walked up to where its roots had mushroomed out from the soil. He made sure it was sturdy enough, wide enough and it was. But then, there was that fish down there, and Reggie wondered if it could jump, and if so, how far?

He started to climb up onto the trunk, when there was a snap sound, then a burning sensation ran through his shoulder.

A bee sting?

Then, there was another snap and now, he ran back, away from the creek. He tripped over some of the exposed roots and fell to the ground. He was facing the water when he saw there were two trees that stood on both sides of the fallen one.

The tree on his right, had branches that were long and thin, slowly tapering down into the shape of a bow whip. These branches (and there were a hundred of them) fanned up, then out, and down and looked a lot like the hair on Marinna Green's head (Or Whoopi Goldberg's hair). And they were every bit as thick with the only difference being they were green. Green, natural, whips and Reggie realized that it was that tree that made that snapping sound. And that sound came from one of those branches bowing, then slinging forward, snapping back at the last moment, allowing only the tip of the branch to kiss the intended target which was his now blistered shoulder.

But why? He wondered. And as if the tree could read his mind, two, long, thick branches that were in reality arms, reached out from under the green strands and snapped one off. The arms then pulled the other strands back and using the broken strand, it tied them into a ponytail like a woman would do to her long hair.

Now, Reggie could see the trunk and there was a face in the tree made up of knots. Two eyes and a mouth. And he remembered the faces of the other angry trees along the tree line, and that he was in their forest so this in no way should surprise him. But it did.

So he sat there silent and watched because although this tree didn't look angry; it did look annoyed. It blinked its eyes a couple of time, then looked around.

No sooner did that happened, the tree on the right opened its eyes, but it didn't have the long hair, or branches. It looked like the trees in his yard (or Carrot Top's hair) and it too, looked annoyed, but not angry.

Reggie came to the conclusion that he had disturbed them and he hadn't a clue what the penalty for that would be. But he sure hoped it didn't have anything to do with feeding that fish whose freaky eyes could still be seen glowing just under the surface of the water.

"What do you think you're doing!" The tree on the right croaked in a deep, but low voice that had a certain reed, type hum to it.

Reggie, certain the tree was speaking to him answered: "I just wanted ta cross the creek, is all."

"Is that right," Said the hairy tree. "And ya thought it to be proper ta walk all over our fallen comrade ta do it, did ya?"

"Who?"

"Our fallen comrade! The tree ya was just tryin' ta mount! The tree that's on its side! The tree that served this forest well! Always kind ta squirrels. Always had a branch waitin' fer the birds. And they were strong branches too. Nest supportin' branches. The kind a bird could raise a family in. And ya now what else?"

"No."

"He always welcomed possums and 'coons. Always kept a place for the bees. Oh yeah, he loved honey ole Butch did. That was his name; Butch."

"Yeah, sort a thought that."

"He was even friendly ta worms that ate his leaves. No sir—we're standing guard here; me and Dodge over there," He looked over at the other tree. "We're here ta make sure the likes of you don't disrespect a great tree like ole Butch! God Rest His Soul." He said the last part softly.

"Well, I sure didn't mean no harm," Reggie said.

"Yeah! Not so sure a that. What do you think Dodge?"

Dodge took a good look at Reggie on the ground and said: "He don't look trustworthy or friendly. Kind a surprised he got in."

"Yeah," Willy said (Willy was the name of the long haired tree). "How did ya get in?"

"I came in the back way," Reggie pointed behind him.

"You went through the black wall?" Willy asked.

"Yeah."

"How'd you find yer way?"

"There were these fir—"

"\--fireflies!" Willy chortled cutting Reggie off. "I should a known it. That wall was put up ta keep the likes a you out. And here they go, bringin' ya right on in... What you think a that, Dodge?"

"Pitiful, just plain pitiful."

"Sure is pitiful."

"So... you guy's wouldn't know how I can get across the stream, do ya?"

"Ya could swim," Willy said.

"What about the fish?"

"The whaa? Oh, ya talking about Princess? Oh no, she won't bother ya unless ya feed he—" He stopped a second and then said. "Aaah, wait a minute, yer thumb, ya done went on and fed her didn't ya?"

"Wasn't intentional."

"He fed Princess, ya hear that Dodge?"

"Sure did."

"What ya think about that?"

"Don't think he's getting' across the stream; that's what I think."

"Nooo, sure don't look good," Willy said. "Why ya want a get over there anyway. Nothin' there fer ya."

"I'm lookin' fer my dog. Ya haven't seen 'em have ya?"

"Dog? There ain't no dog in these woods. Ya hear that Dodge, this fool thinks his dog is in the woods. What ya think 'bout that?"

"Dumb-as-a-stump! There ain't no dog in these woods."

"Nope, and Dodge would know on account he's allergic to dog pee. Breaks out in some kind a bark rash. Sorry sight it is. All raw, and seeping. Attracts bark beetles too."

"Well, what about over there, on the other side of the creek?" Reggie asked.

"Oh, well we don't know what's over there, do we Dodge."

"Nope, stay to ourselves, we do."

"Then I need ta get over there and search for 'em."

"Well," Willy said. "I might be able to toss ya over there. But it'll cost ya."

Frustrated because he had nothing to give. Reggie said: "What?"

"What ya got?"

Reggie reached into his pocket, he pulled out the coins that Marianna and Glenda had refused to take. He stood up, walked up to Willy and handed them to him. Willy took them, brought them up to his eyes. "Flint rock," he said.

"Those aren't flint rock, they're coins."

"Coins? We don't have no use for coins. Now flint, we could use. Sometimes it gets cold and clammy in these woods. A fire would be nice, wouldn't it Dodge?"

"Sure would."

"But if you sa—"

"\--they're flint," Reggie blurted out. "I was only foolin'."

Willy, he frowned as if he felt guilt. "Boy," he said. Ya ain't good at bargainin', I can see that. Flint to a tree is gold, it is. Ya' could do better than a toss across the creek. Are ya sure ya want ta let 'em go so cheap?"

"I'm sure."

"All right then." Willy placed the flint into his mouth, clamped onto them with his teeth. He reached back and untied his branch hair, allowing it to fall, covering the trunk and his face. "Grab a hold of a them branches, But some close ta the water!" he said and Reggie picked out four sturdy whips. He bunched them together and pulled making sure they would hold his weight. It did.

"All right," he said. "Ready when ya are."

Willy lifted him up off the ground with amazing speed. He twisted the opposite way, sending Reggie swinging towards Dodge, then, he switched directions making sure he carried enough momentum to keep Reggie hanging straight out. In that instance, Reggie thought of Brownie, because they had a game they played called tug of war. And in this game, Reggie would hold onto one end of a rope, while Brownie bit down on the other and they would both pull to see who was the strongest. But, at some point in the game, Reggie would start to tire and so he would resort to dirty tactics which were turning in circles. At first, Brownie could keep up, but it wasn't long, the dog's paws would leave the ground and then he would swing straight out until he couldn't hold on any longer.

Reggie knew this wasn't a nice thing to do because when Brownie landed, his body would be pointed against his momentum, so he would have to roll to a stop.

Now, in this instance, the reason this came to Reggie's mind was that, although it wasn't a nice thing to do; Brownie wasn't far off the ground and he wasn't going fast. Plus, there were no objects around, like trees of boulders for him to hit and injure him. But that wasn't the case in the position that Reggie now found himself in. He was high up, looked to be twenty or so feet. He knew there were trees on the other side and there were rocks as well. So—when should he let go?

Before his mind gave him an answer, Willy suddenly snapped those branches like he would a whip, and since Reggie was holding onto the very end of the whip, all he felt was his lifeline being pulled from his hands sending him sailing across the creek.

Reggie didn't remember landing. He must have blacked out, because the next thing he knew, he was rolling over onto his back and looking up. He took a moment and waited for the pain to hit, but it never did. So he moved around some. Everything felt fine. Then he stood up and looked back to the other side to where Willy and Dodge stood like trees, still and quiet, while they stood guard over ole Butch.

The green-eyed fish was still there. Watching close to shore. Reggie gave a wave, told her maybe next time he would bring something more substantial, then he left.

21

The Dragon

There was no path now, but Reggie knew where to go, it was only a feeling, but a strong one.

He wasn't sure how long it had been since he crossed the creek. The sun still hadn't moved so time had stalled. But the canopy above had thinned and so more light was allowed to enter. As for the brush along the ground, it was thinning some as well. This made traveling so much easier.

Up ahead, he saw a clearing which was unusual and so much so, it made him cautious. He slowed his pace, watching the ground and where he placed his feet. He kept the noise to a minimum.

He stopped when he was on the edge of the clearing; he was still in the trees and out of sight. But he could see well and there was a swamp and it was this swamp that had made the clearing.

A water bowl that had so much grass growing up from the bottom, the water could hardly be seen. But it was there and Reggie could smell the muck, and he could hear the crickets and frogs and all those insects that love the swamp. He saw snakes that swam, parting the weeds, water snakes that held no venom so he didn't pay much attention to them.

He decided the thing to do was to walk around the swamp. There was no telling how deep the water was, and with all the weeds, there would be no swimming should he drop in over his head. So did, but he came to a spot where he would have to walk in the muck. To go around would be too much distance and it didn't look deep but it did look muddy.

Three steps later, he learned just how muddy when he sank up to his crotch in muck. Black muck so thick, he could just barely walk. And it was tiring with each step only bringing him a few inches closer to the other side. And that other side now looked so far away, but when he turned and looked back, it was no closer. So he went on.

He tripped, falling face first in the mud. He remained there for awhile resting. He listened to the frogs and noticed they were much louder now and he wondered if that was because of him. If he was the intruder. Then, with his hands hanging straight down into the black, he felt something move. Something big, real big and this thing had skin of leather with large, defined scales. When it moved, it showed so much force; the muck boiled up and popped air bubbles. Then, it sunk as though there was a hole that had opened up just in front of his feet. But it didn't last, it slowly closed as the muck slowly leveled back out.

Reggie froze, but the swamp didn't. It exploded with life as the snakes ran for cover, and the frogs jumped from their lily pads into the water. The turtles, they dropped their heads and this happened so fast, Reggie just knew he wasn't the cause. And he wasn't because just off to his left, where the water was on top of the muck, that water began to part and the only reason for that to happen, is if something is swimming just under the surface, and there was and it was huge.

Reggie, he stayed perfectly still because whatever it was, it was heading away from him. But then it stopped, and turned. It was coming back and Reggie wanted to run but that was impossible so he did the only thing he could do... He stayed perfectly still.

This thing, whatever it was, stopped at the muck line. It wasn't long, something surfaced, something that looked like a log, but this log had two eyes and those eyes were looking straight at Reggie. If that wasn't enough, they blinked as if to prove this log wasn't any such thing.

It moved slowly, but it moved all the while watching Reggie closely. It climbed out of the water, onto the muck, and it had so much mass, it was able to float on top of it. And Reggie, he watched as it kept coming out of the water. This massive beast that was no doubt a dragon. A fire-breathing, sheep eating dragon. First it was the head that was a good two foot wide by four foot long, then the arms, followed by the body that was the size of an ox, then back legs, and last, a never-ending tail. Pure evil, it was and everything Father McConnell had claimed.

It was close to Reggie now, the face was at least. But the beast spanned out a good thirty feet or more. And those eyes, they were as red as the fire that burned inside it. Just like he was warned. And those teeth, they were so large; the lips of the beast couldn't cover them. They stuck up and down. Running along the outsides of the mouth like opposing saws. And those scales Reggie's hands had felt, they were the size of the slate rocks used for roofing and no doubt just as hard. And it was black, as black as the muck it now crawled on and no doubt—something that looked this gruesome, had to come straight from hell.

Reggie closed his eyes because he didn't want to see what he was about to feel. He waited for it, and for some unknown reason, he thought perhaps he had it coming. But it never came and so eventually, He opened his eyes to see the beast was still there and looking at him.

"So," it said, "You want to tell me why you just crushed my home ..."

By this point, a talking dragon shouldn't have surprised Reggie but it did. And even though it spoke in a tongue that was easy enough to understand, it was strange because it sounded more like a croaking frog than a speaking dragon. But that didn't matter, what did, was survival, and Reggie was certain his wasn't looking very promising.

"I'm sorry," Reggie replied. "I was only tryin' ta get ta the other side. No more 'n' that." He thought a moment and then added: "I suppose I done went on and harassed ya; so whatever comes, suppose I got comin', so be on with it." He once again closed his eyes, but like before nothing happened so he opened them and found that the beast hadn't moved at all.

"So," it said. "Just what are ya expecting?"

"Well—teeth I would guess."

Just then, the beast opened its mighty jaws and Reggie thought for sure the fire was on its way. And it was huge, this mouth, and could have easily eaten Reggie in two bites. But then, Reggie remembered dragons don't like to eat humans, so the only thing left was a good burning. And just then, the beast inhaled deeply.

Here it comes, Reggie thought as he closed his eyes for what he was sure would be the last time. But, fire didn't come; instead there was a hissing sound. A hissing cat would be close and so Reggie opened his eyes to see the sound was indeed coming from the fire-breathing beast. Then, it ran out of air and closed its jaws and asked: "Did that scare ya...?"

"Not really," Reggie replied and he didn't want to be hurtful but he did feel honesty was important, so...

"Figures," The dragon said. "So what do you want?"

"Only to pass."

"Well, what's stopping ya?"

"Nothing, I mean as long as ya don't bite me."

"Well, I should since ya messed up my house. But I won't, because I'm watching what I eat, and your kind ain't healthy."

Reggie, he ignored this and asked: "So, where's yer wings?"

"Huh?"

"Yer wings, so ya can fly."

"I ain't got no wings."

"What about the fire, how come ya didn't burn me when ya had yer mouth open just then?"

"Fire?"

"Ya, yer a dragon ain't ya?"

"A baboon...? Been called a lot a things, but not that. Not sure what a baboon even is."

"Then what are ya?"

"What am I? Is that what you just asked? Well—I'll have ya know; that I'm a pureblood, alligator. That's right; my blood lineage goes all the way back to when the world was a triangle. Before it squared up. Born in the Seminole swamps in America, I was. Raised in the Withlacoochee River farther south; also in America. Was real happy there too."

"Yeah, what happened?"

"Sad story really ... Hope ya aren't the crying type. But one day, the bottoms of my feet went to itching. Trench foot or athletes' foot, that's what they said it was. Can't say it was a big shock on account of back then, I was always competing in water sports. Won the gold in the backstroke, and won some medals in the diving competitions. Yeah, I was always in the water and the ladieees, loved it. But, as you can imagine, the foot fungus put an end to all of that."

"What ya do?"

"I did the only thing I could do. The only that would soothe them was walking on dry land. So I did, I headed east and when I came to the ocean and dove right in. And that salt water seemed to heal these feet of mine, so I kept going. For six months I swam. And through some pretty rough weather too. It wasn't always easy, no way, not even for me. But I did it and one day, I came ashore on this here small island... Been here ever since."

"So you found this swamp?"

"No, can't say that."

"I don't get it?"

"The swamp was made for me."

"Huh?"

"By the trees brother. You see, these woods you're in... Well, they are a world in themselves. They make a home for all those animals, plants and things that aren't welcomed elsewhere."

"Why would they do that?"

"Because they aren't welcomed elsewhere either. You should know that. I mean, they're constantly being cut down, cleared out, even burned. Their stripped of their bark. Cut into planks ... I mean, come on, that's their bones man ... And then, the likes of you use them to make homes, to make bridges, all sorts of gross things. And that's sick man! Real sick!"

"Never thought of it like that," Reggie said.

"No, suppose you wouldn't." The alligator thought a moment and then said: "Why are you here—anyway?"

"I'm lookin' fer my dog. Ya haven't seen have ya?"

"Dog, uuh, what color wassss-- --I mean is he?"

"He's brown, why?"

"No reason. I mean it's not like I love to eat dog or anything. Just do it because I have to live. You know how it is. So to answer your question: No, I haven't seen him."

"You'd eat my dog?"

"Well, not yours. No, I mean come on. But I can't say the same for the other alligators, so you'd do well to find him fast."

"There are more alligators around here?"

"No, not that I know of. But, just in case."

"But if ya did find 'em, ya wouldn't eat 'em and you'd tell me, right?"

"Yeah, sure I would. I mean, we're tight, right? Me and you?"

"What's that mean?"

"It means—I won't eat your dog if you don't go blabbing about me being here."

"Why would anyone care?"

"Are you kidding? You see what they do to the trees. Can you imagine what they would do to me? Next time you saw me, I'd be someone's chaps or something. And I just know, some crazy would be wearing my head for some kind a hat... No, please, do me a solid and don't say you saw me. Deal?"

"I can't make no promises, but I haven't said nothin' yet. So..."

"Well, suppose the only safe thing to do is go on ahead and eat you then. Don't want too, but you're killing me here."

"How 'bout we say: I won't speak of ya, unless I know no harm will come to ya?"

The alligator thought a moment and then said: "Shoot, don't like it much. But like I said; I am watching what I eat... so... Suppose we have a deal."

"You ain't wantin' to shake hands are ya? I mean with the fungus and all." Reggie said.

"Boy—you just want to get eaten, don't ya...! No, I don't want to shake hands, us alligators don't do a lot of handshaking. Hand eating, maybe, but not handshaking!"

22

The Leprechaun

With no help from the alligator, Reggie did make it to the other side. Once on hard ground; he continued on. As he walked, the muck on him dried and crumbled off. It wasn't long, he was still dirty, but didn't carry the smell, or thick residue of the swamp.

The canopy was even thinner now. So Reggie assumed he was close to the middle of the forest. Up ahead, he saw a rainbow and this was strange because rainbows show up after a rain and it hadn't rained for some time.

A leprechaun! He thought. Hasta be!

Now he had rumors of leprechauns, about how they hide their pot of gold at the end of rainbows. And he knew the reason why they chose such an easy to find location. One that could be seen for miles, and it was simply this: The pot of gold was a diversion.

Oh yeah, you see, if you catch a leprechaun, you get three wishes. Whereas, if you find the pot of gold, well, you only have gold and everyone knows that gems can't buy happiness. You can't eat it, can't live in it. Can't even catch a fish with it. Truth is, there's not much you can do with it, unless you're on the mainland. But that doesn't matter, because it's real shinny, and pleasing to the eye. So even if those chasing the leprechaun know that one of their wishes could be a pot of gold, leaving two more for other things. And no matter how close they are to catching the little trickster, they will come to a screaming halt upon laying eyes on such a sight. They will stop just long enough for the pint-sized, green magician to escape.

So suspecting that there was one close by, Reggie walked real careful again. Watching where he places his foot because he didn't need a pot of gold, he needs those wishes and the first one would be to get back Brownie.

This went on for some time, and he was closing in on the rainbow's end, but as of yet, he had not seen a leprechaun. That would change when he made it to where the rainbow touched the ground. Once there, he could see it, the pot of gold. And it was like they said; he was mesmerized because that rainbow, with all its colors, they joined as one to shine on that pot. And it was so full of gold coins, the top was rounded and if one picked up the pot, there would be a golden shower that would rain down upon the feet of this lucky soul. And that soul could be Reggie, it could. All he had to do was take it.

He walked towards the pot, through the spotted trees. His eyes were locked onto the gold, onto the rainbow, and he saw nothing else. His mind wouldn't allow it.

He moved like a cat, slow and silent. He could hear everything, the snapping of twigs, the crunching of leaves. The birds, the squirrels and they seemed so loud even though their volume hadn't changed.

Then, when he was close, something caught his eye. It was the only thing that could break the spell. It was a gold coin that was being tossed into the air. One gold coin that rose and spun through one of those shards of sunlight. Sunlight that was then reflected, blinding Reggie. And even if only for a moment, that was enough, because he turned his head to the left, and there he was... A leprechaun.

He was sitting on a fallen tree limb with his back to Reggie. His green suit, his hat, the pipe hanging from the side of his mouth. It was all there, just like it was told a million times in front of a million campfires. The red hair, everything was spot on, except he was bigger than Reggie would have thought.

Reggie, he stopped and watched, he studied the little fella because Leprechauns aren't easy to catch. And each time the leprechaun caught his thrown coin, he let out a high pitched cackle. It was as though it was a trick he had been working on for some time and had only now mastered it. His pipe danced around in his mouth, and Reggie was sure he would lose it, but each time it began to fall, his teeth would lock down and bite it.

It was time to move, the leprechaun was busy and not paying attention. Reggie, he slowly made his way and all was going well until he stepped on a twig, snapping it. And it was in the middle of a toss, so there was no cackle to drown out the sound.

Reggie stopped but it was too late. The leprechaun leaped straight up into the air, his legs spun like the propellers on a plane. Full speed even though they were nowhere close to the ground. He let out a high pitched giggle like a small child who is playing tag. Letting Reggie know that for him, this was nothing but a game. One he wasn't worried about losing.

Reggie took off, but the leprechaun was fast, leaping over branches while zig-zagging. Running up the sides of trees, across limbs before leaping to the ground. He looked more like he was dancing than anything and Reggie was losing him.

Then, the leprechaun would slow. Let the man catch up, keep the fish on the hook for a while longer.

"Ya would do well ta not play with me!" Reggie blurted out. But the words made little difference.

About the time all was lost, Reggie could see the little man come to a halt. He had run to a cliff that was every bit the drop that Brandan's fall was. The ocean could be heard, the waves were high now, slamming into the rock wall. Reggie slowed coming to a stop. He bent over and held onto his knees while he caught his breath. This wasn't over. The leprechaun could run right or left, nothing had changed, he wasn't cornered. And Reggie was glad for the rest.

But once he was ready to continue the chase, the leprechaun didn't run. Instead, he stood there looking down over the cliff and Reggie hadn't a clue why. And what was more amazing was when Reggie walked right up next to the little guy and took his own look.

"What ya see down there?" Reggie asked.

The leprechaun turned to face him, his long-stemmed pipe was still lodged in his teeth. "I was wondering why such a large body a water would suddenly be in my woods. Wasn't there before...?" He said.

"Yea, been seein' some strange things myself. But besides that, would ya be willin' ta grant me some wishes?" Reggie asked.

"Ya have to catch me for that," he replied. Reggie was still far enough away, the little man could escape and the chase would be back on. He knew there was no catching the leprechaun. The fact he was allowed to get so close was proof of that. "My legs are as fast as the wings of a hummingbird, they are," the Leprechaun said.

"I saw that," Reggie replied and then something came to mind. A past memory. He smiled and then said: "Goat-Man-Gus! Is that you?"

The leprechaun looked shocked. "How is it the likes a you, know my name?" he said.

"I'm Reggie St. Clair. Remember, I was workin' the docks when ya and the goats come to the island. I watched as they ran off and ya chasin' after 'em."

"... Reggie St. Clair," he said as he scratched his chin. "Yeah, the goats speak highly of ya, they do. Say yer good friends."

"Well, not sure I agree ta all that, but... So what are ya doin' up here? Where's the goats?"

"The goats just left not long ago. Headed down yer way fer the summer. They'll come back when the weather's gonna turn. Then, we head down south, we do."

"Down south, where?"

"Where ever the forest takes us."

"But yer on an island, how far can ya go?"

"Ya know, I thought that too. But it don't seem ta bother the woods none. So anymore, I don't ask, just follow. We all do and so far, can't complain."

"Sure seems odd," Reggie said. "I mean ya'll headin' down ta the lowland and not bein' seen 'er nothin'."

Goat-Man-Gus was silent for awhile. He knew they went somewhere far from the lowlands. But Reggie's kind wouldn't be allowed to come along; so he decided to leave it at that and do the next best thing. He said: "I'll tell what I'll do for ya lad; you answer me riddle and I'll grant ya two wishes...but only two not three, I want that clear!"

"Okay," Reggie replied. "I'm real good at riddles."

Goat-Man-Gus took his time; he brought his left hand up to his chin and then ran the words through his head. Making sure to get them just right because one wrong word, can make a hard riddle easy, and miss a word can make it impossible. So when he was sure he had it right; he looked up at Reggie and smiled then chanted:

"I come in many colors, yet only one is true.

I'm easy ta find should ya look, you'll want me close ta you.

All want me and all will have me, but they haven't got a clue.

They can only borrow, what can't be kept, and doesn't belong to you.

"What am I...?"

Reggie drew a blank. He thought real hard but nothing. "Can I have a hint, then...? He asked.

"I thought ya said ya was good at riddles?"

"Thought I was."

"All right, but only one. Ya ready?"

"Yep."

"The answer is da only reason ya are close ta me now...! If that don't do it, nothin' will!"

Reggie thought for a moment, still nothing. "Ya have some water?" he asked.

"What's that ya say?"

"Water, Ya have some. I'm thirsty."

Goat-Man-Gus leaped in the air, his heels clicked together four times before he landed. "I knew ya would get it," he said. "Ya was right, yer good at riddles, ya are. Just like ya said."

Reggie smiled, confused. "But I don't understand," he said. "Why is water the answer?"

Goat-Man Gus grinned, "Waters true color is clear," he said, "But seldom do ya see it that way. It's always carryin' the color a somethin' that's in it."

"Makes sense."

"Water is all around the world, is it not...?"

"Yea...?"

"And if ya don't want it now; ya will soon enough, won't ya?"

"Suppose, once ya get thirsty."

"And although ya can drink it, eventually ya will give it back..."

Reggie thought a moment. "Suppose so."

"Ya see, what most of ya don't know, is that the water belongs ta the ground," The leprechaun said. "It don't belong ta you or me, not even the plants or trees. Yep, it's always been here and we can use it, but can't keep it... So ya would be wise ta treat it accordingly."

"I will, Goat-Man-Gus, honest I will."

"All right then; why don't ya tell me what it is you want...?"

"I want ta find my dog, Brownie."

The leprechaun thought a moment. "Brownie huh? Would the beast be the color brown?"

"He would."

"Floppy ears?"

"Yep, ya seen him?"

"Yeah. He was hanging out with the goats, among others."

"No way...?"

"Sure enough, matter a fact, I would guess, it won't be long there'll be others running around that look a lot like em!"

"Ya sayin' he's got himself a Lass...?"

"What else would make a dog run for so long?"

"Goats?" Reggie said.

"Naw, the goats may be fun ta hang with, but they can get on yer nerves soon enough."

"So, where is he?"

"Home would be my guess. I saw him leavin' with the goats just like I told ya."

"Ya think he's home?"

"Where else would he be? So go on, ya got one more wish, then."

Reggie thought a moment. "I wish the wanderin' willows would stop comin' ta our area."

"The what?"

"Wanderin' willows."

"Ya mean weepin' willows?"

Reggie slowly shook his head. "Nooo. Pretty sure they're called, wanderin' willows... They're the trees that just show up and take over the yard."

Goat-Man-Gus started laughing. "That's an odd wish," he said. "Ya know... most wish for riches, happiness, things like that. But not you, you wish for wanderin' willows ta leave ya alone?"

"Ya said I could ask for anythin', if ya can't do it, ya should a said so."

"Oh no," Goat-Man-Gus stated, "It's already done. And ya can tell everyone, that from here on out—there'll be no more wanderin' willow showin' up uninvited. You have truly done a service ya have."

"I sure hope so," Reggie said. "They was gettin' out a hand."

"Well, ain't never seen one myself, but I'll take yer word for it."

Reggie smiled and he thanked Goat-Man-Gus. He went to shake his hand but the Leprechaun wasn't having it. He was sure Reggie would grab a hold of him and want three more wishes. Not real trusting, those leprechauns.

Reggie, he turned his gaze out across the ocean and it was now he realized that there were no boats seen. He went to say something to Goat-Man-Gus, but he was gone and for some reason, this didn't surprise Reggie.

He looked back at the ocean, but it was no longer an ocean, it was a table. He was sitting at the table inside Danny Green's home. The teacup was gone, and it seemed that only his mind had gone on the journey. Nothing else. Or was it a dream? He wondered, but there was no way to be sure.

Marianna was gone. He walked outside and found her standing beside the barn. She was tossing feed to the chickens. He went to her and told her about what he had seen. She smiled but said nothing.

He headed straight home, and his heart melted when he heard Brownie barking for joy as he came running over the hilltop. Those ears were flopping over the dog's eyes; Reggie was certain he couldn't see well, which meant the dog was going to plow into him. But at the last minute, Brownie leaped, hitting Reggie in the chest, knocking him to the ground. They rolled around in a battle that consisted of one trying to lick; the other trying to avoid being licked. When it was over; both sat in the grass and both were a dirty mess.

"So where's this lass you been hiddin'?" Reggie asked. Brownie cocked his head; one eye was covered by his ear.

"Aah, keepin' her a secret are ya. Smart dog ya are."

23

The Welcome home

That evening, they went into town where Brownie was fed and pampered. Carl, the butcher, threw him some meat. Glenda made sure he had plenty of water and Grandel consistently gave him pets.

The evening was special for Reggie; not only did he find his dog, but he was going to be a grandfather. So it was only proper that a small celebration should break out.

He didn't talk about his trip to the woods, sure they wouldn't believe him. But he did tell them about how Marianna Green had helped him. He debunked the witch claims, but made it clear that she was powerful enough to see what others couldn't.

"I don't like you hanging around her," Glenda said, there was a hint of jealousy in her tone. Reggie didn't catch it.

"She's not bad," Reggie said, "She helped me find Brownie."

"He was home. For all ya know, she was hidin' him and just let him go."

Grandel chimed in. "That's true," he said, "I wouldn't put nothin' past them Greens."

"Was there anything else she did for ya?" Glenda asked.

"Well, let's just say, we ain't gotta worry about them wandering willows, no more."

"Why would ya think that...? Glenda asked.

"She gave me a wish, she did."

"So did she then...!" Glenda said. "And what makes ya think she's able to hand out wishes now?"

"You'll see," Reggie said. "When you notice there are no more new wonderin' willows showin up, y'll know who to thank."

"And who would that be? You or her?"

"Me 'cause I wished fer it."

"I'll be keep'n that in mind," Glenda said. "And while we're on the subject; I was thinkin' Ole Timberman Dan has been cheatin' us. I'm startin' ta think he took our money and sold our trees. Been seein' a couple a cut logs that look a lot like the wood he took from my land!"

"Now yer just talkin' mean," Reggie said. "Timberman Dan has done nothin' short a bein' nice ta us. And this is the way you treat him. Talkin' behind his back? How would ya know if them trees were yours. They could have been anyone's wanderin' willows."

Glenda batted her eyes and pulled her hair back behind her ears. She looked at Reggie, "I don't want ya hanging out with that witch," she said. "And Timberman Dan won't be takin' another tree from my land. That's all I'm sayin'!"

"Glenda," Reggie replied, "I told ya, thanks to me the infestation is over now, so let it be will ya."

The talked as the sun set. The warm day that had temperatures in the seventies, had dropped to a more comfortable mid-sixties range. A breeze blew in from the ocean, the tide was high, so the smell was of sea water and not barnacles.

Those who remained along the shoreline; lit lanterns that cast enough light to keep the party going and going it did. As soon as the shops closed, those working and those who owned the businesses came around, joining in on the celebration. A fire was lit on the beach. Branches that were left over from the wandering willows massacre were used for fuel. Carl brought out some pork cuts and they were grilled on the open flames. The wandering willow wood left the pork with a smoky flavor associated with cooking over an oak wood fire. Most said they couldn't tell the difference. Glenda was the only one who questioned whether there was a difference.

There was a pub that brought down a wooden cask of red wine. They toasted to Brownie, to Marianna Green and of course, to Timberman Dan. They held up full glasses and toasted to Reggie, who used his wish to ban the wondering willows from setting root on their property.

At some point, a music man who strummed the mandolin began playing and the people who sat around the fire sang the songs. Some knew the words, most made them up.

When the fire started to die down, so did the crowd. So when it was quiet and talking people could be heard. Reggie asked if they would like to solve a riddle. All agreed so he told them the one he had heard from Goat-Man-Gus. But he forgot a lot of it, and unlike the Goat-Man, Reggie didn't get the words straight in his head first. He just blurted it out and it went something like this:

"I come in many colors, most times they say I'm blue.

I'm easy to find should you look, sometimes I smell like poo.

All who see me will always hate me, as most who smell me do.

Sometimes I float alone at night, and are avoided by the likes of you.

What am I...?"

All thought for a while, none had the answer. "Water," Reggie finally told them.

"How does that describe water? Glenda asked.

Grandel, who had a little too much wine answered: "It's the water that's downstream from your outhouse..., Glenda!" Everyone but Glenda laughed.

"Come on now," Reggie said as he gently pushed her. "You've been a stick in the mud all night."

"I don't like bein taken," She replied, "that's all."

"How were ya taken...? Reggie asked, "Ya talkin' about Timberman Dan again?"

"Ya," Grandel said. "Ya expectin' him ta work for free are ya?"

"Suppose not," Glenda replied.

"Then, I say we should thank the man. And we should thank Reggie from makin' sure it don't happen again." Grandel lifted his glass in the air, all followed, another toast was made then the evening ended.

The next morning, Reggie awoke to find he wasn't in his bed. He was out in the yard and there were goats all around him. One was directly over his head, looking down at him while chewing a mouth full of grass. They locked eyes, and it was only now, did Reggie realize that although there were goats all around him, he wasn't looking at one of them; instead, he was looking directly at that rat-faced, good for nothing, Danny Green. And he wasn't chewing grass, he was chewing jerky.

"What the...?" Reggie blurted out.

"Sleepin' in the grass are ya," Danny Green said.

Reggie wiped the sleep from his eyes, then using his hand to shade the sun, he looked up at the rat-man. "I can't think of a thing I could do for the likes of you," he said.

"I've heard stories that ya been at my house. Came to find out if it's true."

Reggie could see the stern look in Danny Green's eyes. He was upset, sort of.

"Was only lookin' for Brownie," Reggie said. "Marianna helped me find 'em."

Danny Green looked towards the house door where Brownie was sitting and watching.

"I see ya found 'em."

"I did, and I hope I didn't offend ya by swearin' ya had somethin' ta do with it."

"Well ya did offend me, but that's not why I'm here. I want to be paid for the services my wife rendered."

Reggie shook his head, "I don't have no money."

"I'm not lookin' for money."

"Then what would ya be wantin'?"

"One a the pups, that's what I want. I heard there's some on the way. I want one of em. Only one and we're even."

Reggie frowned, "I don't know where the mother is."

"Ya follow Brownie, he'll take ya to the mother."

"Will he now," Reggie said. "Why don't ya tell me what would ya be wantin' with a pup anyhow. Ya know dogs hate ya. Look at Brownie, it's all he can do ta keep from attackin'." Brownie, on cue, dropped down onto his side and went to sleep. He had no intentions of attacking anyone.

"What I do with the dog is my business," Danny said.

Reggie knew he was in Danny's debt, and he didn't want to give him a pup. But a debt does need to be paid. "I'll see if I can find 'em." He said, "If I do, I will take one and give it to ya. But only one, and I will pick it out."

"Fair enough," Danny said. "Now I need to move along, the sheep are waitin'."

"Oh, Danny?" Reggie said Danny turned. "I expect ya ta treat the dog proper."

Danny, he went on, not answering. Reggie watched as he walked away. "I wonder what Marianna see's in 'em?" he whispered.

24

The Passing of the Torch

Come Sunday and along with it; the last day of summer; Reggie walked to the church where the good people of Olean stood around while waiting for a ribbon to be cut. This ribbon was blocking the front door, which meant the new addition was complete and would be revealed during the service of which Father McConnell would give, and was late for.

Manny the Mason, was standing in the crowd; beside him was Timberman Dan, who, and for a fee, supplied the wood what made up the roof. Glenda, she was walking around the addition, looking closely for a clue as to where the wood came from. So far, no luck.

Colton the Carpenter was the next in line. He was an artist of sorts; he could carve anything out of wood. On his side, there was a pouch that held a series of chisels, all sizes and shapes. He had chiseled all the rosaries and other fancy designs into the wood.

Colton the Carpenter and Timberman Dan had become close friends. This was natural since Timberman Dan was the only one who was able to supply oak wood. The area was sparse.

Once the addition was complete, Colton the Carpenter surprised Timberman Dan by carving a statue of the woodsmen. It was standing straight with a definition that was so precise; people wished it a good day as they passed. Colton nailed the statue on top of one of the stumps that were left.

This was Father McConnell's idea because not only did it show other wandering willows what had happened to their brethren, it showed the axeman who had done it. A warning that wouldn't be ignored! Was how the Priest put it.

Reggie, he knew wondering willows were no longer a problem, and he told them, but the statue was already nailed to the stump, so ...

Glenda, she was standing back, away from the crowd. Reggie saw her so he walked up and stood next to her.

"Sure is hot," he said, pulling a rag from his pocket and wiping the sweat off of his brow.

"This place needs some shade," Glenda replied. "To bad someone cut down all the trees!"

"I know."

"I'm talkin' about Timberman Dan, Reggie!"

"Oh, here we go again," Reggie said. "Ya know them were wonderin' willows. Most likely would a been gone anyhow."

She rolled her eyes.

Reggie looked over and saw Danny Green who was standing with Marianna. He was looking back, but his expression was one of impatience. Danny wanted a pup and Reggie had yet to deliver.

Father McConnell finally came walking up, through the crowd, and stopped at the front door of the church; in his hand was a pair of scissors which he used to cut the tape. All cheered as they formed a line to enter. Once everyone had their seat, Reggie, who was sitting next to Glenda, looked around. "This place hasn't changed a bit," he said. The stage was the same, the pulpit hadn't moved, the same number of pews lined two sides with a walkway down the center. "I thought it would be bigger," Reggie added, and then Mrs. Grapple who was sitting in front of him promptly turned and shushed him.

Father McConnell walked to his pulpit where his Bible sat open and waiting. He cleared his throat and began to speak. "I have been blessed," he said. "Not only am I surrounded by friends, but by good people who are blessed with good hearts. I can tell you, I have been to a lot of places, and I know, that for most of you, this isn't the case.

"So, even though in our little haven, you would think it impossible; I can assure you that the world is full of greed, wickedness, and thieves! Trickery and sinners! But not here, not ever here. And so it is for this reason alone, I built the addition to our church.

"Now I know some are wondering why the wall is still standing behind me. The answer is simple. I wanted a place for those in need to live. A place that would offer not only shelter but a chance at a proper life. So I have decided to turn my home over to Dorothy and Peter Strohlmen."

There was silence.

"For those of you who don't know," Father McConnell continued, "their boys, Joshua, and Riley, are the ones who tend to the animals on my farm. Dorothy cleans my home, and Peter does the needed repairs. I have every confidence that they will see to it that the farm goes on as always and that nothing will change. And since there is plenty of flat land now that the wandering willow epidemic has ended; I believe, in the years to come, food to eat and sell will be plentiful.

"As for me, I will seek refuge in the new addition on the rear of the Church. It's only right because in the Church is the only place I feel comfortable."

Those in the church began applauding, soon they were standing. Dorothy and Peter Strohlmen stood, the boys joined them. All were wiping away tears. This was a good day, one that made everyone feel something good. Father McConnell kept the service short. Then gave those who wanted a tour a look at his new home. After that, all went down to the shoreline where they proceeded to have a gathering.

This time, Grandel donated some fish and lobster. Carl the Butcher brought some pork and chicken. Glenda brought the vegetables, and Marianna Green, brought some huge portabella mushrooms. Like most times when people find themselves together with nothing to do, the children ran off and swam in the ocean or played in the sand. The adults, they listened to music and when the sun set, there was dancing and mushroom eating, and more dancing. And somewhere, or at some point, everyone realized that Marianna Green wasn't a witch at all. That she was different, that was true, but a fun kind of different and that's the best kind of different to be. And she was asked why she hadn't attended more festivals. Her reply was that Danny Green wouldn't allow it, that he wanted her home to tend to the bats.

"Tend to the what?" Reggie asked.

"Da bats, man," Marianna said, "There are t'ousands of bats they roost in da barn... on da ceiling. They eat da mosquitoes so da mosquitoes don't eat da sheep. This be a big problem right after they are sheered. No wool fer protection and da mosquitoes know the meal is easy. But what day don't know, is that da bats are waitin' and day are hungry too." She paused, "Circle a life, I suppose, man."

Reggie, confused said: "I was in yer barn, I saw no bats?"

"And you won't..., ya see I clean up da bat droppin's so da sheep don't get sick. I use it in some of da potions. It helps people ta see what day want ta see." She looked at Reggie, who hadn't a clue what she was talking about. "Ya would have ta look up ta see 'em."

"No kiddin...? Grandel said.

"We painted da barn ceiling black so day would feel at home. Now, day will stay 'til the mosquitoes are gone. Then they go. We did this so they day stay close. Da time is precious to a hairless sheep."

Reggie thought for a moment, the sheep were shaved clean when the dragon flew overhead that night I lost Brownie. It was summer, they didn't need the wool. He smiled as he looked at Father McConnell, who had just taken the last bite of his mushroom. "The dragon wasn't a dragon at all, they was bats," Reggie said. "They was goin' ta the Green's ta feed!"

Father McConnell smiled and waved as though he understood, Reggie doubted he did. The Priest had just learned that there were worse things out there then dragons; there were trees that wandered around and took root wherever they pleased. They were the real danger, because clearing this land wasn't easy. No wants to have to do it again.

But that was behind them now, thanks to Timberman Dan. That hero has stalled the infestation. No need to bring it up again. Besides, for some reason, the dragons now seemed silly. So much so, Father McConnell began to laugh. Then he really laughed and soon all were laughing with him. No one knew why, but they didn't need to. The fact was, it felt good, and that was reason enough.

25

Speaking to the Trees

That night, Reggie and Brownie stayed inside the shack. Summer was coming to a close and the temperature was showing signs of an early fall. In the morning, Reggie awoke to find he was covered with a blanket. Apparently, he pulled it over him during his sleep.

He stared at the ceiling, now the wind that blew through the open shutters was cold and sent chills down his arms. He put them under the covers. He could see the gray clouds that loomed motionless overhead. Rain would be coming soon but then it was that time of year.

He waited until he was good and warm, then jumped out of bed and put on his clothes. He prepared for the day; he already knew what he was going to do. This would be the day he got Danny Green his pup.

Brownie wasn't as ambitious as Reggie was; but soon enough, he began following him around. They ate some leftover food from the night before, then started on their mission.

Reggie had been thinking, he had looked all around his house, as well as others in the area. There were no pups. He came to the conclusion there was only one place they could be. That was in the woods.

There was a large box that had a lid that would latch. Reggie tied a rope to it, and dragged it along as they walked. It took a good while, but soon enough, they were standing on the outskirts of the magical woods. This time they looked different.

The gray skies had removed the shadows so there was no need to look at his feet. There was no breeze so the limbs weren't waving or pointing that he should leave. There was no sound that would suggest danger lies within. So taking a deep breath, Reggie entered the woods and Brownie followed behind him.

After awhile, Brownie took the lead, sniffing the ground; he looked like he was tracking something. Reggie hoped it was the pups. He really wanted nothing more than to leave the woods.

Brownie would stop on occasions, look around, then continue, his ears flopping front and back. This seemed to go on forever, but they came to a clearing where Brownie walked out into the open and took a seat. Reggie followed, walking slowly. He couldn't believe his eyes. He came up to where Brownie sat, he stopped.

The clearing made a circle that looked to be perfect. Trees made up the walls of the parameter and they were spaced the exact same distance apart from one another. Each tree had a single trunk that didn't split; instead, they went straight up then branched out like a star at the top. All were exactly the same.

In the center was a large tree. This one was different than the others, but familiar. This tree was the same kind as Willy, the talking tree that was guarding Butch. The tree that tossed him over the creek. The only difference was this one was twice the size.

Reggie stood there, amazed, because although he had seen this before, he didn't think he would ever get used to it. The tree take on Willy's humanly form. Like Willy, there were two branches that were arms, and they rose up and pushed the long green whips aside and tucked them behind what looked like bark-covered ears.

Now, Reggie could see the eyes of the tree and the tree could see Reggie.

This one had a nose which took a breath, long breath. It smelled a fragrance in the air, one it really enjoyed. Reggie could smell nothing. It looked down at Brownie and a mouth formed and it smacked its lips, moistening them. "Brownie," it said. "It's good to see you. Who is this here?" The voice was very deep, much deeper than Willy's and this one rumbled, shaking the ground.

Reggie said nothing, there was a pause, then the tree began speaking as though Brownie had telepathically told it something. "Aah, this is your human friend," It said then took a long look at Reggie.

Then, speaking to Reggie, it said: "As you well know, we trees don't get along with your kind. But, if you are a friend of Brownie's then you are welcomed here. That is as long as you stay close to the dog."

"What is this place?"Reggie asked.

"This is the woods, what do you think it is?"

"What are you...?"

"I'm a tree of course."

"But ya talk..., trees don't talk."

"Why would someone who believes that trees can walk, think they don't talk?"

"True 'nough," Reggie said, "Wait a minute. How'd ya know about the walkin' trees? Ya got 'em here too? If ya do, I know who can take care of 'em for ya. His name is Dan, Timberman Dan."

"Yes, well I don't think we'll need Timberman Dan's services anytime soon... As for your other question. Brownie, your friend told me all about your, what do you call them?"

"Wanderin' willows and I'll tell ya, there ain't no one who can rid ya of 'em like Timberman Dan."

"All right then," The tree replied frustrated. "Enough of that. Do you want something from me, or will you please be on your way." it said.

"I'm looking for a pup, one a Brownie's."

The tree looked at Brownie, "You had a litter of pups?" it asked. Once again there was a pause, then the tree looked back at Reggie. "There are no pups."

"Are too, if not, then why was he gone from home for so long?" Reggie asked.

"He was enjoying the woods while he could."

"While he could?"

"Yes. You see we can't stay long, soon the woodsmen will find us. That can't happen, because they really don't like the trees."

"They'll cut ya down. Is that what yer sayin'?"

"That they will, so our time here is coming to a close."

"Humm. Well, can't say I like cuttin' trees; well, unless they're wonderin' willows. But ya know what? I still got me some on my land. But that's all right on account a they can't spread. Ya see I made a deal with Goat-Man-Gus."

"Who?"

"Goat-Man-Gus, ya know, a leprechaun."

"Yeeeaaah. Well, you're lucky then..., those wandering willows can be a real nuisance. I heard they're Like cockroaches."

"I know. Timberman Dan has gone and cut 'em down, but I'm gonna keep mine. No more can set root--- you know--- because a the deal with Goat-Man-Gus. Truth is, I can't afford to have 'em removed."

"Right. I got it. So I suppose you will be leaving now, I mean seeing there're no pups."

"Well..., you see I got a problem, the pup isn't for me. It's for someone I owe a debt to."

"I see," there was a pause, "Perhaps we can make a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"If I give you a pup, you won't say a word about our woods?"

"I thought you said there were no pups?"

"The pup wouldn't be one of Brownies of course."

"I thought you said you were leavin'?"

"We are, but it takes time, and should this Timberman Dan you're so proud of find us, he can do a lot of damage before we can escape."

Reggie thought a moment, "Sure," he said. "Here, ya can put 'em in the box." He handed the box to the tree. "I don't wanna see it, I'll keep it if I do."

"Take a walk around," it said. "Come back in an hour, I will have your pup."

26

Sitting by the Fire after Dinner

Reggie and Brownie were standing in front of the door at the Greens home. They had knocked and could hear someone walking towards the door. It opened to show the rat face of Danny Green. "What is it you want?" he asked.

"I brought ya the pup, my debt is paid, sat it's so."

Danny looked at the box, "Why is it locked up?" he asked.

"It's a bit wild, Danny, you'll have ta be patient and tame him."

"I'll be patient all right."

"Now I'm warning ya Danny, I don't want to take in another beast. Brownie is enough."

"On your way," Danny said. "I don't need ya tellin' me how to tame my beast."

Brownie and Reggie left the box where it was, then headed home. Once there, they walked to the bluff where the wandering willow had supplied the branch that pushed Reggie off the cliff. He looked closely at the tree, made sure it hadn't moved. He thought he would return to find it gone. Scared of Timberman Dan's blade.

"You gonna stay here with us, are ya?" Reggie asked. "You can leave if ya want to, I would understand." The tree didn't come to life like Willy did or those in the magical forest. It just stood there under the gray sky.

They went into town, walked along the shoreline, stopped at Grandel's booth. "Hard day on the water, was it...?" There were only a couple of grunts laid out.

"They weren't bitin'" Grandel said, "And it was too cold to dive in and force 'em out, if ya know what I mean."

"I do," Reggie said. "What are ya doin' for supper?"

"Suppose I'll be eatin grunts," Grandel replied.

The shoreline was lacking the patrons, which was a sign they weren't use to the sudden weather change. Grandel was the only one standing at his booth. The others either caught nothing at all, or didn't bother to go out. Made sense; they had a full belly from the night before.

They talked all the way up until Glenda came out from the 'Meat the Greens' store. Reggie and Brownie went over to her and walked her home. "Why don't you stay for supper?" she said.

"What are ya havin'?"

"Potato soup."

"Sounds good."

On the way to the house, Reggie parted with Glenda; he went to the garden and picked some corn. Then he walked into the home where Glenda was already warming the cast iron pot that was hanging over the fire.

He went over and spoke to Glenda's mother, Elma, who was giddy because it had been so long. She sat there in her chair, a blanket wrapped around her body.

"How ya feeling?" Reggie asked.

"Would feel better if Fred here, would put more wood on the fire!" Elma said.

"I put wood on the fire!" Fred fired back.

"Not enough!"

"The hearth only has so much room, Elma!" Now they were shouting.

"You never filled it!"

"How would ya know, ya haven't been off that chair all day!"

"Cause I'd be warm; that's how I'd know!"

Reggie smiled, "I'll take that as you're feelin' fine, then."

The supper was a combination of potatoes cut and cooked in goats' milk. Spices were added as needed and it was good enough that even Brownie had seconds. The corn was sweet and close to being ready for the market, but it was decided another week couldn't hurt.

After supper, and making the parents promise to keep quiet. They sat around the fire on the floor and Reggie really wanted to tell them everything. He wanted to talk about the magical forest. Will, Dodge, and poor Butch the trees by the creek. The fish with green eyes and the dragon that was an alligator.

He was dying to let them know that Goat-Man-Gus was doing fine and still had those legs that ran the speed of a hummingbirds wings. And of Marianna's home, her herbs and her talents that were so superior, one was willing to forget that she was married to that no good, Danny Green.

Of Father McConnell, who feared that those bats were pushed out of their caves because of the dragons. And that they were all in danger.

And last, he wanted to speak of the wandering willows that were left on his property. Of how the trees had decided to stay. And how Reggie and the willows had made peace. He was certain there would be no more attempts on his life.

But a deal is a deal, and he couldn't speak of any of it until he was sure the forest was no longer in danger. So he said nothing. Nothing at all.

It was dark now with the only light being what came off the fire. Brownie was lying beside Reggie with his head on his lap. Reggie was petting him as he slept. Glenda, who was on the other side, was leaning against Reggie, her head on his shoulder. She was content as was all.

"Reggie?" Glenda asked.

"Yeah."

"Ya been keepin' an eye on Danny Green and his new puppy?"

"No, don't think I have ta."

"What makes ya so sure?"

"Well, between us. I couldn't find Brownie's pups. So I had ta come up with somethin' different."

"Yeah, like what?"

"Well, I found this wolf, that had a litter and the momma was really wantin' ta thin it some."

"You gave Danny Green a wolf?"

"Sure did."

"But don't wolves—ya know—eat sheep?"

"Not sure."

"And humans?"

"Don't know."

"I don't think ya can train them, Reggie."

"Hey, I told Danny Green, the pup was a smite wild. He was real clear on tellin' me ta mind my business. So that's what I'm doin'."

The End

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