The dinner itself was festive and delicious. Kylen handled it all pretty
well. She only made one gaffe at dinner when she rather forcefully told Ewan
to 'Shut up and pass the fucking gravy.' The family paused for a split
second then gamely ignored the remark.
Abby had selected Mozart for the background music. McQueen was thankful that
it wasn't one of the Russian composers. The family shared memories and
stories of their childhood. Even Amy and Dale joined in and offered stories.
McQueen did not.
McQueen did have a favorite story from the evening, however. There was a
particularly enlightening tale about Frank catching Kylen and Nathan and a
group of their friends, who, as a result of a dare, were skinny skating. It
was a side of Kylen that McQueen had not fully anticipated. A wild hair. A
group of teenagers skating - stark naked - around the back pond in the
middle of January. Evidently, Frank had discovered them before anyone
sustained any permanent frostbite. The father had been somewhat limited in
his meeting out of punishment. The dare had been the result of his own
telling the tale of how he and his friends had gone skinny skating following
a particularly vigorous pond hockey game. Anything to cool down, the breeze
had been delicious and bracing. Sins of the fathers. The sheer foolishness of
the escapade had achieved far more notice than the potential scandal of a
half a dozen naked teenagers. But Kylen and Nathan had been grounded for a
month.
Everyone was too full for dessert. McQueen had to admit that the little kid
had been right. He had made the rookie mistake and was now uncomfortably
full. The clean up went quickly. There were many hands to pitch in and
everyone seemed to know what needed to be done with little or no direction.
They had all done this before. Shortly people were staking out their places
to relax and many were on the verge of sleep. Someone had set up a jigsaw
puzzle on a table to the side of the keeping room. Amy explained to McQueen
that it was an activity people could enjoy while still engaging in
conversation. One of the Frat Boys had turned the television back on - low
volume. The adults were to have brandy with their coffee. They would all
probably have 'something sweet in an hour or so.'
McQueen identified something that had been bothering him on and off for
hours. A missing link. A hole. Another lost sheep. "Where is Martin?" he
asked Kylen.
"With Radford. Out west," she replied. "I did ask him."
The information filled in the blank but did not particularly give McQueen any
comfort.
Most of 'The Grown-ups' were making their way towards the living room for
rest and conversation when a promotion for a movie was heard from the
television. To show support for the war effort and to build patriotism there
had been a spate of jingoistic military movies produced. Not exactly typical
holiday fare but nonetheless extremely popular. The promotion was for 'The
Triumph of Dallas - The defeat of the Silicates.' Under the announcers
voice, AI chatter spewed forth from the speakers. Kylen froze and before
McQueen could reach out to stop her she was running up the stairs. Aislen and
Christian were, thankfully, the only other people to catch her reaction.
McQueen burned them both with his look.
"Go," he ordered to Christian. Neither he nor Aislen were in any shape to be
running up the stairs but they followed as best as they could.
"She is going to try to get out of the house." McQueen called to Christian in
a stage whisper - no need to get the whole house agitated.
"Aislen, how?" Christian asked, his head appearing over the railing above
McQueen and Aislen.
"Mom's rose trellis." Aislen urged. McQueen was glad that he had two thinking
people with him.
Christian ran to the end of the hall were Kylen had opened a window. She had
crawled out onto the roof of the keeping room and was trying to make her way
across the slippery roof to the trellis. Christian clambered after her into
the darkness.
"Kylen," he called. "Be careful. Kylen."
Her eyes were wide in terror, Kylen wasn't about to stop.
"Make it an order." McQueen called from his place at the top of the stairs.
"Kylen Alexa Celina - Stop !" Christian called. A light seemed to go on in
Kylen's brain. She hesitated and slowed but did not stop.
McQueen and Aislen had reached the window. Will I spend my entire life
chasing after West and Celina? he thought. It was clear to him that
Christian was unused to giving such orders and even more unused to them being
obeyed by his own daughter let alone one of his sisters.
"Kylen Celina - NOW - SIT - NOW." McQueen ordered from the window. It was
another familiar, more immediate, voice of comfort and safety to her mind
and, more importantly, it was a familiar order. Kylen sat immediately and
burst into tears.
Christian moved slowly towards his little sister. As he got closer he
crouched down low until he was kneeling beside her. "Kylen ... Kylen ....
Mouse?" he said softly.
"Christian?" she whispered. "Christian ... I kept waiting for you to come
for me. I waited for over a year for you to come for me. Christian, I was so
scared." Kylen looked up at him through her hair and slowly reached out to
touch his cheek. "You are here," she whispered and smiled. She reached out
with her other hand and cupped his face. "I missed you so much Christian."
Christian smiled and covered her hand.
Kylen threw her arms around her brother who rocked her back and forth.
McQueen exhaled deeply. He wasn't needed any longer. He turned from the
window to join the crowd downstairs. The absence of so many people would
create questions. Aislen stopped him mid turn. She reached out to touch his
face but before he could stop himself McQueen was horrified to realize that
he had grabbed her wrist to prevent her touch. Aislen at once understood his
reticence - touching someone's face was an intensely personal thing - but it
was also a gesture of affection and acceptance. She felt that it was a gift
she could give him. She sweetly smiled and reached out her other hand which
she gently placed on McQueen's cheek.
"Stick her in some water," McQueen gruffly suggested. He let go of Aislen's
arm, embarrassed.
"I see, you know my little sister," Aislen said with infinite patience and
affection. "The cure for anything is warm water, huh?"
"'Salt water _ sweat, tears, or the sea.' Isak Dinesen, I think," McQueen
corrected quietly as he moved away from her.
"You do know my little sister," Aislen said knowingly.
McQueen turned and went down the hallway and the stairs.
Out on the roof, Kylen clung to Christian as he helped her to stand.
"I was so scared." She spoke into his shoulder.
"I know, Mouse" He comforted.
Kylen shook her head. "No. I meant just now. I thought that they had come
for me again. Had come for everyone. I'm sorry I messed things up."
Christian could think of nothing to say so he just held her tightly.
"I'm so tired of being afraid," Kylen looked up at him.
Aislen followed McQueen's advice and put her sister into a hot tub. Christian
went downstairs, got himself and McQueen stiff drinks and told anyone who
asked that Kylen was, yet again, taking another bath and Aislen was with her
doing the 'girl talk' thing.
The bath had been warm, fragrant, and therapeutic. Kylen was once again
herself and she and Aislen were talking while Kylen dressed in a Greenbrier
sweatsuit. Aislen was at the window.
"Where is Colonel McQueen?" Kylen asked.
"Out back by the pond," Aislen answered.
"Oh, checking out the scene of my crime?" Kylen asked.
"I think he needed to get away from all of us," Aislen said.
Kylen moved to the window and looked down at the pond which was illuminated
by a lamp on a tall pole. McQueen was sitting on the bench just visible in
the shadows.
"He seems so alone - more than just being by himself." Aislen remarked.
"Hmmmm" Kylen agreed.
"Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy." Aislen murmured.
"Not if I can help it." Kylen said softly matching her sisters volume.
"You don't think he has read either of the Brontes do you?" Aislen asked
still looking down at McQueen.
"That was Fitzgerald not Bronte, Aislen, and I really doubt it. I hope not. I
think that he already has a surprisingly romantic view of his place in the
cosmos." Kylen considered the man sitting in the shadows. "He does kind of
put you in mind of Rochester down there doesn't he?" She chuckled to herself
imagining his reaction to the image. And thankful that the Bronte sisters
seemed like a long shot at best. "Has he read them? Oh, I should think not.
He would think them ridiculous. He is a very practical man."
"Should I send someone out there to fetch him?" Aislen asked.
"He's a big boy, Aislen. He can find his way home after dark."
Chapter 26 - Saint-Exupery
The sleeping arrangements were organized in less than three minutes. McQueen
was beginning to see a pattern in the household. There always seemed to be
chaos - barely controlled, but controlled nonetheless. If the chaos could be
ratcheted down a bit more, as much as he hated to admit, it was a pretty well
run unit that vaguely reminded him of the Corps - on a bad day.
There were six bedrooms in the old farm house. Plus one-third of the attic
was taken up with a dormitory space known as The Fort. The family spread
itself around as it suited them. Amy was to share what was now Kylen's room.
Dale had been offered and accepted a tiny room next to the master bedroom
that had, for years, been the nursery. Frank's study on the ground floor had
been reserved for McQueen.
Frank gestured McQueen into the chair next to the fireplace. He handed the
Colonel a glass of scotch and three slim volumes in a slip case that was
engraved 'Antoine De Saint-Exupery.'
"I had to dig around for a while in the attic to find these. I remembered
reading them years ago. They were my grandfather's. The author was a pilot
in France during World War II. I gather that he is a national hero. Anyway, I
thought - we thought you might enjoy them," Kylen's father said. "I'd like
for you to have them, Colonel, as a gift from our family," he said.
Christian appeared at his father's side as McQueen gently pulled one of the
books from the case and opened the cover. This was a special edition printed
to celebrate the one-hundredth anniversary of the birth of Saint-Exupery. The
book he had opened was 'Night Flight.' There was an inscription. "Marcus
Celina, Merry Christmas 2000, Love Mom and Dad.
"Oh, no ... These are family heirlooms. Thank you, but these should go to one
of your children." McQueen protested and handed the small book to Christian.
Frank smiled. He had anticipated the protest.
Christian returned the book to McQueen. "Think of them as an early Christmas
present. We can cross you off the list now. You'll be doing us a favor," he
jested then became more grave. "They are family heirlooms and that is
precisely why we want you to have them, Colonel."
Kylen popped into the conversation just in time to see McQueen blush and
manage a choked 'Thank you' as he shook hands with Frank and Christian.
"Which books?" she asked switching the atmosphere of the conversation. " Ah,
Saint Exu." She said using a shortened version of the author's name - like he
was an old friend. "The pilot books?"
McQueen nodded.
"Good choice," she congratulated her father and brother and was off again.
McQueen realized that the gift of the books and their selection had been a
topic of discussion.
Kylen left the room deeply distressed - a different woman. She began to
search throughout the house; a search bordering on the frantic - even
enlisting Ewan and Eithne to help. There was a book they had to find and
bring to her immediately. The offending book was finally found on Bridee's
shelf. Kylen called Dale into a corner and showed him the little book.
"Do you have this book in your library?" she asked, her tone almost
accusatory. "At the clinic or at The Barn?"
"Ah, I haven't seen this in years. 'The Little Prince.' What a charming book,
Kylen. Yes, I think I have a copy at home, in French."
"Then find it as soon as you get home. Promise me. Hide it. Burn it. Lock it
away someplace. At least until Colonel McQueen leaves. Promise me."
"Why, Sweetheart?"
"He is in there right now reading Saint-Exupery. The flying books. The ones
about World War II. If he likes them - which we both know he will - you
think he won't look for other books? This is 'The Little Prince,' Kylen
said with emphasis. "The story of a mysterious little blue eyed boy with
curly blonde hair and dignified bearing, who sacrifices himself for the
little planet he loves - out of despair."
"For his rose in the bell jar and for his sheep," Dale said leafing through
the book remembering the story. He finally caught on. The Little Prince asked
questions but never answered them. The little Prince lived out among the
stars. And The Little Prince had allowed the snake to strike. Kylen wanted to
hide this story of self-sacrifice from a blue eyed man with graying but once
blonde wavy hair and dignified bearing, who was perfectly capable of
performing such an act. It amused and touched Dale. It also gave him the
shivers. "I'll do it. I promise."
People began to slowly peel off for the night. Most would be leaving after
breakfast or in the afternoon. About half were going to Boston to attend
Eithne's opening night. Those who were staying at home to take care of the
farm would attend closing night which would be December 30th. Eithne's run in
the Nutcracker would be bracketed by family celebrations and the two biggest
nights would have family in the audience to see her triumph as she was
partnered in the Spanish Variations and danced in the corps de ballet. Dale
had already called to get tickets. McQueen had quietly declined to go and was
now almost a bit sorry that he had. Almost. It was easy to get swept away by
the Celinas, but he had trouble picturing himself at a matinee of the
Nutcracker. Let Amy and Dale go. It meant an entire day he would have to
himself.
McQueen changed into a sweatsuit and was soon alone in the keeping room in
front of the fire with a glass of good single malt and a reclining chair. All
in all a good place to be. McQueen felt emotionally wrung out. The Celina
tribe was a force of nature and the day had been exhausting. The quiet was
wonderful. The solitude satisfying. He really began to enjoy the books. The
translations were excellent. McQueen felt the camaraderie of a fellow pilot
and a poet warrior. He was captivated by the fact that the effect of flying
was so unchanged. That being a pilot and the challenges and joys it brought
was much the same a hundred and twenty years ago. He would have had things to
say to Antoine De Saint-Exupery. And things to ask.
McQueen had fallen asleep in the chair with the light on. It was about 0230
when he heard her steps. He smiled to himself. He had recognized Kylen's
footsteps even barefooted. Getting the skills back. McQueen had half
expected her. He opened his eyes. She didn't seem the least bit surprised to
see him there.
"Nightmare?" he asked her.
"I don't think so. I don't remember one. I often wake up in the middle of the
night. I fall asleep down here," Kylen began to tend the fire, bringing the
embers back into life. "So, was it as bad as you thought?" she asked without
looking at him. "You should have seen the look on your face when you got
here."
McQueen was tempted to say 'worse,' but it wasn't the truth. "No, it wasn't
too bad." But he thought: But once is enough. I feel like I've been rode
hard and put up wet.
"What about Nathan's parents? Dad was pretty upset," Kylen asked.
"They are grieving and they are angry. They think that I have a hold over
their eldest son and I was a convenient target. Put it together yourself. I
don't want to discuss it," he warned.
"Well, you do have an influence over him, you know. And it is a good
influence, I think," she then let the matter drop. "Can I get you anything?"
"I'll take more ice, thanks." McQueen held his glass out to her.
Kylen eyed the decanter. There was less there than she recalled. "Are you
sure?"
"I'm not driving anywhere tonight," he teased her and she took the glass from
him. Kylen momentarily returned with ice and two quilts she had conjured up
in her brief absence.
"That's where I sleep," she said nodding at his chair.
"Not tonight," he quipped, startling himself with his unguarded and flip
response. McQueen gestured to the couch. "There you go," he said as he poured
more scotch.
Kylen tossed a quilt into his lap and immediately curled up on the couch
with the other. McQueen turned off the light and drank his scotch by the
light of the fire. He watched her fall asleep.
Frank, Connor and Christian entered the kitchen at approximately 0500. The
'Mamas' would be in the barn, waiting to be milked. Their internal clocks
calling them in from the field. The brothers were going to take care of that
for their father and Ewan. It was a family tradition. When you came home,
you took over morning milking so Dad could sleep in. Only he never did. He
was like McQueen - an infallible internal clock - up for the milking no
matter how late he had stayed up the night before.
Kylen was still sound asleep on the couch in the adjacent keeping room.
McQueen was at the far end of the kitchen area making coffee.
"I find her down here almost every morning," Frank spoke softly and rather
sadly to the other three men.
"She is comfortable down here," McQueen offered. It seemed like it should be
enough of an explanation for anyone.
"I would have thought her old room...with all her things..." Frank trailed
off.
McQueen gave Christian an appraising look. Does he, at least, get it now?
he wondered.
"It's the doors isn't it? More routes of escape." Christian asked the Colonel
softly - for the man's ears only.
Bingo. thought McQueen as he nodded 'yes' as he sipped his coffee.
Christian poured the coffee and Connor grabbed two slices of pie, handing one
to his brother on a paper towel. They wolfed down the pie, gulped their
coffee and went to the entry hall to put on their boots and coats for the
barn. In moments they were singing:
"There's a bright golden haze on the meadow. Yes, a bright golden haze on
the meadow. The corn is as high as an elephants eye and it looks like it's
rising straight up to the sky. Oh what a beautiful morning. Oh what a
beautiful day," - a joke for their Dad to cheer him up.
McQueen shot a look towards Kylen who had jerked awake. He could see her eyes
glistening. He was instantly furious, a white hot fury. He suddenly didn't
care whose house it was. McQueen turned on the brothers.
"What in the hell is your problem?" he growled at parade ground volume. They
were instantly silent. Frank was shocked and the tears spilled onto Kylen's
cheeks.
"It's OK, Colonel," she mumbled.
"It is not OK, Kylen. I don't care who they are. It is NOT OK." he insisted.
"They don't know. I didn't tell them," she said apologetically.
"Why not," McQueen demanded. "What in the hell is your problem?" he repeated
to her in a much different and softer tone.
"I ... I just couldn't," she said. Kylen hadn't had any concept of how to
tell them. She gave McQueen an anemic gesture, rose and left the room. A
feeling of defeat was palpable in the air.
"Tell us what?" Frank demanded.
"Not all torture shows," McQueen spat and scanned their faces for
understanding. In a far more conciliatory tone he continued: "The Silicates
sang that song every morning. Incessantly. They taunted Kylen and the others
with it. She told me that they took part of her childhood away."
The family was dumfounded. "We had no idea. We would never..."
McQueen held up his hand to quiet them. " I know," he said wearily. "She
knows." He was running out of explanation. "Just don't sing anything from
OKLAHOMA," he added weakly. McQueen felt exposed by his own anger and
outburst. Nothing like fragging the Celina Kitchen first thing in the
morning.
Frank sensed the unease and put his strong hand on the Marine's shoulder.
"Good man," he whispered.
It was not what McQueen had anticipated - but he realized it was what he
should have expected. He adopted that particular and perfectly 'blank'
expression common to most InVitros. The expression - or lack of expression
that gave no information. In this household, there were far too many
different waves of emotion, buffeting from too many angles for his taste.
Undisciplined. He nodded his acknowledgment and left the room as well.
McQueen thought he would hide out in the study until the kitchen was again
full of people. Dale had been right to a certain extent - when there was a
crowd it was easier for McQueen to fade into the background. He laid down on
the cot that had been set up for him the night before. He picked up 'Night
Flight' again and began to read.
The French pilot from another war over a century earlier, had written: "We
don't ask to be eternal. What we ask is not to see acts and objects abruptly
lose their meaning. The void surrounding us then suddenly yawns on every
side."
Saint-Exupery understood only too well. Unbelievable. If the book had
been a paperback of no real value - McQueen would have thrown it across the
room.
Next : Chapter Twenty-Seven
Previous : Chapter Twenty-Three
|