by S. Robertson
Vette, guarded, replied, “It’s that obvious, heh. Why do you ask?”
“To tell you the truth, this situation is growing more dangerous by the hour and I need all the trained help I can muster. Can I count on you?”
Seeing the worried look in Wolfram’s eyes, Vette responded. “Somehow I’m not surprised. To answer your question, I’m an off-duty RCMP officer with over eight years experience. A friend of my father’s needed assistance and I was hired. I’ve already detected the extra security. Fill me in. I detest working in the dark.”
“Thanks. Come with me. We’ll find a quiet corner.” They left to talk in the garden away from the mansion.
About 5:30pm the seven appeared at the dining room entrance; four Guardians plus Vette, Wolfram and Tyloar. The dining room had been the interior decorator’s crown jewel. The spacious room was an exquisite blend of cream, coral and green. Four large windows overlooked the side gardens, two slightly open for a cross breeze. A soft scent of lilac filled the air. Luxurious coral drapes in Victorian folds encased the cream-curtained venetian blinds which allowed both light and privacy. The large oval table, draped in fine linen, sat in the middle of an expensive patterned carpet. The table, designed for twelve, was set for seven. A low floral arrangement graced the center of the table, flowers chosen from the estate gardens. The hazel wood chairs, padded in beige and floral fabric, matched the other furniture in the room. Plants were tastefully arranged to complement, but not overpower the space. The crystal chandelier was lit for effect, as the windows provided plenty of light.
Gracelyn guided her guests to their respective seats while Tyloar assumed his seat at one end of the long table. Once everyone was seated, Gracelyn took her seat at the other end of the table. On Tyloar’s right was Vette, Angi and Moira. On his left were Wolfram and Jessie. Wolfram and Vette sat opposite each other on either side of his grandfather, leaving the other Guardians time to get acquainted.
Once seated, Anton appeared with a couple of white wine bottles and poured some in each glass. Then, he retreated to the kitchen.
When everyone was comfortable, Tyloar raised his glass in a toast. “May I take this opportunity to welcome our international guests; Guardians from families specially chosen to protect an ancient treasure. Welcome to the United States.” Glasses were raised and the meal commenced. Still strangers, members began hesitantly to talk to their nearest dinner companion. A variety of breads arrived along with the first course, a Classic Caesar Salad. The evening was warm and Anton was determined to keep his guests cool and well fed. If the evening breeze failed he was ready to turn on the air conditioning. The Harrisons had given precise instructions.
Tyloar Harrison was a stocky man in his early seventies, with thinning gray hair and silver-rimmed glasses. Recognized as a community leader, he was at ease with business and fund-raising meetings, and known for getting things done. He was born and educated in Boston, going to Harvard University on a full scholarship and graduating with degrees in history and business. He was delighted in Boston’s status as the “Cradle of Liberty” and proudly acknowledged his family links to the famous Boston Tea Party. In the late 1950s he met Gracelyn, an employee at his family’s antique business. They were married in the early sixties. After decades of assisting in the family business, they became principle owners when his parents died. For over forty years the business thrived in a booming economy but the recent economic downturn had reduced their profits. Nevertheless, as he contemplated their lives together, “We’ve done well; we have a fine mansion, prominent and wealthy friends and are blessed with a fine grandson. Thank God he’s recovering but it will take time. Our daughter is barely capable of managing her own life, let alone a business.” With concern he looked over at Wolfram, “Will he ever fully recover or have a family? Gracelyn and I are nearing retirement and will soon have to make a decision about the business. But that’s for another day.”
He had chosen a ‘hands off’ policy with regard to the Guardians, leaving his wife and Wolfram in charge. He shared his grandson’s skepticism over the authenticity of the medallion, “The next few days will settle this one way or another. While Nat Zieglar, our company gemologist assures me that Gracelyn’s sapphire is genuine and very old, there is no guarantee the rest of these women have gems of equal quality. In the meantime I’ll need Wolfram to keep me abreast of what’s happening on the criminal front. I’ll be damned if anyone is getting near my family. I’ve paid for extra security and will pay more if need be. Wolfram’s police training has come in handy, but it was that cursed police work that caused his near-fatal accident. That was certainly one of life’s cruel twists. I see that those two women from Canada are near his age.”
“Strange what brings people together,” thought Angi as she surveyed the setting? “Here we are from different countries, all linked by a mystery with century old roots in another country. Our ancestors once sat plotting this strategy, trusting it would survive until this century. That took courage. Think of the risk. Whatever happens, this medallion has already given me the potential of a larger family. I wonder what the days ahead will reveal. I’m glad Moira is sitting next to me; it’ll give me a chance to know her better. She’s about my height, and certainly fit.” Angi turned to chat.
Moira, single at forty-six, lived in Sydney, had received numerous swimming awards and was now a coach for Australia’s top female swimming team. She was training the next team for the 2012 Summer Olympics in London. This trip was an inconvenience. But once she received the call from Gracelyn, and talked to her mother and grandmother, she had no choice. Looking around the table she thought, “I’m amazed our crystal survived in light of the trials and tribulations of my family. It must have taken some guts not to sell this gemstone when they were nearly starving in the early days in Australia. Real rugged, that’s my family line. If I hadn’t taken this journey they’d start haunting me. That alone is enough to frighten the hell out of anyone. Not appearing was never an option.” She smiled. “It’ll be good to chat with other Guardians. Maybe they know more than I do. But wouldn’t it be a real downer to discover this whole caper is nothing but a wild goose chase. But that’s not the message ingrained in my family and I’m sticking to that.” The thought lingered as she turned to Angi.
Gracelyn Harrison was the epitome of a well groomed professional matron accustomed to running a profitable business and entertaining fashionable guests. Elegant in her seventies, she sat regally surveying the gathering. “I never thought this day would come in my life time, and certainly not with a killer stalking us. The world hasn’t changed much in the centuries, just more complicated. In the 1600s the predators were political and clerical, today it’s individual. This killer that Wolfram speaks of is surely after gold despite his previous connections with some religious organization. He cares little for the historic value of anything. Unfortunately, we’ve become a society which weighs everything by its material value. It’s obvious we’ve lost our way. While wealth makes life easier, it is cold compensation for what truly ails the world. Before I die I’d like to think there was something else to life. I’d like to believe our ancestor’s risked everything to save something of importance. I wonder if we’d be as courageous.”
Born in Boston to an impoverished Sinclair family, Gracelyn went to work after high school. Her mother’s family had known wealth, but lost it during the Depression. Her mother, ill prepared for such a drastic change, never recovered. Her only sibling, a sister, died of Polio in the fifties. Her first, and only, job was at the Harrison Antique Store where she met Tyloar. Looking down the table she reminisced, “Initially, it wasn’t a great love affair but we’ve been together for over forty-five years. Our biggest mistake was spoiling our only child, Megan. Growing up in the seventies, Megan, like a moth to fire, flew off to join a hippy commune in California. There she married Maxwell Stark, a drummer in a Rock Band from a good family in Texas. Poster children to a lost generation consumed by mental illness and drugs. Fortunately, w
e learned our lesson when it came to Wolfram. He’s our future but he’s damaged. He still needs a lot of rehabilitation that could take years. I’ll just have to hope. But this is no time for maudlin thinking, the Guardians come first.” Gracelyn turned to chat with Jessie.
The second Guardian from down-under was the very opposite to Moira. Jessie, at sixty-four, was a small, frail woman, just over five feet, with a retiring personality. Married with two grown children, and one grandchild, she had spent decades as a music teacher in a private girls school in New Zealand. A gifted classical pianist she never had the money or support for outside competitions and had few awards. Music comforted her in dealing with life’s hardships. As she looked around the magnificent dining room she thought of her mother and grandmother. “Nanna kept saying that the ‘coming times’ might happen at the turn of the century. She was the one with the greatest knowledge of the secret which she tried to convey to me because Mama was too ill. Even with antibiotics, Mama’s bout of Tuberculosis left her permanently weak. While she gave birth to two children, she died in her late forties, leaving our care to Nanna. I’m the only one living, James died a decade ago from stomach cancer. I planned to pass our gemstone on to my daughter, but ‘the coming times’ arrived. I hope I can do justice to Nanna’s teachings……..it’s been a long while.” Looking around the table she contemplated the event, “For the first time in centuries four Guardians are sitting together. I wonder if there are still eight living descendants from the original families. It would be wonderful to meet them.” The thought was left as she responded to a question from Gracelyn.
Tyloar kept the wine glasses filled, noting that Wolfram, Vette and Angi had hardly touched their first glass of wine. Each course arrived with precise timing and presented in an appetizing manner. The main course of Pan Seared Salmon in basal butter with summer vegetables and rice timbale was followed by a Chocolate Trilogy Mousse along with a platter of petite pastries, and plates of fruit, cheese, and chocolates plus cups of tea and coffee. After two hours the group moved to an adjacent sitting room, the patio doors set ajar to encourage the evening breeze. Wolfram directed the guests to the deep-cushioned blue and green chairs. Tyloar chose one near the hall doorway while the rest selected ones previously arranged in a semi-circle. The plan was to encourage the Guardians to share their information on the medallion. Wolfram took the lead.
“Let me begin by bringing you up-to-date with what has been happening. First, it was my request to an old colleague at Boston University which initiated an unexpected sequence of events. I asked Dr. Morgan Mandelthrope, an old friend and specialist in Celtic history, to investigate whether there was archival evidence of a special medallion, secret families or a secret with North American connections in the 1600s. Finding nothing, he asked two academic colleagues, one in Ireland, the other in Scotland, to see what they could find. After some months Dr. Kevyn O’Gratteney in Ireland uncovered a secret code which he was able to break. It had definite possibilities. But before he had time to investigate further he was killed in a hit-and-run car accident. His last e-mail to Morgan identified an Italian, an ex-Roman Catholic priest, who had shown an inordinate interest in his research. It is assumed that it was an assistant to this Italian who attacked Nellie. Shortly after Nellie’s attack, her assailant was killed in the city jail.”
Startled, Moira asked, “You mean to tell me there have been three deaths connected with this medallion in the past few weeks?”
“Yes,” confirmed Wolfram, noting the startled reaction of several in the room.
“Where’s this Italian now?” asked Angi, trying to grasp the news.
“We’ve tracked him to Boston where we believe he is now after Morgan. By hacking into Dr. O’Gratteney’s computer he discovered Nellie’s name, and, of course, the other two names being Morgan’s, who initiated the research, and the Scottish professor. Getting nothing from Nellie, he focused on Morgan. To thwart him, all of Morgan’s computer information has been removed and stored in a secure location. Morgan is presently under special protection.”
“But if he gets to Morgan then he can easily get you or your grandparents. Now I understand why we’re not meeting at your grandparent’s residence, but how safe are we here?” Moira had quickly grasped the danger.
Determined to allay their fears, Wolfram continued. “Morgan doesn’t know where we are, only the Boston Deputy Superintendent of Police. In addition, we’ve hired extra security. In light of the situation I must ask that you do not wander beyond the perimeter of the mansion grounds. No long walks. If you need to purchase anything, then Charles will drive you to and from a local store. I wish it was different but we need to be prudent.”
Uneasiness gripped the room, each Guardian lost in her own analysis of the threatening events. Wolfram redirecting their thoughts broke the silence “So, now you understand why we must act quickly. For our first evening I was hoping we might share what we know of the medallion and “the coming times”, and tomorrow evening we can concentrate on the gemstones. If you agree, Nat Zieglar, our company gemologist will join us tomorrow evening to assess the gems. The reason being, there is no point in pursuing this further if the gemstones are not genuine. No aspersions on anyone, a lot can happen in three centuries.” Taking their nods as agreement he went on, “First, do you know the name of your ancestor? I believe there were only couples involved in this secret. This information could help us with further research if we need to take that route.”
Angi was the first to speak. “I believe my ancestor’s surname was Stewart but I don’t know their other names. In recent centuries, the name was Cameron and, I believe they moved from Nova Scotia to Prince Edward Island near the end of the 1800s. I might find more in Gran’s things once I get home.”
Jessie spoke next “I never heard the name mentioned in my home. All I know is that my grandmother, Nanna, said four families had to immigrate to North America. At the time of the Civil War in the USA two families left for Australia. Around the First World War, my family left Australia to settle in New Zealand.”
“I know my ancestors were Keegan and Charlotte Fitzgibbon,” stated Moira “these names were often mentioned in whispers in our home.”
“I believe my ancestors were Graeme and Elizabeth Reid,” replied Gracelyn. “I learned this from my maternal grandmother.”
“That’s great,” replied Wolfram, writing down the names. “It’s a beginning.”
“I recall my Nanna saying that one of the families, not ours, had the original list. If none of us possess it,” getting a negative signal from the others, “then it must reside with a family in Britain.”
“OK, let’s leave it there,” said Wolfram. “What do you know about the medallion itself?”
Jessie, in her soft New Zealand accent, began, “Nanna said the medallion was broken up long before the 1600s. Our ancestors in the 1600s were acting as Guardians just like us and their families had been doing the same thing for generations. Now before you ask, she did not know how far back. She did say that if ever the medallion was reassembled it was supposed to possess some magical power that could be dangerous in the wrong hands. What powers or how dangerous I don’t know.”
Wolfram inquired, “Did your grandmother speculate at all as to how far back in time the medallion might have existed?”
“No,” replied Jessie. “She wasn’t a woman who made assumptions. She dutifully conveyed only what she had been told by her mother.”
Moira’s entered the conversation, “I have even less to add. I conferred with my mother and grandmother before leaving Australia. My grandmother thought that the medallion may belong to the Druids, and was dismantled when they were being persecuted by the Romans. If correct, we may be talking centuries.”
With mention of Druids Wolfram glanced at his grandfather, who winced. “I’m a bit nervous when the Druids are brought into the scenario as this could get us tangled up in new age stuff. Nevertheless, we’ll let it stand.”
Moira continued,
“My Gran was also firm that the medallion was useless unless all the gems were in their original slots. That could mean millions of possibilities if there are eight. I am assuming there must be eight gemstones as there were eight families. In addition, she stressed that, if the medallion was assembled properly, only one person in each generation was chosen, or able, to wear it. How that person was selected I haven’t the foggiest idea.”
“There are a lot of ifs,” replied Wolfram, realizing the diminishing probability of success.
Gracelyn then spoke, “I learned the Guardians were supposed to be female, as it was assumed it would be difficult to trace them in a masculine society. It was my understanding, the gemstone could, for a generation, be passed on to a male, but as soon as he had a daughter, she had to assume the guardianship.”
“That’s what Gran told me,” interjected Angi.
Seeing that the group was tiring after their long journeys Wolfram was anxious to press on. “If you think of anything else, let me know. Now, lets talk about ‘the coming times.”“
Angi began, “From what I could gather, somehow Gran knew the attack on her was a signal that ‘the coming times’ had begun. That’s what she was saying in the hospital, but was unable to tell me more before she died. I wish I had paid more attention when she first told me about the medallion when I was younger.”
Moira interjected, “My mother and grandmother were explicit that the death of Nellie was the signal for the Guardians to meet. It wasn’t entirely clear why. Yet, as I sit here I do believe events are guiding us in some direction.”
Jessie followed, “I’m afraid, except for understanding that it’s the time when the medallion is suppose to be reassembled, I know little else.”
