by A. L. Knorr
Faith did what people who didn't have any phobias did - tried to rationalize my fear away. "We love bees. You know that without them the human race would perish? Seventy percent of the world's food supply is pollinated by bees."
"Yes, Auntie. I do know that. Logically." And I did. There had been a 'Save the Bees' campaign at school last year because some mysterious force was killing bees all over the world. I had read the material. I knew that the little black and yellow demons were a necessary evil. That didn't help during close encounters of the stinging kind.
"Anyway, that wasn’t a bee you saw,” she said. “It was a hornet. Jasher!" Faith called, startling me.
Please no. Hadn't I had enough embarrassment for one day? To my horror, Jasher came striding across the grass towards us, looking gorgeous and amused. Oh, how I hated him in that moment.
"Yeah?"
I wanted to slap the smirk off his face. He might be crazy but he obviously didn't have any phobias, at least, that's what I thought at the time. If I had known then what I know now, I would have had a lot more grace about the whole thing. As it was, I wanted to stick my tongue out at him. Or just haul off and round-house him. I've got long legs. I could have reached his head.
"Would you like to teach your cousin the fascinating art of search and destroy?"
Search and destroy? I blinked at my nature-loving aunt. Just when you think you know someone...
Jasher didn't answer at first. Then, "If I were mad.”
My jaw dropped and I stared at him.
"Jasher," said Faith, reproachfully.
“She's plankin’ it. You want me to hunt for the nest with her in tow?" He hadn't even looked at me.
A red-hot jolt of anger made my heart pound and my face flush. I was the subject of the conversation and he was treating me like I wasn't even there.
"No, I'd like to see this trick of yours, Jasher," I replied.
He finally looked me in the eye. He must have seen the challenge there. "Have it your way."
He headed for the house. I followed him, mutely hoping I wasn't going to regret my bravado. He went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a package of stewing beef. He opened the package and took out a piece of the meat. Once the package was returned to the fridge, he headed back outside, holding the piece of beef.
Bemused, I followed him to the garage where he rummaged around on the cluttered shelves. He grabbed a long pole with a hook on the end of it. Next he took a tackle box from a bottom shelf, and plopped it on an oil-stained table. He opened the lid and retrieved some fishing line and a small white feather. So far, Jasher hadn't said a word or acknowledged me in any way. He left the garage with his hornet destroying gear and I followed, feeling like an idiot.
Faith watched us as Jasher strode across the enormous lawn toward the trees at the rear of the property. I trailed after him like a lost puppy.
Just inside the forest, Jasher stopped. He hooked the piece of beef on the end of the pole and then handed it to me. "Hold this," he ordered. "And keep it still."
I watched, fascinated in spite of myself, as his dexterous hands formed a loop with the filament. Then he attached the white feather to the tiny lasso he'd created. I wished he'd give me some running commentary about what he was doing, but I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of asking. Then he sat down at the trunk of a tree, leaving me standing there with the pole. I had ever felt so stupid in my life. I finally sat down beside him and we waited in silence, me holding the pole with the chunk of beef on the end of it, and him leaning against the tree with his head tilted back.
After nearly ten minutes of this nonsense it was on the tip of my tongue to ask him what the hell we were doing, when two small colored things zipped by in my periphery. I snapped my head to the side to get a better look, but couldn’t see anything.
“Did you see that?” I asked.
“What?” Jasher said. His face had a smug look, like he knew something I didn’t.
I gritted my teeth. I was about to call him cocky, or arrogant, or something suitably stinging when he held his hand out for the pole. His gaze was directed upward at the beef.
"Hand it over slow," he said.
I looked up and gulped. A hornet buzzed around the beef. My insides quivered. I moved the pole over to his hand and he took it, his fingers brushing mine. Keeping the butt end of the pole propped against the ground, he got to his feet. I did the same, anticipating an attack to the head. I stepped away from the pole. To my horror, Jasher slid the pole through his hands, drawing the hornet toward himself. My breathing hitched and his eyes flashed to my face. He was waiting for me to flip out. I steeled myself, fists clenched.
The hornet was closer now, and my whole body was vibrating. Fear clutched at my belly. It was sheer stubbornness that kept me from bolting away like my hair was on fire. I could not have drawn my eyes away from the vile thing even if I had wanted to. The hornet munched on the beef happily, its disgusting little mandibles gouging into the flesh. It paid us no mind. Its striped abdomen pulsed, making it look like that's where its heart was.
Holding the pole steady, Jasher lifted the tiny filament lasso towards the hornet. I held my breath and watched, fascinated and repulsed. He slipped the loop over its abdomen and tightened it around its tiny waist. He took his hand away and my jaw went slack. The hornet was still eating, oblivious. The white feather was now suspended from its body. By then, my amazement surpassed my terror.
"You're still here," Jasher said, under his breath.
"I guess crazy comes in contagious," I replied through a tight jaw.
He huffed a surprised laugh and the hornet buzzed its wings. I had never felt such a deep satisfaction at anyone's laugh in my life before. If I hadn't been so afraid, I would have allowed myself to smile.
"You haven't seen crazy yet," he said.
I was about to mutter, ‘Are you sure about that?’ when the hornet took off, carrying the feather with it. Jasher took off after it, and I took off after Jasher.
We pelted full-tilt through the woods as the white feather zigzagged through the air, seemingly of its own accord. The feather rose and our necks craned to follow. I stumbled as my foot rolled over a rotting branch. I recovered and kept running. It was all I could do to keep up with Jasher. Sunlight flashed into my eyes through the canopy and my hands hooked on trees as we darted past them on a serpentine course through the woods. My heart and breath worked on overdrive. Our footfalls were almost completely muffled by the thick ground cover of leaves, needles, and dirt. The feather bobbed and weaved through the woods. I lost it several times, but Jasher never did. Clearly, he'd done this before.
Just when I thought I couldn't go any further, Jasher pulled up short. I skidded but couldn’t stop in time and crashed into the back of him.
"Oooof!" Air whooshed out of me.
He didn't budge. I may as well have hit a tree. His broad back was solid and unforgiving. He put his arms behind himself in a reflex to catch me and his hands found my hips. His fingers curled around my hip bones. The touch was sudden and intimate and my heart tripped on its wheel. He let go quickly.
"Sorry," I gasped, stepping back and bending over to catch my breath. I was sucking air hard, but he was hardly huffing. I looked up at him when he didn't reply.
His gaze was fixed above us. I stood and craned my neck, putting a palm to my thudding heart. Up in the tree was a large gray nest. Hundreds of hornets buzzed around it. Both of my hands clamped over my mouth to cut off my scream. I inhaled sharply through my nose and Jasher glanced at me. I'm sure I looked like I was about to vomit.
The hornets had built their nest under a branch. It looked like it had been shoved into the tree’s armpit. The white feather buzzed around the nest. The visual was bizarre.
In the battle of phobia over pride, phobia finally won. I took several steps back. I took my hands away from my mouth when I was sure I wasn't going to scream.
"Congratulations," I said between deep breaths.
"Can I go now?"
He jerked his chin toward the house in a dismissive gesture. "Go," he said. He rummaged in his pocket, producing a lighter and a pocket knife.
I backed away, stung again by his cold tone. I wasn’t sure if a bee-sting would have been worse. I turned and started back to towards the house.
There was a muffled sound behind me. "Ynnngh knwww..."
I turned back.
He had one glove clamped between his perfect teeth and was pulling the other one onto his hand. He took the glove out of his mouth. "You know how to get back?"
"Yes," I said. What did he care?
He nodded and turned back to his work.
I turned away again.
"Georjayna." It was the first time I'd heard my name on his lips. I hated how much I loved the way it sounded. He looked me in the eyes for the second time that day. Was that a modicum of respect I saw? "Fair play to ye."
A warm, liquid sensation pooled in my limbs. The feeling mingled with a deep annoyance at the pleasure those three words gave me, just because they'd come from him. How stupid. I'd never craved approval from a man before, and certainly not one who appeared to have mental health issues. It was the kind of thing I had judged Saxony for. I nodded and turned away.
I walked until my heart calmed, and then began to jog again. My limbs felt antsy and full of adrenalin. When I was a safe distance from the hornets’ nest, the realization of what had happened began to sink in. I shook my head in amazement. What kind of person knew how to lasso a hornet and then follow it to its nest? Curiosity burbled in me like a fountain. I looked forward to being alone with Faith so I could pepper her with questions. But by the time I got back to the house, Faith had already left for the day.
Chapter 8
The next morning, I found Aunt Faith in the kitchen wearing an apron and peering at a book laid open on the island counter. Reading glasses were perched on the end of her nose and for a second, she reminded me of Liz.
She peered over the rims at me. "Morning. Sleep well?"
"Yes, thanks," I mumbled, shuffling to the fridge in my slippers and filling a glass with water from the filter in the door.
"How did the search and destroy exercise go? You guys were both in bed by the time I got home." Faith opened the oven and pulled out a tray of hot scones. "I thought I might have a real teenager to deal with this summer. You know, coming home at three in the morning from parties and such.” Faith said, fanning the steaming scones and inhaling the scented steam. "Turns out I've got two geriatrics on my hands instead."
I smiled. More like two mutes. The evening before, Jasher and I looked after our own meals and barely spent a minute in the same room together.
"I've never been a big one for parties where I don't know anyone,” I said. “Although an Irish dust-up might be fun."
“The local kids have a party every summer at the old Eithne place. It happens sometime around the end of June. You could ask Jasher to take you.”
“Fat chance of that,” I muttered, as she closed the oven door with a snap.
She turned to me, taking off her oven mitts. “What was that, dear?
“Nothing.” I perched on the stool at the island, my mouth watering at the smell of fresh baking. "In the war of man versus hornet yesterday, man won by a landslide.”
"Yes, they really don’t have a chance against him.” She produced a colander full of tomatoes from the sink and placed them on a towel on the island. “Want to help me? Jasher will be popping in for breakfast at half-eight."
"You mean second breakfast?" I said.
Faith laughed. Jasher was up and working by five-thirty every morning. His schedule would make me cry.
“Would you like to slice these in half?" she asked, pushing the tomatoes across the counter toward me. She bent and produced a serrated knife from the drawer. “Jasher likes them broiled.”
"Of course." I grabbed a cutting board from a peg on the wall and got to work. "So, where did he learn that trick?"
"Lassoing a hornet? Believe it or not, he already knew how to do that before he came to me."
"Really?" I was surprised. "But he was pretty young. Did he tell you where he learned it?"
"Not right away. The first time I saw him do it, he was only nine. I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. He told me he just knew how to do it. But he had to have learned it somewhere. Kids aren't born knowing things like that. He was just afraid to tell me.” Faith laid a baking sheet out beside me.
"Did he eventually tell you?" I put the tomatoes cut side up on the pan.
"Not plainly, no. I had to figure it out for myself."
"How did you manage that?"
"To explain how I figured it out, I'd have to go back to the beginning." Faith took a pair of scissors from a drawer and went to the window. She snipped off several stems from one of the plants. She held it up to my nose. “Smell that.”
A pungent smell filled my nostrils. "Eurgh.” My eyes watered.
“Nothing beats fresh oregano and tomatoes,” she said with a smile.
“I’ll take your word for it,” I said, wanting to get back to Jasher. “I don't know about you, but I have all day. He won't mind you telling me the story, I'm family," I said, thinking that I felt the very opposite of Jasher's family. Around him, I felt like an outsider.
"Yes, I know you are, dear," Faith said. "It's just, well it’s very personal and a bit disquieting, if you get my meaning."
I didn't, but I nodded.
She took a deep breath. "Where to start. His mother, Maud, died in childbirth, poor woman." Faith drizzled olive oil over the tomatoes and snipped oregano so it dusted each one. The strong scent filled the kitchen.
"Yes, I read about her in your letters. What happened to her?"
"She hemorrhaged and died from loss of blood, which is tragic all by itself. The really strange thing is that she died before she had a chance to birth Jasher. We should have lost the wee lad too, but..." She paused. "Well, I have never seen anything like it."
"What do you mean?" The faraway expression on her face was giving me chills.
Faith put the tray of tomatoes under the broiler and shut the oven. She turned to me. "If a pregnant woman dies, the infant dies, too. Sometimes they can be rescued through cesarean, but it happened so quickly and we were so focused on trying to stop the bleeding that it caught us unaware. It was a matter of moments from the time she started hemorrhaging until she was clinically deceased - no breath, no heartbeat. But incredibly, as we were trying to change course to save the babe, Maud's body continued to birth the child." I saw a tremor pass through her. "We all knew we were witnessing a miracle. Her body continued to push for another half hour. We didn’t know what to do, since the poor wee thing was already in the birth canal by the time we got ourselves turned around. It was incredible, horrifying, and impossible, all at the same time."
We both fell silent. Goosebumps crawled up the back of my neck and over my scalp. I imagined seeing the corpse of a pregnant woman, the body straining actively with the climax of birth contractions, the eyes dead and unseeing. A round of nausea made my mouth water.
"That was a good mam, I'll tell you that," Faith said. "She loved that child from beyond the grave."
"But, how is it possible?" I took a glass from the cupboard and poured some water. "Did you ask around and see if that kind of thing had ever happened before?" I took a few big gulps and my stomach gurgled in response. I put a hand to my belly, not quite sure if I had done it a favor or not.
"Oh yes," Faith said. "We were all confounded. The hospital administrator went straight to his rolodex, asking for reports of other cases. Not a one came back. I sent a letter to one of my old friends from University, a man who attended literally hundreds of births. He'd never heard of such a thing and bade me to let it rest. Jasher's father was none too pleased with the attention it brought. There were countless requests for interviews and studies. He was against all of it. Can't say I blamed the m
an."
"What happened to Jasher's father?" I asked, glancing out the window into the back yard. No sign of Jasher yet.
"That's also a sad story," Faith said. "At first he seemed okay. He had to grieve of course but he took Jasher home and tried to raise him alone. What else could he do? Unfortunately for Jasher, his father came to blame his son for his wife's death. He abused the boy something terrible I'm afraid." She joined me at the back window, her gray eyes finding the horizon. "His da remembered me from the birth and he came to me a few times to ask me to take Jasher. He had no other family, and very few friends by this point. He said the boy was cursed, a child of the devil and all that nonsense."
I gasped. "What did you say?"
"I tried to talk some sense into him and when I couldn't, I encouraged him to seek council. Then, one summer, I was weeding in the garden when I heard the sound of a vehicle stop at the end of the driveway. A door opened and closed and then the car continued on. Jasher came wandering into the yard all by himself. I'll always remember how he looked that day. Both of his little skinny arms were covered in bruises and he had a black eye. He was carrying a duffle that had everything in it that he owned in the world. He said that his da told him I'd look after him."
I visualized the scene, my heart aching for that kid. "What did you do?"
"I told him that of course I would look after him. I gave him a hug and he let me hold him on my lap on the porch for an hour. I became a mother that day." She too watched the yard for a sign of her adopted son. "To this day I am so glad that I didn’t stop to think about it. The poor wee thing had been rejected and beaten by his own father, blamed for his mother's death, and then told I was the only person in the world who would accept him. If I had showed him a moment’s hesitation, he would never believe that I really loved him." She moved to the table and sat down. "My life had not been heading in the direction of motherhood. But sometimes, it seems like there are other plans in motion for our lives, whether we like it or not."
I thought about how I had not been planning to come to Ireland, but through circumstances that were out of my control, here I was.
