Shadows 02 Celtic Shadows

by K C West

  “See some sights in the area of Portmeirion, and when it rains, go inside.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Which way?”

  “Head north.”

  We drove in and out of villages, noting clean, tidy stone houses, gardens with brightly colored blossoms, hillsides carpeted in wild flowers, and lush green grass. Cattle nestled in the valleys, and sheep with cute little tails were so plentiful on the hills, an insomniac would be hard-pressed to count them all.

  “Why do most of the sheep here have tails and at home they don’t?”

  Kim shook her head. “You ask the darnedest questions.”

  “Inquiring minds want to know.”

  “Yeah, your inquiring mind.”

  “Poor sheep. That’s an indignity, having your tail chopped off. I like them better with tails.”

  “The term is ‘docking,’ and it’s done to prevent sheep poop from clinging to the tails and attracting flies.”

  “Ewww.”

  “I know I shouldn’t ask, because I’m likely as not to get a smart answer, but what do you suppose they do with the tails?” She glanced sideways at me. “Do you think they use them for anything?”

  “Hmm.” I thought for a moment. “Okay, you’ve heard of ox tail soup, right?”

  Kim rolled her eyes. “I knew it! Only you would suggest sheep tail soup.”

  *

  We found wells tucked into moss and fern-festooned havens, in forests, and sometimes just squatting in peaceful splendor along the roadsides as we drove. I made Kim stop several times to examine them, so we could toss coins into each one and wish for sunny skies.

  “Did you know that in the old days, sick people would come and sleep beside the wells? Then, come morning, they’d be cured of their afflictions.”

  “Truth or fiction?”

  “Supposed to be the truth, for some wells anyway. Then there are stories about the skulls of saints being submerged in the water.”

  “Humph.”

  Unfortunately, the clouds remained, so we searched for some original Celtic standing stones and discovered that Christian inhabitants had carved most of them into crosses long ago.

  “You’d better be careful,” Kim said, “or you’ll fall under the spell of the mystical Celtic spirit. I can almost feel it clinging to the landscape.”

  “It wouldn’t take much. You know, the folks around here believe in fairies.”

  “Fairies, huh? Do you mean the limp wrist kind or the little people with wings?”

  I giggled. “Maybe both.”

  We promised ourselves one more sacred well because the guidebook said it was in a secluded wood not too far from the main road.

  “Look, PJ. It has to be there, at the bottom of that hill to our left.”

  “Where?” I peered in the direction of her outstretched finger.

  There wasn’t much room to park, but she managed to get the car off the road near an old and well-worn stile. The fence that held it in place was still there, though hidden beneath the lush greenery that had grown up around it. The wooden structure blended so well with the foliage that it had become one with it. I hopped over, managing to avoid the brambles on either side.

  “I think stiles are so much nicer than gates,” Kim said, straddling the top rail and assuming a not-so-graceful pose.

  “Wait, this calls for a picture.” I reached for the camera I always kept in my daypack.

  The path that led toward the woods was barely visible. “I don’t understand,” Kim said. “If there’s a well here, it must not be visited very much.”

  The mist closed in on us, adding to the sense of mystery. We looked around while Pup, nose to the ground, did some searching of his own.

  We could see no grotto-like circle, no small stone arch. “I think we’re out of luck,” I said, more to myself than to Kim.

  “Don’t give up yet,” she said. “Some wells are so old that even though they’re listed on an ordinance map, you can only see the faintest impressions of where they were.”

  “That’s tantalizing. So where, Dr. Blair, eminent archaeologist that you are, do you suppose this well was?”

  “Hey, you’re as eminent as I am, so let’s just conduct a field survey and look for traces.” Kim walked off, head down, searching for clues. She was in her element. I followed, scanning right and left, looking not for a grotto like the last one we’d visited, but for a depression maybe, or a seepage that might indicate a well.

  “We’ll be hard put to find a spring, after all the rain,” Kim said.

  We gave up.

  “Sorry, PJ. I know you were hoping to see another grotto. That last one was perfect. Being on church property, it was well maintained and in pristine condition. If there ever was one in this vicinity, it’s long since gone.”

  She put her arm around my shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go back to the Rover.”

  “I suppose.”

  We started walking back, when something caught my eye. I stopped and peered to the left, into the mist.

  “What?” Kim said.

  “A hawthorn tree. ‘A solitary thorn.’ They’re often found near wells.”

  I hurried toward that lone tree with Kim at my heels.

  It was a scraggly specimen, though it appeared healthy enough. The depression we’d been looking for in the woods was here, out in the open, guarded by a solitary thorn.

  With our bare hands, we dug into the ferns and grass and found pieces of stone that could have been part of the well.

  I dropped onto one knee, which sank into standing water. “Rain or not, there’s seepage here.” I stood and shook my sodden pant leg.

  “You know,” Kim said, “this one’s an ancient, wild well. In a it’s more exciting than the others. At least it is to me.”

  “You’re right. I wish we had our tools with us. I have an itch to dig.”

  “We have some in the Rover, but I don’t know what local ordinances we’d be breaking.”

  “Yeah, I suppose.” I gazed at the depression, wishing. “Nah. Better we leave it alone… a sanctuary for the spirits who haunt this place.” I took a couple of digital pictures, but saw no apparitions in the little display window. “Besides, I’ve seen enough wells now to last me awhile.”

  Kim pulled me to her and guided my head to her shoulder. “This is a sacred place. I feel it, more so than at any of the others.”

  “Me, too.” I rubbed my cheek against her damp jacket, my nostrils filling with her distinctive scent. I was aroused again.

  I forced myself to concentrate on my surroundings. “Remember that lady who told us dragons are sometimes associated with wells?”

  “Yes, and there’s one watching us from the woods. His eyes are big and red, and he’s stoking his fiery breath so he can come get us.”

  “If that’s the case, let’s go.” I didn’t look back.

  When Pup and I reached the stile, my partner was only halfway up the hill. “Come on, Kimmy, what are you waiting for?”

  “I had to go back for something.”

  “What?”

  “This.” She pressed a small piece of stone into my hand. “I wanted you to have something from your mysterious, dragon-guarded well.”

  “Thank you.” I tucked the stone into an inside pocket. “Maybe it will bring us good luck. We could use some.”

  I pulled a pair of pants from the bag of spare clothes we had tucked into the vehicle for just such occasions.

  “Need some help with those?”

  I nodded and she helped me into the dry cargoes.

  “This is a switch for me,” Kim said with a laugh. “I’m usually helping you out of your pants.”

  “Shh. You’re getting me a little too stimulated with that kind of talk.”

  I tossed my muddy pants into the Rover and waited for Pup to climb in. Kim nuzzled the back of my neck. “That can be taken care of, my sweet.”

  I pushed her away, grinning. “Not here. It’s too dangerous.”

  “You’re afraid
of a few ghostly apparitions?”

  “No, I’m afraid of that fire-breathing dragon you saw in the woods. Besides, we’ve got to get to Portmeirion. There’s a fabulous hotel with a world-class dining room.”

  Kim gave my butt a caress before shoving it up and into the passenger seat. “You and your stomach.”

  I reached for her hand, thoroughly kissing each knuckle. “Just you wait until later, gorgeous. You can breathe a little fire of your own.”

  She hopped into the driver’s seat and revved the engine. “Oh, yeah. Let’s get the show on the road.”

  *

  Portmeirion surprised us. It looked more like a village in Italy than a quaint Welsh hamlet. We visited a subtropical garden and purchased jams and chocolates in the gift shops. At teatime, we peeked into the hotel, which was modeled after a Victorian villa. According to our guidebook, it had opened in 1926 and played host to George Bernard Shaw, H.G. Wells, and Noel Coward. It was not going to host us, however. We weren’t dressed in proper attire, we lacked reservations, and we were accompanied by a dog. Pup would have stayed in the Rover, but after receiving several dubious looks from the management, we decided to leave.

  “Too bad,” Kim said, as we tried to locate another eatery. “I really had my mouth set for that ‘seared salmon on Nicoise salad with balsamic dressing.’”

  “I think you’ll miss the ‘orange cheesecake or banana and mango mousse with chocolate sauce’ even more.”

  Her stomach rumbled. “We’d better find a place to eat and spend the night, before it pours.”

  Of course, as soon as she said it, the rain started in earnest. After several unsuccessful attempts to locate a nice hotel room or bed and breakfast, we managed to secure one room in a midsize farmhouse. Again, we were asked to share a double bed.

  “No trouble,” I said. “We can manage for one night.”

  Kim frowned. “I’m not sure,” she muttered after a sideways glance at me. “She snores, you know.”

  That remark would earn her a poke in the ribs when I got her alone. I swallowed my indignation and presented an innocent face to our hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Fielding. She was a small, round woman with rosy cheeks and thinning light-brown hair, pulled back into a bun. Her apron was sparkling white over a flower-print dress. “The Mister,” as he called her husband, was tall and lean, with huge, sinewy, tool-gripping hands. His voice, soft as a dove’s coo, had a delightful, melodious ring. Mostly he said, “Yes, luv,” and “Ta, luv,” to his wife.

  They showed us to a small room at the top of their house. Mrs. Fielding explained that four other couples were guests for the night: one couple upstairs in the room next to us, and the remainder in rooms on the second level. Each floor had its own bathroom.

  “Now, mind you, this is a working farm. The Mister will be calling on the lot of you to pitch in with the chores come morning.” Mrs. Fielding smiled, and two dimples appeared in her cheeks.

  We replied with grave nods, having no idea what we were in for, and shuffled off to unpack our bags. Pup had the choice of sleeping in the barn with the family dogs or joining us. After a slight hesitation, he went with his new canine pals.

  Our room had a small chair and dresser besides the double bed. I bounced on the mattress to test it for squeaks and was pleasantly surprised to find none. A grin appeared on Kim’s face when she realized what I was doing. She sat beside me and nuzzled my neck.

  “Ah, not so fast, bucko,” I said. “Let’s get one thing straightened out, shall we?”

  “What? What’s the matter?”

  “You know perfectly well what’s the matter. I do not snore.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I do not.” I folded my arms. “Be very careful how you respond to that, Dr. Blair, if you know what’s good for you.”

  Kim paused. “Hmm. Perhaps I spoke in haste, Dr. Curtis.”

  “That’s better.”

  “You do not snore.”

  “Exactly the answer I was looking for.” I wrapped my arms around her and rewarded her with a kiss. One led to another and before we knew it, our hands were tugging at buttons and belts, exposing skin. I pushed Kim down onto the comfy bed and was slipping my hands under her bra, when a bell rang from somewhere downstairs.

  “Jesus Christ!” We broke apart, startled.

  “Dinner will be at half past the hour!” Mrs. Fielding shouted. Flashes of lightning and a loud clap of thunder accompanied her announcement. Rain pelted the slate roof above us.

  “Damn,” Kim said. “Not enough time for any further bedroom games. Wonder if I can grab a quick shower?” She winked at me. “It might have to be a cold one.”

  “Aw, did I get you all hot and bothered?”

  “You most certainly did.”

  “Good,” I said, giggling. We buttoned each other’s shirts. “I imagine we’ll have to work out a timetable for the bathroom.”

  “Yeah.” A gleam came into her eyes. “You know, it would probably save everybody on this floor a lot of time and water if we doubled up on the shower.”

  “You’re a genius. I wonder who I can get to shower with me?”

  She swatted me with the towel she had pulled from our dresser. “Don’t you even think about showering with anyone else but me.”

  I was about to answer when we heard moans coming from the room next to us. I started to giggle again. “These walls are so thin, Kimmy. What are we going to do?”

  She made a face. “Can we be very quiet? I mean, it’s one thing for them to make that sort of noise, but it would kind of freak out a few people if we made noises like that, too.”

  Since we assumed that our floor mates would be occupied for a little while, we grabbed towels and decided to try out the shower. Nice hot water flowed over us.

  “Now, this is more like it,” I told Kim, pointing to the fixtures. “You notice everything is at normal height.”

  “It’s quite modern compared with what we have at the inn.”

  “Maybe we can survive the night after all. It won’t be the first time we’ve made love in a shower. We can just cuddle quietly in bed, after dark. No problem.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Then, the lights went out… and the water turned icy.

  “Ah!” I cried, shivering. “Scratch that plan. Looks like you got your wish for a cold shower.”

  *

  Supper was a large bowl of lamb stew with plenty of brown bread drenched in herb butter. The storm had caused a power outage and everyone dined by candlelight around a huge oak table. Mrs. Fielding prepared tea with water boiled in a kettle over the stone fireplace. Our dessert was rhubarb pie smothered with what we learned was Bird’s custard sauce. I thought Kim was going to swoon right on the spot. The meal was lovely, in spite of the circumstances.

  Once the dishes had been cleared, we all chatted awhile. We were the only Americans, and the other guests seemed eager to talk to us. Some Brits were as fascinated with the American lifestyle as we were with theirs. We weren’t so different, though, except for language. We’d discovered that there was a big difference between the Queen’s English and American English.

  “Americans are a brash and loud bunch,” Kim said, speaking to some of the guests, “but our hearts are in the right place. You Brits are generally more refined. The gap is narrowing though, as we all become part of a world community.” She sighed. “No matter where you go anymore, there is commonality. Local culture is being swallowed up by strip malls and fast food outlets.”

  The others agreed, lamenting the disappearance of individuality. Several of them thought it a crime that the Welsh language had fallen into disuse in so many parts of Wales.

  A mousy, middle-aged woman had been silent throughout the conversation. She seemed to be intimidated by her overbearing husband. “I think travelers have to be like archaeologists,” she said quickly, when her husband got up to get a bottle of pale ale from a sideboard that doubled as a bar. “They have to dig to find the local culture.”

&
nbsp; “You are so right,” I said, smiling at the woman’s obvious pleasure in contributing to the conversation.

  “Are you interested in archaeology?” Kim asked.

  “Yes. I’ve read a little about it, and I’ve always thought - ”

  “Now, Sadie, you don’t know a thing about it, so don’t pretend you do.” Her husband returned to the table, and she retreated into her shell.

  I wasn’t ready to let it go. “I have some books that I don’t use anymore. If you’ll give me your address, I’d be happy to send them to you.”

  “She doesn’t need them,” he said, squelching any further discussion on the subject.

  Afterwards, as we climbed the stairs to bed, I let loose. “Why, that no good son of a bitch!”

  Kim shone her flashlight back toward me. “Hey, don’t get yourself in an uproar. There’s nothing you can do. She’s allowed herself to get into this situation, and you’re not her therapist. Let it go.”

  “I know, but it makes me angry. Makes me think of Stephen. That’s the way I would have ended up if I’d gone with him that day on Superstition Mountain.”

  “But you didn’t.” Kim gave my shoulder a squeeze. “You chose me instead, and look what that got you.”

  We both laughed.

  “I think I’d better thank Stephen for being such a crass and disgusting creep.”

  Kim grinned. “I’d rather not hear any mention of Mr. Cresswell while we’re having such a pleasant time.”

  We were anxious to get a good night’s rest for the next day, so we grabbed our flashlights, shuffled off to the bathroom, then crawled into bed.

  Under layers of warm blankets, Kim and I snuggled together in our Tshirts and panties.

  I felt very over-dressed.

  “Nos da, sweetheart,” I whispered against her cheek.

  She turned her head and kissed me. “And a good night to you, too, love.”

  Chapter 5

  The clanging of a bell woke us out of a sound sleep.

  “What the hell is that?” Kim grumbled.

  I sat up, rubbing my eyes. “Must be a fire somewhere - and in the middle of the night.”

  The bell rang again, louder this time.

  “Bore da! Good morning, lads and lassies!” Mrs. Fielding’s way-too-cheerful voice reverberated off the walls as if she were using a bullhorn. “Time for milking!”