HISTORY LESSON
A few words from the author:
This one has been close to a year in the making, and it's over twice as long as anything else I've submitted. Getting it to where I'm happy with it has been a struggle. Somebody said that 'Art is never finished, only abandoned.' I've heard it credited to everyone from Leonardo Da Vinci to Paul Valéry to Gore Vidal. Now, I'm not claiming that this is art - at best it's the literary equivalent of finger painting - but I
am
saying I'm finished poking at it. For now.
There are a fair number of Welsh phrases in the text, so I have included a glossary with translations and pronunciations at the end. Forgive me for not always including translations in the text; I felt that it detracted from the flow of the story.
I owe a big 'thank you' to several people:
First, a debt of gratitude to
vcwriter17b
for his comments, suggestions, and encouragement through several drafts and re-drafts. He provided more than a few excellent ideas that I am certain elevated the story.
Thanks also to PrestigeOctopus for his patience with my innumerable grammatical issues.
Finally, thank you very much to
MattBlackUK
for agreeing to beta read the final draft, and for his advice on the Welsh aspects of the story.
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Chapter 1
October
It was one of those rare perfect days. Mid-October, but not too cold; crisp and clear, with a slight breeze. Perfect for a walk, and it would be nice to get out of the house for a bit, before I had to get back to grading papers.
I looked at Hank, my four-year-old lab-shepherd-something else mix. Really, I had no idea what breed he was, and didn't actually care. When did cock-a-poodle-doos, and labra-trieva-dociouses become breeds, anyway? I rescued him when he was about six months old and he is the best dog I've ever known. Smarter than I was, for sure. Don't know what made me decide to go to the pound that day. Maybe I was getting tired of my lonely house and my lonely life. But I'm glad I did.
"What do you say, Hank? Time for a walk?" He ran over, picked up his leash from the chair in the hall, and gamboled back to me, head high, tail wagging.
"Hang on, buddy, let me put your coat on." Not sure how I started referring to his harness as a 'coat'. I put mine on as well, then hooked him up. I couldn't bear the thought of yanking a dog around by his neck, so I got him a nice harness that went across his chest in front, then under his ribs just behind his front legs. It looks like a service dog harness, so he sometimes got mistaken for one even though there's no sign and it was just a plain brown color.
Anyway, we went out the front door, locked up, and turned in the direction of downtown. That's perhaps a bit of a misnomer in a 'city' of about 12,000 people. It went up to about 16,000 when the college was in session. I taught American history there, with a focus on the period from 1700 through 1900. It's part of the reason I decided to move here when I did. The town was rife with history from both the Revolutionary and Civil Wars. Perhaps an odd choice for a naturalized citizen, but I enjoyed it.
I figured we both could use the exercise, so I set a fairly brisk pace.
"
Peidiwch â phoeni
, Hank. We can take our time to sniff mailboxes on the way back." He seemed to be okay with that. It still took about 25 minutes to make it to the centre of town, which was not much more than two parallel streets along the river; tree-lined Main Street running sort of north to south and Randall Street, as you may have surmised, south to north. Both of them were lined with historic buildings and homes stretching back through the town's rich history. Mostly Federal style, with a smattering of Queen Anne and even Greek Revival; it gave the town a character that was hard not to appreciate.
Midway along Randall Street, there were two huge churches that stood side-by-side; St. George's and First Baptist. You'd think that it would be awkward, but somehow it worked. The two congregations got along just fine. Just another indicator of the town's character.
Crain Avenue was an intersecting road running west to east that led to farmland across the river. I was happy to see that they'd finally finished construction on the new bridge, but sad to see the old one go. They'd tried to retain its original character, since it was one of the landmark structures for the town. But to most folks, it was a miss.
Main Street held the majority of shops and restaurants, so that's where we wound up, doing a little window shopping, with periodic stops for snacks and drinks for Hank. The town was very dog-friendly, and many shops left water bowls and treats outside for pets.
I was starting to feel a bit peckish and found myself outside a place whose dubious claim to fame was their enormous southern-style biscuits. People seemed to like them, but in my opinion, they could be used as a chew toy for Hank. Or a weapon. But they did make a good Bloody Mary, and I thought I might be in the mood for one.
The enterprising owner of this particular place squeezed a couple of small tables on the sidewalk just outside the entrance. The sidewalk really wasn't wide enough, but for just me, it was ok. Hank plopped himself down under the table as I glanced over the menu.
As I arrived, I noticed that at the other table, across the entrance, were two young women who looked like they might be college-age or a little older. One had her back to me and her bulky coat hid her form, but the other was slim, with short brown hair covered by a tan watch cap with an unfamiliar logo on it. She had on a sort of sweatshirt-and-denim jacket, black jeans, and black boots. Attractive, in an androgynous sort of way.
A waitress appeared, looking a little harried. It was getting a bit chilly, so I decided against the Bloody Mary and just asked for coffee and an English muffin. She checked on the young ladies, then started to head back inside.
And that's when it happened.
The other girl, the one with her back to me, suddenly turned in her chair and asked the waitress a question. I didn't even hear what she said, because I felt like all the air had been sucked out of my lungs.
"
Ni all hynny fod!
" I heard myself gasp aloud.
She had auburn hair, well beyond shoulder-length, and a pretty, heart-shaped face. In quick succession, I saw her hair, then blue-green eyes, and then it all came to a head. I saw her pregnant shape - maybe four to five months along - and, fleetingly, astonishingly, the face of my late wife. Time slowed to nearly a standstill. There was no sound, no
world
, other than the gentle swell of her belly, as she - in seeming slow motion - brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. I was transfixed, for one brief nanosecond of
how
, but then everything came rushing back, as the earth resumed its normal rotation, and once again, I felt that crushing despair that I thought I had moved past. Clearly not.
I knew that's how far along she was, because that's exactly what Olivia looked like when she...
no, stop it, I didn't want...
