Soul Dancing with the Brass Band (The Brass Band Series) (2 page)

“This place is spectacular! It really doesn’t look much like a fraternity,” I said, as much to myself as to Ruth. “The people who built it must have been worth a fortune,” I mumbled as I gazed around to take it all in.

Everything was big, including the stonewall surrounding it. The driveway was a long cobblestone road that passed through a covered breezeway between the main house and a carriage house before circling back down to the main road.

“I’m afraid I might turn an ankle on one of those cobblestones,” Ruth said as she slipped off her stiletto heels. Holding the straps with one finger, we began the hike up the long driveway. Without her heels, Ruth had shrunk considerably - she was all of 5’2!

My heart picked up speed. I was here! I hadn’t chickened out and I was not alone. This was shaping up to be a really great day!

April 15, 35 AD

A village secretly exists on the far west side of Britannica on an island known to few. Mona is an ancient setting of thatched and stone buildings surrounding a temple where Druids have studied mysticism for as long as memory allows. Safe in the knowledge that the Romans have not yet discovered their strong hold, life goes on much as usual.

“Young adept, come here!” McCollum orders in a stern voice, which no one dare disobey. “Go to the temple. Go quietly, without disturbing the others who are in meditation and bring Hilsbeth to me!” McCollum then turns to retreat to the privacy of an alcove. He needs a few moments to collect his thoughts before her arrival.

At the window he sees Hilsbeth approach and is taken by how fast she has grown from a child into a woman.

Hilsbeth presents herself, as is the custom and McCollum motions for her to take a seat. “There is a young lady by the water’s edge,” he begins, recalling the girl waiting at the boat landing with all of her earthly possessions in a bag beside her. “She arrived with the sun and is requesting a position as your apprentice. This one calls herself Rutiah.”

McCollum has not seen Hilsbeth face to face for some months now and marvels at the changes within her. Both know the time is quickly approaching in which she must choose her position among the Druids.

“This girl knows her place is at your side for she remembers the previous lifetimes she has spent in your service. May I suggest that you accept her request and train her well? Soon you may come to recognize Rutiah too, and you will treasure the fact that she had the wisdom to search you out.”

As I start to respectfully decline, McCollum adds, “If you open your heart Hilsbeth, Rutiah will claim a part of it as her own.”

April 15, 2010

I shook my head to dislodge the strange daydream of ancient times, which lately I found myself drifting in and out of.

“So, here we go Ruth,” I said heaving the brass doorknocker high and dropping it with a resounding bang. “Can we kinda stick together?” I asked, hoping Ruth hadn’t had enough of me already.

“It’s me and you, Hillary,” Ruth said with much hope loaded in her response. We faced the door, waiting. “What’s behind door number one?” she giggled.

I’d only known Ruth for ten minutes and was sure she was a great person, but the best thing about Ruth right now was that we were together.

The big oak doors swung open with the low groan of ancient hinges carrying too much weight and we laid our eyes on two of the most perfectly dreamy boys I had ever seen. Ruth and I looked at them and then at each other, trying to keep our smiles under control.

The young man who stood across from me was tall and slender with dark brown hair. Although his hair was styled to be brushed back from his face, there just isn’t enough gel in the world to hold that much hair in place. It fell forward obscuring the most astonishing blue eyes I had ever seen.

When I finally remembered to close my mouth, I lowered my eyes to his chest and noticed that the navy suit he wore was a little out dated. But who am I to criticize? After all, I was the one that missed the “formal attire notice.” Sadly, I was totally underdressed.

The boy across from Ruth was slightly shorter and thicker, but had the same great smile and deep blue eyes. The two could have been brothers.

As they stepped forward to take our hands, they introduced themselves. “My name is William, Will for short,” the taller of the two said, looking down at me.

Thank God he didn’t say Bill
!
Doing the Bill and Hillary thing would just have been too weird. Okay, don’t judge me here. I decided to introduce myself as Chelsea. I have a little alter ego that feels more feminine using Chelsea rather than Hillary. After all, Chelsea’s still a Clinton. My parents probably wouldn’t mind at all.

“Hi Will. I’m Chelsea,” I said having trouble looking directly into his eyes. “I live in the freshman dorm on Putnam Street. I haven’t declared a major yet, but I think I’ll do something in mathematics. I scored high on my S.A.T.’s and…” I stopped talking abruptly, not wanting to embarrass myself. I caught sight of him smiling at me. “I’m sorry, I’m a little nervous and I think I’m rambling,” I said as I felt a hot blush c
rawl up my neck and over my cheeks.

Will softly laughed as he took my arm and led me across the breezeway, into the carriage house.

Ruth and George were only a few steps behind us, but for all practical purposes, they could have been on Mars. Will’s blue eyes had me hypnotized.

Entering the carriage house I could feel my feet move forward, but my eyesight was slow to catch up. It felt like walking into a dark movie theater when the previews
were about ready to begin. I could tell we were in a large room by the echo of Will’s shoes against the stone floor. We stopped to let our eyes adjust to the dim lighting, when I noticed a familiar scent, and out of all the possibilities it could have been, it was my favorite, lavender. Of course there was no way Will could have known how much I loved lavender. As a kid, my mom put it in my dresser drawers underneath my clothes. Even though I’d always been a tomboy, I liked the smell, and as silly as it was, I began to feel myself relax.

As I looked around I saw the elaborately beamed ceiling, aged to the color of rich mahogany. In the stones of the arches and alcoves, there were actual chisel marks made by workmen who built the place a hundred years ago. I caught my breath and slowly moved my attention down the masterfully built stonewall to the floor where I stood. Ancient wagon tracks were etched deep into some cobblestones while others were worn flat by centuries of use. The old stables still lined one wall even though it was clear that they were no longer in use. Candle flames lit the room and it was then that I realized Will was still holding my arm.

I imagined this was a very similar feeling to that of the high school prom I never attended.

An antique table in the corner held a huge wildflower bouquet of fresh cut lavender. That’s what I had smelled earlier. A white cloth with a delicate lace edge draped a separate table, which was beautifully set with china for four. It was perfect. I won’t complain, but this obviously was not the big party I’d been expecting. As Will helped seat me at the small table, he was already rushing to address my obvious concerns.

“George and I are the only upper-classman who live in this house,” he explained. “When we saw the Spring Fling notices, we applied to host a party and we asked for only two guests. Who would have thought the University would agree to it? I guess we slipped past an inattentive clerk. At the time we did it, it seemed logical to us.”

And, well, I guess it seemed logical to me too because I was enjoying Will’s company a lot. Will sat down next to me and within moments we were deep in conversation. I hadn’t realized until then how much I needed someone to talk to and talking to Will seemed like talking to an old friend, even though we had only just met.

I wanted to spend the next few hours memorizing the curve of his smile. His teeth were all slightly out of place, but as a whole, his smile was magnificent. His face held a banquet of emotional expressions and even though it seemed foolish, everything about Will was slightly familiar.

“I’m sorry about my endless talking. I’m usually pretty quiet,” I stated, trying to convince him.

“I’m not sure if I believe you are a quiet person, Chelsea,” he replied, caught by surprise. “You may be interesting and charming, but I’d have to argue with quiet.”

As he reached to brush his hair away from those gorgeous blue eyes, I noticed his hands for the first time.
This guy doesn’t do physical labor
, I thought as I self-consciously lowered my callused hands from the table to my lap. His fingers were long and graceful and his nails well groomed, especially compared to my uneven ones, miscellaneous scars and dry knuckles.

I’ve done a lot of physical labor in my life and my hands show it. I’ve always thought of my body as a tool. After spending eight months away from the farm, I managed to heal all of my bumps and scratches, but no amount of healing would ever make my hands attractive. As I searched Will for visible scars, I only found one. As he threw his head back to laugh at another one of my lame stories, I spotted a zigzag scar under his chin. I felt better knowing that he had taken a tumble or two in his life.

Will put his hands under the seat of his chair and scooted closer to me. I liked the idea of him making the first move because I was much too shy. I suddenly became acutely aware of my inexperience in the ways of romance because my nerves began causing an array of uncomfortable symptoms. I felt a hum and became a little dizzy and Lord knows vomiting or passing out right then would not have been sexy. A weird humming sensation in my body made me overheat and I felt sweat dripping from my armpits. Placing a hand on my chest to try to slow my pounding heart, I noticed my condition had a curious relationship to my proximity to Will. Not knowing what else to do, I launched into the first story that came to mind.

“As a child I thought I had magical powers.” Out of a lifetime of stories I c
ouldn’t believe this was the one coming out of my mouth!

Will looked at me with thoughtful deliberation. This story caught his interest.

“It started when I was only about two or three. I would follow my mom out into her garden and as the plants began to grow, I somehow got the idea that it had something to do with my daily visit. I would lie on my belly for hours, jabbering away at the buds, coaxing them to bloom and I swear they would bloom before my very eyes.”

“Then, when I was four, I noticed the hands rotating around on the clock in the kitchen. I decided to conjure up my power to discover its secrets and I learned how to tell time. Then, I used my powers to decipher the lines and circles in books and I learned how to read,” I softly laugh, embarrassed that he might think me simple.

“I always felt I had the ability to be something special in the world if I used my
powers
for good. I guess that’s how a kid’s mind works. You know…” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’ve come to ‘save the world’ kind of stuff.” I looked down, not wanting to meet Will’s eyes. Telling my childhood story had made me feel foolish.

When I looked up he was still smiling at me. “So how does this story end? Do you save the world?”

“Kids grow up and leave their childhood fantasies behind,” I shyly admitted. “Maybe I can use my mathematical powers,” making parenthesis in the air with my fingers, “to discover an algorithm or a formula that might save the world,” I said jokingly.

“I have no doubt in your abilities, Chelsea,” Will said leaning close and lowering his voice for effect. “The important thing is to not forget what that child knew. Children innately know the truth.”

Will’s head turned abruptly at the sound of approaching footsteps. George and Will froze momentarily as the door opened. They both looked slightly embarrassed, but mostly they looked as if they had been caught. They quickly stood to face a man as he entered the room, his long coat flying behind him like a black cape.

The man must have been over six-f
eet tall, was pretty lean, and about ten years older than my Dad. From the rush of explanations that came from Will and George, I quickly learned the man’s name was McCollum and that he was clearly in charge of the household. Despite the somewhat odd circumstances, he spoke calmly and looked kindly at Ruth before his eyes slid slowly toward me. As he furrowed his eyebrows I could tell that something about Ruth and me held a weird fascination for him. For a fleeting second, I thought I even saw a smile.