Post by rigatoni on Oct 14, 2012 1:55:14 GMT -5
It was Christmas Eve in County Sligo, Ireland. Although it had been snowing outside, the inside of the withstanding manor could not have been any warmer.
"Tell me the story again, Grandma!" The young boy asked, settling into his usual spot in front of his grandma's rocking chair.
The elderly woman chuckled. "Again? You must have heard it a million times, dear one," she said gently, smiling at her grandson's facial expression.
The young boy pouted slightly. "But... I want to hear it again, please?"
Grandma sighed, "Alas, dear James, we cannot continue. It is getting late and your mother might get angry."
James did not hide his disappointment. "But will you promise to tell me soon?"
"Why not ask your mother to tell you tonight, when you're all tucked into your warm bed?" She tweaked his nose fondly, "I'm sure she knows it as well as I do. Besides, I think my memory of the story would be rather insulting to you."
James did not get to respond as someone had already entered the parlor. It was Verity, James' mother. "Ma? I think it's time for us to leave," she said, advancing forward.
"Right you are, Verity," Grandma said, standing up from the rocking chair.
"But Maaaaaa... it's Christmas Eve!" James complained. "Can't we stay a little longer?"
Verity smiled at the five-year-old. "No, James. It's getting late and I'm sure Grandma wants to sleep."
The boy looked at his grandmother in defeat. "Okay, fine. Merry Christmas, Grandma. Don't forget to open my present first," he gave her a long hug before trudging out of the room.
"Good night, Mother. Merry Christmas," Verity said, giving her mother a delicate kiss on the cheek.
"Thank you for the presents. Give my blessings to Mercer, have a safe drive home."
She gave a last goodbye to her daughter before they had left, leaving her alone in the house.
-%-
It was quiet again, all except the sound of the snow hitting the window panes.
A few minutes after her daughter and grandson left, Grandma had advanced to the library. It was another Christmas alone although she had had so many it didn't pose as a problem.
Her husband, Aodh, had died a few years back, leaving her alone in the manor. Well yes, her daughter and her family would visit regularly, but it was their departure that would sadden her.
"Hello again," she whispered while she approached the eerily cold library. It had been a while she had last visited this area of the manor. She blamed all of the memories it contained.
When she was young, this had been her favorite place to spend her time. Every morning had been spent here. She would either read her favorite book or just take a nap on the window seat. However, that was all before she turned seventeen.
Presently, she advanced to a photograph on the nearest shelf. It was a bit dusty but it did not matter. It was the memory the picture carried. In this case, the picture at hand was that of her wedding day. She was holding her husband Aodh's hand as they both smiled proudly at each other.
There were many pictures of them together that were scattered around the library but she could not bear to look at them. She wasn't too keen on crying the night before Christmas.
Instead, she set the picture down and sat on the arm chair that faced the fireplace. When she was settled, her eyes traveled to the family crest on the mantelpiece. It was the crest that belonged to her family, not Aodh's.
Her full name was Grace Maeve Rathnair O'Riordan-Gillespie. A mouthful of a name but that had been the tradition of her family for many generations.
Grandma's eyes lingered on the traditional lion and coat of arms. The O'Riordan clan was and still is a very powerful family in Sligo although in current times it wasn't as strong as when she was a teenager.
After a while of reminiscing her past, Grandma's gaze dropped down to a little shelf of books set atop the fireplace.
"Oh dear," she muttered before getting up slowly and advancing to the shelf.
Eight books, just as she remembered. It had all her favorites - The Wizard of Oz, Peter Pan, Little Women, A Tale of Two Cities, Pride and Prejudice, Sherlock Holmes, and a leather-bound book that lacked a title.
Curious, Grandma reached out and grabbed the leather book, noting the goosebumps that formed on her arms.
With a twinge of regret, she walked back to her armchair, clutching the book tightly. She felt a cold breeze enter the room the moment she opened the book.
It wasn't the usual book filled with tiny words. No, this particular book had carried drawings. Hard-sketched drawings, purely from a pencil.
Grandma flipped through the pages, noting a drawing of a bird, a lake, some trees, and oddly enough, a young man. That was when she shut the book.
It finally came back - all of it. As if it just happened yesterday. She now understood the reason she had always avoided the library and why she had stopped drawing when she turned nineteen. It finally made sense as to why she could not tell her grandson the story. Not because her memory failed her - she was only sixty-seven. She just didn't want to remember.
"Keith."
She could remember it as if it were just yesterday.
Just a prologue. More to come.
Thank you for reading.
* The title loosely translates to A Woman's Heart, based on the Celtic Woman version.
-
"Tell me the story again, Grandma!" The young boy asked, settling into his usual spot in front of his grandma's rocking chair.
The elderly woman chuckled. "Again? You must have heard it a million times, dear one," she said gently, smiling at her grandson's facial expression.
The young boy pouted slightly. "But... I want to hear it again, please?"
Grandma sighed, "Alas, dear James, we cannot continue. It is getting late and your mother might get angry."
James did not hide his disappointment. "But will you promise to tell me soon?"
"Why not ask your mother to tell you tonight, when you're all tucked into your warm bed?" She tweaked his nose fondly, "I'm sure she knows it as well as I do. Besides, I think my memory of the story would be rather insulting to you."
James did not get to respond as someone had already entered the parlor. It was Verity, James' mother. "Ma? I think it's time for us to leave," she said, advancing forward.
"Right you are, Verity," Grandma said, standing up from the rocking chair.
"But Maaaaaa... it's Christmas Eve!" James complained. "Can't we stay a little longer?"
Verity smiled at the five-year-old. "No, James. It's getting late and I'm sure Grandma wants to sleep."
The boy looked at his grandmother in defeat. "Okay, fine. Merry Christmas, Grandma. Don't forget to open my present first," he gave her a long hug before trudging out of the room.
"Good night, Mother. Merry Christmas," Verity said, giving her mother a delicate kiss on the cheek.
"Thank you for the presents. Give my blessings to Mercer, have a safe drive home."
She gave a last goodbye to her daughter before they had left, leaving her alone in the house.
-%-
It was quiet again, all except the sound of the snow hitting the window panes.
A few minutes after her daughter and grandson left, Grandma had advanced to the library. It was another Christmas alone although she had had so many it didn't pose as a problem.
Her husband, Aodh, had died a few years back, leaving her alone in the manor. Well yes, her daughter and her family would visit regularly, but it was their departure that would sadden her.
"Hello again," she whispered while she approached the eerily cold library. It had been a while she had last visited this area of the manor. She blamed all of the memories it contained.
When she was young, this had been her favorite place to spend her time. Every morning had been spent here. She would either read her favorite book or just take a nap on the window seat. However, that was all before she turned seventeen.
Presently, she advanced to a photograph on the nearest shelf. It was a bit dusty but it did not matter. It was the memory the picture carried. In this case, the picture at hand was that of her wedding day. She was holding her husband Aodh's hand as they both smiled proudly at each other.
There were many pictures of them together that were scattered around the library but she could not bear to look at them. She wasn't too keen on crying the night before Christmas.
Instead, she set the picture down and sat on the arm chair that faced the fireplace. When she was settled, her eyes traveled to the family crest on the mantelpiece. It was the crest that belonged to her family, not Aodh's.
Her full name was Grace Maeve Rathnair O'Riordan-Gillespie. A mouthful of a name but that had been the tradition of her family for many generations.
Grandma's eyes lingered on the traditional lion and coat of arms. The O'Riordan clan was and still is a very powerful family in Sligo although in current times it wasn't as strong as when she was a teenager.
After a while of reminiscing her past, Grandma's gaze dropped down to a little shelf of books set atop the fireplace.
"Oh dear," she muttered before getting up slowly and advancing to the shelf.
Eight books, just as she remembered. It had all her favorites - The Wizard of Oz, Peter Pan, Little Women, A Tale of Two Cities, Pride and Prejudice, Sherlock Holmes, and a leather-bound book that lacked a title.
Curious, Grandma reached out and grabbed the leather book, noting the goosebumps that formed on her arms.
With a twinge of regret, she walked back to her armchair, clutching the book tightly. She felt a cold breeze enter the room the moment she opened the book.
It wasn't the usual book filled with tiny words. No, this particular book had carried drawings. Hard-sketched drawings, purely from a pencil.
Grandma flipped through the pages, noting a drawing of a bird, a lake, some trees, and oddly enough, a young man. That was when she shut the book.
It finally came back - all of it. As if it just happened yesterday. She now understood the reason she had always avoided the library and why she had stopped drawing when she turned nineteen. It finally made sense as to why she could not tell her grandson the story. Not because her memory failed her - she was only sixty-seven. She just didn't want to remember.
"Keith."
She could remember it as if it were just yesterday.
Just a prologue. More to come.
Thank you for reading.
* The title loosely translates to A Woman's Heart, based on the Celtic Woman version.
-