The
family gathered at the stage station leans forward and twists as though
choreographed.
Approaching
hooves are tattooing a rapid march from down the street of this dusty small
western town.
Every
window and doorway along the street holds heads that also lean and twist in
time with the family.
Someone
is coming to town on the stage and they are almost here.
Little
red-headed Rua pokes her husband Dothann.
‘What?’
‘How
will we know them?’
‘For
pete’s sake Rua. We’ll know them.’
‘How?
How will they know us?’
‘Think
about it, Rua. We know things. So do they. How could we NOT know each other?’
‘We
don’t even know what they look like.’
‘Well,
we’re about to find out, aren’t we? Here comes the stage.’
The
leaners and twisters leave their windows and doorways as the stage passes and
follow it down the street. The leaners and twisters from the other end of the
eight block street stop leaning and twisting and head toward the stage station.
The
ones following the stage get a mite dusty but they don’t care at the moment. Their
curiosity is compelling and over-rules their common sense.
The
family in front of the stage station stops leaning and twisting and straightens itself into neat rows, blanking faces so that a person could not
possibly guess what thoughts might be moving around inside of those heads.
Centered
in the back row is big, blond, copper-eyed Danann with his look-alike (but with
green eyes) grandson Brann beside him, flanked by the two next largest members
of the group – Thann and Kalann both with dark hair and eyes.
Alongside
of their husbands are Sass standing next to Thann and Aine next to Kalann.
In
front of them are Danann’s little wife Sidhelagh with Brann’s wife Andras,
flanked by the couple Caileen and Talorc.
In
front of them are Alianora and Drustann with Diann and Corrbed to each side of
them.
In
front of these four are Rua and Dothann.
In
front of everyone is the smallest of the bunch, the elder Mamm.
Off
to one side is Merri standing alone, watching the whole street with keen eyes.
The
eighteen of them stand in silence, waiting. That they form an imposing triangle
might or might not have registered with them. It registers with everyone else. Familiar
as the sight has become to the rest of this small town, it is still intimidating
when this family gathers itself and makes themselves into their triangle.
That
there is something odd about their collective self as well as about them as
individuals isn’t generally overly noticeable … but when they show up and stand
shoulder to shoulder like this people definitely notice and pay attention.
Something
is about to happen and the town turns out full force to find out what it is. This
family never gets themselves into this formation for no good reason, as the
town has already found out.
Trotting
up to the stage station, the horses pulling the stage stop and seem to take one
last deep breath before dropping their heads in fatigue.
The
horses tethered alongside the stage … well … they immediately give little tugs
that disconnect them from their tethers. Two of them go to the doors on either
side of the stage and without further ado nimble mouths and teeth open the
doors.
Before
the occupants of the stage can emerge, the four horses neigh loud enough to
wake up anyone who might have been sleeping (although nobody is as everyone is
in the street by now) and rear.
They’ve
already gotten everyone’s attention without the theatrics, but earn themselves
a hearty round of applause. Bowing to their audience, the matching set of four
tall perfectly proportioned silver horses regally nod their heads at all and
sundry in acknowledgement, restless eyes taking in every detail as they nod in
all directions. They are royalty and even though the United States of America
doesn’t recognize royalty, these citizens know what they are seeing.
Having
allowed the horses their introductory moment, the four young people make their
own entrance, stepping from the stage with grace and finesse.
Three
girls and a boy stand before the stage station, poised and silent.
For
a long long time that silence isn’t broken as each pair of eyes in turn locks
gazes with each and all of the eighteen gathered family members, hold them for
various lengths of time, and move on to the next.
About
the time the townsfolk are starting to yawn, Mamm the Elder’s face produces the
most brilliant smile anyone has ever seen, so bright it seems to back the
shadows right off the whole street.
Stepping
forward, the little lady extends her hands to the four Younglings who have
stepped off the stage.
‘Welcome!’
That is all she says, or at least all anyone hears, as the four tall young people
have her surrounded and enclosed among them before the word is even out of her
mouth.
Dothann
pokes Rua as the rest of the family remains silent and still, no expressions on
their faces.
‘See
Rua? Tell me you don’t know them!’
‘Fine.
Of course I know them. Those two red-heads are Marra and Mamm the Younger
although I couldn’t tell you which is which. That blonde gal is Soarsa and that
dark-haired kid is Colum. They’re obviously kin, look at them with Mamm! You’d
think they’d known her for all of the eleven years of their lives.’
The
stage driver breaks the spell with an, ‘Ahem!’ and a significant look at Danann
and Brann while he points to the boxes and trunks fastened to the top of the
stage.
‘Oh.
Sorry Brawny. We’ll get those off there and you can get your horses taken care
of.’
And
so the two big men casually take the trunks and boxes down like they don’t
weigh more than three ounces apiece (which the stage driver knows is NOT the
case since he himself struggled to get them up there) and set them off to one
side close to Merri.
Being
as the four Younglings still have Mamm surrounded and are soaking her with
tears, Brann and Danann, followed closely by the still-suspicious tall silver
horses, walk up to the huddled little group and unceremoniously lift the two
tall (but not nearly as tall as Danann and Brann) red-headed girls away from Mamm
the Elder and lift them way up over their heads, starting to spin like tops.
The
two girls automatically arch their backs and fling out their arms to maintain
their balance and let out with a couple of surprisingly musical squawks that
sound a lot like quacks.
When
the two big blond men cut loose with their deep belly laughs there’s no
stopping what happens next.
Those
two, when they laugh, make everyone in the vicinity laugh with them. It’s a
sort of magical chain reaction and the whole town cracks up laughing while the
bulk of the family finally breaks their silent stillness and tromps over to
welcome the additions to their family.
Thann,
who is as big as Danann and Brann only dark instead of blond, lifts Soarsa over
his head so that the new Youngling girls are all three flying in circles
quacking to beat the band.
The
four tall silver horses are watching the whole spectacle in silence, for
perhaps the first time in their lives their attention wholly on what’s going on
instead of their eyes constantly roving.
While
all this quacking and laughing is going on, Dothann brings a buckboard from
beside the stage station. Talorc, Kalann, Drustann, and Corrbed lift and load
the heavy trunks and boxes onto it as easily as Danann and Brann had gotten
them off the stage, which makes the stage driver pause his laughter for a
moment and wonder about his own strength. He’d found those same trunks and
boxes almost impossible to manage.
The
four tall silver horses nudge dark-haired Colum, who quickly mounts the
stallion of the bunch and looks at his new-found family.
‘Which
way are we going?’
Danann,
Thann, and Brann lead the way, quacking young girls still aloft, down the
street a couple of blocks and then down a side street another couple of blocks
to Mamm the Elder’s little house.
The
buckboard follows them, Colum and the silvers follow the buckboard, and
everyone else marches along behind them, waggling their backsides merrily to the
delighted entertainment of the townsfolk.
Unseen
by any except for the Younglings, a very small figure dressed in brown and
green rides atop the collection of trunks and boxes. He is perhaps two feet
tall (at the moment) and laughing as merrily as everyone else although only the
Younglings can hear his piping laughter. A time or two he stands on the trunks
and boxes and dances a jaunty little jig, with waggles and quacks of his own.
Watching
him from behind, Colum grins and murmurs, ‘Home, Brownling. We’re going home.’
The
dancing Brownie of course hears, turns around, adds a few agile leaps and flips
to his dance, and looks to Colum as he at last stands still and clasps his
hands over his head in victory.
