The Steward (18 page)

“Thanks,” I said, catching my breath.

Naomi was smiling. “Yeah, no problem … by the way … I can’t wait to see you beat Misty Blair from Conway … she’s never been beat in a meet ... you’re faster than her.”

I got out of the pool and Coach Rollins called me over. “Your times, you were serious?”

“I’ve gone faster, a lot faster,” I said. “I haven’t been in the water for five weeks.”

Coach Rollins grinned. “That changes today, O’Shea. We practice once a day, every day, except Sundays. We’re on dry land part of the day Tuesdays and Thursdays, so bring your running shoes—now, go catch another five hundred for me. I just have to see you in the water again.”

I gave Dad a thumbs-up as I went back to the pool. He’d probably already figured out that I was on the team—at least he was grinning like he had.

When practice was over Doug swam up to me from the other side of the pool. “Hey, you weren’t joking.”

“No, I wasn’t. I’ve been swimming since I was four. Wanna race?”

He smiled. “Um, no, you’re faster than I am.”

“What, afraid to get your ego bruised?” I taunted him.

He laughed and pulled his swim cap off. “Yes, that is exactly what I’m afraid of.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I can’t throw a football to save my life.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

TEN

A BREAK

The first half of the semester in Eureka Springs flew by, and I made several new friends, just like everyone said I would. Life in Arkansas had not turned into the tragic hillbilly-filled nightmare I assumed it would. In fact, many parts of my life were better than ever, and some things were completely unexpected.

At six o’clock in the morning, I was not only awake before my alarm went off but I was actually in a good mood. The sun wasn’t quite over the mountains yet, but it was light and warm outside. Sitting on my bed, looking out the open window, I was absolutely blown away by the scene in front of me. The Weald had bloomed. Warm for the last three weeks, it seemed everything that could bloom, was. I’d never seen anything quite like it, nor had I smelled anything like it either. The fragrance of spring filled my room and the beautiful picture framed by the windowsill was surreal. I’d never imagined living in such a place—until this week, I didn’t know one existed. It reminded me of those scenic oil paintings set in garish frames one might find in home décor stores at the mall. Too many flowers and too fanciful to be real—a romance novel cover without the lovers.

In just a few weeks time, the cottage garden transformed from lifeless trees, shrubs and decaying leaves to the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. The Redbud trees started the show, and the Dogwoods, Service Berries, Flowering Crabapples, Hawthorns, Wild Plums, Cherries, and a half dozen other flowering trees followed them. Aunt May and Sara took turns telling me the names, but I couldn’t keep up.

My ancestors had been responsible for most of the flowering plants and trees in the Weald, added especially for the Fae—hence the profusion of color. Walking with Sara yesterday, I noticed that masses of blooming trees dotted the entire peninsula. Not only was the cottage garden in bloom but the entire Weald put on a show.

One of the most spectacular sites occurred along the driveway. For a half-mile, the cornucopia of blossom-laden trees growing elsewhere in the Weald had been upstaged—scores of American Yellowwoods, like giant white wisteria, flanked both sides of the way. The yellowwoods were Lola’s addition, and they made the approach to the cottage seem ethereal. Walking down the drive to the cottage, I swear I felt her presence.

As recently as yesterday I told Sara that I hadn’t made up my mind about staying here, but as much as I loved Florida, I realized that I
couldn’t
leave the Weald. For some reason, I felt I owed it to Lola. Her touch was everywhere and we were connected. Well, I can be honest, I wasn’t going to leave Gavin either. Nonetheless, I kept the decision to myself.

The cottage garden itself was beyond anything I’d imagined before we got here. The flowers were relentless—when one was spent, three more popped up to take its place. The wisteria, roses, and azaleas were all in full bloom. Over the last few days, one legion of tulips after another vied for the spring sun. A few weeks ago, tens of thousands of Narcissus in every shade of white, pink, and yellow painted the mountain in vibrant swaths of color. The soft pinks and yellows of last week made way for the vibrant purples, violets, and blues this week.

Each day we’d driven into town, I noticed that the bloom cycle in the Weald seemed ahead of everywhere else. A few trees and flowers bloomed elsewhere, but the rest of the Ozarks seemed far behind. Sara denied any personal responsibility.

She just smiled. “No, not me, and that is all I’m
allowed
to say.”

As stubborn as all the Fae, she said nothing else. But I got my answer nevertheless. There was definitely Fae involvement, and I could probably thank the local Greek god.

“Sara, I am curious about the gardens and the profusion of blooming things.”

“How so?”

“Why bother with it? I mean, I know that you like beauty and all—experiencing the physical world—but you’re immortal. The life span of a flower to you is little more than a flash. Besides that, how many spring blooms have you seen—doesn’t this get old?”

“Maggie, do you enjoy the Fourth of July?”

“Yeah, sure,” I admitted

“Do you watch the fireworks ... every year?” she asked rhetorically.

“Ah, I didn’t think of it that way. So, you appreciate temporary things?”

“I’m afraid that is one of the downfalls of working so closely with the Fae.” She shook her head. “You’re constantly reminded of your mortality. Listen Maggie, you shouldn’t worry so much about time, or whether we value you less because you’re mortal. Some of the most beautiful and important things in my existence have lasted for only a moment.”

Once again, she picked up on the things I hadn’t said.

She was pleased with my progress, though.
Every morning I’d practiced with Gavin, and I was getting better. I could turn any stone he altered back into its original shape. Next, he taught me how to change stones into new shapes based on nothing more than an image in my mind. With practice I could make them into any shape I wanted, but I couldn’t make them larger or smaller. I was also utterly incapable of turning stone into wood. Gavin kept encouraging me, though, and I kept trying. Sara encouraged me too, showing me the trick herself on numerous occasions.

Since the Earth trial, Sara and I had become friends. It was easier once I learned to separate my thoughts, keeping the safe images in the front of my mind for her and the rest of the Fae to see, and hiding my private images behind a screen. She stopped studying me when we spoke. Liking her was much easier as a result, and liking her was important to me now. Until the trials were over, she was the one Fae that kept me sane as I worried about the Water trial and Chalen’s role in it.

The Council had confirmed Gavin as my
Treoraí, but I’d found a flaw in his otherwise perfect mantle. He was stubborn. Very stubborn. He didn’t share my concerns about Chalen. Gavin was absolutely supportive in every other way—he made me feel like the center of his world when we were together. But he’d made up his mind and side-stepped each of my attempts to un-make it.

So it was up to Sara. Every time I thought about the trial, and allowed an image of Chalen to appear in the front of my mind, she calmed me. She also promised that she’d remain as close as possible during the trial. The Fae were supposed to remain neutral during the trials, she said—they were elemental referees. Sara said that either I have a connection to each element or I don’t. The trials were nothing more than a simple test to determine that fact and awaken my connection to them. With Chalen, though, I got the distinct impression that he wanted me to fail. I believed he’d take pleasure in it.

Though I hadn’t actually seen him in months, he was always close. The foreboding feeling I got each time I felt him watching shook my confidence. My mind screamed for me to be careful. Sara thought it was little more than him intentionally putting off bad vibes, forcing negative energy on me for his own sadistic pleasure. She told me that he was forbidden to alter the outcome of the trial—Seelie and Unseelie alike had agreed to the terms. Still, each time I thought about the Water trial, images of sharks, piranha, and crocodiles haunted me. I was careful to keep those images hidden behind the screen,
as I knew he could use the images in my head against me.

I’ve got to stop thinking about it.

Listening to my inner voice, I glanced at my alarm clock. It was six-thirty in the morning, and I needed to get ready for school.
Before I went for my bath, I drew a deep breath through my nose—the smell was intoxicating. “Ah,” I said to myself, “the benefits of having an immortal gardener with the world’s greenest thumb and a compulsive need for sensory overload.”

A perfect morning—it was warm outside and today school was out for nine glorious days. Spring break started today at ten minutes before three o’clock, and on Sunday I would turn sixteen.

* * *

Time stood still for much of the day. I tried not to look at the clock or my watch very often, so naturally I stared at both all morning. At lunch, Gavin met Candace and me at our usual spot as we mulled over fish sticks, mashed potatoes and green peas. Ronnie and several others joined us like clockwork.

My relationship with Rhonda had devolved. Her initial uneasiness grew into thinly veiled contempt by February. By spring break, she was in full-blown loathing. She’d given up any attempt to feign civility several weeks ago. I didn’t do anything to purposely rile Rhonda—I just did what I felt like doing without concern for her acceptance. The effect was the same regardless of my motive.

Swimming six days a week with Doug only made matters worse, as did the fact that Doug and I were good friends. So, as much as she hated it, Rhonda attended our practices whenever she could, giving me her hawk-like, frigid stare each time I glanced her way.

After winning my third swim meet this season and setting state records in one hundred yard free, fifty yard free and one hundred yard breast, she made the comment at lunch that it was probably easy for me because, “
your people
are naturally good swimmers. Isn’t that how so many of you got into the country?”

Few people found humor in the joke, but she snickered, completely oblivious to the fact that she just had a near death experience. Though I contemplated taking her out, I employed my usual strategy. I simply laughed and reminded her that I was three-quarters Irish and one-quarter Cuban, and nobody swims to the U.S. from Dublin, or Havana.

When I looked up from my salad, Gavin was staring at me. I was uncharacteristically quiet during lunch, and I didn’t bother to hide any of the images in my head. He looked down at Rhonda and rolled his eyes when he glanced back at me. I gave him a quick, faint smile and he returned it. In my head I wrote,
sorry, didn’t mean to be so quiet today.

He silently mouthed the words, “It’s okay.”

The bell sounded and he walked me to Chemistry. Before I went into the room, he took my elbow in his strong fingers. “Don’t let her ruin this weekend for you. Your sixteenth birthday is a very special milestone.”

I looked at his chest for a moment, and worked to keep the goofy grin off my face. I slowly lifted my eyes to meet his. “I plan to have a great day, Gavin. And by the way, thanks for the flowers.”

He got an exasperated look on his face. “Sara!” he whispered.

“No, Sara didn’t say a thing. I figured it all out on my own, thank you very much.”

“Well, Happy Birthday, Miss O’Shea,” he said in a deep, husky whisper. He flashed his best smile and my knees got weak.

“I’m not sure how to say thank you properly. You see, Gavin, nobody has given me spring before.” I could feel the goofy smile spreading across my face, floating on the surface of my thoughts, right next to my desire to kiss him.

“Well, as long as I’m your
Treoraí
, it will always be spring on your birthday.”

The sentiment in his voice touched me and it caught me off guard. For the first time there was something powerful in his words and the way he looked at me. There was emotion in his eyes and I felt a connection between us. It disappeared as quickly as it came, but my heart raced nonetheless.

“Well, the Fae certainly know how to give a girl flowers,” I finally managed. I left him standing there and took my seat. He stared at me for a few moments before he disappeared down the hall.

My god, what just happened?

* * *

At dinner nothing could hold my attention because my thoughts were on a continuous loop. Even as Candace and Ronnie and I sat around the table talking and laughing, my mind wandered back to Gavin. Every afternoon for ten weeks he met me at nine minutes before three o’clock, standing next to his blue Maserati. It was the same each day, until today. After he disappeared in the hall, I didn’t see him again. I spent the rest of the day thinking about the look he gave me, and the energy I felt between us. So many thoughts raced through my mind, each competing for my attention, that I didn’t know how to sort them out. I tried to stay focused on the present, but I kept drifting back to his eyes.
What was it I felt? Was it real?

The rational part of my brain told me that I made it all up—I was overreacting. I’d been caught up in the moment, grateful that he’d made spring come early for me—I mean, really, who wouldn’t be? He was perfectly normal and unchanged--still the beautiful, unreachable immortal. I said it silently and tried to believe it, but doubt crept back in. Why did he ask Ronnie to drive me home without telling me himself?