Chapter Five
It was the weekend. Mirabelle had the day off, so she decided to go for a walk in the hills west of town. She asked Edward if he would like to accompany her, but he declined. Edward had some things to do at the factory and he never liked the outdoors much, anyway. He apologized profusely for having to disappoint her but Mirabelle assured him that it didn't upset her.
She made her way to the edge of town and stepped onto one of the trails leading into the woods. The trail would lead Mirabelle to a hillside clearing overlooking the town. It was here Mirabelle liked to sit and contemplate, attempting to observe life from a higher perspective.
The morning air was cool and slightly damp as she wound her way up the hillside. Stones, earth, twigs and needles crunched under her boots with every step. The faint smell of pines lingered in the air as a gentle breeze made the tree branches sway in a hypnotic dance around her. Morning sunlight diffused through the forest canopy casting everything in a steely grey light.
When alone and surrounded by nature, as she was now, Mirabelle could feel lingering traces of her once deep and profound connection to the natural world. When she felt this connection, it seemed to her that everything was alive and conscious; and she felt as if she were not separate from the consciousness inhabiting the plants, animals, and elements around her.
* * *
As a child, after returning from school and finishing her chores, Mirabelle would spend her days playing around the farm or wandering through the groves of trees that grew by the river at the edge of the Laughlin property. Nature fascinated Mirabelle and she loved being outdoors with her friends: the trees, the river, the field, the rocks.
Little Mirabelle felt that each natural being had its own personality: the river was a slow, meandering gentle old man; the trees and plants were like human families with old, wizened grandparents, strong adults, boisterous youth, and baby seedlings; and the stones on the riverbank were ancient, stolid individuals who had seen the long passage of time spin by for aeons.
Old man river would talk to Mirabelle teaching her the wisdom of flowing through life and of sharing what one had to benefit everyone. The oak trees also taught Mirabelle to share: giving their shade, shelter, and acorns freely. They also taught Mirabelle to stand tall and strong. The river stones taught Mirabelle to endure: the wisdom of "this too shall pass;" and their beautiful rounded shapes admonished her to polish herself if she wanted to have a pleasing personality.
It was fire, however, that fascinated Mirabelle the most. Whether the tiny flicker of a candle flame, the strong, warm heat of the stove fire, or the raging intensity of a prairie brush fire, Mirabelle loved fire the most. Maybe it was the pretty colors, the crackling and popping sounds, or its passion and intensity that so attracted Mirabelle to fire. In any case, she felt an even stronger kinship with fire than she did with all the other elements.
Magic was real in Mirabelle's childhood but as she grew older it had disappeared from her life. Reality sneaked up on her from behind and before she knew it, the world seemed a little less brighter, a little less exciting, and Mirabelle could no longer see, talk to, or hear the whispering of, her nonhuman friends.
* * *
Working her way further along the trail and up the hill, Mirabelle stopped to sit on a boulder and catch her breath. The quiet tranquility of morning was punctuated by the occasional birdcall and rustling sounds of small animals. Though she knew she was high up on the hill, Mirabelle could not yet see the view the trek promised to offer. The forest guarded that treasure dilligently and only blue patches of sky could be seen amongst the treetops. Having rested, Mirabelle continued on the trail.
As she climbed the hillside, she could see light shining at the end of the path further ahead of her . The trail was opening into the clearing. Mirabelle walked ahead quickly, eager to bask in some warm sunshine.
She came out of the pathway and into the clearing. It was a hillside clearcut left by logging done long ago. Stumps of cut down trees sat defiantly amongst the short green grasses and blooming wildflowers that had appeared with the return of spring. The sun shone strongly on the clearing causing it to be much warmer than the forest she had to pass through.
Mirabelle sat down on a tree stump and looked around. The slope of this part of the hill she was on was somewhat low--preventing the clearcut from causing the whole hillside from crashing down upon the town when the occasional rains or seasonal snow melts came. Somewhere, she thought as she looked across to the other side of the clearcut, must be an old logging road that lead up to this place.
The trees that grew around here weren't of high grade timber so most of the hills went uncut. Lumber for Ponderosa had to be brought in from out of state, for the most part. Still, occasional cuts were made to supply firewood or fencing for the ranchers and farmers who would come into town to buy supplies.
The hill looked over the town and much of the surrounding land. East of Ponderosa lay the vast expanse of prairie: upon which, somewhere over the horizon, Mirabelle had been born. West of the hills, out of her sight, loomed the Rocky Mountains--their sharp, jagged, snow-covered peaks cut into the clear blue sky above.
Having taken a look around, Mirabelle laid out a blanket (being careful not to crush any flowers) and sat down for lunch. Eating slowly, she lovingly took in the grandeur of the view before her.
Nature's grandeur was the attraction that held the people who lived in Colorado under its spell. The land was wild, untamed, and awesome in its beauty. Even the most logical, rational, and materialistic automaton of a human being found it hard not to be awed and humbled when in the wilderness of Colorado. Away from trival concerns, the vastness of life revealed itself, making a person feel inconceivably small in the grand scheme of things and yet not unimportant to the process. A person made her mark on the world no matter how small it may be.
Mirabelle looked down towards Ponderosa nestled at the base of the hill; its buildings and roads bustled with the ant-sized figures of people engaged in their weekend activities. In the distance, outside the town's southern outskirts, winded the local river. It's serpentine form shimmered in the day's sunlight as it made it's way down from the hills, along the plains, and into the horizon. It was an important river. It provided water for the town and for the farms and ranches to the east. To the north and south were foothills, small towns like Ponderosa, and more ranches and farms.
Nibbling on her sandwich, Mirabelle stopped chewing a moment to pause and think about her life. She did love Edward, she did want to marry him and everybody advised her to do so but try as she might she couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing in her life. The reverend had made an excellent argument to Mirabelle and had swayed her beliefs for a moment, but sitting up here alone, she could see that for all the arguments against them, she still had to follow her feelings. She had trusted them her entire life and they had never led her astray--at least it never seemed as if they had.
She looked to the horizon and felt a gentle breeze tickle her face as it raced up the hill. Her feelings were as elusive as the wind and yet even less tangible. She had followed them all her life but maybe her circumstances were different now, she wondered. She was a fully-matured adult, after all--perhaps it was time she started behaving like one. No one she knew trusted his feelings or even placed any importance to them. Everyone was expected to behave in a rational, logical (and to Mirabelle, boring) manner. She had managed to trust and follow her feelings this far in life but the cost was constant arguing with her parents, feeling like an outsider from the general populace, and being thought of as rebellious and impulsive: bad enough for a man, unthinkable for a girl.
Maybe it was time to give it up: Give up her different, childish (according to her parents) way of living, Mirabelle considered. She was getting older: at age twenty-six many people considered her to be very late in getting married. To them it made sense she would still be unmarried for she was unfemininely indepenent and free-spirited.
How she had managed to get Edward to want to engage her in holy matrimony was an unfathomable mystery to people who knew him. Who would want a woman who was rebellious and impulsive? Other eligible bachelors avoided Mirabelle for they would imagine themselves coming home to find her standing in the open front doorway waiting there with a huge, wickedly-sharp battle-axe over her shoulder. None of them could deny she was very physically attractive, but in the world of sensible cost-benefit analysis her beauty didn't sufficiently compensate for her unlady-like personality.
Mirabelle sighed. She liked living her life in her own way but she was beginning to think that the price she paid was too exorbitant. If she would just ignore her feelings--the feeling that something was missing from her life--she and Edward would be living happily ever after...
She imagined herself and Edward in each others' arms existing in a state of conjugal bliss as the years passed them by: It was such a beautiful dream...
Mirabelle frowned. Angry with herself over her conflicting feelings, she questioned herself, harshly: "This 'something missing' feeling, what did it mean, anyway?" It was just a feeling and didn't stand for very much when subjected to the rigors of logic. A woman's role in life is to be a supporting wife to her husband, to sacrifice her dreams and ambitions for the good of her man and her family. For a woman to pursue her own wants and desires was selfish and inconceivable.
Mirabelle knew that was the way the world operated: women throughout history have always held the inferior position in society. If women starting thinking for themselves, civilization itself would undoubtedly collapse. She imagined an angry world, the masses, accusingly pointing at her, knowing that it was she who had sent society into utter chaos by thinking for herself.
It was time to give up her impulsive ways, Mirabelle thought. Her future as a housewife looked so promising and fulfilling when looked at from the proper way of seeing things. Feelings were for the immature and irrational--misfits frowned upon by society as a whole. Mirabelle still had time to avoid joining the ranks of the insane and foolish: she was simply looked upon as a young woman who hung onto her childish ways with incredible stubbornness. It wasn't too late for her to become a proper woman, a respectable woman.
The shrill cry of an eagle jolted Mirabelle out of her ruminations. Tracing the source of the cry, she looked up and to her left to see an eagle, high in the sky, circling ever-higher on an invisible column of rising air. She watched it wistfully, longingly--she was envious of the bird's majesty and freedom in comparison to herself.
Mirabelle felt her dreams were like the eagle flying so unaware and unconscious of its power. Her dreams were so lofty, so out of reach to her. She wanted to be loved and respected for who she was--herself; not for the perfect woman everybody wanted and wished she would be. She didn't like the idea of having her identity imposed on her by other people. They all wanted to change her into their ideal Mirabelle: obedient, respectful, self-sacrificing, subserviant--the perfect Mirabelle, the perfect woman. Despite their pleading, she could never bring herself to be so mendacious, so unlike her true self.
She didn't want to pander herself to Edward, to men. She happily did whatever Edward asked of her because she wanted to please him, to make him happy, not because she was a woman and should be subservient to him. Edward understood this or at least seemed to because he loved her in kind and did many little things to make her equally happy: He was tender and caring, he bought her gifts, and he said he would always take care of her.
Mirabelle froze momentarily, stunned. She had the realization that, upon looking at it, in many ways she did behave like society's ideal woman with Edward: she was respectful, subservient, and submissive to his whims; not because she felt it was her duty to be that way but simply because she loved him and found happiness in pleasing him.
"Was it so bad being the perfect woman?" she wondered. Edward did seem like the perfect man. It was the ideal match: handsome and charming Edward with beautiful and loving Mirabelle. Maybe she did have what she really wanted out of life--the truest love two people could find, a pairing of the body and personality so perfect that it seemed divine. Being with Edward was like being in heaven for Mirabelle, after all.
With that last thought, Mirabelle no longer had the feeling that something was missing from her life. She had found the emptiness within her, the feeling that would not leave her alone, satiated with her love for Edward and his love for her. As she reflected upon it, perhaps she could be happy as a modest wife, a modest woman. Making Edward happy did bring Mirabelle the greatest joy. Love fulfilled her and made her feel whole.
Mirabelle sat on the hillside a while longer, absorbing the feeling of the utter rightness of her decision. With her conviction at its apex, she then made her way down the trail. She would be the Mirabelle everyone had wanted: the perfect woman, the perfect wife. She could be happy living the ideal life everyone dreamed of.
Floating down the hillside trail, Mirabelle was at peace with herself. The nagging feeling of lack that before had pervaded her life was dispelled forever. In the clearing she left behind the shadow of the old, rebellious, impulsive Mirabelle. The wind lapped at its outline and blew it steadily away.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
The Fireweeper, chapter 4
Chapter 4 The Fire Weeper, 5/2/1998
Chapter Four
Mirabelle stood before the town's church. Mr. Robert had given her the rest of the day off and Mirabelle called Reverend Michaels to receive some counselling from him. The little church was a place very dear to Mirabelle for it was here that she had met Edward. Its white walls, newly painted, glistened, causing its black roof and intricate stained glass windows to stand out boldly in the daylight. She craned her head upward to look at the steeple and it's bell. Mirabelle hoped that within the church's hallowed walls she would receive the answers to the questions that were so bothering her.
Walking around to the back of the church, she descended some stairs and went inside through an open side door. Within the basement, she passed by folded tables and chairs to come to one of the church's lower rooms. In the room, waiting for her, was Reverend Michaels.
"Hello, Mirabelle," he said greeting her, exuding an air of tranquility.
"Hello, Reverend," she replied, hopeful that he could help her resolve her conflicting feelings.
"Please, sit down," he said, extending a hand towards the seat before him.
"Thank you," Mirabelle replied.
"So, Mirabelle, you arranged to see me because you had something you wanted to discuss. What is it?" he asked.
"Well, Reverend Michaels, I'm planning on getting married in the near future sometime and I think I'm having some misgivings about it," she said, looking at him.
Reverend Michaels was a young minister, just under thirty if Mirabelle could recall correctly. He was slim, fairly tall, had short, curly brown hair, and wore glasses. He was dressed in his customary black clothing and had his usual air of affected calmness and compassion about him.
"Mirabelle, people always are nervous about the prospect of getting married, but marriage is a truly joyful event to look forward to. The decision of two people to share their lives together is such a wonderful mystery," he said to her in a soft, reassuring voice.
"Mystery?" she asked.
"Why yes," he replied. His hands spread open in a attitude of receiving and
his gaze lifted to look up somewhere above Mirabelle. A natural actor, the reverend played his role of divine intermediary like a master. Mirabelle was expecting him to start glowing in a celestial light. Michaels launched into his sermon, appearing to be inspired by heaven:
"Why do two people fall in love? How do they know they are right for each other? Something deep inside tells them that this is the right person for them. Somehow they just know they are doing the right thing," he intoned. He closed his eyes, lowered his head, and nodded as his hands came together to clasp each other, then said, "It has always been a wonderful mystery for me." Having conveyed his message from the beyond, he returned his attention to Mirabelle, and questioned her, "Do you love Edward?"
"Yes, I do," responded Mirabelle.
"Does he love you?" he asked.
"Yes, he does," she replied.
"Then, my dear, you have nothing to worry about. The marriage will work out fine," he said to her, already knowing the outcome. He continued, "Naturally, there'll be ups and downs in it, but as long as you love each other, the bond will last." Michaels nodded to himself assured he was correct.
Mirabelle nodded in reply. What he said made sense but she still had the underlying, nagging feeling that marrying Edward just wasn't enough for her, that she had more to accomplish in life than to be just a housewife.
"It's just that I have this feeling in me that something is missing from my life," Mirabelle confided to the reverend.
"Missing?" he asked her, curiously. He couldn't see what could be possibly be missing. "Do you know what?" he questioned.
"No, I don't," Mirabelle answered. After pausing to gather her thoughts she continued, "That's what is troubling me so much--I can't understand why I'm having this feeling and I can't really ignore it either." She frowned and crossed her arms, vexed with herself.
"And how do you feel about your future as a wife," Michaels asked, deducing the most likely cause of her discontent.
"Oh, I guess I'll be fine," Mirabelle responded, trying to appear enthusiastic. "I guess I can't expect much more out of life," she admitted.
"It is the human condition to feel that something is lacking in life, that one's circumstances are insufficient for fulfillment. That's why the spiritual life is so important," Reverend Michaels said, pausing to look at her and note her reaction. "People have to integrate religion into their lives. Unless a person's spiritual needs are met, she'll always feel as though something is missing," he advised her. He nodded his head to affirm his own statement as if to enhance the validity of his words and his conviction.
"So what you're saying is that I should pray," Mirabelle asked him sincerely, "and come to church more often?" Perhaps it was the answer she was searching for.
"I think that's the best thing you could do," he replied, happy to see she was coming to accept his advice. The reverend had, after all, the authority to help people.
"I guess you're right, Reverend," Mirabelle said submissively, having again added another person's belief to her growing collection of beliefs on what she should do. Of course, she wanted to do the "right" thing but because of her pesky feelings... "I just wish I wasn't divided on my feelings about the marriage," she said to the reverend, wondering how he would respond.
"Mirabelle, maybe you want something more out of life than being a housewife, but you have to accept the role of women in society," he said looking at her as if she were a wayward child. He took her hands in his in a paternalistic yet caring way and told her, "Just remember that love will carry you through all the trials of your life, my dear." Mirabelle nodded in reply. Reverend Michaels should know better what was good for her than herself, after all.
"Thank you, Reverend," she said smiling, convinced she had finally gotten the answers she needed.
"You're welcome, my child," Reverend Michaels said to her as she departed.
Mirabelle walked home from the church, certain her problems were finally solved. The reverend had given her the best possible advice for obliterating her personal, internal conflicts (or to be more accurate, feelings). She and Edward did love each other. Love would get her through all of her future trials and a person did have to accept one's given role in life, after all.
She was wrong to want more out of life than what was dealt her. "Why be rebellious? Why go against the current? Why want adventure when my future promises to be so comfortable and fashionable and acceptable?" she asked herself. It was just her being plain immature to want more, to believe her feelings about her life were important.
As Mirabelle came to her front door she released a sigh of relief, feeling as if a heavy load had finally been removed from her heart. Following other people's advice was so much easier than trusting herself.
Chapter Four
Mirabelle stood before the town's church. Mr. Robert had given her the rest of the day off and Mirabelle called Reverend Michaels to receive some counselling from him. The little church was a place very dear to Mirabelle for it was here that she had met Edward. Its white walls, newly painted, glistened, causing its black roof and intricate stained glass windows to stand out boldly in the daylight. She craned her head upward to look at the steeple and it's bell. Mirabelle hoped that within the church's hallowed walls she would receive the answers to the questions that were so bothering her.
Walking around to the back of the church, she descended some stairs and went inside through an open side door. Within the basement, she passed by folded tables and chairs to come to one of the church's lower rooms. In the room, waiting for her, was Reverend Michaels.
"Hello, Mirabelle," he said greeting her, exuding an air of tranquility.
"Hello, Reverend," she replied, hopeful that he could help her resolve her conflicting feelings.
"Please, sit down," he said, extending a hand towards the seat before him.
"Thank you," Mirabelle replied.
"So, Mirabelle, you arranged to see me because you had something you wanted to discuss. What is it?" he asked.
"Well, Reverend Michaels, I'm planning on getting married in the near future sometime and I think I'm having some misgivings about it," she said, looking at him.
Reverend Michaels was a young minister, just under thirty if Mirabelle could recall correctly. He was slim, fairly tall, had short, curly brown hair, and wore glasses. He was dressed in his customary black clothing and had his usual air of affected calmness and compassion about him.
"Mirabelle, people always are nervous about the prospect of getting married, but marriage is a truly joyful event to look forward to. The decision of two people to share their lives together is such a wonderful mystery," he said to her in a soft, reassuring voice.
"Mystery?" she asked.
"Why yes," he replied. His hands spread open in a attitude of receiving and
his gaze lifted to look up somewhere above Mirabelle. A natural actor, the reverend played his role of divine intermediary like a master. Mirabelle was expecting him to start glowing in a celestial light. Michaels launched into his sermon, appearing to be inspired by heaven:
"Why do two people fall in love? How do they know they are right for each other? Something deep inside tells them that this is the right person for them. Somehow they just know they are doing the right thing," he intoned. He closed his eyes, lowered his head, and nodded as his hands came together to clasp each other, then said, "It has always been a wonderful mystery for me." Having conveyed his message from the beyond, he returned his attention to Mirabelle, and questioned her, "Do you love Edward?"
"Yes, I do," responded Mirabelle.
"Does he love you?" he asked.
"Yes, he does," she replied.
"Then, my dear, you have nothing to worry about. The marriage will work out fine," he said to her, already knowing the outcome. He continued, "Naturally, there'll be ups and downs in it, but as long as you love each other, the bond will last." Michaels nodded to himself assured he was correct.
Mirabelle nodded in reply. What he said made sense but she still had the underlying, nagging feeling that marrying Edward just wasn't enough for her, that she had more to accomplish in life than to be just a housewife.
"It's just that I have this feeling in me that something is missing from my life," Mirabelle confided to the reverend.
"Missing?" he asked her, curiously. He couldn't see what could be possibly be missing. "Do you know what?" he questioned.
"No, I don't," Mirabelle answered. After pausing to gather her thoughts she continued, "That's what is troubling me so much--I can't understand why I'm having this feeling and I can't really ignore it either." She frowned and crossed her arms, vexed with herself.
"And how do you feel about your future as a wife," Michaels asked, deducing the most likely cause of her discontent.
"Oh, I guess I'll be fine," Mirabelle responded, trying to appear enthusiastic. "I guess I can't expect much more out of life," she admitted.
"It is the human condition to feel that something is lacking in life, that one's circumstances are insufficient for fulfillment. That's why the spiritual life is so important," Reverend Michaels said, pausing to look at her and note her reaction. "People have to integrate religion into their lives. Unless a person's spiritual needs are met, she'll always feel as though something is missing," he advised her. He nodded his head to affirm his own statement as if to enhance the validity of his words and his conviction.
"So what you're saying is that I should pray," Mirabelle asked him sincerely, "and come to church more often?" Perhaps it was the answer she was searching for.
"I think that's the best thing you could do," he replied, happy to see she was coming to accept his advice. The reverend had, after all, the authority to help people.
"I guess you're right, Reverend," Mirabelle said submissively, having again added another person's belief to her growing collection of beliefs on what she should do. Of course, she wanted to do the "right" thing but because of her pesky feelings... "I just wish I wasn't divided on my feelings about the marriage," she said to the reverend, wondering how he would respond.
"Mirabelle, maybe you want something more out of life than being a housewife, but you have to accept the role of women in society," he said looking at her as if she were a wayward child. He took her hands in his in a paternalistic yet caring way and told her, "Just remember that love will carry you through all the trials of your life, my dear." Mirabelle nodded in reply. Reverend Michaels should know better what was good for her than herself, after all.
"Thank you, Reverend," she said smiling, convinced she had finally gotten the answers she needed.
"You're welcome, my child," Reverend Michaels said to her as she departed.
Mirabelle walked home from the church, certain her problems were finally solved. The reverend had given her the best possible advice for obliterating her personal, internal conflicts (or to be more accurate, feelings). She and Edward did love each other. Love would get her through all of her future trials and a person did have to accept one's given role in life, after all.
She was wrong to want more out of life than what was dealt her. "Why be rebellious? Why go against the current? Why want adventure when my future promises to be so comfortable and fashionable and acceptable?" she asked herself. It was just her being plain immature to want more, to believe her feelings about her life were important.
As Mirabelle came to her front door she released a sigh of relief, feeling as if a heavy load had finally been removed from her heart. Following other people's advice was so much easier than trusting herself.
The Fireweeper, chapter 3
Chapter Three
A new day dawned as Mirabelle walked to work. She had left her house just before sunrise while the stars were still visible in the purple sky. As she walked, she wondered what it would be like to travel to the stars. People had dreamed of this feat long ago and now scientists and engineers were trying to make the dream a reality. "Will they succeed or will space travel always be just a dream?" she pondered. As the skies brightened the stars began to disappear with the approaching dawn. Mirabelle reached the town's center as the first rays of light fell upon her heels.
She stopped walking and turned to greet the rising sun. It's dazzling round face had just peeked up from the top of the trees and houses to the east. Mirabelle watched the sun rise, lighting up the sky and earth with its fiery crimson and tangerine light. As it continued to rise the iridescent beams transformed themselves into magnificent golden rays and Mirabelle basked in the sunlight like a glowing divinity.
"I am looking at an angel," a voice said. Surprised, Mirabelle turned around. It was Edward. He smiled at her.
"Oh, Edward, I didn't see you coming," Mirabelle chirped to Edward like a happy bird. She put her hands on his shoulders and lifted her head to gaze ecstatically into his chestnut-brown eyes.
"I was just rounding the corner when I saw you," he said wrapping his arms around her waist, "Lovely morning. A great day for business."
"I told my parents last night about your proposal," Mirabelle said as they started walking down the street, hand-in-hand.
"What did they think?" Edward asked.
"They're all for it," Mirabelle answered.
"And how do you feel about it?" he asked her.
"I'm the happiest girl in the world," she replied.
It was true. Mirabelle was always happy when she was with Edward. She always felt safe, protected, and loved when she was with him. As usual, he was finely dressed. This morning he wore a respectable grey business suit with dark brown dress shoes. The couple ambled along until they reached Edward's factory and stood before it.
"How long before you get a new factory?" Mirabelle asked.
"I'm still looking at places," Edward replied as he preened his short brown hair while looking at his reflection in the factory's window, "it won't be for quite a while yet."
"Are you going to buy new equipment when you move?" she asked.
"No, I'll have to move everything to the new place," he replied, "Business is brisk, but if I want to expand I'll have to dogpaddle in red ink until the new factory is up and running smoothly." He looked at the timeworn wooden building before him then said, "I won't miss this old shack that's for sure."
"How are you going to be able to afford the new factory?" Mirabelle asked him.
"I've got to find a willing buyer for this place. It's old but it's on the main thoroughfare of town. If I don't get a good price for it, the new factory will never happen," he answered, then abruptly changed the subject, "But, enough of business. What about the wedding?"
"Of course I want to get married," Mirabelle answered equivocally, "it's just that I don't want to rush into things. I want this to come about at it's own pace. I don't want to be rushed." "Do you understand?" she said, hoping Edward wouldn't be offended.
"Of course," Edward replied. "Haste makes waste... but at least we know we both want it," he said, squeezing her hand tightly.
"Yes," she responded, squeezing his hand back.
"Well, I've got to start working," he said as he hastily kissed her, "I've got to move that mountain and make my dreams come true." Mirabelle and Edward smiled at each other for a moment, then Edward went into his factory and Mirabelle continued on her way to work.
Mirabelle walked to the store with a smile on her face. The disturbing feeling of something missing in her life had left her. It had disappeared when she was with Edward. It must have been premarriage nervousness after all. She opened the store and prepared for the day's business. Time trickled by lazily and Mirabelle was once again staring out the glass door, musing, when in walked the store's owner, Mr. Robert.
"Good afternoon, Mirabelle," he said to her.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Robert," she replied. Mr. Robert was middle-aged man, with salt-and-pepper hair, of medium height and rather portly. He took off his grey hat.
"Glorious Colorado morning, this morning, wouldn't you say?" he asked Mirabelle with an arched eyebrow.
"Yes, it was, Mr. Robert," Mirabelle responded, her eyes looking at him, quizzically.
"I couldn't help noticing a pair of lovebirds enjoying the morning sun when I was out for my walk," he said to her, letting her in on his secret.
"Oh," said Mirabelle as her face flushed.
"Congratulations," he said with a bow, "Mrs. Herbert told me the other day. Certainly the whole town knows by now."
"Well, you can't keep a secret in a small town," responded Mirabelle, "Especially
when it's not much of a secret."
"Edward Davis is a fine, fine young man. So much business acumen he has," Mr. Robert said staring up into space.
"Oh, yes he is," said Mirabelle. She dropped her head slightly and looked at the counter sheepishly. Mr. Robert, having returned from his thoughts, looked at her with concern.
"Is anything wrong, Mirabelle?" he asked.
"No," she replied. "It's just that I'm feeling a bit nervous about the whole thing," she said lifting her head up to look at him.
"Natural. Completely natural," he answered her. "Everybody gets nervous about marriage. Look at me... it scared me so much that I've never gotten married myself," he said jokingly making fun of himself. Mirabelle smiled.
"If you really want some good advice," he continued, "go see Reverend Michaels. He's young, but he's proceeded over many a wedding and I'm sure he has a lot of insight in the matter."
"Thanks, Mr. Robert," Mirabelle said as she thought it over, "I think I'll do just that."
"Fine. Fine," replied Mr. Robert, "Now about this week's supply list...."
A new day dawned as Mirabelle walked to work. She had left her house just before sunrise while the stars were still visible in the purple sky. As she walked, she wondered what it would be like to travel to the stars. People had dreamed of this feat long ago and now scientists and engineers were trying to make the dream a reality. "Will they succeed or will space travel always be just a dream?" she pondered. As the skies brightened the stars began to disappear with the approaching dawn. Mirabelle reached the town's center as the first rays of light fell upon her heels.
She stopped walking and turned to greet the rising sun. It's dazzling round face had just peeked up from the top of the trees and houses to the east. Mirabelle watched the sun rise, lighting up the sky and earth with its fiery crimson and tangerine light. As it continued to rise the iridescent beams transformed themselves into magnificent golden rays and Mirabelle basked in the sunlight like a glowing divinity.
"I am looking at an angel," a voice said. Surprised, Mirabelle turned around. It was Edward. He smiled at her.
"Oh, Edward, I didn't see you coming," Mirabelle chirped to Edward like a happy bird. She put her hands on his shoulders and lifted her head to gaze ecstatically into his chestnut-brown eyes.
"I was just rounding the corner when I saw you," he said wrapping his arms around her waist, "Lovely morning. A great day for business."
"I told my parents last night about your proposal," Mirabelle said as they started walking down the street, hand-in-hand.
"What did they think?" Edward asked.
"They're all for it," Mirabelle answered.
"And how do you feel about it?" he asked her.
"I'm the happiest girl in the world," she replied.
It was true. Mirabelle was always happy when she was with Edward. She always felt safe, protected, and loved when she was with him. As usual, he was finely dressed. This morning he wore a respectable grey business suit with dark brown dress shoes. The couple ambled along until they reached Edward's factory and stood before it.
"How long before you get a new factory?" Mirabelle asked.
"I'm still looking at places," Edward replied as he preened his short brown hair while looking at his reflection in the factory's window, "it won't be for quite a while yet."
"Are you going to buy new equipment when you move?" she asked.
"No, I'll have to move everything to the new place," he replied, "Business is brisk, but if I want to expand I'll have to dogpaddle in red ink until the new factory is up and running smoothly." He looked at the timeworn wooden building before him then said, "I won't miss this old shack that's for sure."
"How are you going to be able to afford the new factory?" Mirabelle asked him.
"I've got to find a willing buyer for this place. It's old but it's on the main thoroughfare of town. If I don't get a good price for it, the new factory will never happen," he answered, then abruptly changed the subject, "But, enough of business. What about the wedding?"
"Of course I want to get married," Mirabelle answered equivocally, "it's just that I don't want to rush into things. I want this to come about at it's own pace. I don't want to be rushed." "Do you understand?" she said, hoping Edward wouldn't be offended.
"Of course," Edward replied. "Haste makes waste... but at least we know we both want it," he said, squeezing her hand tightly.
"Yes," she responded, squeezing his hand back.
"Well, I've got to start working," he said as he hastily kissed her, "I've got to move that mountain and make my dreams come true." Mirabelle and Edward smiled at each other for a moment, then Edward went into his factory and Mirabelle continued on her way to work.
Mirabelle walked to the store with a smile on her face. The disturbing feeling of something missing in her life had left her. It had disappeared when she was with Edward. It must have been premarriage nervousness after all. She opened the store and prepared for the day's business. Time trickled by lazily and Mirabelle was once again staring out the glass door, musing, when in walked the store's owner, Mr. Robert.
"Good afternoon, Mirabelle," he said to her.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Robert," she replied. Mr. Robert was middle-aged man, with salt-and-pepper hair, of medium height and rather portly. He took off his grey hat.
"Glorious Colorado morning, this morning, wouldn't you say?" he asked Mirabelle with an arched eyebrow.
"Yes, it was, Mr. Robert," Mirabelle responded, her eyes looking at him, quizzically.
"I couldn't help noticing a pair of lovebirds enjoying the morning sun when I was out for my walk," he said to her, letting her in on his secret.
"Oh," said Mirabelle as her face flushed.
"Congratulations," he said with a bow, "Mrs. Herbert told me the other day. Certainly the whole town knows by now."
"Well, you can't keep a secret in a small town," responded Mirabelle, "Especially
when it's not much of a secret."
"Edward Davis is a fine, fine young man. So much business acumen he has," Mr. Robert said staring up into space.
"Oh, yes he is," said Mirabelle. She dropped her head slightly and looked at the counter sheepishly. Mr. Robert, having returned from his thoughts, looked at her with concern.
"Is anything wrong, Mirabelle?" he asked.
"No," she replied. "It's just that I'm feeling a bit nervous about the whole thing," she said lifting her head up to look at him.
"Natural. Completely natural," he answered her. "Everybody gets nervous about marriage. Look at me... it scared me so much that I've never gotten married myself," he said jokingly making fun of himself. Mirabelle smiled.
"If you really want some good advice," he continued, "go see Reverend Michaels. He's young, but he's proceeded over many a wedding and I'm sure he has a lot of insight in the matter."
"Thanks, Mr. Robert," Mirabelle said as she thought it over, "I think I'll do just that."
"Fine. Fine," replied Mr. Robert, "Now about this week's supply list...."
The Fireweeper, chapter 2
Chapter 2. The Fire Weeper, Family meeting, 3/2/1998
Chapter Two
Mirabelle closed the glass door and locked it. Her work day had ended, same as it always had, and she walked along the boulevard, heading towards her house. Along the way, she passed by Edward's factory--Five Star Uniforms--and stopped to look inside the windows.
Edward's factory was a small, wooden, two-storied building. On either side of it were two smaller wooden buildings. Two narrow alleys, each about three feet wide, separated them. On the left was The Golden Nugget Bar and Grill, and on the right was Tim's Hardware store. The buildings had been built when Ponderosa had first sprung up to meet the needs of the miners working the nearby hills to the west. Few old wooden buildings still stood in Ponderosa but these three had managed to survive.
The Golden Nugget Bar and Grill was a piece of local history. It had been in existence for decades. The owner's (Wallace Matthews) grandfather had built the place long ago and Wallace was never going to tear it down no matter how old it became.
Tim's Hardware was owned by old "Slim" Tim Johnson. A kindly, though rather direct, old man. He was deeply attached to his humble-looking, rickety store and loved to sit out front when business was slow, eager to converse with anyone who happened to be passing by.
Edward's factory stood between these two old shops. Edward had wanted a place that looked modern and update, but this poor excuse for a building was the best he could obtain when he had first started out. The place had previously been an old hotel and its age and many years of use showed. It's low price had been its best feature to Edward. With his business growing, he'd soon be able to move his operation into (much desired) larger and more modern quarters.
The windows Mirabelle looked into were dark and lifeless. The factory had already closed but Mirabelle knew Edward would be up in his second-floor office continuing to work. Mirabelle didn't want to disturb Edward so she turned away from the factory and continued on home.
Upon reaching her little bungalow Mirabelle warmed up some coffee and ate a leftover cinnamon bun. Though she had tried to force it out of her mind during the day, the nagging feeling of something lacking from her life continued to bother her. Maybe she was just having pre-marriage jitters, she realized. Getting married would probably be the biggest event in her life, after all. Finishing her coffee, she decided to call her mother and ask if she could come over to talk over dinner.
Mirabelle picked up her phone and dialed her parents' phone number. The call connected and her mother's familiar voice reverberated from the receiver.
"Hello?" said Nancy Laughlin.
"Mom?" replied Mirabelle.
"Mirabelle?" her mother questioned.
"Yeah, it's me Mom. Are you busy?" Mirabelle asked.
"Not at all. Are you okay?" asked her mother.
"Yeah, I'm fine, Mom. I was just wondering if I could come over to talk and have dinner with you and Dad," answered Mirabelle.
"Of course, Mirabelle. Come on over," Nancy replied.
Nancy was happy to hear from Mirabelle and insisted that she come over "lickety-split". James, Mirabelle's brother, had been helping their father and was already there. They could have a little family get-together. Eagerly, Mirabelle put on her coat and headed out the door.
Surrounded by the orangy-red fading glow of the evening skies, Mirabelle made her way to the family home. The little white house came into her view as she walked and it took on an otherworldly-like gleam in the twillight. Mirabelle felt as though she was walking in a dream as memories of her family experiences, both good and bad, flashed across her mind. The house for her was the embodiment of those experiences and its sight called up scenes of her past from the deep spring of her unconscious. That's what made a place a home: not its physical structure, but the memories that lingered in its atmosphere and in the mind.
Mirabelle walked up to the front door and rang the bell. After a few moments, the door opened.
"Mirabelle!" said her mother smiling and hugging her, "come on in."
"Hi, Mom," said Mirabelle returning the hug. She entered the house and took off her coat.
"Dinner, and your father and brother are already at the table," continued her mother, "They didn't want to wait for you so they've already started eating."
"Typical," said Mirabelle with a smirk.
Mirabelle and Nancy walked to the dinning room and entered it.
"Hey, sis," said James, his mouth half-full, holding up an impaled sausage on his fork to her.
"Miry," said her father, briefly looking up at her before returning to the peas on his plate.
"Hi, James. Dad," Mirabelle said as she sat herself at the table.
"So, didn't feel like cooking dinner tonight, Miry?" asked her brother, grinning.
"Sort of," she replied, pausing, then continued "and I wanted to talk to Mom and Dad."
"First, get some food into you Mirabelle. You're too skinny," said her mother.
"Oh, please," Mirabelle answered before turning her attention to the food.
Mirabelle glanced at her family while she ate. They were a very close family and often visited each other even after she and James had grown up. How far they had come, she reflected as she sat there.
Mirabelle was born in Iowa, as was James. Jacob (her father) and Nancy's families had been farmers, but changing circumstances forced Jacob and Nancy to give up the lifestyle. Jacob had inherited his family's small farm and it had long been his dream to expand it. As he had grown he had often envisioned the surrounding empty fields filled with stalks of corn. Ideas of growth and of a better standard of living swirled in his mind as he borrowed money from the bank to buy the vacant parcels of land surrounding the farm as well as seed and machinery. He wanted to get the fields into production immediately and to quickly repay his loans.
Jacob would have succeeded for he had managed to plant and harvest the extra fields, but the coming of the Depression scuttled his dreams. Crop prices dropped and he found his increased harvest next to worthless. Becoming increasingly burdened by his debt load and then unable to make his payments, Jacob sold off his assets. In the end, he didn't even have enough money to maintain the smaller, original farm. Not wanting to become a tenant farmer and distrustful of co-operatives, Jacob Laughlin sold his family's farm and decided to start a new life in California.
The Laughlins never made it to California. When they had reached Colorado, they decided that this was where they wanted to stay. The Golden State's allure no longer beckoned them, for the spectacular scenery of Colorado had enchanted them all. Having lived on the rolling plains of Iowa, the rugged mountains and forests of Colorado were awesome in their grandeur to the Laughlins. On a more practical level, they were tired of traveling and an expatriate Iowan friend of Jacob's, at whose house they had stopped at, offered Jacob a job in his small woodworking shop. Happy he'd never have to see another blasted corn cob again, Jacob accepted. The Laughlins all loved Colorado, even Nancy.
With dinner over, the Laughlins settled down to one of their classic family discussions.
"So what's on your mind, Miry?" asked her father before he proceeded to sip on his tiny glass of gin.
"Well, it's kind of personal. Does James have to be here?" replied Mirabelle, looking across the table at her brother.
"I won't tell, Miry, honest," James jested, slying smiling at her with his right hand raised by his head, open palm forward. His pose didn't instill confidence in Mirabelle. Rather than looking like a solemn witness, James appeared more like a cat trying to look innocent despite being aware of a mess of feathers sticking out of its mouth... but that was James--always playing. She knew very well her brother's joking was harmless.
"If you don't want to talk about it with James here we can wait," said Nancy, calmly, to Mirabelle. They were good children but the memories of years of sibling squabbling, happily forgotten, that Nancy had to put up with were unpleasantly percolating into her consciousness.
"That's okay. I ate my fill. Maybe I'll go bother Sheryl," said James, getting up. His tall, stocky figure headed out the dining room doorway.
"You be good to her James," said his father, "I can't imagine any other woman willing to put up with you." He was quite serious.
"Ha. Ha. Very funny," James shot back as he headed outside, "See y'all."
Nancy got up and closed the front door behind James. "So Mirabelle, what happened?" Nancy asked her daughter as she returned to the table.
"It's nothing really. It's just that I think I'm nervous about getting married," Mirabelle said as she looked down at the table, reflectively.
"Getting married! Who said anything about getting married?!" exclaimed her mother excitedly. Fortunately, Nancy had already taken a seat.
"I thought you'd have known by now. It's been a whole week since he proposed to me," Mirabelle responded, looking at her mom and then her dad.
"You never told us," said her father, continuing to sip his gin as he looked at Mirabelle.
"Well, Mrs. Herbert knew. She congratulated me this morning. I thought it would have made it along the grapevine to you by now," Mirabelle countered.
"Married! Married! Oh, that's wonderful Mirabelle!" cried her mother, who flew out of her seat and proceeded to jump up and down, clapping her hands, pleased as a little girl.
"Oh, Mom," said Mirabelle as her eyes followed Nancy up and down. Usually her mother was as mellow as could be but she did have her occasional emotional outbursts from time to time.
"Well, Edward is a good man, respectable, and has a lot of business sense," Jacob said to himself, thoughtfully.
"I know," Mirabelle said, "and I love him a lot. It's just that..."
"What Mirabelle?" asked her mother while turning to look at her.
"Is there something about him we don't know about?" questioned her father.
"It's not him it's me," Mirabelle replied, looking unhappy.
"Not this again," Jacob said. He put down his glass of gin and proceeded to refill it. He should have known.
"Mirabelle, you've got to stop questioning," said her mother, returning to her seat.
All her life Mirabelle had been questioning things. She was never content with settling for others' opinions on the truth--she had wanted to find it out for herself. This was probably the result of her abundant childhood curiosity developing into a keen analytical mind. She could never settle for pat answers given by others.
"Why do you always have to mess things up like this Mirabelle?" questioned her father. He continued, "If it's good enough for everyone else why can't it be good enough for you? Why do you always have to do your own thing?"
Mirabelle had always been rebellious. When she gave up her innocent, childhood ways to become an adult, no one expected she'd become a strong-willed woman rather than a meek little lamb. She had started dating without her parents' permission. She had never kept her curfew. She had moved out to live on her own, rather than stay at home until she married. She did as she pleased, content to follow the beat of her own drummer, rather than the accepted norm. She was a headache to her parents, but they still loved her. Mirabelle had tried to fit in and be like everyone else, but her independent impulses always got the better of her.
"I know I should be happy, it's just that I keep getting this feeling that something is missing from my life," Mirabelle replied and looked at her parents, hoping for some timely advice.
"How many times have we told you to stop being an irrational little child and to start using your head for a change?" her father asked her. The alcohol was starting to take its effect as he cast off his usual phlegmatic, reserved personality for a heart-to-heart talk with Mirabelle. "Look at the situation. It's obvious that marrying Edward is the best thing you could possibly do for yourself. So why don't you forget about this 'feeling' of yours?"
"Whatever," said Mirabelle disrespectfully, "I just thought that I could discuss my feelings about this with you two. Obviously, I was wrong."
"Mirabelle, you've got to stop following your feelings," said her concerned mother, "they don't make any sense and they'll get you into trouble."
Mirabelle sat sullenly at the table with her head turned to stare into the glass doors of the dining room's china cabinet. Her unreal reflection bothered her as she looked at it. "What is this feeling that something is missing from my life, anyway?" she wondered. The feeling seemed to her to be like the ghostly image of herself in the glass, mockingly haunting her. It didn't make any sense. Why did she feel as if something was lacking, when to all appearances she had it all. Mirabelle tightened her lips into a grimace. For once, she wasn't going to let her "feelings" ruin what promised to be a most wonderful and fulfilling future. She broke her gaze from the cabinet to look at her mother's expectant face beside hers.
"You're right, Mom," responded Mirabelle, "I'll just forget this 'something missing' feeling and just look forward to getting married."
"Finally," said her relieved father, "reason prevails at the Laughlin home." He smiled at Mirabelle as she got up to leave.
"Mirabelle, you're an adult now," said her mother, "and you've got to start thinking and acting like one."
"Yeah," she said to them as she got up to leave, "I guess it's time I grew up." "Thanks Mom," she said hugging her mother after she had put on her coat. "Thanks Dad," she said, hugging him, too.
Chapter Two
Mirabelle closed the glass door and locked it. Her work day had ended, same as it always had, and she walked along the boulevard, heading towards her house. Along the way, she passed by Edward's factory--Five Star Uniforms--and stopped to look inside the windows.
Edward's factory was a small, wooden, two-storied building. On either side of it were two smaller wooden buildings. Two narrow alleys, each about three feet wide, separated them. On the left was The Golden Nugget Bar and Grill, and on the right was Tim's Hardware store. The buildings had been built when Ponderosa had first sprung up to meet the needs of the miners working the nearby hills to the west. Few old wooden buildings still stood in Ponderosa but these three had managed to survive.
The Golden Nugget Bar and Grill was a piece of local history. It had been in existence for decades. The owner's (Wallace Matthews) grandfather had built the place long ago and Wallace was never going to tear it down no matter how old it became.
Tim's Hardware was owned by old "Slim" Tim Johnson. A kindly, though rather direct, old man. He was deeply attached to his humble-looking, rickety store and loved to sit out front when business was slow, eager to converse with anyone who happened to be passing by.
Edward's factory stood between these two old shops. Edward had wanted a place that looked modern and update, but this poor excuse for a building was the best he could obtain when he had first started out. The place had previously been an old hotel and its age and many years of use showed. It's low price had been its best feature to Edward. With his business growing, he'd soon be able to move his operation into (much desired) larger and more modern quarters.
The windows Mirabelle looked into were dark and lifeless. The factory had already closed but Mirabelle knew Edward would be up in his second-floor office continuing to work. Mirabelle didn't want to disturb Edward so she turned away from the factory and continued on home.
Upon reaching her little bungalow Mirabelle warmed up some coffee and ate a leftover cinnamon bun. Though she had tried to force it out of her mind during the day, the nagging feeling of something lacking from her life continued to bother her. Maybe she was just having pre-marriage jitters, she realized. Getting married would probably be the biggest event in her life, after all. Finishing her coffee, she decided to call her mother and ask if she could come over to talk over dinner.
Mirabelle picked up her phone and dialed her parents' phone number. The call connected and her mother's familiar voice reverberated from the receiver.
"Hello?" said Nancy Laughlin.
"Mom?" replied Mirabelle.
"Mirabelle?" her mother questioned.
"Yeah, it's me Mom. Are you busy?" Mirabelle asked.
"Not at all. Are you okay?" asked her mother.
"Yeah, I'm fine, Mom. I was just wondering if I could come over to talk and have dinner with you and Dad," answered Mirabelle.
"Of course, Mirabelle. Come on over," Nancy replied.
Nancy was happy to hear from Mirabelle and insisted that she come over "lickety-split". James, Mirabelle's brother, had been helping their father and was already there. They could have a little family get-together. Eagerly, Mirabelle put on her coat and headed out the door.
Surrounded by the orangy-red fading glow of the evening skies, Mirabelle made her way to the family home. The little white house came into her view as she walked and it took on an otherworldly-like gleam in the twillight. Mirabelle felt as though she was walking in a dream as memories of her family experiences, both good and bad, flashed across her mind. The house for her was the embodiment of those experiences and its sight called up scenes of her past from the deep spring of her unconscious. That's what made a place a home: not its physical structure, but the memories that lingered in its atmosphere and in the mind.
Mirabelle walked up to the front door and rang the bell. After a few moments, the door opened.
"Mirabelle!" said her mother smiling and hugging her, "come on in."
"Hi, Mom," said Mirabelle returning the hug. She entered the house and took off her coat.
"Dinner, and your father and brother are already at the table," continued her mother, "They didn't want to wait for you so they've already started eating."
"Typical," said Mirabelle with a smirk.
Mirabelle and Nancy walked to the dinning room and entered it.
"Hey, sis," said James, his mouth half-full, holding up an impaled sausage on his fork to her.
"Miry," said her father, briefly looking up at her before returning to the peas on his plate.
"Hi, James. Dad," Mirabelle said as she sat herself at the table.
"So, didn't feel like cooking dinner tonight, Miry?" asked her brother, grinning.
"Sort of," she replied, pausing, then continued "and I wanted to talk to Mom and Dad."
"First, get some food into you Mirabelle. You're too skinny," said her mother.
"Oh, please," Mirabelle answered before turning her attention to the food.
Mirabelle glanced at her family while she ate. They were a very close family and often visited each other even after she and James had grown up. How far they had come, she reflected as she sat there.
Mirabelle was born in Iowa, as was James. Jacob (her father) and Nancy's families had been farmers, but changing circumstances forced Jacob and Nancy to give up the lifestyle. Jacob had inherited his family's small farm and it had long been his dream to expand it. As he had grown he had often envisioned the surrounding empty fields filled with stalks of corn. Ideas of growth and of a better standard of living swirled in his mind as he borrowed money from the bank to buy the vacant parcels of land surrounding the farm as well as seed and machinery. He wanted to get the fields into production immediately and to quickly repay his loans.
Jacob would have succeeded for he had managed to plant and harvest the extra fields, but the coming of the Depression scuttled his dreams. Crop prices dropped and he found his increased harvest next to worthless. Becoming increasingly burdened by his debt load and then unable to make his payments, Jacob sold off his assets. In the end, he didn't even have enough money to maintain the smaller, original farm. Not wanting to become a tenant farmer and distrustful of co-operatives, Jacob Laughlin sold his family's farm and decided to start a new life in California.
The Laughlins never made it to California. When they had reached Colorado, they decided that this was where they wanted to stay. The Golden State's allure no longer beckoned them, for the spectacular scenery of Colorado had enchanted them all. Having lived on the rolling plains of Iowa, the rugged mountains and forests of Colorado were awesome in their grandeur to the Laughlins. On a more practical level, they were tired of traveling and an expatriate Iowan friend of Jacob's, at whose house they had stopped at, offered Jacob a job in his small woodworking shop. Happy he'd never have to see another blasted corn cob again, Jacob accepted. The Laughlins all loved Colorado, even Nancy.
With dinner over, the Laughlins settled down to one of their classic family discussions.
"So what's on your mind, Miry?" asked her father before he proceeded to sip on his tiny glass of gin.
"Well, it's kind of personal. Does James have to be here?" replied Mirabelle, looking across the table at her brother.
"I won't tell, Miry, honest," James jested, slying smiling at her with his right hand raised by his head, open palm forward. His pose didn't instill confidence in Mirabelle. Rather than looking like a solemn witness, James appeared more like a cat trying to look innocent despite being aware of a mess of feathers sticking out of its mouth... but that was James--always playing. She knew very well her brother's joking was harmless.
"If you don't want to talk about it with James here we can wait," said Nancy, calmly, to Mirabelle. They were good children but the memories of years of sibling squabbling, happily forgotten, that Nancy had to put up with were unpleasantly percolating into her consciousness.
"That's okay. I ate my fill. Maybe I'll go bother Sheryl," said James, getting up. His tall, stocky figure headed out the dining room doorway.
"You be good to her James," said his father, "I can't imagine any other woman willing to put up with you." He was quite serious.
"Ha. Ha. Very funny," James shot back as he headed outside, "See y'all."
Nancy got up and closed the front door behind James. "So Mirabelle, what happened?" Nancy asked her daughter as she returned to the table.
"It's nothing really. It's just that I think I'm nervous about getting married," Mirabelle said as she looked down at the table, reflectively.
"Getting married! Who said anything about getting married?!" exclaimed her mother excitedly. Fortunately, Nancy had already taken a seat.
"I thought you'd have known by now. It's been a whole week since he proposed to me," Mirabelle responded, looking at her mom and then her dad.
"You never told us," said her father, continuing to sip his gin as he looked at Mirabelle.
"Well, Mrs. Herbert knew. She congratulated me this morning. I thought it would have made it along the grapevine to you by now," Mirabelle countered.
"Married! Married! Oh, that's wonderful Mirabelle!" cried her mother, who flew out of her seat and proceeded to jump up and down, clapping her hands, pleased as a little girl.
"Oh, Mom," said Mirabelle as her eyes followed Nancy up and down. Usually her mother was as mellow as could be but she did have her occasional emotional outbursts from time to time.
"Well, Edward is a good man, respectable, and has a lot of business sense," Jacob said to himself, thoughtfully.
"I know," Mirabelle said, "and I love him a lot. It's just that..."
"What Mirabelle?" asked her mother while turning to look at her.
"Is there something about him we don't know about?" questioned her father.
"It's not him it's me," Mirabelle replied, looking unhappy.
"Not this again," Jacob said. He put down his glass of gin and proceeded to refill it. He should have known.
"Mirabelle, you've got to stop questioning," said her mother, returning to her seat.
All her life Mirabelle had been questioning things. She was never content with settling for others' opinions on the truth--she had wanted to find it out for herself. This was probably the result of her abundant childhood curiosity developing into a keen analytical mind. She could never settle for pat answers given by others.
"Why do you always have to mess things up like this Mirabelle?" questioned her father. He continued, "If it's good enough for everyone else why can't it be good enough for you? Why do you always have to do your own thing?"
Mirabelle had always been rebellious. When she gave up her innocent, childhood ways to become an adult, no one expected she'd become a strong-willed woman rather than a meek little lamb. She had started dating without her parents' permission. She had never kept her curfew. She had moved out to live on her own, rather than stay at home until she married. She did as she pleased, content to follow the beat of her own drummer, rather than the accepted norm. She was a headache to her parents, but they still loved her. Mirabelle had tried to fit in and be like everyone else, but her independent impulses always got the better of her.
"I know I should be happy, it's just that I keep getting this feeling that something is missing from my life," Mirabelle replied and looked at her parents, hoping for some timely advice.
"How many times have we told you to stop being an irrational little child and to start using your head for a change?" her father asked her. The alcohol was starting to take its effect as he cast off his usual phlegmatic, reserved personality for a heart-to-heart talk with Mirabelle. "Look at the situation. It's obvious that marrying Edward is the best thing you could possibly do for yourself. So why don't you forget about this 'feeling' of yours?"
"Whatever," said Mirabelle disrespectfully, "I just thought that I could discuss my feelings about this with you two. Obviously, I was wrong."
"Mirabelle, you've got to stop following your feelings," said her concerned mother, "they don't make any sense and they'll get you into trouble."
Mirabelle sat sullenly at the table with her head turned to stare into the glass doors of the dining room's china cabinet. Her unreal reflection bothered her as she looked at it. "What is this feeling that something is missing from my life, anyway?" she wondered. The feeling seemed to her to be like the ghostly image of herself in the glass, mockingly haunting her. It didn't make any sense. Why did she feel as if something was lacking, when to all appearances she had it all. Mirabelle tightened her lips into a grimace. For once, she wasn't going to let her "feelings" ruin what promised to be a most wonderful and fulfilling future. She broke her gaze from the cabinet to look at her mother's expectant face beside hers.
"You're right, Mom," responded Mirabelle, "I'll just forget this 'something missing' feeling and just look forward to getting married."
"Finally," said her relieved father, "reason prevails at the Laughlin home." He smiled at Mirabelle as she got up to leave.
"Mirabelle, you're an adult now," said her mother, "and you've got to start thinking and acting like one."
"Yeah," she said to them as she got up to leave, "I guess it's time I grew up." "Thanks Mom," she said hugging her mother after she had put on her coat. "Thanks Dad," she said, hugging him, too.
The Fireweeper, chapter 1
Chapter 1. The Fire Weeper, Intro, 3/2/1998
Chapter One
Mirabelle rested her elbows and forearms on the cashier counter and stared out of the store's glass door. She watched the people walking along the town's main thoroughfare and became lost in contemplation. Looking at each person in turn, she wondered about their lives. What was this man's destiny? What was this woman going to do within her lifetime? She tried to imagine each person at varying ages in their life. What experiences were in store for them?
A figure appeared just outside of the door. Mirabelle, with her view now blocked, was yanked her back from her musing to the present. The glass door opened and it's hanging chimes tinkled their welcoming. In walked Mrs. Herbert, Mirabelle's landlady.
"Good morning, Mrs. Herbert," said Mirabelle.
"Good morning, Mirabelle," Mrs. Herbert replied.
"Out shopping?" queried Mirabelle.
"Oh yes, just doing my grocery shopping," responded Mrs. Herbert.
Mrs. Herbert was a short, plump, eldery woman. She had been Mirabelle's landlady ever since Mirabelle had left the family home when she was twenty-two, four years ago. Mrs. Herbert tottered around the store placing various items in her basket then made her way to stand before Mirabelle at the counter. Mirabelle tallied up the items on the cashier register, after which Mrs. Herbert paid her.
"So, Mirabelle, I hear you and Edward are soon to be engaged," Mrs. Herbert said with a wide grin. Her pearly white teeth offset her curly steel-grey hair.
"That's true Mrs. Herbert. He proposed to me last week," replied Mirabelle. "God," she thought, "If Mrs. Herbert knows, surely the whole town knows by now." That's what Mirabelle always hated about small-town life. It was nice knowing everybody but she could never stand the nearly complete lack of privacy. "Life under a microscope," she noted to herself. In a small town, gossiping was a way of life.
"Such a lucky girl you are Mirabelle. Edward is so fine a man," said Mrs. Herbert clasping Mirabelle's hands in hers.
"Yes, he is Mrs. Herbert," said Mirabelle, smiling. Her thoughts turned to Edward. She imagined his handsome face, deep voice, and charming manner.
"And he is so ambitious. That is a man who is going to make a name for himself in the world!" declared Mrs. Herbert, holding her basket with one hand, her other hand by her head, index finger upraised. Mrs. Herbert's green eyes looked directly at Mirabelle before she turned to leave.
"Yes. I'm sure he will Mrs. Herbert," said Mirabelle as she waved goodbye to Mrs. Herbert who waved back before walking out the door.
Mirabelle was lucky and she knew it. Edward was the perfect man for her.
She had met him three years ago at a church social. She had seen him in the choir before and had been instantly attracted to him. During the potluck, Mirabelle wandered up to him, introduced herself, and then tried not to appear nervous as she proceeded with some innocuous small talk. She was positively quivering in his presence. Not only was he so utterly handsome, he was also completely charming to her. As they conversed, she swallowed her lemonade, nervously. Mirabelle, like any other girl in her right mind, was irresistably attracted to Edward. She longingly searched his face and demeanor to see if he was attracted to her as well, and not just being polite and charming. To her delight, he seemed genuinely interested in her. It was a dream come true when, after lavishly spending the whole evening with her, he asked Mirabelle out on a date. She did her best to appear as unflustered as possible and she accepted his invitation. After they had bidded each other goodnight, Mirabelle floated home on a cloud.
Mirabelle stood behind the counter in an estactic reverie as she recalled that first meeting and she positively gleamed as she recalled how the times they shared together were like heaven. Soon she would be Mrs. Mirabelle Davis. Everything seemed perfect in her life--almost.
It seemed she had everything--good health, a nice job, the perfect man--but deep inside Mirabelle felt something was missing. She tried to ignore her feelings, but the feeling of there being something lacking in her life was so overpowering that all of her rationalizations couldn't subdue it. She had been admonished long ago by her parents to not trust her feelings--to be rational, to be logical--and although she did her best to do these things, she could never stop believing that on a deeper level her feelings were correct. The morass of conflicting feelings, desires, and rationalizations disturbed her constantly. She sighed, "I have everything I could possibly want, so why should I feel this way?"
Displeased because she could not find an answer, Mirabelle redirected her attention to happier thoughts and started imagining what it would be like to be Mrs. Mirabelle Davis: Edward's wife... Edward.
He had started his own business when he was twenty-three. Now he was twenty-seven and his business was thriving. Mirabelle admired Edward's determination and enthusiasm. To call him extremely ambitious would be an understatement. He had set up his tiny clothing manufacturing company when he had the insight that all the military installations setting up in Colorado would need supplies. Military clothing was the niche he decided on filling and even though his company was small, it had all the orders it could handle. Now that his business was growing by leaps and bounds, Edward was starting to direct his energies to climbing the social ladder.
Edward's dreams were coming true: becoming a successful business man, marrying a beautiful woman, and becoming an accepted member of Ponderosa's elite strata. He would buy them a big house and Mirabelle would be the perfect wife for him--raising children, maintaining the household, and entertaining at parties.
"To be the perfect wife, isn't that what I should strive for?" Mirabelle questioned out loud. The empty store gave her no reply. "That is the highest place a woman could achieve in society, isn't it?" she asked herself. Still, there was something about that life that seemed so banal, so mundane to her. "Isn't there something more to life?" she wondered. Noticing her train of thought, she frowned. That distasteful feeling of something missing in her life was overwhelming her again. "Just forget about it," she told herself. "Everything's perfect. Don't rock the boat. Don't be an immature, emotional little girl," she repeated as she was supposed to, "Everything is perfect and that's that."
Chapter One
Mirabelle rested her elbows and forearms on the cashier counter and stared out of the store's glass door. She watched the people walking along the town's main thoroughfare and became lost in contemplation. Looking at each person in turn, she wondered about their lives. What was this man's destiny? What was this woman going to do within her lifetime? She tried to imagine each person at varying ages in their life. What experiences were in store for them?
A figure appeared just outside of the door. Mirabelle, with her view now blocked, was yanked her back from her musing to the present. The glass door opened and it's hanging chimes tinkled their welcoming. In walked Mrs. Herbert, Mirabelle's landlady.
"Good morning, Mrs. Herbert," said Mirabelle.
"Good morning, Mirabelle," Mrs. Herbert replied.
"Out shopping?" queried Mirabelle.
"Oh yes, just doing my grocery shopping," responded Mrs. Herbert.
Mrs. Herbert was a short, plump, eldery woman. She had been Mirabelle's landlady ever since Mirabelle had left the family home when she was twenty-two, four years ago. Mrs. Herbert tottered around the store placing various items in her basket then made her way to stand before Mirabelle at the counter. Mirabelle tallied up the items on the cashier register, after which Mrs. Herbert paid her.
"So, Mirabelle, I hear you and Edward are soon to be engaged," Mrs. Herbert said with a wide grin. Her pearly white teeth offset her curly steel-grey hair.
"That's true Mrs. Herbert. He proposed to me last week," replied Mirabelle. "God," she thought, "If Mrs. Herbert knows, surely the whole town knows by now." That's what Mirabelle always hated about small-town life. It was nice knowing everybody but she could never stand the nearly complete lack of privacy. "Life under a microscope," she noted to herself. In a small town, gossiping was a way of life.
"Such a lucky girl you are Mirabelle. Edward is so fine a man," said Mrs. Herbert clasping Mirabelle's hands in hers.
"Yes, he is Mrs. Herbert," said Mirabelle, smiling. Her thoughts turned to Edward. She imagined his handsome face, deep voice, and charming manner.
"And he is so ambitious. That is a man who is going to make a name for himself in the world!" declared Mrs. Herbert, holding her basket with one hand, her other hand by her head, index finger upraised. Mrs. Herbert's green eyes looked directly at Mirabelle before she turned to leave.
"Yes. I'm sure he will Mrs. Herbert," said Mirabelle as she waved goodbye to Mrs. Herbert who waved back before walking out the door.
Mirabelle was lucky and she knew it. Edward was the perfect man for her.
She had met him three years ago at a church social. She had seen him in the choir before and had been instantly attracted to him. During the potluck, Mirabelle wandered up to him, introduced herself, and then tried not to appear nervous as she proceeded with some innocuous small talk. She was positively quivering in his presence. Not only was he so utterly handsome, he was also completely charming to her. As they conversed, she swallowed her lemonade, nervously. Mirabelle, like any other girl in her right mind, was irresistably attracted to Edward. She longingly searched his face and demeanor to see if he was attracted to her as well, and not just being polite and charming. To her delight, he seemed genuinely interested in her. It was a dream come true when, after lavishly spending the whole evening with her, he asked Mirabelle out on a date. She did her best to appear as unflustered as possible and she accepted his invitation. After they had bidded each other goodnight, Mirabelle floated home on a cloud.
Mirabelle stood behind the counter in an estactic reverie as she recalled that first meeting and she positively gleamed as she recalled how the times they shared together were like heaven. Soon she would be Mrs. Mirabelle Davis. Everything seemed perfect in her life--almost.
It seemed she had everything--good health, a nice job, the perfect man--but deep inside Mirabelle felt something was missing. She tried to ignore her feelings, but the feeling of there being something lacking in her life was so overpowering that all of her rationalizations couldn't subdue it. She had been admonished long ago by her parents to not trust her feelings--to be rational, to be logical--and although she did her best to do these things, she could never stop believing that on a deeper level her feelings were correct. The morass of conflicting feelings, desires, and rationalizations disturbed her constantly. She sighed, "I have everything I could possibly want, so why should I feel this way?"
Displeased because she could not find an answer, Mirabelle redirected her attention to happier thoughts and started imagining what it would be like to be Mrs. Mirabelle Davis: Edward's wife... Edward.
He had started his own business when he was twenty-three. Now he was twenty-seven and his business was thriving. Mirabelle admired Edward's determination and enthusiasm. To call him extremely ambitious would be an understatement. He had set up his tiny clothing manufacturing company when he had the insight that all the military installations setting up in Colorado would need supplies. Military clothing was the niche he decided on filling and even though his company was small, it had all the orders it could handle. Now that his business was growing by leaps and bounds, Edward was starting to direct his energies to climbing the social ladder.
Edward's dreams were coming true: becoming a successful business man, marrying a beautiful woman, and becoming an accepted member of Ponderosa's elite strata. He would buy them a big house and Mirabelle would be the perfect wife for him--raising children, maintaining the household, and entertaining at parties.
"To be the perfect wife, isn't that what I should strive for?" Mirabelle questioned out loud. The empty store gave her no reply. "That is the highest place a woman could achieve in society, isn't it?" she asked herself. Still, there was something about that life that seemed so banal, so mundane to her. "Isn't there something more to life?" she wondered. Noticing her train of thought, she frowned. That distasteful feeling of something missing in her life was overwhelming her again. "Just forget about it," she told herself. "Everything's perfect. Don't rock the boat. Don't be an immature, emotional little girl," she repeated as she was supposed to, "Everything is perfect and that's that."
The Fireweeper, Title & Prologue
THE FIREWEEPER
by
K.A.
This novel is copyrighted, Feb 11, 2010 and may not be reproduced for profit.
Prologue
Something was wrong. Nancy smelled smoke. She hurried out from the barn to find its source. "Oh no..." she gasped. The field was on fire and the wind was quickly blowing it towards the house.
"Mirabelle! Mirabelle, where are you?" Nancy shouted, running from the barn.
She ran inside the house, frantically searching its rooms for her daughter.
"Mirabelle!" she called out in vain and then looked out of a window towards the field. The fire was advancing with ferocious speed. "Where is she? Where did I last see her?" Nancy thought desperately. As she searched her memory, hopelessly, Mirabelle materialized into view. She was outside and walking towards the fire. Nancy opened the window and shouted, her voice strained with fear for her daughter.
"Mirabelle!" she cried.
The young girl paid her no attention. With her long, blonde hair billowing in the wind, she sat herself down midway between the fire and the house. Looking out at the dancing red and orange flames, she felt no fear for she had only known fire as a friend.
Nancy turned from the window and ran out of the house. The fire would soon be upon Mirabelle and she would undoubtedly be burned. Mirabelle wouldn't move. Even though she was already nine years old, she still had no sense of danger. She was fearless to the point of recklessness and was so naive. Nancy often thought her daughter spent more time fantasizing than in learning to deal with reality. Her little girl was fascinated with nature and Nancy knew that Mirabelle would be too spellbound by the fire to move before she suffered a nasty burn or worse.
"Mirabelle!" she screamed.
Mirabelle could hear the cries of her mother but to her they seemed hardly to exist. They were like the whispers of some dream that echoed through the mind upon first awakening. Calls from another world that, no matter how hard you tried to grasp hold of, slipped away inexorably. All that existed for Mirabelle were the crackling, leaping, wispy flames of the fire: Fire she had always loved, fire that was always alive with magic.
Mirabelle knew the fire wouldn't hurt her, for she had always had a kinship with natural things: especially fire. When she was younger she'd often spend hours talking to the candle flames that lit up her room in winter. She'd imagine they were little angels eager to play. Mirabelle would ask her tiny glowing friends, occasionally, to dance for her bemused family. "Move left. Move right," she'd say to the flames and to the astonishment of onlookers they'd do just that. Her mother and father thought it was an odd coincidence and her brother thought that Mirabelle was just plain weird, but Mirabelle knew that fire was her friend and would never hurt her.
"Mirabelle!" screamed Nancy in hopes of rousing her daughter. She was too far away to do anything else. Unfortunately, her actions were of no avail.
The fire was almost upon Mirabelle. Her mother continued to run towards her, horrified as she watched the little girl's figure shimmer like an illusion in the heat.
Mirabelle knew she had to save the house. What would her family do if it were to burn down? With the fire steadily encroaching upon her, she closed her eyes and searched inside herself for the deep peace she felt when she was alone with nature. As she grew calmer and quieter, she felt the distinction, the distinctiveness between her and the fire before her disappearing. Mirabelle felt it's burning, it's intensity, it's destructiveness. She pleaded with it to stop, to save her house. Her eyes welled with tears and they ran down her face--rivulets of water emerging from her sapphire blue eyes. The raging fire felt Mirabelle's pleas and compassionately began to die down. It could not be angry with one so innocent and sincere. It wouldn't hurt someone who loved it.
Nancy stopped in mid-stride. She couldn't believe what she had seen. The fire was only a yard away from Mirabelle when it suddenly and mysteriously died. The breeze that fanned it continued to blow towards the house so it could not have turned back upon itself... so what happened?
Nancy walked up to her daughter and seeing the tears streaming from her eyes, clasped her in her arms.
"Oh, Mirabelle, darling are you hurt? Are you burned? You frightened me so much," Nancy said as tears began to fall from her eyes.
"I'm okay Mommy. I'm not hurt. I had to save the house. I knew the fire wouldn't hurt me," Mirabelle said holding her mother with her small arms.
"Mirabelle. Don't ever do a crazy thing like this again. You could have been badly burned. You could have even died. Promise me you'll never do anything that could hurt you ever again. Promise me Mirabelle. Promise," Nancy said to her daughter.
"I promise Mommy. I won't scare you again," Mirabelle said and solemnly swore to herself she'd never do anything crazy ever again.
by
K.A.
This novel is copyrighted, Feb 11, 2010 and may not be reproduced for profit.
Prologue
Something was wrong. Nancy smelled smoke. She hurried out from the barn to find its source. "Oh no..." she gasped. The field was on fire and the wind was quickly blowing it towards the house.
"Mirabelle! Mirabelle, where are you?" Nancy shouted, running from the barn.
She ran inside the house, frantically searching its rooms for her daughter.
"Mirabelle!" she called out in vain and then looked out of a window towards the field. The fire was advancing with ferocious speed. "Where is she? Where did I last see her?" Nancy thought desperately. As she searched her memory, hopelessly, Mirabelle materialized into view. She was outside and walking towards the fire. Nancy opened the window and shouted, her voice strained with fear for her daughter.
"Mirabelle!" she cried.
The young girl paid her no attention. With her long, blonde hair billowing in the wind, she sat herself down midway between the fire and the house. Looking out at the dancing red and orange flames, she felt no fear for she had only known fire as a friend.
Nancy turned from the window and ran out of the house. The fire would soon be upon Mirabelle and she would undoubtedly be burned. Mirabelle wouldn't move. Even though she was already nine years old, she still had no sense of danger. She was fearless to the point of recklessness and was so naive. Nancy often thought her daughter spent more time fantasizing than in learning to deal with reality. Her little girl was fascinated with nature and Nancy knew that Mirabelle would be too spellbound by the fire to move before she suffered a nasty burn or worse.
"Mirabelle!" she screamed.
Mirabelle could hear the cries of her mother but to her they seemed hardly to exist. They were like the whispers of some dream that echoed through the mind upon first awakening. Calls from another world that, no matter how hard you tried to grasp hold of, slipped away inexorably. All that existed for Mirabelle were the crackling, leaping, wispy flames of the fire: Fire she had always loved, fire that was always alive with magic.
Mirabelle knew the fire wouldn't hurt her, for she had always had a kinship with natural things: especially fire. When she was younger she'd often spend hours talking to the candle flames that lit up her room in winter. She'd imagine they were little angels eager to play. Mirabelle would ask her tiny glowing friends, occasionally, to dance for her bemused family. "Move left. Move right," she'd say to the flames and to the astonishment of onlookers they'd do just that. Her mother and father thought it was an odd coincidence and her brother thought that Mirabelle was just plain weird, but Mirabelle knew that fire was her friend and would never hurt her.
"Mirabelle!" screamed Nancy in hopes of rousing her daughter. She was too far away to do anything else. Unfortunately, her actions were of no avail.
The fire was almost upon Mirabelle. Her mother continued to run towards her, horrified as she watched the little girl's figure shimmer like an illusion in the heat.
Mirabelle knew she had to save the house. What would her family do if it were to burn down? With the fire steadily encroaching upon her, she closed her eyes and searched inside herself for the deep peace she felt when she was alone with nature. As she grew calmer and quieter, she felt the distinction, the distinctiveness between her and the fire before her disappearing. Mirabelle felt it's burning, it's intensity, it's destructiveness. She pleaded with it to stop, to save her house. Her eyes welled with tears and they ran down her face--rivulets of water emerging from her sapphire blue eyes. The raging fire felt Mirabelle's pleas and compassionately began to die down. It could not be angry with one so innocent and sincere. It wouldn't hurt someone who loved it.
Nancy stopped in mid-stride. She couldn't believe what she had seen. The fire was only a yard away from Mirabelle when it suddenly and mysteriously died. The breeze that fanned it continued to blow towards the house so it could not have turned back upon itself... so what happened?
Nancy walked up to her daughter and seeing the tears streaming from her eyes, clasped her in her arms.
"Oh, Mirabelle, darling are you hurt? Are you burned? You frightened me so much," Nancy said as tears began to fall from her eyes.
"I'm okay Mommy. I'm not hurt. I had to save the house. I knew the fire wouldn't hurt me," Mirabelle said holding her mother with her small arms.
"Mirabelle. Don't ever do a crazy thing like this again. You could have been badly burned. You could have even died. Promise me you'll never do anything that could hurt you ever again. Promise me Mirabelle. Promise," Nancy said to her daughter.
"I promise Mommy. I won't scare you again," Mirabelle said and solemnly swore to herself she'd never do anything crazy ever again.
Help from me.
I wrote this novel around 1998. I spent my young adulthood
searching for the meaning of life. This is what I came up
with. I know there's going to be other young people trying
to find their way in life. Maybe this will help them.
The Fireweeper by K.A.
searching for the meaning of life. This is what I came up
with. I know there's going to be other young people trying
to find their way in life. Maybe this will help them.
The Fireweeper by K.A.
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