Thunder

I remember walking near the river on a summer day. Listening to the birds, sometimes watching them fly across the meadow or from one tree to another. Looking at all the flowers which the bees and butterflies visited.

Looking was enough because mam was gone, so I had no one to bring them to who would care to have a bunch of weeds brought in from the fields. I had been told as much by the one woman who sometimes smiled at me since I came here after mam was gone. She wanted no more weeds from me.

Besides, though they looked beautiful in the air, I knew flowers would not last long in the big house, and as soon as they wilted the least bit, they would be out on the compost pile, where I had recently seen white roses lying in a sad tangle that must have been taken from the rose garden where I was not let to go. Kitchen was the only place I was fit to work, given my many flaws.

That was the way in the big house, though mam always kept flowers until they had no more sparkle, sometimes even until they quite dried because she saw beauty sometimes where no one else could, even in the shape of a storm blasted tree or a heap of dry washing she was sorting.

I remember walking near the river on a summer day with the birds and the flowers. I had not been sent out on an errand, and this made my heart light because I could listen and look and not worry about forgetting to do something or take something somewhere or call to mind a message once I found someone waiting for it.

On a Sunday morning, everyone left the big house. The cook abandoned the kitchen. The stable lad forsook the horses. The gardener turned his back on the garden. While all of them went to visit God, no matter the weather, I walked by the river.

I was not allowed to visit God because I could not be still long enough. Nobody liked it when I got up and went to have a closer look at the flickering candle flames or stare up into the face of Mary, Mother of God, who reminded me so very much of mam or, rather, of the feeling I had with mam, as though everything was going to be all right no matter what.

So, I only visited God in winter on the day that Mary gave birth to her glorious son who somehow saved the world and in spring when by some miracle he came back to her despite being dead.

Being in God’s house was difficult. I was wedged between others so my restlessness had nowhere to go, but I kept my eyes on Mary, Mother of God, and prayed without saying the words but only moving my lips. I did feel better, mostly, though she could not jump down from her niche above the candles and hold me close and whisper soothing words into my ear like mam would have done.

I remember walking near the river on a summer day with the birds and the flowers. And, as sudden as thunder, up from the river where it runs most shallow, there came a black cloud. At first, I stared and then I ran because the sound and the darkness held my throat and made my heart race. I looked over my shoulder as I ran to see how near it was, and so I misjudged my steps and stumbled hard, twisting my foot as I fell to earth.

I hid my face, but the approaching thunder gentled then stopped.

I heard a man's voice, calm and steady, asking, "Are you well?"

I uncovered my face, but stayed still. His voice reminded me of falling water or the feel of an autumn wind. When I made sense from his words, I moved my hurt foot a little and then said, "I can walk, never fear."

"That is not what I asked," he said. I slowly looked toward his voice. He stood there, all in blue, next to the black cloud which actually was a horse. A much finer horse than I had ever seen. Not a cart horse at all or those sturdy ones from the stable what pull the carriage with people from the big house inside. Some of the blue on the man gleamed like the river, and some of it glistened like dew on blue flowers in the dawn.

I bit the knuckle of my hand, not knowing what to say. Then, the words filling my head fell out of my mouth, although I had not meant them to do. "Are you an angel?"

His blue eyes lost some of their sparkle and his voice chilled. "I am scarcely that. Have you never seen a man riding a horse before?"

To keep the tears from spilling out, I said, "I have sat on a cart horse once." I would not tell him I had fallen off after only a little distance.

With one eyebrow raised, his tone turned cutting. "So, you would like to ride my Whirlwind today?"

I looked at the big black horse and shook my head, then closed my eyes that were brimming with tears I did not want. I had no more words for him. I only wanted the flowers and the birds and the summer day to surround me as they had.

His next words came quietly, almost like the song that mam used to sooth me with that I could barely remember now except for the music of it.

The man said, “I have lived too long in London. You meant no harm, yet I assumed you meant to sting me with your words, so I turned my own tongue to waspishness. Forgive my stupidity and my horse, too, for alarming you."

I blinked through my tears at him, trying to see if he meant what he said. His face had lost the harshness, so I felt he spoke true. I wiped at my tears and pulled up a crooked smile that, to my surprise, made him smile, too. He did look like an angel when he smiled, but I vowed to keep that to myself. Sometimes I could do that with my thoughts, but not always.

"Here, you have muddied yourself now." He rubbed at the side of my face with a blue-gloved finger. I startled from the touch, and he said, "You shy like a wild creature. Who are you?"

"Scully," I said, gazing down, because it was the only thing I had been called in a long while.

"Not what you do—what is your name?"

I looked into his blue eyes as if I could find my name somewhere in that heaven held there. Almost, I lost myself, but finally said, "Fiona." And I looked away because I did not want to see him laugh at me the way they did at the big house when I used to tell them I was not Scully after mam went away. I knew she would return one day, yet my hope for that dwindled with each sunset.

"Fiona," he said, as if he could taste the word my mam had put on me when I was born. "That is almost, but not quite, as lovely a name as a delicate creature like you deserves." His blue gloved hand rested lightly under my chin and raised it until our eyes met.

I had never looked so long into anyone’s gaze before except with mam. I knew full well to gaze down if anyone from the big house spoke to me, but he was not one of them so I did not need to study the ground. Not the fat old man, the thin younger one or any of the several women.

He rode his horse here from somewhere else, not from God’s house, but farther away than that. I felt my mind stretch as I considered anywhere beyond the places I knew.

His voice came softer with a sort of breathlessness. “Like a wild bird, you sit tamely in my hand. Though you tremble, you must not fly away as that would break my heart.”

I lost the humming of the bees, the twitter of the birds in the stillness that held us both as though forever. My own heart broke when mam went away and never quite mended. Much less light came from the sun, the colour faded from the meadow flowers and the butterflies, days weighed heavily and nights felt so empty without her to hold and comfort me if a bad dream or thunderstorm came.

I searched for words to give him, but the pantry of my mind held not even a bit of stale bread. I tried to scrape some crumbs together but my tongue could do nothing with them.

The big black horse snorted. I turned to look at the tossing head, the flopping mane, could see the tackle that the horse wore did not belong but were added for the man all in blue to ride.

I scrambled up and slowly walked over to Whirlwind who turned his dark head so one great eye studied me. The horse’s choice would be to shake off all the gear and roll in the meadow grass. My fingers twitched as I looked to see how to set him free, but how huge he was and would he let me any closer than this? Did he know I could help? Could I help him?

“He thinks you might have a carrot,” the man said, a smile in his voice.

His tall shadow fell on me. Behind his head the brightness of the sun made him look more like an angel than before.

“Do not let your mouth hang open like that,” he warned. “A bee might fly in.”

I brought my lips tight together, thinking bees only stung once and died, but a wasp could sting and sting. I knew to avoid a wasp’s nest.

Then he looked down at me from his seat on the big black horse and said, “It is good you can walk, but I must ride now.”

I thought of how everyone would be in God’s house, but even with this filling my mind, I could not find the words to tell him. I could see him entering the big house, his voice made larger to fill the space with nobody there to welcome him.

Pale wispy clouds in the blue sky behind him were no farther than his face as he told me, “Good day, Fiona.”

I tried to frame the two words for him but they slipped from my grasp because I was wondering what his name might be. And why was he here, not in that faraway place where he belonged? I had never seen anyone come to the big house wearing blue that gleamed like the river and glistened like dew on blue flowers in the dawn.

Listening to the thunder of the big black horse galloping away, I watched a bee emerge backwards from a flower and drift over several other blossoms before entering a different one. I looked up to follow the flight of a bird from one tree to the next and wished that I was that small with wings to carry me to wherever mam was and that I could sing to make her smile. I stood very still in case my dream could happen but nothing did.

I knelt down then lay back to look up at the sky until I could see the slow movement of the wispy clouds. I grinned when I felt I might fall upwards, both my hands grabbing to hold the earth, then surrendering as a calmness came over me.

I wanted to stay there like a fallen tree lingers until bugs crawled over me and rain fell and seasons passed until I became part of the earth which does happen to trees when they lose their roots and fall over.

I thought back to how I had run from the black cloud and the thunder, but the great eye in the dark horse’s head was not so awful. Then it was as if I watched myself gazing into the rider’s blue eyes, knowing my hands wanted to touch the blue he wore that gleamed like the river and glistened like dew on blue flowers in the dawn but knew I never would.

Kitchen was the only place for someone like me, given my many flaws, while he could travel wherever he liked in all the wide world.

I turned round and round the name he restored to me though everyone called me Scully. Perhaps mam would return tomorrow so that I could be her Fiona once more.