“TILL DEADLY DO WE PACT”

(Fourth story in the Tabhairt Isteach Do series)

Written By Kats- © May 3^rd 2006

Frank Fletcher ran down the hall to the classroom and skidded to a stop just in front of the door. People were standing up for a break. He looked over his shoulder and saw the clock hand just hit 10:52 am. He burst into the room yelling, “Wait! I’m here!!”

The school principal, Mr. Wallace Daniels, an overweight, balding man with a hooked nose, regarded him over his gray steel rimed glasses and frowned. “It’s too late Mr. Fletcher. Your appointment was at 8 this morning. Owing to your casual disregard for proper attendance for your review, I have no choice but to assign you to repeat last year. Perhaps then you will have a better understanding of the consequences of your actions.”

“What do you mean my appointment was at 8? The letter my aunt got said 10:50! And it says Room 103, but the janitor told me when I got there that it had been moved to 404, here. And the elevators don’t work, so I had to run up four flights of steps. And I have 10:53 on my watch!” Frank stood in the door breathing hard. He had run two blocks from where the bus had dropped them off, up the steps and down the hall to the classroom only to discover no one there.

“The letter we sent to your home yesterday stated the change,” the principal said lifting his brief case up onto the table.

“Lovely, but if you remember, I am staying with my aunt in Cabot Cove, Maine, and it takes four days for mail to be forwarded to where she lives. I shouldn’t be held to blame for something beyond my control or that you ‘said’ you mailed. There is no proof that you even sent the letter…”grumbled Frank.

“That’s quite enough, young man!” Wally snapped, irritated.

“No, it’s not! You said my appointment was changed to 8 am, and by the bus schedule here, there would have been no way that I could have made that on time coming from Maine, and you knew that because my parents discussed where I would be staying, and that they told you my Aunt Jessica doesn’t drive, so coming here would have be by bus. There was nothing in the letter that you sent to them months ago that I would have to come here to present what I have learned in the information you gave them,” Frank said, exasperated.

“Your aunt is not a board certified member of our school district. We have every right to question the level of education that you have received over the summer,” said Ms. Peters, his English teacher, as she set her small purse back down on the table with a heavy clunk...

“Funny, you didn’t mention that to my parents when they spoke with you two months ago,” said Frank folding his arms across his chest. Ms. Peters was the only English teacher the school had, and was responsible for teaching English to all the grades. She had never cut him any slack in all of the years he had been going to that school. He watched her shake her head, her earrings shimmering slightly beneath her mane of red hair.

“The matter is closed young man. I happen to concur with the principal on this matter. You will repeat last year, and perhaps your grades will improve this time,” Ms. Peters said closing a folder on the table as she stood up.

“Fine. Then I am requesting a formal hearing with the school board and the press in regards to this matter,” Frank replied, gathering up his nerve to push just a bit harder. He had to. It was his only chance of making it right.

“You can’t do that,” said the principal dryly.

Frank leaned forward defiantly, his arms still crossed in front of him. “Oh yes I can,” he said, tilting his head to one side and setting his jaw firmly. He was not about to let them see the emotional turmoil that was seething inside of him.

The principal’s reply was cut short by the school nurse, who said with a note of irritation, “He can, and should - honestly Wally, do you want to spend time in front of 250 parents next week answering why your office couldn’t get a schedule right for him or why you’re so eager to not take the time to listen to what he has to say? We have an hour before lunch and I really don’t want to go over the financial report from two years ago.”

Frank held his breath. If he managed to pull this off, he was going to buy Miss Shellie, the school nurse, the biggest batch of roses that he could find to thank her from the credit card money his parents had given him.

“Very well, young man, You have exactly fifteen minutes to tell us what you have learned so far from your aunt and demonstrate the proper usage of what you have learned to convince us not to have you repeat next year,” said Vice Principal Carol Murphy, who was shooting a look at the principal as he fumed by the table.

Frank looked at Mr. Murphy. He was a mousy sort of guy, and the kids had been thrown into fits of giggling when they learned his first name was Carol. Even his voice was a bit squeaky, but he had always been very kind to the students, and even shared their laugh about his name. He was the only other person at the school beside Miss Shellie that the students actually respected for being fair to them. Sometimes he would be a substitute teacher for the classes, not that they ever went over the lesson plan for that day, but rather he would open up a chapter from one of the mystery novels he loved to read and pass the book around to the students, asking them to read passages from it. It was the only time that Frank really enjoyed his lessons.

Frank shifted to one foot. “Not to be ungrateful, but I can’t learn everything in a week. I did start my essay though, on what we did over the summer, and I brought that…”

He saw the vice principal nod as the principal sat down in his chair and crossed his arms. Frank saw the principal twist a signet ring in irritation as he opened up the portfolio that was clenched in his small hands. He walked to the podium and stood there for a second to catch his breath. He was glad he numbered the papers and that he had paper clipped them in batches.

“My Summer. By Frank Fletcher, Jr.

My summer started not like other kids’ summers, but with learning that I would have to make up English class. Tutors and I don’t get along, so my parents decided to send me north to stay with my Aunt Jessica who is a retired school teacher. I didn’t want to be there. All the old people I knew were smelly and cranky. I thought my life was over, at least for the summer. My parents put me on the plane to go to where my aunt lives in Cabot Cove, Maine. I wore a tag about my neck on a lanyard and a bracelet so the people on the airline could tell who I was and where I was going. I rode in first class, and I sat next to a leprechaun. He was wearing a home spun woolen jacket he had sewn himself and his shirt had tattered lace on the cuffs. He had curly golden hair and hazel eyes that twinkled when he smiled. He asked me if I was after his gold. I told him no, because it would be difficult to exchange and it wouldn’t help matters in the long run. The leprechaun’s name was Willie Mac.

“Willie Mac didn’t treat me like a little kid when the plane was tossed about with turbulence. Because of him, I decided not to run away, and to study hard this summer. Willie Mac wrote a book a long time ago that was published and it affected a lot of people’s lives. A very bad man who knew Willie Mac’s family from a long time ago decided to use the book to ruin Willie and his family’s reputation. He stole a very famous sword from Willie’s family and tried to use it to lure Willie into a deadly position, but what he was doing was found out by a few people and the police put the bad man in prison. There was a young girl who worked for a store that sold that same book and she was killed. I found out about it on a web message board, and at first the people on the board tried to solve it, but it was with my Aunt Jessica’s help that the murderer was found out because he kept a necklace that she wore the night she died. Her parents wanted to give me money from the reward, but I couldn’t take it, and told them to use it to make a memorial for their daughter.

“Willie Mac set up his home in Cabot Cove where the old shop used to be that was named after the book he had written. When I was done with my lessons for the day, my Aunt Jessica would let me go down there to watch Willie work on his weaving loom, and I learned how to card wool and to spin. It was the day that the letter came telling me about this meeting that my life started to get complicated. To understand the whys we have go to back in time first to 1881 Ireland - at Maigh Nuad.” Frank took a breath then continued.

“The back storeroom of Maigh Nuad’s pub held little interest for the regular crowd seeking their pints before returning home to their wives and girlfriends. Those who ventured back found their heads bumping against drying root crops and salted pork or having to squeeze in between slabs of tallow for candles. There were nine men who slipped unnoticed into the back room that had other things on their mind as they kept a careful watch on the door and the comings and goings of the crowds of the inn. When they had all found a place to be comfortable, their leaders, James Carey and Michael Kavanagh, sighed and pulled out a folded parchment from each of their pockets. They were thin vellum, so that when the first was laid over the second, a map showing the route needed was seen. Ether one of the papers found upon the men if they were captured meant nothing; together, they showed the homes of all the members of their organization, the Irish National Invincibles, also known as just the Invincibles.

“We weren’t there to see it, but from what was found later we learned a few things about the people who were there and their habits, and from eye witness accounts of what happened. James stabbed his finger down on the map, smudging the place where his finger pointed to. ‘Right, we’ve got word that the Permanent Under Secretary, Thomas Henry Burke, will be at the Viceregal Lodge next May attending the appointment of the new Chief Secretary. We will use this opportunity to dissuade Mr. Burke of his plans to continue his traitorous activities in parliament and resign with honor or face the consequences.’

“Douglas Furhdaham looked over the crowd of men in the small room. There were ways of taking control. James didn’t have a clue, but he had a passion that made those around him listen. Power came in many forms, and most notably he who could control the people controlled the power. Some believed that money was power. James didn’t have money, but he had charm, and the way to make the most common of men feel important. Douglas was glad he hadn’t brought his eldest son Peter to the meeting. He knew Peter was impetuous and cunning, but prone to acting on impulse. What James was proposing was dangerous in itself. A man could be hanged for what they were speaking of.

“Fool that James was, he insisted that each man put down his mark upon a paper to swear that they would uphold all that was held righteous in the beliefs of the Invincibles. The others, believing that their names would be safe, did as much. It would be Douglas who would collect and secure the paper at the end of the evening, slipping it in his waistcoat pocket and making sure that another paper that was folded the same way was given to James instead as well as the originals of the maps. Months of planning had gone into this evening. It had nothing to do with the Invincibles. With all that would be happening soon, Douglas knew the paper with the names was the last thing James would be concerned about.

“Douglas felt secure in knowing his son Peter was married to the Widower Healer Razanur’s daughter Fainwen, who had given him a granddaughter first, Essian, and another child on the way, which he hoped to be a boy to carry on his line. Healer Razanur was respected and wealthy, and the merging of the two powerful families from neighboring villages made a shift in power for the community. Generations before Healer Razanur’s family had fought along side Brian Boru against the Vikings; from there, the families’ wealth and status grew and when the children of Furhdaham and Razanur were married, the two families moved in together. By rights, it was Healer Razanur’s estate that they had moved into, but with part of the dowry waved, it was decided that his new son-in-law’s family would move into one half of the estate, and they would live in the other. There was a younger sister, Sellsír, just ten, and their youngest son Cónenardhon who was eight, whose futures needed to be considered. Peter was his eldest child, his pride and joy. His brother Ian was three years younger and had no belly for blood sport.

“Douglas watched without saying anything, watching the men who he knew he could trust and count on to stand beside him when it was time. There would be no peaceful discussion in the park that day. He had known what James was going to say, he just didn’t know the time that it would happen. Douglas gave a quiet nod to Joe Brady and Tim Kelly, a signal they knew to wait until the others left, that he had something for them.

Knives. Surgical knives that he knew were sharp, small and could cut through flesh and bone in a heart beat. Douglas had found them on the washboard with other knives that he knew came from the healer’s surgery. Two would not be missed. If they were caught or discovered the knives would lead back to the healer. Having a son-in-law and grandchildren by him was insurance that if something was discovered, it would go no further.

“’Tôl acharn – vengeance comes,’ he had murmured to the men. They took the knives and slipped them into their coat pockets, being careful of the blades. He knew he would not see the men again. This would be the last meeting he would attend - his job was done.

If the end would come to it, the papers that he had removed from them unseen and substituted would be planted on someone else to divert suspicion. Thomas Henry Burke was to have married his sister years before. His political ambitions had broken her heart and earned the refusals of his father. When Burke did marry, his sister became reclusive, losing herself to wander the gardens in silence until an illness took her the following winter. The grief his parents endured because of Burke was enough for Douglas to challenge him, but his father would have nothing to do with that. He would lose a son if anything, for Burke was too powerful. Time and tide would bring the end to Burke.

“At 17:30 on Saturday, May 6, 1882 in Phoenix Park, Lord Frederick Cavendish and Thomas Henry Burke’s evening walk was interrupted by the approach of Joe and Tim. Neither man was prepared for the assault that befell them swiftly. Their screams were overheard and when help arrived it was too late - both men had been brutally murdered, hacked to death by the short surgical knives provided to them by Douglas, who, at the moment the murders were occurring, was attending a wedding of friends with his daughter-in-law Fainwen and his son Peter. He had them leave the care of their child to a maid. The three younger children would also have supervision.

“When they arrived home the following day from the wedding the house was in a state of turmoil. Healer Razanur had been called out on an emergency that afternoon and didn’t return until almost dawn. The maid had disappeared some time during the early evening. A short while later Essian had climbed from her crib and wandered the halls of the estate, getting outside somehow, and stumbled into the path of an on-coming carriage. Death was instantaneous. It was dawn that they found Sellsír’s body hanging from the rafters of the attic. She had written a brief note saying her niece’s death was all her fault and she could not live with the guilt. Fainwen collapsed at the news of her child’s and her sister’s deaths, and never recovered. Within a week she was buried along with her daughter and her sister. It was by chance or accident that Healer Razanur discovered the papers with the names on it, and understood who the Invincibles were. Fearing for his son’s safety, Healer Razanur took Cónenardhon and some of their belongings and moved out of the estate, across the moors to begin a new life.

“The departure from the estate couldn’t have come at a worse time for Douglas. He had been able to say that Joe and Tim had gathered the knives from Healer Razanur, and expected when the authorities came to be able to turn him over to them with the papers - but his location was uncertain. There was also the question of a sack of gemstones that had been given to Lord Frederick Cavendish, but the whereabouts were never determined after the death. When the authorities did arrive, Douglas was out and his son Peter was apprehended and thrown into prison. Embittered, Douglas became a recluse from his own kin leaving Ian to his own devices. Ian blamed Healer Razanur for his brothers’ arrest and his father’s growing dementia and vowed to the last drop of blood in his family to seek revenge against them. Over the generations that followed, much blood was spilled upon the earth. Ian had carved his family a new crest, and a new motto ‘Tôl acharn Annan e’ - with time Vengeance comes.”

Frank looked up at the creak of the chairs and saw that several of the school board members and teachers were wrapped up in his story. He glanced at the clock and adjusted his glasses. What he had to say was going to take longer than 15 minutes. Not that he was stalling for time, but he knew it would take a while for his aunt and the others to find him, and he wanted to be sure they were there when he finished because he knew there would be some pressing questions by the time he was done. There was something else that he noticed about the principal of the school, something that made him swallow - and then lowering his head he continued to read from his report as his mind went back over the last week’s events.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frank Fletcher, Jr. looked up over his glasses from the English book he was working from and saw his Great Aunt Jessica come in from the mail box with slower steps than he had seen before. “Aunt Jessica? Is something wrong?” he asked, putting his pencil down on the kitchen table. He heard it roll against the dozen other pencils that had been provided for him by Jessica so that he wouldn’t have any excuse to not have one precisely sharpened to the correct point.

She looked up at him with an envelope in her hands. Monday’s mail was always a bit more than the rest of the week. “It’s from your school. Your parents gave them this address if they needed to get in touch with you … It seems they want to give you a progress evaluation at the end of this week - to see how your summer schooling is coming. You have a meeting with them at 10:50 am on Friday. It means a trip back to your school Thursday night and a return trip back here on Friday afternoon. Looks like we will be taking a road trip in three days,” she said to him with a smile.

Startled, Frank put the book down, sending one of the long number 2 pencils to the floor. He wasn’t expecting to go back so soon, and had been looking forward to not having to deal with the teachers at his school for the entire summer.

“You don’t drive. How are we going to get there?” he asked.

“We can take the bus. I have the schedule around here somewhere. There should be one that will do the trip in about six hours, if memory serves me correctly, but it will mean getting the bus at midnight and arriving at six am on Friday. Then it’s a cross town bus from there, which should get us to the school about 10 am. They would like you to write an essay to be read on what you have been doing this summer.” She saw a far away look of sadness in his eyes.

“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “I can do that, but if you think about it, I’ve only been here a week! What do they expect me to learn in that time?”

Jessica ruffled his hair. “Seems to me you’ve had an active summer already.”

Now that Frank could focus properly on the letters, and with Jessica’s patience at explaining how sentences were constructed, English had become less of a monster to him. An eleven year old didn’t care if a preposition was modified or a participial dangled. Jessica had outlined what he needed to learn each day, and while English lessons had brought him no joy, he had found she wasn’t beating him over the head with what he needed to know. He redoubled his efforts with trying to understand things. It wasn’t that he was looking for brownie points to make his great aunt happy, it - it was just something that was easier to do when she was helping him understand the basic concepts. Sometimes the stuff was so miserable to deal with he needed to get away from it, even if only to go as far as the rose garden and sit among the flowers until he could compose his emotions.

Frank was glad, though, that Willie Mac understood what he was going through and had shed light on ways he could understand his lessons. Willie had found him sitting in the rose garden with his arms crossed and in tears after storming out of the kitchen where he had been so frustrated with the amount of work they expected of him. Willie had sat down beside him and offered him a clean corner of a handkerchief.

“I won’t ever understand this - I am a stupid lame ass idiot,” he had sniffled.

Willie put his arm around Frank’s shoulder. “Ah, no you’re na, lad. English is a most peculiar language. It’s not set up like most other languages. In English, for example, if you had had enough of something, you say ‘I’ve had enough.’ But in another language, it is said, ‘Stuffed is my bag,’ referring to the bag that your stomach is, like you have had a full meal. The German language is much more direct, and may read something like ‘Pouch full over mine is.’ One may be seen as saying you are full of eating, and the other means you’ve had it up to here,” he said, indicating over his head with his hand.

Frank giggled, then became more serious. “I guess there is a lot to learn.”

Willie Mac nodded. “Best you spend your time, as your money, wisely and with great interest. It’s what my Gram always says. Off you go now, to your studies.”

Frank nodded and returned to the kitchen. For a moment he stood by the sink getting a glass of water to delay his studies. He saw Taylor come out of the house, over to where Willie was in the garden, and he gave her a kiss on her hand. There was only really half a head difference between their heights. He watched as they walked with Sydney on the leash down the street to the shop to go to work. This thing about kissing a girl: except for the kisses he got from his parents tucking him in, he just didn’t think he could get used to it.

Hand in hand Taylor and Willie Mac walked down the street. Unpacking had been a bit delayed the first day when his things arrived. In the midst of his sorrow and exhaustion of the day that Jessica had asked for his help with the pendent, Taylor had been the bright spot. Her impulsive kiss to his lips had shocked him and gave him a stirring in his heart that was now unbridled as a wild horse. Being kissed by her had been shocking, at first, but it was the shock that his heart needed to tell him all was right with the world with her at his side. The neighbors hadn’t given a second thought to him staying there, or that she spent time with him at the shop. Not that it was a proper shop. They didn’t sell anything. It was more of a learning center. With Tipper’s help he had found some sheep farmers who were willing to sell him the raw wool, and it was up to him to sheer the sheep and to take it away to the shop where he had his woolies in one room.

Once the crates were unpacked, those who did venture in saw more of a working museum than a storefront. Along the wall that had held the register at one time was the giant loom that could weave material 200 inches across. In another corner were the spinning wheel and cedar boxes that held the carded wool. There were other boxes that herbs were dried in, and containers that held the natural dyes. In the back was a vegetable garden, and had he been allowed, he would have had a nanny goat for milk. It wasn’t anything special that he had. It was just what a typical home would be like. Upstairs, roped off, was the bedroom set, not that the bed was slept in now, but he did re-insulate the building. It took three days to bring it up to wiring code, and now they were working on the roof.

They also had a smaller loom, and an area for lace making. When Frank had seen it, he stood enthralled as Willies hands worked the pure white wool into a thin thread and wrapped it onto the spindle to be transferred later to the shuttlecock for weaving. He suddenly understood where Willie’s coat had come from. The material on the bolt was different though - even though it was wool, it was the most delicate material he had ever seen. When Jessica had given him a choice of what he wanted to do for the afternoon, his answer was to go down to the shop and watch what was going on. It would take a few days to get the wool spun then transferred on to the loom and the shuttlecocks before the weaving could begin, but Frank found it a fascinating endeavor.

After lunch Jessica had given Frank some “time off for good behavior.” She saw he was clearly worried regarding the upcoming trip to the school, and wanted him to relax.

“What would you like to do? I have several calls to make to my publisher, and I think you have had enough for today, don’t you?” she asked, picking up the short pencil that rested on top of the phone to take conformations numbers down for their bus ticket reservations. She had work on her latest book she needed to do herself. While she knew she didn’t have to provide supervision for him twenty-four hours a day, she also knew that in Cabot Cove there were very few places except the docks that he could get into trouble. She saw him look over his shoulder to Taylor’s house and knew where he wanted to go. Willie Mac had informed Jessica that Frank was welcome there any time, and she would rather see him there than behind the desk at the computer.

“All right. But be home for dinner,” she said smiling. He gathered up the pencils on the table and his books and hurried to his room to put them away. Jessica watched him from an upper window as he hurried down the street and held her breath until he was safely inside the shop. No matter how old they were, parents always worried. She sighed, then went down to the kitchen and picked up the pencil that had fallen to the floor. Groaning, she straightened up. She knew for sure a storm was coming by the way her back stiffened up. Placing it on the table she went into her study and sank down into the chair with her notepad on her lap.

There was a lot of research and thinking she had to do before she started to write. “Tea would be nice,” she thought, picking up her notepad pencil from the side table and placing it on top of the phone. It almost slipped from where it rested. Jessica reminded herself to get a proper pencil for phone notes before going into the kitchen to put the kettle on. While the water heated, she dialed the bus station and made the reservations for the trip. She hated to go so late at night, but it was the only bus that would go nearest to where they had to be in time for the review.

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The afternoon was unseasonably sweltering as thick thunderheads rolled across the cove. Taylor looked out the door as she sipped a cup of tea that Willie Mac had made for her. She found it soothing. Tipper had informed her that Anthony was still in town. He had brought the parents of the girl who had died to meet Frank, Jr. and to speak with him, and after seeing them off, had stayed at the Hill House gathering further information regarding Kent Fordham and Nightshade. Kent was facing the death penalty for his involvement in several murders and for conspiracy to commit murder. His lawyers were appealing the case, though this would be the last appeal that they would be given in a week’s time. Taylor had never needed to testify. Mort had, and they took depositions from Jessica and Tipper. Taylor knew it would be a matter of time before he would want to speak with her about something. Anything. She didn’t know if she could handle walking away from him in person. Staying away from him was easier.

Since Willie had been staying with her since she had accepted his decision on what foods she should be eating and what teas and juices she should have, she had felt better. He would go on about the vitamins and minerals in what she was consuming, and what they did - but she simply had no idea what they were all for or how an elemental vitamin was different than the one that you got at the super market. She just felt better, and she trusted him. She looked back to where Willie Mac was showing Frank how to card wool. A car pulled into the upper lot - she could tell it was a rental from the tags on the rear view mirror. Sydney lifted her head and looked in the direction of the car. Her tail thumped a few times. She looked at Taylor and gave a soft whine.

“Stay,” Taylor said gently. Sydney laid her head back down, but her tail increased its wagging as the person who got out of the car began to come down the hill. “I can do this,” thought Taylor, taking another sip of tea. Taylor studied Anthony as he walked closer - he had aged. He looked tired, and old. His hair had become completely gray and there was a haggard look in his eyes as if he had spent the last few years not sleeping. Taylor took a sip of the tea and watched him come up on to the porch from the far end. She lowered the mug and set it on the small table that held the door open. He looked around and noticed the absence of the sign that said Nightshade. The place was cleaned, and it smelled healthy. Wholesome. He heard the sound of Frank’s laughter, and Willie Mac’s gentle voice telling him about how wool gatherers always had the softest hands. Looking in he saw the looms, and the spinning wheel. He looked at Taylor, who was still leaning against the doorframe with Sydney at her feet.

“You look beautiful. How long has it been?” he began simply.

“Too long. I stopped waiting to live my life, Anthony. One year became two, then four. I had to be important to me. I had to matter in order to survive. I had to have someone who cares about me - enough to be there when I need them. Tipper has been, as has Seth, and Jessica, and all the people here. I came to this town, and they accepted me, supported me and cared for me. They were here for me when you chose not to be, when you decided to go on with your life, shabby sex and all.”

“Do I deserve that - condemnation from you?” he asked mildly.

“Do you?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

He raised his hands in surrender. “I don’t know… maybe. It’s taken me a while to realize why you didn’t come back to LA. And longer to realize why I didn’t come to live here. I wouldn’t know how to act, or what to do here. I was afraid of what I might become if I left what I had known behind. I was afraid of every perp that would escape, every killer who would go free if I walked away, and it cost me everything that was important in my life. You.” He stepped forward with the intention of delivering a kiss to her lips.

She pushed him back. “I wasn’t bloody well important enough for you if it took you four years to find your way back here!”

“Maybe if you would have given me a bit of an incentive I would have had a reason to come sooner!” he snapped. He realized it was the wrong thing to say the moment he said it. He saw the smoldering fury begin to build in her eyes.

“Incentive?” she began, then stopped as she felt a light touch to her leg. It was Sydney, standing up on her hind legs and whining softly with concern. She bent down and picked up the small dog before gathering her tea mug and striding into the shop leaving him on the porch. He watched as she went up the steps to the upstairs and heard a sob as the door closed behind her.

Anthony saw Frank Jr. look at the man who had been beside him. Willie said “Damnú air,” then said to Frank, “Mind the shop,” before taking the steps two at a time. There was a soft knock, then the sound of the door opening and closing. Anthony walked into the shop and looked around. It was far different than he would have expected. Sighing, he picked up her forgotten cup and took a sip, almost spitting it out as soon as he had it in his mouth.

“What is this stuff?” he asked Frank.

“Tea,” said Frank with a measure of caution. He knew this man was a district attorney, and that his Aunt Jessica knew and liked him, and that he had brought the girl’s parents to Cabot Cove to meet him, which was awkward in its own way. Frank just wasn’t sure what this man’s angle was regarding Taylor.

Anthony looked up at where the rooms were, then back at Frank. “Is he good to her?” he asked softly as he walked to where the tea pot was. He saw that it was almost empty. He pulled out the old filter and by habit of working long hours at the courthouse, put in a new filter and measured some tea into it before tipping the cold tea out of the pot and getting water in the kitchen to place in the reservoir. Unseen to Frank, Anthony took a sample of the tea in a fold of a second coffee filter and palmed it into his hand until he had the chance to slip it into his pocket.

Frank felt strangely grown up as he regarded the tall, well-dressed man before him performing the simple task of making tea.

“You still love her… why did you wait so long, and if I wasn’t here as a reason to come to Cabot Cove, would you have come back?”

‘In time, if we needed depositions, or when I knew it was over. I wanted her to be where I knew she was safe. If I kept coming back here, they would have found her - but it became easier to love the dream, I suppose.”

Frank looked up at the room where the door was still closed.

“If they got married, would you be happy for her? For them? Even if it broke your heart to let her go, would you let her be happy?” asked Frank, knowing that it was an impossible question for Anthony to answer at this time.

Anthony used the moment that Frank’s eyes were off of him to slip the tea packet into his coat pocket. He knew the lab in Portland could give him the answers that he needed, a reason that he would need to protect her. He realized even if he did find something and rushed in to protect her that she wouldn’t be grateful, or want him to protect her. He had come into her life rather unexpectedly. She was the one to make all of the plans, do all of the caring and he was the one who allowed it.

”I love her,” Anthony said at last. Frank shot him a look. The boy and man regarded each other before Frank said evenly,

“Then be an adult about it. Let her be happy, without the guilt that you bring. She wants you to be happy too. But it doesn’t include her in the bargain,” Frank said, waving his hand in the direction of the room.

Anthony started in the direction of the stairs when his cell phone rang. He stopped, and then looked at it. His shoulders fell as he read the text message. “I have to go…”

Frank rolled his eyes and gave him a look that said if he went now, he shouldn’t come back. Anthony sighed, took the steps two at a time, and coming to the door he knocked once, then entered.

She was on the bed, and she had been crying. Willie Mac was sitting on the bed holding her hands speaking to her in a gentle voice. Anthony could see that he was doing his best to understand. Both looked at Anthony as he stood in the door.

“I’m sorry…. I love you and I was wrong to expect things not to change or not to take steps to work on our relationship. I will always love you…and with that, I want what is best, and what will make you the happiest. I would like us to remain friends…”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Anthony crossed the room, and bending over gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead, then nodding to both of them strode out of the room and down the steps. They heard the crunch of gravel as he left the porch and made his way back up the hill to where his car was parked. Getting in, he closed his eyes for a moment before putting the tea in a small evidence bag and lying on the seat beside him. He backed his car up and returned back to the Hill House Bed & Breakfast. Parking his car in the front lot he hurried past Curtis the manager on duty to take the steps two at a time to get his ID and a map of the area. Laying it out on the bed he regarded it. There were lines but few route numbers and he had to know about construction. He went down to where Curtis was pouring himself his third cup of coffee that day.

“Excuse me… I thought I overheard that the coastline route was closed due to construction - is there a better way of getting to Portland than that?” he asked.

Curtis looked over his coffee cup and with a green marker drew an alternative route on the map. Anthony thanked him and strode out to his car. For a moment, Curtis watched Anthony pull out and then wait in the driveway until the way was clear to pull onto the road. Curtis leaned back, twisting his signet ring on his hand. He smiled then picking up the newspaper he swatted a particularly persistent bot fly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anthony tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove the 37 miles to the Portland courthouse where he knew their criminology department would be able to analyze what he had now resting on the seat in an evidence bag. Technology was a wonderful thing. Spectral analysis of the composite elements would take perhaps a matter of moments, or days, but it would be precise. He had called half way there, got directions and took the steps into the building three at a time. There was no trust in his heart anymore for the actions of others when it came to those he loved

It took five minutes for the water to boil, and then a small sample of the tea was run through an infuser before going to the centrifuge and to be analyzed further. The results were not what Anthony expected.

“It’s not a commercial blend. Dunno if the FDA would approve it for sale.”

“It’s that bad for you?” Anthony asked leaning against the counter.

The tech shook his head. “No, its – not a simple compound like regular tea is. It has enzyme reactions and antioxidants that would help build up a person’s health very quickly, like those energy drinks they are pushing on kids? But this one’s custom made for an individual’s health needs. Like what you would get at an apothecary’s shop.”

“What if someone else drank it?” Anthony pushed, hoping in a perverse way for something to nail Willie for.

“It may not taste very good to them. It wouldn’t hurt them, but the body wouldn’t accept every benefit that it had. This one, if your heart wasn’t bad, wouldn’t put anything into your body that it didn’t need. It also has something in here that would help boost the immune system, T cell production, and make red blood cells stronger - and that’s where the FDA wouldn’t approve of it. This stuff does things they don’t even know how to do, heal specific medical problems at the source.”

“Even if a condition would be considered terminal?” pressed Anthony

The tech regarded Anthony. “Look, I don’t know what you’re hoping for, but this stuff isn’t dangerous to the person that it was made for, nor would it be harmful for long term use. And if someone else drank it, it wouldn’t harm them ether, it just wouldn’t help them. If it’s any consideration, the person who made this would be welcome in any alternative medicine circle. Consider what this knowledge could do to help AIDS or cancer patients if all they needed to do to feel better and healthier was to drink tea that was designed especially for their illness. This, (he pointed to the tea sample) is a labor of love.”

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A distant rumble of thunder came through the open window of the shop later that afternoon. “The storm is coming in soon. We should close up here and get home, the windows are open there…” said Willie Mac, crossing over to release the catch that held the window up. He locked it and turned to see her wiping fresh tears away. He sat beside her and took her hands in his.

“Hey lass, what’s troubling ye?” She shrugged, not being able to put into words what she felt. He took her into his arms and just held her awhile before kissing her gently. Drying her tears he held out his hand to her and helped her off the chair, slipping her shoes on her feet. It took a minute to make everything secure, and to be sure things were unplugged and locked up before they walked up the hill and across the flats to where their house was.