Oh, dear Sky, if only I had your conviction. If only I wouldn’t feel so lacking. I’m shaken. Sky seldom goes into full-frontal criticism. I didn’t mean to upset her or the Tribe. I should do better, shouldn’t I?
As a child, I needed the mantel of multiplicity to cope, but I’m no longer a child and that mantel is many sizes too small. I can’t move in it, it stifles me. It holds me back. But I can’t just put it away either. Even if I could put it away, how could I go on living without the Tribe, incomplete as I am?
From the trees, a night owl takes off into the early morning to spend the day in her nest. I close the door and with my mug of tea in one hand and Prince by my side, I walk to the loom. Perhaps I can weave the fear into the current work. It’s a commission for a gallery customer who wants a wall hanging about the mercilessness of nature.
Prince curls up at my feet. He has recovered from whatever drug the intruders fed him. His head rests on his paws and his eyes are closed, dreaming of some exciting doggy-adventures, no doubt.
Lost in weaving, I startle when Prince’s head jumps up and his ears flick about listening to noises only he can hear. I get up and walk to the window. A tall stranger in his mid-fifties steps out of a Toyota and comes up to the house. He straightens the jacket of his pin-stripe suit and rakes his hand through the leftovers of his blonde hair he wears draped over his balding head.
We never get visitors. The hairs are standing up on my arms and Prince’s low growl doesn’t help either. The Tribe, nervous and on tenterhooks after last night, is paying attention too. I imagine lots of heads swiveling from right to left as if they’re running on ball bearings.
This one looks like a car salesman or an insurance agent. Someone, I didn’t expect to show up in the backwaters of the West Coast peddling wares I neither want nor need. He comes, unaware of us watching him, brushing away twigs of my flowering Daphne bush and looking around with a deep frown of disapproval. I dislike him even before he has uttered a single word and am determined to send him on his way without delay.
Before he can touch the knocker I open the door, leaving his hand hanging in midair. It looks funny and, even though the fearful flutter in my stomach increases, I bite back a grin.
“How can I help you?” I raise my eyebrows.
“I wonder if it’s possible to talk to Ms. Seagar.”
“You are speaking to her.”
“Ahem, Ms. Seagar, my name is Simon Baker. Do you mind if I come in, I would like to present you with a lucrative offer.”
No stranger gets invited into my house. Not after last night’s attack. My head is still sore. This man leans forward, expecting me to let him in. Amadeus takes this as an invitation to step in. His angry energy is spilling over to me. I need to put on my assertive big people pants or Amadeus will hijack the body. That’s not a good idea. First I have to find out what the stranger wants. I step out and shut the door behind me.
“We can sit out here on the garden chairs. Be careful, the table is not stable.”
His dislike of my suggestion is hanging in the air. Warning bells are going off inside my head. Oh yes, the Tribe is on full alert too.
The man maneuvers himself onto a chair, but not before inspecting it. I’m sure he’s trying to estimate how much his suit will suffer from my rusty garden chairs.
“Unless you prefer to stand?” I admit, there is a bit of a smirk in my voice, but I don’t think he’s catching the finer details of my response. He’s too focused on completing his task.
“I’m coming with a business proposition. People in Port Somers have overheard that you want to move away and sell Wright’s Homestead.” He’s swallowing and his eyes blink rapidly as he eyes Prince standing next to me with a low growl stuck in his throat.
“You’re wasting your time. You shouldn’t follow every gossip that circulates in town.”
“I had hoped it wasn’t gossip and you would consider listing with my real estate company. I might even have a buyer lined up making it an easy transaction for you.”
“Stop right there. If you’re local, you realize there has been an arson attack on my partner’s cabin and he’s in hospital critically wounded. You must understand this is not the time for real estate deals. I’m surprised you even dare to come at a time like this.”
“I’m so sorry. I thought…I heard Mr. Thompson is out of danger and thought…My apologies. I was too eager.”
“I will decide nothing until all the facts of the arson are on the table. That’s in the best interest of a prospective buyer too.”
“Ms. Seagar, that’s a wise decision. If you let me explain, you’ll see I’m coming with the best intentions. My buyer has plans to use your property as an outdoor education center.”
“You’re not listening. Your client, whoever he is, is of no interest to me at the moment.”
“The Gateway Corporation has been interested in your homestead for years.”
“Gateway? I want nothing to do with that sleazy lot. I’m surprised you dare to present the offer to me. Unless you are ignorant about the recent court case involving the Gateway people.”
I shove my chair back to increase the distance between us.
He puts his hand on my hand. “Sorry, I understand that must be hard for you. Please, don’t feel bad. The new guard, what we call the young folks of the Gateway community, has taken over. Now that the old leaders are all locked up and sitting behind bars, the new leaders are working hard to make
