Chapter Two: Walk and Learn
“Who is that Holder guy?” Sniper asked for the fourth time as he, his friends, the Stellarums, and the Lambes explored the interior of the dusty church together.
Kimora Lambe heaved a sigh. “He’s quite a character around Spring Breeze,” she said. “He’s irritable and quarrelsome and is absolutely obsessed with taking his prize stock to fairs and such. He really irks me sometimes.” She smoothed back a lock of her pink hair and continued, “He met my husband twelve years ago. They talked together a lot and hung out, behaving as sinners do—drinking and smoking and so on. Then after my husband became a Christian, Ray became hostile toward him and began to get angry at him for believing in God. He stayed like that toward Victor for a long time. But after my husband paid the debt on Ray’s house because he couldn’t afford it himself, they agreed to help each other whenever they needed it. Ray’s held up to his end of the bargain, surprisingly, even though his dislike for Victor keep growing day by day.”
“So he helps Pastor Lambe because he’s obligated to?” Sharkell asked.
Kimora nodded. “Exactly.”
Cloudy figured that perhaps despite his grouchy attitude, Ray could be liked in a grudging sort of way. Still, she wondered how Pastor Lambe could put up with a guy like Holder for so many years. I guess only by God’s supernatural hand, she thought.
“Well,” Scazzarda said with a short laugh, “I hope we can convice Ray Holder of God’s love for him. After all, that’s what Easter is all about—God raising Jesus from the dead so we could live with Him in Heaven forever.”
“I pray we can show him that the narrow path is the only right way to go,” Victor finally spoke. He sighed heavily. “I suspect he might be so against Christ because of something that happened to him as a child.” Cloudy noted that Meta Knight tensed at that, and her ears went back slightly. Victor didn’t seem to notice, though. “Or maybe it was something else. I wish I knew, but I won’t poke my nose into his business. If he wants to tell us, he can. We’re always here for him.”
“Carny is always so kind to him,” Kimora said, glancing down fondly at her daughter. “Even if he doesn’t care for her much, she cares for him a lot. And that’s all I ask of her.”
“Sounds like Cloudy,” Waffle observed, throwing a glance over his shoulder at his sister. “Tons of people have been mean to her throughout her life, and she’s still loved them anyway. Few are like that these days.”
“Magnanimous she is,” Star said admiringly.
Victor smiled at Cloudy and bent to scratch her behind the ears. “I knew just by looking at you that you were indeed a rare girl.”
“She is, Daddy!” Carny chimed, dancing in excitement. “She’s the Prophesied One! She has the mark to prove it too!”
Victor looked startled for a brief moment. He gently lifted Cloudy’s right-front paw and gazed thoughtfully at the mark for the minute, then released her paw and stood up. “So she is,” he said slowly. “A warrior of courage and agape love. Rare you are, child.”
“Thank you,” Cloudy said, her eyes holding a somber look.
After walking in and out of the church for ten more minutes, Kimora declared their tour ended. “The workers still have a lot of construction to do around here, so we’d better leave the to do so.” She twisted her wedding ring on her finger. “But,: she said to Scazzarda, “if you want to, my husband and I can take you and the kids out to eat. You know, to celebrate being new friends.” She smiled a little tentatively. “I’d really like to get to know all of you better.”
Scazzarda considered a moment. Then a smile flashed across her face. “I’d love to.”
Victor frowned. “I was planning to go hunting after checking on the construction,” he reminded his wife.
Kimora’s face fell. “Oh, that’s right.”
“You hunt?” asked Cloudy.
“Occasionally,” said Victor. “I have permission, so don’t worry. And I don’t shoot a lot of animals, mostly squirrels—even deer when they’re in season.” He shrugged. “It’s a hobby.”
Carny had been standing aside from the others while her parents had bee talking. As she fidgeted, waiting for her father to finish his hunting talk, she looked off toward an old oak tree shading the church and saw Meta Knight standing underneath one of the branches, his cape wrapped around his body. Cary thought he seemed upset—probably because Holder had insulted him. Carny’s heart went out to the soldier. She hadn’t been with him two hours and already she knew a lot had gone wrong in his life. She could tell by his actions and the way he carried himself—like he wanted to prove he was okay but deep down he wasn’t.
Kimora shook her head regretfully. “I’m terribly sorry, Scazzarda,” she said, “It looks as though we won’t be able to go out now. I forgot my husband had made other plans for today.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine!” Scazzarda insisted. “We can go out to eat another time. But if you want, we can hang out at your house. I just need to drop the kids back at my friend Springtime’s.”
“Oh, you have a friend?” Kimora said, her eyes showing interest. Scazzarda bobbed her head. “Springtime, huh? That’s a beautiful name.”
“She’s my mother,” Cloudy said.
Kimora beamed. ‘How amazing! I’m sure she’s as lovely as her name is.” Then she paused a moment. She seemed to be thinking quite hard. “Well, since you’re on your way to your friend’s house, do you mind if Carny and I tag along? I can help bring some of the children back so you don’t get a ticket for breaking the law or anything.”
“I’d appreciate the help,” Scazzarda said warmly.
Meta Knight spoke just then. “If you will kindly excuse me, Mother, I would prefer to stay apart from the family for a time. I have much on my mind.”
Carny somehow felt she wouldn’t be able to leave Meta Knight by himself. Not when he was so bothered. She had to talk to him, let him know that Holder’s insults were not to be taken personally. But first. . .
“Mom,” Carny said just as Scazzarda was about to open her mouth, “um, i-is it okay if I skip the gathering at Cloudy’s home? I kinda want to stay out here for a little.”
Her mother gave her a level gaze, then looked at Meta Knight. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the two for a few seconds, but she finally focused all her attention on her daughter. “If you desire,” she said calmly, “but be careful.” Carny knew she wasn’t talking about personal safety, but rather personal conversation.
She nodded to say she understood. “I will, Mom.”
“All right. Then let’s go,” Kimora said, addressing herself to Scazzarda. Scazzarda called all the children except for Carny and piled them into the two cars. Kimora kissed her husband and handed him his rifle (which had been lying in the backseat of Kimora’s car) and wished him luck on his hunting. Then she climbed into her car, shut the door, stabbed her key into the ignition, and drove off, Scazzarda’s car clanking after her, jolting slightly as it bounced lightly over small bumps and tiny rocks and gravel. Carny waved to them until the vehicles disappeared over the hill.
“Well, I’ll catch you later, honey,” Victor said, hugging Carny. “Be good and don’t talk to strangers and steer clear of dangerous places.”
“Yes, Dad. Yeesh, I know what I’m doing,” Carny said, laughing and playfully pushing her father.
Her father winked at her. “I know you do. I’m just giving you a warning reminder.” He shouldered his rifle and set off toward the woods. Carny watched him until he was lost to view.
For a moment after her father was gone, Carny felt stuck. She had never been in this kind of situation before. She didn’t know what to do next, and yet she felt she ought to know. She pressed a finger to her cheek, thinking hard. Meta Knight remained nearby, watching her steadily—not creepily, but wonderingly.
Carny shut her eyes, a memory coming to her mind. She was five years old. A friend of hers was in distress because her kitty had died in a car accident. Little as she was, Carny had come to her, taken her hand, invited her for a walk in the woods, and they had talked about death and Heaven and how it was possible her friend could see her kitty again. Carny had never forgotten the happy look on her friend’s face as she skipped homeward, no longer sad about her kitty.
Carny opened her eyes and exhaled, walking over to Meta Knight as she did so. He looked down at her, his expression unmoving as she halted beside him.
“Are you all right?” asked Carny, sounding unsure about the question. Still, bravely, she pressed on. “You seem upset—distant, even.”
“I am fine, Carny. You need not concern yourself about me,” the soldier said a little coldly. But Carny noted he didn’t look her in the eye as he spoke—a sure sign of fibbing.
“Is it because Holder—called you a blueberry?” she softly said.
Meta Knight’s eyes glowed a burning red. Carny, suddenly frightened at his expression, drew back, her body tensed in fear. Meta Knight saw her terrified face and sighed deeply, relaxing his body, his eyes reverting back to yellow.
“Forgive me, dear,” he said. “I was not thinking properly for a moment. You are not to blame.” He shifted a little and released his cape, letting the soft fabric cascade over his shoulders. “I suppose Holder’s name-calling provoked a sensitive area in me.”
Carny studied him, wondering how he managed to dress up the emotional language of today’s world and make it sound as if being offended was no big deal to him. But of course, she saw past the surface. She knew it hurt him to be offended.
Carny reached out her hand and clasped his strong, gloved one in her nimble one. “Come with me,” she directed, tugging him gently toward the woods. Surprised but willing, he followed.
The two walked for a long time in silence, the sunlight flickering in patches on the ground. A few geese started a game of tag, dipping and rising and going round and round about the sky. It was dizzying to watch. Water insects skittered over puddles left from the last rain. The flowers stretched their petals to the sun, their leaves slightly curled, as if they were glad for the warmth. A squirrel darted onto a branch, chattering at a woodpecker, who ignored him, jabbing his beak into the rotting wood of a fallen oak in hopes of finding some breakfast.
And all the while, Meta Knight and Carny walked. But not one said a word. Not because they were afraid. Not because they didn’t desire to.
They were waiting for the right time.
* * * * *
And then, the right time came. It was beside a small stream that Carny named Cowrie Stream because of the many tiny cowrie shells buried deep in the silt. Their pearly surfaces had been smoothed by the water.
Carny and Meta Knight sat at the edge of the stream together. Carny dipped her hand into the cool water and scooped up some water, letting it trickle between her fingers. Meta Knight didn’t stir.
At length, Carny dried her hand on her dress skirt and looked at the soldier. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” she inquired absentmindedly, not really expecting him to answer.
“Very pretty,” he agreed, looking to the sky. “it is on days like these when I find it easy to get away from my problems.” His voice suddenly faltered and he stopped speaking, as though he had said something he wasn’t supposed to. Carny shot him a funny look.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked.
He remained silent, feeling as though he ought to tell her the truth about his life. On the other hand, he didn’t feel comfortable. He couldn’t do it, not yet. His fist involuntarily clenched. “It. . .is nothing,” he replied at last.
Carny didn’t take her eyes away from his face. Her gaze was searching and yet kind. But he didn’t look at her. He was afraid to. And he didn’t know why.
Carny looked back at the stream. Then she stood up and waded into the water, kneeling to dig a cowrie out of the loose, sandy soil. She rinsed it well in the stream and sloshed back to shore, sitting down beside Meta Knight again. “What is this?” she asked, extending the cowrie on her palm.
Astounded by the question, he answered, “It is a cowrie shell.”
“Correct,” she said. “And do you know how it got so smooth?”
“The water washing over it carved away the rough areas,” he said.
“That’s right,” she said, sounding more like a teacher than a seven-year-old girl. “That’s how it came to be as it is. The water made it the way it is.”
Meta Knight nodded. “What is your point?”
Carny turned the shell in her hands, her purple eyes darkening. “The cowrie represents each person,” she said. “The water represents the storms and experiences of life we go through. It was our experiences and lessons we learned along life’s slippery, rocky, uneven path that made us who we are today.” She raised her head and frowned a little, pressing the shell into his hands. Then to his surprise, she took both his hands in hers. “In the same way, your life is what’s made you so introverted and stoic.”
Meta Knight looked down. He couldn’t bear to look in her the eye, especially because he knew she was right. Howe did she know so much about him, despite the fact that she barely knew him. That sounded very familiar to him. . . .But why?
Then he knew. The answer hit him like a brock and shocked him beyond measure, and he gave a low gasp. Cloudy. Carny talked and acted just like Cloudy!
A flashback shot through Meta Knight’s mind. He was a child, a fifteen-year-old boy, cowering against the wall of his small cabin, staring up at a hooded figure, his eyes filled with dread. His little sister, Tourmaline, stood nearby with Scazzarda, terror-struck. The hooded figure raised a long, sharp rod, the gleaming edge of a whip swung at his face, and all went black.
The dark picture flipped to him standing in a kitchen with his ex-wife, yelling at her. She was yelling back at him, trying to appear defiant, but her eyes held a trace of fear. A little girl, a near twin of her mother, stared in confusion at the two. They paid her no mind.
The next scene was of the same woman, days later, after a violent verbal argument, throwing her wedding rings on the floor and storming out of the cabin, slamming the door. The rings lay untouched on the floor for hours until, finally, he picked them up. When he did, he wept, knowing their marriage was lost. The woman never came back.
The last scene was of something he had experienced very recently―waking up from a horrible nightmare. He remembered all too well the tears running down his face, the anxiety and uncontrollable shaking he endured, the past he had tried so hard to run from.
Meta Knight gasped and jerked his hands feet from Carny’s hold, standing up quickly. He stared at her, breathing heavily. Carny remained where she was, rooted to the spot, gazing wide-eyed at him, a light breeze tousling her hair.
“Are you okay?” she asked gently.
He didn’t answer. He placed his hand on his chest, trying to slow his breathing. His gaze turned to the calm stream, a sharp contrast to his tumultuous thoughts and the turmoil he wrestled with. A small turtle blinked a lazy eye at him and plopped into the water, out of sight. A garter snake swung down out of a tree, flicked its tongue at him, and coiled back on itself, slithering away among the tangled underbrush and mossy rocks.
Carny stood up, her dress stained with spots of mud and bits of grass, he face showing a bit of a strain, possibly due to worry. “Sir Meta Knight,” she repeated almost vehemently, “are you okay?”
He looked at her, his breath hitching for a brief second. Suddenly he felt something sharp press into his palm. With a low hiss of pain, he looked down at his hand and saw that in his agitation he was squeezing the shell so hard a sharp point at the base was digging into his skin. Blood stained his glove and trickled down his wrist. He dropped the shell to the sand, beginning to tremble all over.
“Meta Knight,” Carny softly repeated, taking a step forward.
He stared at her.
“What are you doing?” she asked plainly, sounding almost angry.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Carny. You shouldn’t have become a part of my problems. I didn’t want to do this to you. . .I did it anyway.”
Carny eyed him the way a mother would a little child and walked up to him, standing a few feet away. “What are you talking about?” she wondered.
Meta Knight knew the time had come to tell her the truth. He couldn’t hide it. “I was abused, Carny,” he said at least, voice breaking. Carny gasped. “Nightmare did it―he’s my father. I―I hate him for that―and I hate myself. I carried all of my pain for years, never knowing what to do―I still don’t, in truth.” Suddenly feeling a surge of fury, he struck his fist against a tree. The bark cracked and a small dent showed where he had punched it. Carny’s mouth hung agape, her muscles tensed.
The soldier lowered his head and sank to the ground. Carny caught his hand as he went down, sitting beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder as he cried softly. She looked out at the bluish-silvery water, the tiny minnows zipping about, their tails flicking and flashing in the sunlight. Then she began to sing:
“What do you do when the sun goes down?
What do you do when you crash to the ground?
How do you know the right road to take?
How do you know the best option to make?
Rise again, rise again,
Release your fear on wings of wind
Let’s God’s peace in you settle in
Rise again, rise again.”
Thus Carny sang. When she finished, she felt Meta Knight’s hand tighten slightly on hers. She smiled at him and hugged him, and he returned the embrace.
* * * * *
Springtime grinned as the children Scazzarda, and Kimora climbed out of the car. “Hi, everyone!” she called. “I see you brought a friend!”
“This is Kimora Lambe,” Scazzarda explained. “She’s married to Victor Lambe, future pastor of Hallowed Father Church.”
“She also had a daughter named Carny,” Cloudy said, “but she stayed behind with Meta Knight. Pastor Lambe went off to hunt.”
“I see,” Springtime said quietly. “Well,” she added cheerily, “do come in and make yourself at home, Kimora! It is very nice to meet new friends!”
“Thank you,” Kimora said, mounting the porch steps. “I can see where your daughter Cloudy gets her kind spirit, You’ve raised her so well.”
Springtime chuckled. “I just do my job,” she said, brushing off the compliment.
“Then you’re doing it well,” said Kimora. “Many mothers today don’t care enough to raise their kids properly. But you do. And that’s remarkable.”
“She’s the best mommy ever!” Star exclaimed, snuggling up to Springtime.
Springtime giggled. “if you say so.” She cleared her throat. “Noe come! Let us get to know each other better over some cold lemonade, shall we?”
* * * * *
Victor fingered his rifle as he tramped through a deserted area of Whispy Woods. He kept his eyes peeled for squirrels or birds―even rabbits. But not a single animal was in sight.
A rustle to his right made him freeze. He quickly loaded his rifle and raised it to his shoulder, ready to fire, What came out of the bushes was a small brown squirrel. He reacted fast and fired a few shots at it, one of the shots missing their mark and ricocheting off a tree, flying away into a deeper part of the woods. The stray bullet smacked right into the head of a large brown form and it fell to the ground with a thud. Curiously, the pastor didn’t seem to notice or hear the sound.
“Finally,” he said with satisfaction, picking up the rabbit and stowing it in a canvas bag he held. He slung both the rifle and the bag over his shoulder and set off toward another part of the woods.
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