Chapter 29
I opened my eyes with a startling jerk. My grandson was looking down into my weary eyes with a sheepish smile.
“Hey old man,” he stated with a slight giggle. “It looks like you guys had an awfully good time last night.”
I rubbed my eyes removing the crust from the corners and sat upright. My back was very stiff. The children’s parents were all rustling their kids up from what appeared to be a very restful sleep. Though I felt a little pain shoot through my joints I had not rested that well in a while. My thoughts were light, and I was renewed.
All of the children wrestled to their feet as though they would rise, only to fall back to the comforting threads of the carpet fighting to go back to sleep.
“I want to hear more of the story,” one little girl yawned out.
“I know, but it’s time to go home now. It has been a very long night. Your mother is very worried,” whispered the young girl’s father in her ear.
“Junior,” I stated to my grandson. He looked at me as his eyes rolled back into his head because he hated it when I called him that. I thought it only fair considering he referred to me as an old man.
“Yeah, granddad?” he responded.
“Can you be a sport and go and get my cane?” I asked. I tried to push myself up onto my feet but I must have slept a little strangely and stiffened my knee as much as I had my back. I hated using that stupid cane, but I knew that it would be necessary for the time being, especially if I were to see my guests out into the beautiful new morning.
“Sure.” I heard, then my grandson disappeared and I watched the children all file out of Warhead Dale.
The parents walked by me and shook my hand and expressed what a wonderful time they had even though they were stuck there overnight. They all mentioned with a giggle that they felt like children again staying over at friend’s houses when they were growing up.
Some of the children hugged me as they left, and I felt a sense of bonding to these children no more than twelve years old who listened to my wonderful tale about Michael, JT, Kali, and the Mahogany Door.
Most of the children left with their parent’s hands in theirs and a very satisfactory smile upon their faces as others still tried to waken.
My grandson returned, handed me my cane, and helped me to my feet. I would be lying if I didn’t say that there were more than a few references to my age from the young one. Of course they were always in a lovingly, joking manner.
My cane crunched on a few crumbs and cups left by the children as I walked out into the morning light. The day was gorgeous.
The wind was crisp that was blowing off the ocean after the magnificent fall storm, and my lungs felt instantly refreshed as I breathed in deeply. I surveyed some damage to the outside of the massive mansion called Warhead Dale and then followed the children and their parents through the front yard, up the long winding driveway, and out to the iron gate. The structure of the house was still very intact, but a few clay tiles had fallen to the ground from the roof. A few limbs and trees had been blown into the yard, but there was very little destruction that could be called severe (Unless you consider a couple of windows that may have been broken by those limbs, severe).
A few of the boys darted off in either direction in the vast yard, making their way to the iron gate pretending to draw swords as JT and Michael and Kali had during the Battle of the End in Bruinduer. Two acted as though they fell and died. The remaining faux warriors caught my straggling stare directed toward them. They quickly remembered my speech about war and then instantly straightened up and rushed beside their parents. I was not mad at them, because I myself have been known to act out a few battle scenes. One of the children eyed back at me with shame in his expression, but I winked. He smiled, grabbed his father’s hand, and continued the trek down the driveway.
Soon, all of the children made their way through the iron gate. After a quick goodbye, my grandson turned and walked back toward the mansion. He just wanted to make sure that everyone had made it out of the house all right. Before he left my side, he patted my shoulder and snickered, “You can make sure the gate is locked can’t you ol’ timer?”
“You sure are making a lot of old jokes this morning,” I explained in a perturbed way though I had no intention of seeming as serious as my grandson took my remark.
“I didn’t mean too - I mean you have rarely used your cane - I just -” my grandson stuttered about. I knew he didn’t want to offend me, but I iced his fears.
“Would you just go back to the house you young whippersnapper? We got a little cleaning up to do if we want to really open this place up.” I waved my arm and smiled in his direction. He immediately knew I would never think that he insulted me. “Of course I can lock this gate. You should know that better than anyone.”
The last little child walked out of the gate with her father’s hand in hers and I grabbed the great iron gate and pulled on it. It was swinging closed with a loud, grinding squeak when the little dark-haired girl let go of her father’s hand and ran back toward the opening. Her brown ponytail, matted from the night before still bounced electrically as she skated up to me. I quickly halted the gate from shutting and she tugged on my shirt.
“Mister, I got a couple of questions I want to ask.” Her voice was very matter of fact.
I was taken aback a little, but remembered the little girl’s face from the beginning of the story on the beach. “That is right my dear, I did promise to answer all of your questions at the end of the story. How can I help you?”
“When can you tell another story like that?” She asked so innocently with large, sparkling emerald eyes. “I really want to know where Kali went.”
I placed my finger on my chin as though I had to think about it and then answered very politely, “I have been known to tell more than one story in my life.” I really had the feeling that she enjoyed this last one I told. “And I tell you what. If you ever come back and visit me in this big old house here on the coast again, you just might hear one, and you might discover what you are looking for.” I patted her head and she turned and started to skip away but I stopped her.
“Dear?” I asked. She planted her foot and wheeled around surprisingly and peered at me as though she had done something wrong.
“Yes?” her voice cracked.
“Questions dear. You said you had questions. That was only one question. What is your other?” I did not feel comfortable confusing her as she glared to the sky searching for another question, but I did not want her to go all the way home, remember the other question, and then regret she didn’t have the chance to ask me for we are never guaranteed tomorrow.
It took only a second and then she found her train of thought and final query.
“What’s your name? I didn’t hear you say it the whole day yesterday or last night.” She eyed me with a nod as though she may have caught me in a lie.
I returned her nod and called her over to me with a wave of my hand. I leaned down, placed my palm beside her ear, and whispered.
She jerked back and her eyes became as large as silver dollars and she sucked in what must have been a gallon of air. She whirled around swiftly and bounced back to her father. She tugged his arm and then mouthed something toward him placing her hand over her lips as though she didn’t want anyone else to see what she had to say.
I pulled the gate its final few feet. As it clanked shut, I locked the big, old, iron gate with a final, “click, click.”
The father of the little brown-haired girl with beautiful green eyes stopped abruptly and looked back in my direction. I stood there alone with the gate, my cane, and the big old house called Warhead Dale in the background, and the waves rocked in the autumn morn. His eyes widened with a gasp.
I smiled at him, waved quickly, turned, and limped down the long winding driveway.
Dear Reader,
There would have been no way possible for me to have completed this book without a lot of help. Therefore, I would like to take this ti
me to thank some of the wonderful people who have made this book become a reality.
To Janeen Free-McKee, without your editing expertise, I do not think that my story would have been readable.
To John Roberson and Laura Roberson, thank you for giving me insight on how to make the story better.
To Lauren Gallegos, your illustrations only took the story to another level.
To Mary Alice Bell and Mom, you are my inspiration.
To Scott Jackson, without you, we would have never sounded so good.
To Jill Boliek, the love of my life, without you, I would have quit a long time ago.
And a very special thanks to the ones who did not believe in me, without you, I would have never found the people who did.
And thank you reader for taking the time to read this story. I hope you enjoyed it, because it was quite a journey to write it.
Thank You,
Mark
You can follow me on Facebook, www.facebook.com/jmarkboliek
A bit more about the Illustrator, Lauren Gallegos:
Lauren Gallegos graduated from Cal State Fullerton with a B.F.A. in Illustration and creates her art from her home in Southern California.
Children's books have been an important part of her growth, her beliefs, and her goals and now she wishes for her art to have the same impact on the next generation.
Therefore, she seeks goodness, truth, and beauty that she may incorporate it into her art for the world to discover. Visit www.laurengallegos.com to learn more.
Stay tuned for the next Book in The Bruinduer Narrative:
Kali’s Regress
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