TFRoot - The Elixer Page 4

  "No, my dear, I'm afraid there isn't any more,” said Lucinda apologetically. She bent over and reached out to him, extending her forefinger which he gently nuzzled. “Come along, then. I'll brew up a little tea for us before bedtime."

  With that she scooped up the cat and placed him on the floor, where he resumed following her around the kitchen while she engaged in the time-honored ritual of preparing a proper pot of tea. When she had finished she poured out two servings, one into a ceramic mug and another into a very tiny cut-glass bowl. She then retired to the living room that was adjacent to the kitchen, with Sammy following closely, before cozily settling down into a comfortable sofa, placing the mug and the bowl within easy reach on the short antique wooden table in front of it. Sammy bounded onto the table, put his head over the bowl, and began lapping up the warm golden-green-colored liquid. Abruptly, he paused and lifted up his head, peering at Lucinda unblinkingly through vivid, clear blue eyes, a very unusual feature for a cat with solid black fur.

  "Oh, I'm sorry, my dear. Did you want a touch of honey in that?” Sammy opened his mouth as if to let out a small mew, but no sound was forthcoming. “No, of course not, Sammy,” she said, mock-scoldingly, “you know better than that! It's just plain old chamomile tea.” She took a sip from her own mug. “Don't worry, little one. What you want will be here soon enough.” Sammy drank a bit more, then gingerly stepped over from the table and onto Lucinda's knee. Then, he settled down into her lap, purring contentedly as she began to stroke his back. “Yes, soon enough,” Lucinda repeated softly.

  The cat sat quietly for about a minute or two before he began to squirm: stretching out his paws, yawning, and shaking his head. He twisted his body and turned to face Lucinda, letting out a series of insistent mews.

  "Yes, I did meet her. Alison was right: they do indeed make a lovely couple. The wife—her name is Carole, by the way—insisted that I join them for dinner; very sweet little girl.” She gave Sammy a gentle stroke. “Sheis just a little bitty thing, too. They both are in fact.” She glanced down at her cat. “I know you were concerned about that,” she added with an ironic little smile. “She's supposed to be somewhat disabled, of course—suffers from chronic pain—but truthfully it wasn't really all that obvious. She said she has her good days and her bad days. Apparently that's the nature of the disease.” Sammy let out a very soft, tentative mew, sounding almost like a question. “No, I don't think it will be much of a problem,” said Lucinda, as if in response. “In fact, it probably helps in a way. Both of them were definitely interested; a bit skeptical to be sure, but interested nonetheless.” Sammy seemed satisfied and once again settled down, curling up comfortably into a little black ball on Lucinda's lap. Lucinda shook her head.Neither of them has any idea of the magnitude of the gift that I'm offering them. She chuckled lightly to herself.Not the slightest idea.

  The lady and her cat sat together for a few minutes, Lucinda quietly drinking her tea, Sammy half-asleep. Finally, Lucinda drained the last bit of her tea. She began to gently stroke Sammy. “Come on, now,” she murmured as she started to rise, very slowly, so as not to abruptly dislodge the cat from her disappearing lap, continuing to pet him with one hand while slipping the other one under his midsection. Sammy let out a soft mew in protest. “Come on now, Sammy,” she said softly, “it's time for bed.” The cat mewed again, more insistently, first stretching out his paws and then curling himself into an even tighter ball, his claws extended and digging firmly but not painfully into Lucinda's thigh.

  "Oh very well, my little one,” said Lucinda resignedly. “I'll tell you a little bedtime story.” She sat back down onto the couch.

  Sammy shifted his head, peered up at Lucinda, and blinked deliberately. He gave Lucinda's hand a little lick with his sandpaper tongue, and then once again rested his head happily against her leg. He offered her his richest purr in gratitude.

  "And what story would you like to hear this evening, my dear, hmm?” asked Lucinda as she tenderly caressed his flank. “Oh, I know,” she said, a sly twinkle in her vivid blue eyes, “your favorite: the story of Richard and Lucinda Hobson.” Lucinda smiled and closed her eyes. “The Lucinda Hobson, that is.... “she murmured, “whofirst came to this house ... all those years ago...."

  * * * *

  "Oh, yes!” Richard Hobson exclaimed happily, bolting from his chair in front of the large oaken desk in the corner of his study and fairly racing across the room. “I believe I finally have it!"

  "Meow!"

  "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Phantom,” he said as he almost tripped over the little black cat that had been sleeping peacefully in the doorway. Phantom, annoyed, evaded his awkward attempt to pat him on the head. Richard made his way down the hallway and to the top of the stairs. “Lucinda,” he called down to his wife as he began to descend the stairway, holding in his hands a piece of paper, “you must hear this!” Realizing that in his haste he had neglected to properly blot the ink, he shifted the paper in his grasp so as to hold it only along the outermost edges and began shaking it ever-so-slightly, attempting to accelerate the drying of the ink before it could smear. Finally, he made his way downstairs and over to an active fireplace, where a tall, well-formed young woman with wavy, very long dark hair stood with her back to him over a large cast iron pot that was suspended over the steadily burning embers.

  "Oh, yes, indeed!” The woman dipped a ladle into the black pot and took a sip of its liquid contents. She smacked her lips gleefully, very much satisfied with her creation. “This is purely perfect,” she said aloud. “Yes, purely perfect,” she repeated to herself. “Richard!” she called out excitedly, taking another ladleful, “you must try this!” She turned around at the precise moment he appeared behind her. “Oh!” she rather shrieked, startled, having all she could do to not spill the hot liquid. “Richard Henry Hobson!” she said, trying unconvincingly to adopt a scolding tone, “I do so wish you would not do that to me.” She put the ladle back down into the pot, shaking her head in an expression of feigned annoyance. “You do realize,” she added, unable to suppress the grin that was now taking over her beautiful face, “that one of these days you are going to scare me to death!"

  "And that day, my lady, will be the day of my own demise as well; for I could not possibly conceive of any meaning whatsoever in a life bereft of you.” He took her in his arms and kissed her gently. “Now,” he asked, gesturing at the pot, “are you going to let me taste that or not?"

  Lucinda turned and took a large ladleful of the liquid, bringing it up to her husband's lips. “Prepare to be dazzled."

  Richard took her hand in his and guided the ladle to his mouth, taking a sip of the liquid.

  "Well?"

  Richard wore a quizzical expression. “Well ... first off, may I ask: what is it supposed to be, exactly?"

  "Why, it's a fish chowder,” Lucinda answered, looking a bit deflated “I know, it's not quite the same as what I made you back home,” she added apologetically. “It seems the local seafood may not be what we're used to."

  "No, it's not—not at all,” he said, shaking his head slowly. Then he smiled; not just any smile, but one which Lucinda would have described as the widest, warmest, most utterly endearing smile she had ever received, were it not for the fact that he always seemed to smile at her this way. “It's even better—the best I've ever tasted, in fact!"

  "You're not at all disappointed, then?” she asked, obviously a bit relieved.

  "How could I ever be disappointed in you?” he said reassuringly, reaching out to Lucinda with a pair of huge, strong, yet very gentle hands and drawing her close to him. He was a very big man, standing a good head and a half over his wife, who was by no means short herself, powerfully-built, with extremely broad shoulders and solid muscles in his chest, arms and legs that seemed unhappy to resist the constraints of his clothing. His countenance seemed both in harmony and at odds with his physique: strong, large features, dominated equally by a manly chin and jaw that could have been sculpted out of gran
ite, and a pair of large, liquid blue eyes which, depending on his mood and expression, could narrow into the cold stare of a battle-hardened warrior or widen into the innocent gaze of a loving little boy. At this moment they were definitely the latter. In any event, he was, by any estimation, devastatingly handsome. His eyes met his wife's, and he kissed her with a casual tenderness. “I just finished it,” he said proudly.

  "Finished what—your sermon?"

  "Uh ... no...” he replied with a touch of embarrassment, “...just a little something else I was working on; a poem, actually."

  "Oh really? A poem? Well, what's it about?"

  "Why don't you tell me?” He cleared his throat and began to read from the paper he was holding:

  "She moves with a fluid, feline grace

  Seldom seen, so I must confess;

  Blissful smile on her flawless face:

  The lovely lioness."

  "It's about a female lion, then?” Lucinda asked artlessly.

  "Not quite."

  "Oh, I see, it's symbolic,” she said enthusiastically. “I'm very intrigued.” She cocked her head to one side. “Hmm, now, what could the lioness represent..."

  Richard smiled. “When were you born?” he asked her. “What time of year, that is,” he elaborated. “It refers to the astrological sign of Leo,” he said, supplying the answer to his own question. Lucinda stared at him as if uncomprehending. “Why, I'm talking about you, of course, born under the sign of Leo the lion—my own ‘lovely lioness.’”

  "Oh, that is so sweet, my dear,” said Lucinda. She kissed her husband. “But Richard, I'm a bit confused about something. Can a lion, or a lioness, in this case, actually smile? I mean, can any wild animal smile?"

  "Well, I'm not sure ... perhaps not, but as I said..."

  "Also, well, now I know that a lioness has a face, but would one properly describe such a face as being flawless?"'

  "I don't really know about that; I do know, my dear, that I would rightly describeyour face as perfectly flawless.” They kissed again. “Now, if I may continue..."

  "Oh, and one other thing..."

  Richard sighed. “What is it now?” he asked, a bit exasperated, putting aside the paper.

  "Well,” said Lucinda, lowering her voice, “I'm concerned that this particular use of symbolism might not be completely appropriate, under the circumstances."

  "What circumstances?"

  "Your circumstances; that is to say, your new position, my dear, in the Church of England, I mean.” A glint of mischief entered her eyes. “After all, the Anglicans deem astrology akin to the occult, do they not? Not exactly the most appropriate subject-matter for verse. Now, if your superiors back home should ever learn of your outside interests...” Try as she might, she was unable to keep a straight face.

  Richard shrugged. “I suppose that's a risk I'll have to take.” He paused; then added fatalistically: “I would venture to say that just my being here is risk enough.” Richard frowned. “Rather ironic, wouldn't you say: these so-called Puritans have turned almost as judgmental as those whose persecution they originally fled. They tolerate the Church of England, but just barely."

  "Oh, Richard, please don't worry,” she said, reassuringly, reaching out to him and enveloping his hands in hers. “I'm certain that everything will be fine. Besides, if any man can handle this, you can; they would never have chosen you otherwise."

  He shook his head. “I shudder at the thought of what they might do if they learned I was married to a Roman Catholic."

  "You're married to aCatholic?" she said, giggling girlishly. “Why, have I ever met her?"

  "I'm telling you, Lucinda this is not something to jest about,” Richard insisted. “I've seen first-hand what men can do to one another in the name of God."

  "So have I,” said Lucinda softly, her lightheartedness evaporating. “So have I."

  Their musings were interrupted by a loud knock.

  "Hello! Is anyone there?"

  "I'll get it,” said Richard as he made his way across the room and opened the front door.

  Standing on the other side was a short, fat fellow, bald, round-faced and ruddy. “The Reverend Richard Hobson, I presume,” he said amiably, extending his hand.

  "Yes?"

  "I'm Charles Bloodworth."

  "Oh, yes, Dr. Bloodworth,” Richard exclaimed, shaking hands with his guest. “Please come in. I'd like you to meet my wife. Lucinda!” he called out, a bit louder than necessary, as she was presently standing right behind him. “Dr. Bloodworth, this is my wife. Lucinda, this is Dr. Charles Bloodworth, the leading physician here in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, and the cousin of the Archbishop of Canterbury himself."

  "I'm very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Hobson,” said Dr. Bloodworth with a little nod and a big smile. “Now, I don't know about ‘leading,'” he demurred, “but I am a physician, and I am the Archbishop's cousin."

  "I'm very pleased to meet you as well, Dr. Bloodworth; and it's ‘Lucinda.'” She returned his smile.

  "I've heard so much about you both. Why, it's almost as if I already know you."

  "Our reputations precede us, then?” said Richard, a bit cautiously.

  "I didn't realize we had become so notorious, Richard,” Lucinda added wryly.

  "I should not say ‘notorious,’ my lady,” corrected Dr. Bloodworth, “but most definitely ‘noteworthy.’ Your husband's family are held in the highest esteem by all good Englishmen."

  "Haven't sullied the name too much, then?” Richard muttered, almost as an aside.

  "On the contrary, sir, your exploits in battle have only added to its luster."

  "Yes, well those days are behind me now,” said Richard, a bit impatiently. “I hope so, at least.” His expression suddenly grew very dark. “Perhaps now I can start making up for it,” he said, half to himself.

  Dr. Bloodworth put a solicitous hand on his shoulder. “No regrets, my good man,” he said gently. “You did only what any officer in His Majesty's Navy was sworn to do, and most splendidly, in fact.” He paused, then added: “just as you are doing now, and will so continue, in your new office in His Majesty's Church."

  "I do often wonder,” said Richard, shaking his head, “what the Prince of Peace Himself would actually make of all this: so many wars fought ... thrones won and lost, altering the destiny of nations ... men—and women—slaughtering one another, all over nothing more than a difference in interpretation ... one translation over another, as it were ... over mere ... trivialities."

  Dr. Bloodworth shrugged. “We can only pray that perhaps things will be different here, on this side of the Atlantic ... someday."

  "'Mere trivialities?'” Lucinda interjected. “Rather odd to hear matters of faith described that way by a man of God!” she said teasingly. “You do remember,” she added coyly, lowering her eyes, “the Catholics still adhere to the doctrine of a celibate clergy."

  "One of their least enlightened notions, I daresay,” said Richard, his own mood brightening. “For if surely I was created to serve Him, then just as surely the marriage ofthis servant, our marriage, is part of His Divine Providence."

  "Oh, that's beyond obvious!” Lucinda concurred earnestly. “How could He have possibly intended anything else for you, but to spend your life wed to me?” They beamed at one another, and their gazes met—two sets of vibrant blue eyes both fixed lovingly on their counterpart. “Verily, Mr. Richard Henry Hobson, I am the culmination of your life's journey."

  "Well my cousin said you were a most audacious pair, even for newlyweds,” said Dr. Bloodworth, feigning appropriate indignation at this display but clearly appreciative of their genuine mutual affection.

  "Oh, where are my manners?” Richard exclaimed suddenly. “Please, allow me to invite you to dine with us this evening."

  "Oh, yes, please join us,” Lucinda concurred enthusiastically. “I'm trying out a new recipe, and you and Richard can be my ... test subjects, as it were.” She smiled slyly.

  "Well, I'm rarely
one to refuse the offer of a meal,” said Dr. Bloodworth with a chuckle, patting his ample stomach, “but my own wife is waiting for me at home."

  "I understand,” said Richard. “Perhaps another time, then, and of course, when your wife can join us."

  "I look forward to that with great anticipation,” Dr. Bloodworth replied. He shot a quick glance at the pot suspended over the fireplace. “It does have a wonderful aroma, though. You must be a very fine cook, Lucinda."

  "My wife has an amazing knack for creating the most sumptuous feasts out of the most mundane ingredients,” said Richard appreciatively.

  "Oh, come now,” Lucinda demurred. “I possess nothing more than a basic knowledge of proper seasoning."

  "Still, that's a most enviable craft,” said Dr. Bloodworth, “knowing what spices to use, and in what amounts."

  Richard nodded in agreement. “And herbs, as well. My wife possesses an expansive knowledge of herbs, both their use and their cultivation."