TFRoot - The Elixer Page 6

  "Good choice,” said Lucinda, reaching for a four ounce tin canister. “This happens to be excellent. I'll give you the loose tea; it brews up much better than the bags.” She placed the canister on the counter. “Will there be anything else?” she asked him, pointedly, her clear blue eyes gazing at him unblinkingly.

  "No, I think that will hold me for today.” He reached into his pocket for his money clip. “What do I owe you?"

  "Six ninety-nine."

  Tom handed her a ten dollar bill. Lucinda opened the cash register and handed him his change and a receipt.

  "Oh, I almost forget,” she exclaimed suddenly, and pulled open a small drawer built into her side of the counter. “I noticed at the restaurant that Carole was drinking chamomile tea. I'd like her to try this one.” She took out a pretty little tin canister, all white except for tiny, purple, hand-painted enamel flowers and placed it down on the counter. “This is one of my own private blends; I take chamomile tea imported from France and infuse it with some of my own herbs. It's really very good. I'm sure that she—that both of you—will enjoy it.” She must have sensed Tom's trepidation, which now seemed to palpably permeate the very air between them. “It's only tea, for goodness’ sake, not poison!” she said, like a mother trying to simultaneously scold and soothe an overly fearful little child. “There's nothing dangerous about it, I can assure you."

  "It's just chamomile tea? It's made from chamomile flowers?"

  "Yes, that is how chamomile tea is made,” she confirmed, with the mildest touch of sarcasm. “As I say, this blend is especially good, and I have enhanced it slightly with my own herbs. I save it especially for my personal use, and I only share it with my very best friends."

  "Okay,” he said, resignedly, reaching back into his pocket. “How much..."

  "It's my pleasure,” said Lucinda, smiling warmly. “As I said, this tea is only for my best friends."

  "Well thank you very much, Lucy,” said Tom, picking up the canister, “that's very kind of you.”Oh well , he thought, I suppose that it can't hurt to try it. “Thank you,” he repeated quietly and pointedly.

  "Now, you have to promise me that you and Carole will try this tea. You have a good teapot? About this size?” she asked, picking up an antique pot sitting on the counter. Tom nodded affirmatively. “When you make a pot of this for the two of you, be sure to use three well-rounded teaspoons. Remember, ‘one for the pot,’ as they say. And be sure to let it steep for no less than three but no more than five minutes. That's very important, you know, to insure the optimum flavor."

  You mean the optimum dosage? Tom started to ask, but did not.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The first light of the new day made its way over the ocean horizon, casting long and eerie shadows out of the figures of Richard and Lucinda Hobson who stood together solemnly on a large, flat expanse of sand at the foot of an impressive dune located about fifty yards from the steadily pounding surf. Every now and then Lucinda would stand behind Richard and, without being asked, massage his back, while Richard stretched out his arms, shrugged his shoulders, or twisted his torso this way and that, his movements serving to keep his muscles limber in the face of the damp chill of the New England winter. They exchanged the occasional glance, but no conversation.

  "What a surprise!” The silence was broken by the voice of the middle one of three figures who suddenly had appeared at the top of the dune, a tall, slender man with thin, white-blonde hair and a sharp-featured visage that would have been pleasant enough save for his small, close-set gray eyes. “I didn't think you had the stomach to show,priest .” He spat out the epithet with a sneer.

  It would appear then that you were mistaken, Cunningham,” Richard called out to him. Then, gesturing to the figure to his left: “I see you brought along the good physician to attend you; a wise decision, in this case."

  "I'm here in an impartial capacity,” responded Dr. Bloodworth. “And I will once again implore you both to come to your senses, and call this off by mutual consent."

  "I'm here solely as a matter of honor, for I have no need of satisfaction,” Richard responded evenly. Except, of course,” he added, “that Ido expect an apology on behalf of my wife."

  "That's not necessary, at all, Richard,” Lucinda said to her husband quietly. “Please, if you can avoid this..."

  "Oh, yes, your wife,” Cunningham said with distaste as he descended the dune. “I see he brought his fat whore to attend him,” he said ostensibly to his own second but loud enough for Richard to hear. “Why,” he called out, “is there noman you could call upon?"

  "My choices are none of your affair,” said Richard, removing his cloak and handing it to Lucinda. “I daresay he might regret my choice of weapon, though,” he muttered under his breath.

  "Oh, Richard, must you go through with this?” Lucinda asked nervously.

  "Have no worries, my dear,” he said with a confident wink. “I only plan to teach this rude fellow a little lesson. Besides,” he added cheerily, patting her belly that was now growing ever rounder almost daily, “you can't believe I would ever leave our child an orphan."

  By now they were all together on the chosen area, a flat part of the beach. The third man, Cunningham's second, who could have been his double minus five years or so, helped Cunningham off with his cloak. Dr. Bloodworth placed a long bundle on the sand, opening it up to reveal several dueling swords of differing lengths, but all of which could be categorized as rapiers: straight, doubled-edged blades, perhaps an inch or so wide at the bottom gradually tapering to a point, with a bowl-shaped protector around the handle. Richard reached down and picked up the longest, one that featured a very ornately decorated handle. He immediately put it down.No, not this one! He picked up another and held it out in front of him, eyeing the blade critically, moving it this way and that; then, satisfied with what he saw and felt, he turned quickly and took several swipes at the air.This one will do . He nodded affirmatively in Dr. Bloodworth's direction.

  Meanwhile, Cunningham picked up another sword and aped Richard's movements. Unsatisfied, he put it down. He picked up another one and took several more swipes. Richard shot a quick glance at him, trying not to let him notice. Then he saw it, that telltale look of uncertainty in his mean little eyes. It may have been there only for a split second, but it spoke volumes nonetheless, and for Richard was a source of some relief. Despite all his bluster, Cunningham was frightened.

  "The one he rejected, brother,” Cunningham's second said in a stage whisper, gesturing to the longest blade.

  Cunningham picked it up and took a few quick swipes. “Yes; yes, this will do, quite nicely,” he said, fixing a baleful stare on Richard.

  Once again, Richard breathed a figurative sigh of relief. His assessment of his opponent was proving accurate. Cunningham may have possessed a rudimentary knowledge of fencing, and certainly behaved more belligerently than his abilities would warrant, but he was surely no expert. He had settled on what had been the worst weapon offered, one which at first glance had appeared very well-made but which Richard had instantly determined was just a bit off-balanced, and a trifle on the long side besides; it was definitely too long for his slightly shorter opponent. Lucky for him I'm a merciful man, thought Richard.

  Dr. Bloodworth scooped up the swords still remaining on the ground and bundled them up. “If indeed, gentlemen, we are bound and determined to proceed...” He paused to allow an interruption, but none was forthcoming. “Very well, then,” he said resignedly, “we are all acquainted with the rules: there is to be no throwing of the blades, and no back-stabbing. You shall use only the weapons decided upon. You shall conduct yourselves as gentlemen; if quarter is asked, it shall be granted."

  "Granted, to be sure, but never asked,” Cunningham snarled. Richard merely shook his head, a bemused smile on his face.

  "Now,” Dr. Bloodworth concluded, “commence on my signal.” He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, which he held out in front of him for a moment before drop
ping his arm and stepping out of the way of the duelists.

  The two combatants circled one another, each looking for an opening. Cunningham made the first move, feigning a thrust from the left and then slashing from the right, a rather obvious ploy. Richard easily parried this, but offered no counterattack of his own. This quickly became the pattern: Cunningham the aggressor, Richard simply watching and waiting, taking in the full measure of his opponent, easily deflecting his blows but not returning them. Cunningham was tall, almost a tall as Richard, but he was not nearly as strong, and his blows had little effect. Often the smaller man compensates for this disadvantage by being considerably quicker, but this was not the case here; what negligible advantage Cunningham may have had in this department was more than erased by an over-aggressiveness which consistently placed him in awkward positions. Richard could have easily exploited this and delivered damaging, or even devastating blows in return, but he refrained from doing so, simply allowing Cunningham to continually attack unsuccessfully. It soon became painfully obvious that Cunningham was hopelessly overmatched, his feints readily recognized, his thrusts and slashes effortlessly turned aside.

  "I'll once again proffer a truce,” said Richard. “Simply offer your sincere apology to my wife.” This was a most generous offer, as by now Richard's superior swordsmanship was patently obvious to all those present, all except to Cunningham, that is, who ignored Richard and continued his fruitless assaults against him. Finally, out of fatigue and frustration, he made one exceptionally ill-advised lunge which Richard easily sidestepped and, with a powerful slash of his own, knocked Cunningham's sword from his hands. Cunningham, terribly off-balance, fell down on his face with an embarrassing splat. He scrambled to his knees and lunged desperately for his dropped sword, but Richard, using his own sword like a lever, flipped it aside, well out of Cunningham's reach.

  "Now, then,” said Richard in a condescending tone, looking down on his opponent, “what have we to say concerning quarter?” He rested his sword firmly against Cunningham's throat. “Do we now ask it, indeed?” Cunningham was paralyzed with such fear that he was unable to speak. Richard shook his head. “I repeat, sir, do you ask for quarter?” Cunningham, now exposed as a bully and a coward, nodded his head weakly.

  "I should think,” Dr. Bloodworth interjected, “that you also owe Mrs. Hobson an apology. Otherwise, I can't possibly see the Reverend Hobson granting your request."

  This angered Cunningham, in spite of his fright, and the resentment flashed in his eyes. This in turn offended Richard, who now felt as if his charity were being abused.The fool still doesn't comprehend . His own eyes narrowed into his coldest, hardest stare.

  "Oh well,” he said, shaking his head; then, slowly raising his hand, intoned with an exaggerated solemnity: “He who lives by the sword..."

  Richard began a well-timed slash aimed at Cunningham's throat. Cunningham's eyes widened as he once again fell into terror's grip. Then, at the very last second, Richard expertly altered the arc of his sword and neatly sliced off the top tip of Cunningham's left ear. Driven through the air by the force of the blow, it landed at the feet of Dr. Bloodworth, who, somewhat amused, bent down and picked it up. Richard laughed sardonically, stuck his sword in the sand, and then stalked away from Cunningham and back to his wife's side.

  Cunningham let loose an ungodly yowl, reaching frantically for the side of his head with both hands. He gasped in horror as he felt the blood trickling down. He took several quick, audible breaths before breaking into tears, weeping as much from the sting of humiliation as from the pain of the wound.

  "Stop that,” scolded Dr. Bloodworth as he dashed over to attend to Cunningham. “It's only superficial. You shall undoubtedly live to fight another day."

  "If he's foolish enough, that is,” Lucinda said to her husband with a wink as the two of them headed for home.

  CHAPTER SIX

  "Ooh, don't stop ... that feels soo good! Ooh!” Carole sighed contentedly as Tom rubbed sun block onto her lightly-freckled shoulders. “And I thought that I was the one with the hands of gold!"

  "Well, I had a very good teacher; the best, in fact.” He continued until the last trace of lotion had disappeared, then he repositioned the straps to the top of her hot pink, two-piece swimsuit. He patted her back affectionately. “Okay?"

  "Oh, thanks, Hon. Thank you so much."

  "Now,” he said, stretching out next to her on the beach blanket, “will I be enjoying the benefit ofyour most excellent services?"

  Well,” said Carole, coyly, propping herself up on one elbow and turning toward him,

  "I suppose that I could fit you in. But it will cost you, you know. After all,I'm a trained professional."

  "How much?” Tom asked, lifting his body and leaning over very close to her.

  "Well, it's negotiable."

  "How about this?” Tom kissed her lightly.

  "No, you'll have to do better than that."

  Tom kissed her again, longer and more deeply.

  "No,” she said teasingly, “no deal. But keep trying."

  Tom scrambled to his knees and put his arms around her midsection, lifting her up to him. He pulled her close and kissed her again, gently yet firmly. “How about now?"

  "Better, yes, but still not good enough."

  "Your prices are very high. You must think that you're pretty hot."

  "No, I know that I'm very hot."

  A mischievous glint entered his eyes. “Well then, I know exactly what to do with you.” With that he rose to his feet, lifted her up, playfully slung her over one shoulder, and headed for the surf. “You need to cool off!"

  "No, no, put me down, now!” Yukon, who had been peacefully sleeping next to them in the warm afternoon sun, opened his eyes and lifted up his head.

  "I said put me down!” Carole protested, letting loose a high-pitched, girlish shriek. Yukon now got up and growled suspiciously.

  "It's okay, Yu, I'm not hurting her,” Tom called back, as he strode even faster toward the water. “Not even your dog can save you now,” he said to Carole with mock-dramatic gravity. Carole struggled to break his grip as they disappeared behind a sand dune, followed closely now by a happily barking, tail-wagging Yukon, who was satisfied that his master was not really in danger but nevertheless had decided to join in the fun. Just a few short feet from the ocean, Yukon caught up to them. He placed his big body directly in front of Tom, tripping him up. Tom instinctively extended his free hand and twisted his body to land on his side, cushioning Carole, as they tumbled rather roughly unto the wet sand.

  "Carole? Are you all right?” Tom asked, as he slowly slid out from under her and pulled himself up. No answer was forthcoming. “Carole?” Tom knelt over her prone, motionless figure, genuinely concerned.

  "Ooh!” She finally let out a low, weak moan.

  "Oh, God, Carole, I'm sorry!"

  Abruptly, she started giggling. She grabbed his arm and rather forcefully pulled him down on top of her. Then she kissed him, long, deeply, and very passionately.

  "Nowthat's what I had in mind,” she said.

  "You little idiot!” Tom sputtered in mock-anger. “You almost scared me half to death!” Then, seriously: “Are you sure you're okay?"

  "Yes!” She asserted insistently, “I'm just fine! I mean, I'm not that fragile, you know."

  "No, you don't seem to be. It seems you've been feeling pretty good, thank God."

  "No,” Carole corrected him, “I've been feeling prettygreat .” She made a quick sign of the cross. “Thank God.” She shook her head. “Remember how bad I was right after we moved in?"

  "Yes, I do.” Tom practically shuddered at the memory. “You had a terrible time for about two weeks."

  "I know, then I started to feel better, and the last two weeks ... well, I'm not sure that I understand it, but I'm certainly not complaining!"

  "Have you taken anything today?” asked Tom, referring to Carole's pain-killing medication.

  "No, nothing today, not
yet; and maybe I won't have to."

  "That would be great,” said Tom.

  They stood up and walked back to where they had left their blanket, then lying down, stretched out to catch a few rays.

  "Well, the weather has warmed up a bit, and I suppose that that agrees with you,” Tom remarked.

  "That's true,” replied Carole. “Being up here sure agrees withyou , that's for sure. You look great!"

  "Really?"

  "Definitely. Your hair looks really full."

  "Oh, my hair is such a disaster!” Tom had never been overly concerned by the slight temple-area recession typical of the mature, masculine hairline he had experienced in his late twenties, feeling it had no significant cosmetic impact. Lately, however, he had become aware of and concerned by the slight but steady thinning at the front and top of his head, which was continuing as slowly but inexorably as thirty-six approached forty.