Giles' Keeper

“Nesta! Did you tend to the garden beds today? I’d like to get them prepped for the year to come. I want our harvest to be plentiful.” Papa calls out, his strong voice carried from the barn aisle.

“What did you want me to do? Isn’t the garden all set?” I step into the shade of the barn, the owl glides into the shed, perched up in the rafters. It must be time for him to rest. My wild thoughts from the previous night appear and I want to shake my head at the absurdity. Surely, Giles can’t be controlling an owl. Surely he’s not a dragon… but why does it make so much sense?

“Girly! Are you listening?” Papa sighs with a labored breath.

“I’m sorry Papa, I got distracted.” I admit sheepishly as I turn to face him. He moves to his chair to take a break as he glowers at me.

“I hate repeating myself. I won’t do it for a third time. You better clear the cotton from your ears.” He wags a finger at me, his patience thin. He’s been so cranky lately.

“I’m listening, I promise Papa.” I swear to him. His dark eyes glitter in the shadows before he heaves a sigh, rubbing his temple.

“I said I want you to pull all the weeds and make sure all the dead leaves are out and in the compost. I want them to break down with our good soil compost and balance it. Give the dirt time to balance out. Make sure the soil isn’t compact too.” He points out and I nod slowly.

“The tools are in the shed right?” Papa nods and waves his hands in the general direction.

“If not there, check the loft of the barn.”

“Ok Papa, I’ll get right to it.” I promise turning to fetch the tools. Why such an early start? I don’t remember starting this early last year.

“Good, I’ll check this evening. I’m going to head inside to rest for a short while.” Papa nods with a stern look. “Be sure to do it right, I don’t want to ask for Caleb’s help again this year.” My features flame at his words, nodding in understanding.

“Yes Papa, I’ll make sure to do it right.” I promise him as he stands, I move closer earning another glower.

“I can walk just fine girly- go take care of the chores if you would.” He walks away, his grip firm on his wooden cane. What has him so cranky?

“Yes Papa.” He heads past our tool shed, pausing at the open door with a heavy scowl.

“Girly…” Crap.

“Sorry Papa! I was heading in there for some nails earlier.” I scurry after him, stepping in the way with a sheepish smile. Please don’t go in there. If I’m not careful he’ll find my owl friend and I can’t imagine that’d be good. Does Papa know Giles is capable… if it is him?

“Keep that door closed if you’re not in there.” He warns, shaking his head, he mutters under his breath as he heads inside. Maybe it’s time my owl finds a new place to nest. Clearly the tool shed is not as good of a spot as I had hoped.

“I will!” He continues on, without pause only to head inside our cabin in silence. I need to stop being an absolute fool. Releasing a soft breath I close my eyes as relief washes over me. Quietly I head inside watching the owl as its eyes pop open, staring at me endlessly, it’s golden eyes sear holes through me. It’s like it’s not entirely an owl- but that’s madness.

I search the tool shed for the needed tools, coming up empty, I make sure to open the window a crack. “I, I feel- when you leave, use the window.” I sound mad. I point at the window, blushing as I shut the door behind me. It’s a wonder I’m not lynched for my madness. Here lately I feel as if I can only mutter mad thoughts. Dragons for instance! How could that be true… yet in the same sense, how could it not?

I head towards the barn once more, climbing the ladder up to the loft to start my inspection. It’s filled to the brim with clutter, items I didn’t even know we still had. I shove open the window, listening as it creaks open. Light filters in through the stirred dust, the hole in the roof having rotted a portion of the structure above Mabel’s stall. I didn’t know it was this bad.

A large trunk catches my eyes and I find myself lost to all this lore. There’s so many house hold items up here I frown before my heart stutters, squeezing painfully at the realization. Momma’s things… It’s all here. Musty gowns stare back at me. Heavily discolored, torn, dry rotted, the muted colors a mass of tatters. She didn’t even want her wedding gown? The lacy fabric caresses my hands, the pale cream gown used to be so pretty.

I remember wearing it once, Momma cried seeing me in her gown. Did it mean nothing to her? Do I mean nothing to her? Her wedding gown stares back at me, covered with dust and mildew, purposefully strewn out to the weather. I had always dreamed of wearing her gown, dreamed both her and Papa would be there when I was wed. Is Momma even alive? The question leaves a pit in my belly, the uncertainty pains me as I turn away from the gowns to open up the trunk.

A hoard of items stare back, from quilts and shoes to books of sorts. I recognize Momma’s slippers, worn with age, the warm fur matted from years of use. Did she even take anything with her? Old wooden toys peak through the mess of linens, my hand grabs onto the well loved wooden doll. The paint heavily worn, chipped, scratches mar the smooth surface. It was my favorite.

A hard leather cover catches my eyes, well used, the pages are a sepia, the edges well worn, ripped in area’s, splotches of ink stain the other wise neat pages. A scrawl of sorts is scribbled over the pages a mess of ink really. Does it mean something? I trace over the lines of what I can only guess is words and wonder. It has to mean something, it’s so neat. The lines are evenly spaced, each line starts differently from my understanding.

Is this a story? A journal maybe? I want to run to Papa and ask him if he knows it- understands any of this. But I fear he’d turn around and burn it in a fit of annoyance at my trite curiosity. I don’t know who else can read… Can Giles? I wonder, flushing at the idea. He must think of me a fool. It’s not like I haven’t done anything to prove him otherwise. I stare at the cover for a moment longer before I tuck it into my apron to bring with me this evening.

It couldn’t hurt to give it a try. The thought stays with me for the rest of the day, I move through the motions aimlessly, making sure to catch something for Giles early on. I pray he can read- can understand what this is. I struggle to hear Papa as I lay in my bed awake, waiting for him to fall asleep.

‘My soul… are you there?’ The wind whistles, it’s sweet serenade floats in the form of a voice. My heart flutters as I close my eyes, the familiar smell of smoke greets me, my owl calls, perched in the tool shed at the open window. I don’t want to answer verbally. I wave towards the owl, it’s head tilts before the wind sways again. ‘I miss you terribly my sweet. Will you come to me this night?’

I nod in answer to the wind, my ears strain to listen to the main room, the creaking of Papa’s rocker halts slowly. I will, I promise to be there soon! The owl releases a soft call as it takes off, it’s wings stretching wide to soar up to the midnight sky. It’s a sight that always amazes me. My heart flutters and for a brief moment I wonder what it would be like to feel the wind flowing around me, the ground so small it’s a masterpiece of ambiguity.

What a silly dream. Moments pass of silence, the fire crackles and soon I hear a short snore, growing in depth. Finally, he’s asleep. After some careful skulking I manage to slip from our cabin and grab my weapons belt to head on my long walk.

‘Are you set to join me my soul?’ Giles whispers, a smile cover my cheeks as I practically skip.

“I am on my way Giles.” I promise, the owl screeches as it dives down, pecking off a field mouse to take back to the skies. I keep the journal clutched to my belly as I hike.

‘What is it that you bring me this night?’ He hums, a finger like caress touches my cheek a desire imprinted.

“A book- maybe a journal… I cannot read.” I admit with shame, glancing at the leather binding. The scent of smoke deepens as the wind brushes my hair back.

‘You wish to know what secret’s it holds my soul?’ He asks a warmth on the wind.

“I would like to understand… Maybe it’s from my mother.” It looks old… but it has been out in the weather. I don’t know what- or if she could write or read for that matter.

‘You never talk of her.’ He notices, the wind continues to caress my cheek as if supporting me. Does he know? Has Papa told him?

“She… she left Papa and I a long time ago. I was young.” I state as if it’d make a difference. The wind stills as if he’s holding his breath, the world feels as if it’s stopped, nature silences for the briefest moment.

‘She knows not of which she gave up. You are more- far more than her. You are loved and will be treasured by more than just a woman who has no right to the honor of being your mother my sweet.’ His words make my eyes water, weepy at the feelings that arise from her abandonment and the warmth that his tender affection burns in my belly. It feels as if he speaks from the heart.

“Thank you Giles.” I murmur, the owl cries a painfilled sound as it dives towards me, wings stretched, I feel the faintest brush of his soft feathers. “How hungry are you? I’ve gotten a turkey for you… Would you like more?” I ask, my throat feels dry at the thought of talking more about Momma.

I always forget how hard it is to remember how badly it hurt when I realized she wasn’t coming home. I waited for her to come get me from Miss Mary’s home, only it was Mrs. Gingham who retrieved me. Days quickly turned to months and before I knew it, a year had passed. I wonder if she is happy now.

‘A turkey should be fine my sweet, thank you for caring so well for me.’ The fingers that gently touch my cheek firm up as if a hand touches me, so real it makes me look around as I enter the clearing. The silver rays of the moon light the vast space elegantly. Wheat colored grass sways, the rocks shift in their normal way and for a second the world quiets, like always.

Like I am home. My heart races at the thought, surprised with the feeling. “I want to take care of you as any good Keeper would.” I offer softly as I climb towards the cavern, used to sitting at it’s mouth. Why do I feel as if this is more? Is it more?