Overcomer - The Journey by Judy Colella (novels to improve english .txt) 📖

about it and she was like, no way would I get up as early as I said I would, so I think I’m gonna call her and wake her up – ha!” She stood. “Thanks for taking my plate.”

“No problem – it seemed only right since you hauled yourself out of bed without my having to hire a backhoe.”

Celeste narrowed her eyes at her. “You’re so weird.”

Eileen chuckled.

Grinning, Celeste left the kitchen, cell phone to her ear. By the time she reached the family room, Katie still hadn’t answered, so she hung up, waited a few seconds, and tried again. This time she was rewarded with a noise that made her think of a marshmallow gagging on a pillow. “I said I’m up!” she repeated, holding back a giggle.

“Aw, hellllll… p. Hi, Mom.” Apparently Katie’s mother had come into the room. “I’m talking to Celeste.”

Celeste heard Mrs. Grandol’s faint remark, “This early?”

“Yup. Don’t know why – ”

“Hello – bff here. Talk to me, Katie.”

“Oh. Sorry. So what’s up?”

“I am! Listen – ”

“I’m listening. Why are you calling me so early? I mean, like, plants aren’t even up yet.”

“Ha-ha, funny! I’m calling because you were soooo sure I wouldn’t be able to get up early enough to do my chores and then be ready for my harp lesson.”

“Hmm. Okay. You win. I lose. May I go back to sleep now?”

“If you can.” Celeste knew Katie was rarely able to sleep again once she’d been wakened.

Silence. “That was mean.”

“Sorry – for real. But I’m so happy! I’m finally going to learn how to play the harp!”

Katie whispered a sarcastic, "yippee!" followed by a loud yawn. “So I’m up now, too. For the moment, anyway. Hang on – I’m all tangled up here… there. Want me to come over later?”

“Of course! My lesson is at eleven… hmm… eleven-thirty… how about twelve or so?”

“Yeah, okay. I – ” she yawned again, “I should remember who I am by then. See ya.” She hung up.

Smiling, Celeste shoved her phone in her pocket and went off to do her Saturday chores without the usual inner grumbling and grousing.

By ten-thirty she was finished, and decided to take a few minutes to mess around with the harp before the teacher arrived. Removing the beautiful instrument from its box, she sat on one of the double-sized easy chairs near the fireplace.

As she leaned the instrument back against her shoulder, she closed her eyes, feeling as though she were holding an old friend. A happy sigh escaped and Celeste’s fingers caressed the strings, brushing across them toward the back of the harp with a swirling motion.

They spoke to her, whispered a greeting, telling her she was their rightful owner. The wood touching her shoulder felt warm through her sweater, conforming to its place in her arms. Celeste plucked strings at random as her conviction grew that she and the harp had been meant for each other, and as she played without thought, tears of joy spilled out from beneath her closed lids.

Celeste was no longer a teenager of the new millennium, sitting in her family’s house waiting for a music lesson. She was someone – and someplace – else. Someplace bright and green, with air so fresh it seemed to breathe for her. And she was part of something ancient, a being whose life stretched out in many directions into unseen distances.

What held her there, peaceful and serene on a green hill at the hub of an infinite crossroads, was neither the harp nor the music separately, but both united with her and each other. She opened her eyes; before her stood the harper, the one she had dreamed about, whose song had advised caution. She no longer remembered why, only that this harper was different from the first she’d seen… somewhere. But now, this dark-haired man whose being was wrapped in unimaginable depths of time, was smiling and nodding.

“You do well,” he told her, his voice as soft as the grass beneath their feet, “but do not ignore my warnings.” His smile faded. He raised a hand, palm upward, and said, “Play, loved one. Always. Play to keep away the darkness.”

“I will.”

“You will what? And when did you learn to play melodies on that thing?”

Celeste’s vision-image shifted like lightning, and she was looking instead at her mother. Eileen was standing in front of her, arms crossed, brows knit.

“What melodies?” Something had been there, some thought, but – no. Gone.

“The one you’ve been playing for the past fifteen minutes or so.”

“What? I have not! I sat down…f ifteen minutes? But I sat down only a few seconds ago and was – I mean, I…” She stared at the instrument in her arms, her hands flat against the strings, dampening their sounds, the back still resting against her shoulder.

Eileen crouched down in front of Celeste, one hand going to the girl’s forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. Was I really… was it really fifteen minutes since I came in here?”

“Yes.” She stood. “You don’t remember playing the harp this whole time?”

“Not really. I mean, I sat down with it and leaned it back, and it felt really nice, and then I strummed the strings a little, but, but then there you were telling me I was playing melodies! Mom, what’s wrong with me?” A coldness filled her as memories of the past few days crowded into her thoughts – Katie telling her she’d zoned out again, her sudden, inexplicable knowledge of Gaelic and Druids, her Mom acting weird when she’d first touched the middle silver string... “Am I, like, insane or something?”

“No, honey. I’m pretty sure it’s not that.”

“Then why are all these crazy things happening to me?”

Eileen sat on the chair opposite. “What crazy things?”

She looked so concerned, yet so solid and reliable – Celeste was suddenly frightened enough to break her own rule of never telling her mother things, especially things like this. “Can I talk to you about… some stuff?”

“Of course you can – you know that.”

Taking a deep breath, Celeste launched into an account of everything that had happened since the evening a few days before when she and Katie had gone to the mall. She told her mother about Cian, about the “trances” Katie had noticed, about her sudden, bizarre knowledge of Druids, and finally, of her speaking perfect Gaelic in response to a question asked in that language, a language she’d never before known or understood.

“And now,” she finished, “I seem to be able to play the harp, even though I’ve never touched one before. Mom, I’m scared.”

Eileen got up and snuggled her petite frame into the chair with Celeste, who slid the harp back into its box at her feet. She leaned back into her mother’s comforting arms that squeezed warmly around her shoulders.

“Let me tell you something, Celeste – I’ve never mentioned it before because, well, I guess I hoped I was imagining or exaggerating it.” Eileen gave the girl a tiny smile.

“What are you talking about?”

“Ever since you could walk and talk, which kind of happened at the same time, you would, I don’t know, slip off into your mind. It didn’t happen all the time, and I chalked it up to you being a dreamy kind of kid. You did have one heck of an imagination, you know.”

Celeste frowned. “How did I act – afterward, I mean?”

“Like nothing unusual had happened. One time you did it right in the middle of a sentence, and when you ‘came back’ from wherever, you picked up the sentence right where you’d left off.” Eileen shook her head. “It was like someone had hit the Pause button while you were speaking, then un-paused you.”

“Great. So I’ve always been nuts.”

“I didn't say that. Anyhow, I figured it was a normal phase that some kids go through while growing up, maybe.”

“Yeah, except when I ‘come back,’ as you put it, I come back knowing stuff I didn’t know before. That’s not normal.”

Her mother drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair, and then took a deep breath. “I have to agree, at least about the claim that you could speak Gaelic. Are you sure about that, or could it have been this young man claiming you did and making you think he was telling the truth? I’d like to meet him – he’s the one with you and Katie outside the school yesterday, right?”

“Yeah – how did you know about that?” She hadn’t mentioned this in her narrative about the strange occurrences of the previous few days.

“Katie’s mother told me.”

“Mom, did she even tell you how she reacted?”

“Yes, and she said she was merely amazed by his looks, is all. Believe me, Celeste, my asking to meet him has nothing to do with any of that.”

“Really? I’m not so sure – ” The doorbell rang and Celeste jumped up. “That must be the harp teacher – thanks for listening, Mom, and not having me locked up or anything.” She started toward the front hall to answer the door, but turned back, worried again. “What if it happens while he’s teaching me?

“Stop it – get the door. I’ll be right here, okay?”

Celeste hesitated for a moment, but then shrugged. “Okay.” The bell sounded a second time, and she ran to get it.

A tall, middle-aged man with chestnut hair, a smooth, handsome face, and deep green eyes smiled at her. “Is this the Kelly residence?”

She nodded – there was something about him, his slight accent…

“I’m Mr. Croghan. May I come in?”

Celeste blinked. “Oh! Sorry. Of course.” She stepped back and he swept into the house. He was wrapped in a long, blue wool coat and dark red scarf, his hands sheathed in padded leather gloves.

Donal entered the front hall as Celeste was closing the door. “Ah! Croghan!” He grinned, hand extended.

The harp teacher pulled off a glove and took Donal’s hand. “How are you, sir?”

Celeste noticed that the teacher had managed to use a deferential term yet sound regal at the same time. Pretty good trick – I’ll have to try that sometime…

“Very well indeed,” said Donal. “This, by the way, is one of your students – my daughter, Celeste.”

For a mad moment, she felt like she was supposed to curtsey, but the horrible urge passed and she shook Mr. Croghan’s hand – a large, strong hand, she noticed.

“A pleasure.” Mr. Croghan’s eyes seemed to twinkle, his smile widening.

A light pounding heralded the entrance of Tara as she thundered down the stairs and into the hall.

Donal waved her closer. “And this is the other – Tara.”

Mr. Croghan shook hands with her and nodded. “Tara – home of the Tuatha de Danann.” He pronounced it, "too-ah day dann-an." A day ago, Celeste wouldn’t have known those words or how they were spelled; now she did. How?

“The what?” asked Tara, doing an Elvis lip curl. “I thought it was the home of ancient Irish kings.”

“Well, that’s what I said, isn’t it.”

The inflection of the sentence caught Celeste by surprise. The accent she’d detected was apparently an interesting combination of British and Irish. Yet another connection to Ireland. Was she ever going to have a normal day again? All these odd happenings and coincidences…

Tara was staring up at him, jaw outthrust. A moment later she grinned. “I wouldn’t know. Dad here doesn’t teach us all that much about our ethnic history.” Her eyebrows arched as she gave Donal a look.

“And when do you sit still long enough for me to teach you anything?”

“Well, now, let’s hope she sits still long enough to learn some things on the harp.” Mr. Croghan grinned and unbuttoned his coat. “Which of you lovely young ladies do I torture first?”

Celeste stared at Tara, realizing with a vague shock that no one had decided this point yet. And then, as the insecurity she’d expressed to her mother resurfaced, she nodded at Tara. “She can start. I have to help my mom in the kitchen.”

A slight frown appeared between the teacher’s thick brows. “Very well. Where