Overcomer - The Journey by Judy Colella (novels to improve english .txt) đ
- Author: Judy Colella
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âBye,â the girls replied.
Now they sounded like they couldnât breath. What? âAfternoon, maâam.â Cian gave her a polite smile.
The womanâs right hand fluttered to her chest over her heart and she smiled back, but didnât speak.
The school looked deserted by this time. The girls rushed down the hallway ahead of him to the outer doors. He caught up with them a moment later, in time to see Katie pull out her cell phone and burst into hysterical laughter. ââChildren?!ââ she shrieked. âSince when did Miss Bertoni ever call any of us that?â
âLike never!â Celeste was half-choking, doubled over with hilarity. âShe sounded⊠like⊠like the Good Witch⊠of the East!â
After several more minutes of this, Katie grew calmer. âIâd better call my mom. The bus will be stopping at our street soon, and obviously Iâm not on it.â A few last chuckles escaped as she tapped the screen and put the phone to her ear. Then, âHey, Mom â itâs me. I had to go to the school library and missed the bus⊠what? Oh. Yes. Sheâs right here. Want me to â huh? Okay, if you want. Iâll tell her⊠yup⊠No, nothing unusual. We wanted to meet a friend there⊠yes, she does. Uh, bye, mom. See you when you get⊠huh?⊠Let me ask, but I doubt it.â She put the phone against her shoulder and looked up at Cian. âYou got a ride?â
âI live nearby. I could be home before your mother gets here, so no, but thank you for asking.â
She nodded and put the phone back to her ear. âNo, but thanks for askingâŠYeah, uh-huh⊠Okay. Fifteen minutes.â She hung up. âSheâs gonna let your mother know,â she told Celeste, who had seated herself on the bench next to a line of metal stands against which Cian had seen bikes leaning when heâd first gotten to school. âHey, we could go to the regular library and look up stuff about Ireland, if you like.â Katie gave him a shrug, removed her backpack and set it down between her feet.
Cian nodded. âGood idea. But tell me, are there still Druids?â That topic had been derailed, but he needed to know.
âA few,â Celeste answered. âThe last time we went to Ireland to visit my Dadâs family, some of them were hanging around at a street festival, holding hands and chanting about the sun or something.â
âThey were? How odd.â He thought about her description for a moment. âHow did you know they were Druids?â
Celeste shrugged. âI donât know. It couldâve been the big sign they were standing next to that said âDruidic Ritesâ and the fact that they were the only ones dressed in white robes. They looked like American tree-huggers to me, but at least one had an Irish accent.â
Stepping over the unrecognized phrase he asked, âWere they speaking English?â
âWell, yeah. The only time we heard Gaelic at all was once in a pub. Some old guy was talking to someone in a corner, and since I couldnât understand a word they were saying, I assumed it was Gaelic.â
âI see.â He nodded. Her name was right. She had visions â about Druids, it seemed. But she didnât speak their tongue⊠or maybe⊠taking a risk for the sake of getting confirmation, he turned to face her directly. âGo raibh mile maith agaibh as bhur gcunamh.â
âTa' failte romhat,â Celeste replied. A second later, she clapped a hand over her mouth and stared at him, and then up at Katie, wild-eyed.
Heâd found her.
Katie gaped. âWhat is going on here?â
âI said, âthank you very much for your help,ââ Cian answered, âand Celeste said, âyouâre welcome.â In Gaelic.â
Katieâs chin trembled and she compressed her lips for a second. âHow did she do that?â
âI think I know, but we need to talk more before I explain it.â
âTalk?â Katieâs voice had risen a few pitches. âTalk about what? The fact that my friend can speak a language she never learned? The fact that youâre so... so abnormally gorgeous and strange at the same time? The fact that you keep saying things that make it seem like youâre some kind of I-donât-know-what who belongs somewhere else entirely?â By this time she was waving her hands around and nearly shouting. âAnd what is this crap about time?!â
âYour mom is here.â Celeste pointed.
âRight!â Katie yelled. âMy momâs here!â She spun around, stared at the Mercedes pulling up at the curb, and then swung back to face Cian. âMy momâs here,â she repeated, calmer. Grabbing her backpack she swung it onto her shoulder. âIâll see you tomorrow.â She wagged a finger at him. âAnd believe me mister, we have some talking to do! Right, Celeste?â
Celeste nodded while Cian replied, âOkay.â He hated being called âmister.â
âRight.â Katie turned toward the car as her mother was starting to get out. âOh, no, Celeste â quick!â She grabbed her friendâs arm and dragged her toward the car. âSheâs seen him!â
âDuh.â Celeste trotted in Katieâs wake, still attached.
Now why would that upset Katie? Cian wondered, watching as they got into the car. He stood, pulling the straps of his backpack over both shoulders. Katieâs mother, he saw, was staring at him over the roof of the car. Her mouth fell open.
Not waiting to see any more of that, he turned and headed away at a rapid walk. What a day this had been â still⊠he smiled. At least heâd found one answer, and at last allowed himself to believe there was hope.
*******
Kristen Grandol stared over the roof of the car at the young man who had been talking with her daughter. âWho â ?â
âNever mind, Mom â letâs go.â Katie slammed her door. âCome on!â
âBut who ââ
âMom! Hurry up! I have to pee really bad!â
âMe, too!â Celeste added.
Kristen got back in. âWow!â she said, putting the car in gear. âWhere did he come from?â
âGeorgia.â Katie said this at the same time Celeste said, âIreland.â
âThatâs not what â who is he?â Her hand was on the gearshift but she wasnât moving. Even at a distance â
âMom? Can we go?â
âWhat?â
âPut the car in drive, and step on the gas pedal.â
Blinking a few times, Kristen took a deep breath and looked into the rear-view mirror. âThank you, dear. I think I know how to drive.â
Katie stared back at her reflection, shaking her head and smirking.
âOh, come on!â Frustrated by her sudden inability to understand what had just happened, Kristen pulled away from the curb. âYou canât tell me he isnât incredible to look at. Talk about âeye candyâ! Is he a movie star or something? I mean, normal people donât look like that!â
âMom! My God! Heâs my age! What are you thinking?! And no, heâs not a movie star â sheesh.â
Kristen chortled. âKnock it off. Iâm older, not dead. I can appreciate good looks, too. Then again, heâs way beyond the âgood looksâ category, isnât he.â Why did I feel paralyzed like that?
âYou should see the way all the girls â and female teachers â react to him at school!â Katie shook her head.
Glad to hear she wasnât the only one whoâd experienced such an extreme reaction she gave a soft snort. âI bet. Looks that good can be a handicap.â
âGood point, but anyway, Mom, I was wondering if I could go to Celesteâs for dinner. She got a harp!â
âReally! What kind? Celeste?â
âOh. An Irish harp.â Celeste sat straighter. âMy dad got it at an estate sale yesterday. Itâs really old.â She yawned.
âI saw it for about two seconds last night, but it was amazing.â
âSince when are you interested in harps?â Kristen shot a glance at her daughter in the mirror.
âSince last night. Besides, some stuff happened at school we need to go over.â
âWhat kind of stuff?â
âHistory stuff.â
âWhat? How does âhistory stuffâ happen in school?â She slowed to a stop behind another car at a red light. âYouâre sounding kind of cryptic, Katie. Explain.â
âOkay, itâs not really âstuff,â not like⊠some new stuff was talked about in History class, is all, and itâs confusing.â
Kristen turned to look at Katie in time to see her shrug, eyes wide.
âLightâs green.â Celeste pointed.
âFine.â Turning back to focus on the traffic, Kristen nodded. âI guess if itâs okay with your mom, sure. Itâs a school night though, so Katie canât stay too late.â
Celeste took out her cell and called her mother, handing the phone to Kristen to confirm that Katie could be dropped off at Celesteâs house, stay for supper, take another look at the harp, and then go home â the Kellys were as strict about school nights as the Grandols were.
Passing the phone back to Celeste, Kristen had the lingering impression there was more to the request than a harp and a history lesson. More likely, it had everything to do with whomever that stunner was theyâd been so quick to try and distract her from discussing.
A few minutes later, she glanced again into the rearview and saw the girlsâ heads together as they whispered something, no doubt about that luscious young man. Kristenâs smile went crooked â oh, to be that young. At least she had her own luscious man at home. The smile widened. Yeah, nothing wrong with not being that young after all.
FIVE
Georgia - Five Years Earlier
Primitive, made of wood, the sword was hardly recognizable as such, hilt and blade being one piece, but it was sturdy, thick, and in skilled hands could â he believed â do a lot of damage. Cian, now 12 years old, had crafted it from something heâd found in the basement. Heâd recognized the wood as ash, knew it was strong and solid, but couldnât have said how he knew about ash trees. Perhaps something slumbering in his memory had tossed in its sleep, whispering significance into his ears.
At some point in his earlier life heâd seen pictures of these objects, the original configuration something thick, long, tapering near one end and smooth, used for hitting small white spheres as part of some game. Over several months Cian had transformed it into its present shape using a dull pocketknife and some sandpaper.
A few final swipes with the coarse square. A quick check in the dull light from the window. Done. Far better than the smaller swords his previous, clumsier efforts had produced. Those, made of old boards stacked near the cellar walls, didnât hold up, were ill balanced, asymmetrical, and heâd destroyed them, breaking each into pieces that bore no resemblance to swords. Had Letitia found them, she might have used them as yet another way of hurting him. Lessons learned.
Holding this latest effort parallel to the floor and raising it to eye level, Cian sighted down its length. Looked straight enough. Using his forefinger as a fulcrum, he tested its balance. Perfect. He smiled.
The smile turned rueful a moment later. How much better it would have turned out if heâd had access a blacksmithâs tools! The significance of that thought with its implication that he would know how to work with such tools escaped him until a future year. His name was Cian, yes, but he was also called Unacceptable, and that person was always more concerned with survival than exploring inexplicable recollections. Staying alive was simple. Understanding why he needed to fight
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