#GivingTuesday -- Giving Thanks - Part 2
It's often the ones who have least who give the most, for those who give what they have when they can know what it is to go without. While Jaicobh and Calleen both grew up with extreme privation, they live a better but humble life now, and while they are in a position to give to their children and grandchildren, receiving gifts in return is an emotional but not unwelcome practice.
Sheamas laughed and removed his
hat. “Sorry, Da,” said he, in a considerate tone. “I didn’t think you’d get
that sentimental over it.” He scratched his head. “It was just a small thing we
found in
town. The boys came over to the shop and saw it on the way back to the
castle. They were looking for a gift for you and Ma, and they said that had to
be it.”
“Aye…” said Jaicobh fondly, feeling
his sentiments against prevail him. “Well, if it had to be, then that’s how it
is—but no more presents from here on,” pointing at his daughter. “I’m the one
who’s supposed to be spoilin’ you, and,” glancing at Sheamas, “I got a lot o’
spoilin’ to make up for.”
“I think Sheamas and I can safely
promise never to give you any present that isn’t cured meat,” said Boudicca.
Practical gifts, Jaicobh could
always allow for, but before he could demand that his children absolutely
promise never to give him anything again, Alasdair came forward and said, “Maith Ailneighdaeth, Jaicobh,” offering
him a small wrapped parcel. “Thank you for having us. It was very kind of you
to invite us, and we’re very glad to be here.”
The old farmer tried not to look
terribly distressed and accepted the gift with a very good grace, insisting
that he should be happy to open it later with the other gifts after dinner. “This
is cheatin’ now,” Jaicobh said to his children. “How can I refuse anythin’
giving to me by the Majesty?”
“You can’t,” said Boudicca, with a
broad grin. “Alasdair, all the family shall now give all presents meant for my
father to you, and you may imprison him if he refuses.”
After seeing how reluctant Mr
MacDaede was to accept anyone’s unbidden generosity, Alasdair agreed by saying
an unassuming, “Fair enough,” and went to retrieve the other presents waiting
in the cart. “Carrigh, darling,” calling to his wife, “do you have all the
socks there?”
“The
Majesty didn’t bring the whole castle with him, did he, darling?” said Jaicobh
quietly to his daughter. “The carvin’ was more than enough.”
“The
stone piece was from the children, father,” Boudicca replied, “but you have many
other relatives now, all of whom will ignore your pleas for self-imposed
moderation. You always wished for our families to be united, and this is your
penance for such a wish.”
“Aye,”
Jaicobh acknowledged, with a wistful aspect. “Well, I always thought of having
at least you and Shea together. I always wanted the two o’ you to spend at
least the holidays in one house-- and o’ course having Calleen and Shayne there
too. I didn’t know if I would ever get it, havin’ all of you together like
that. Thought five was the most family I’d ever have round a table, and then
Shayne and Martje got married while I was gone, bringin’ the families closer
together, and then me and Calleen—and havin’ Aiden and Adaoire and Lochan so
close...” Jaicobh paused and looked mindful. “Aiden and Adaoire sure oughtta be
like sons after what they did for us.”
“And
you for them, Da,” said Sheamas.
“Well, all I did was ask for an early
apprenticeship. They’re they ones what had to do the work. They're good boys,” nodding
with mindful consideration, and then giving Sheamas a penetrating look, “you’re
all good boys, you and Aiden and Adaoire and Lochan. Breigh is as responsible
and hard working as you could ask, Cabhrin is a master sailor, and Shirse—Borras, you can hear him hawkin’ prices
from the next town over. Aye, they're good boys. I know Calleen wishes they
were around more, but what loving ma don't want her boys around all the time?”
“There are plenty of parents who
cannot wait to rid of their children,” said Boudicca. She eyed her mate, who was
glaring at a spider nestled in the corner of the farmhouse window, his hand
wrapped firmly around the hilt of his sword, his eyes blazing in fierce
indignation.
“Well,” Jaicobh chuckled, “some o’
you young-uns need a bit o’ time on yer own. Some o’ you gotta ripen up a bit.”
“Rautu should be a well-aged bitter
stout by now,” said Alasdair, helping Carrigh take the presents out of the cart.
The commander could not help
laughing. “He cannot hear you, Alasdair. He is far too busy wondering how he’s
going to kill a certain spider without burning the house down.”
“The undu is outside,” Rautu
observed. He looked skyward. “It will not survive long in your winter.”
“There, you see? He need only camp
by the window and wait to watch the spider wither in wretched agony.”
“Probably one Calleen put outside
the house,” said Jaicobh, or maybe one o’ those what was sent away by its
parents.”
Here was a wink, and Sheamas and
Boudicca laughed and affectionately pressed their shoulder against their
father’s arm.
“Folk who send their young-uns away
don’t know how to appreciate bein’ a parent,” said Jaicobh. “Mas and Das got a
few years with our babes before they’re all grown, and then we gotta make it
seem like it don’t hurt when they leave. I’m glad the Gods took me before I had
to watch you leave the house, darlin’,” turning to Boudicca, “My heart couldn’t
take you leavin’.”
Boudicca would have said she should
have never left her father’s house had necessity and retaliation not borne her
away, and though she must own that leaving her family farm and joining the
forces was her deliberate vocation, she
said only, “You did have to die to get me gone.”
“Well, I’m here now, and so are
you, and shise shin,” Jaicobh
humphed. He put his arm around Sheamas’ shoulders. “I got all my children here
with me,” said he, in a thoughtful hue, “A man couldn’t be happier.” He gave a
tearful sigh, and then, feeling every feeling of sanguine misery reviving, he
said, “’Mon in the house. Yer ma’s got the tea on,” ushering everyone in and
moving inside himself, wiping any tears away with the back of his hand before
any of his guests could descry him.
Shayne unhitched the mule and game
to the door, and while Martje was bringing in all the dishes she carried with
her from the capital to the house, Shayne exchanged pleasantries and hearty pats with his beloved
friend. A few words in Frewyn were said, some offered for the benediction of
the day, which ended in the observation of “It’s cold enough to break yer bhainne,” and Jaicobh laughed, bringing Shayne and the whole party further
into the house.
Calleen was waiting in the main
room with tea and warm blankets, sitting at the head of the small table, her
hand over her eyes and the children gathered about her, all of them looking
woefully concerned.
“Den Iimaa, why are you crying?”
ask Soledhan.
“”Cause you wee-uns are murderin’
me,” she sobbed into her hand.
Dorrin did not quite understand
this and looked bemused. “How, Great Aunt Cal?”
“”Cause my poor old heart can’t
take how sweet y’are.” She leaned forward from her chair and gathered the
children together. “Sure love you, lads,” she crooned, the tears cascading down
her cheeks, forming tributaries in her deep wrines. “Here, sit there and have
some warm milk and chocolate and I’ll dry my old eyes.” She sniffed and patted
her eyes with a cloth, declaring, “You wee lads’ll be the end o’ me, sure,” but
she stopped when Soledhan hopped off his chair and hastened toward her.
“You should have some chocolate
too, Den Iimaa,” said Soledhan, tugging at her skirt. “You’ll feel better. Utaa
feels better when he has some.”
Calleen simpered with all the good
humou that could be requisite, her eyes crinkling with smile lines. “So he
does, mho chri. Aye, I’ll have some
with you lads then. Jaicobh,” she implored as her husband came into the main
room, “did ye see the gift the wee-uns are after getting’ us?”
“Aye, I saw. Well, now we gotta do
somethin’ about it. We oughtta give ‘em presents back in revenge.”
“But presents are a good thing,”
said Dorrin. “How can you give presents for revenge?”
“Just you wait and see— what is it,
mho chri?” said Jaicobh bending down as he felt Soledhan tugging on his leg.
“You need chocolate, Den Utaa,”
Soledhan insisted. “You are crying. Have chocolate and you will feel better.”
Jaicobh’s heart could endure no
more: the solicitous favour of his grandchildren had done for him, and though
he would oppose and say he must help everyone into the house, the children’s
pleading eyes convinced him that there was nothing more to do at present than
take the warm chocolate being offered him, sit with them at the table, and
remark the stone slat they had brought, lying where Calleen had left it face up
on the table, standing as a testament to everything that Jaicobh and Calleen
had gained in the last few months. Thirty years apart had yielded a devotion
unwavering, and their reunion had brought children, grandchildren, nieces,
nephews, in-laws, and family friends, and he examined the slat, feeling it was
the work of the Gods, the depiction betraying an ambition that he had long felt
but never conveyed. They were together as
a family, he was sitting in Calleen’s house, drinking chocolate with his
grandchildren, and his hand grazed the carved stone, tracing the outlines of
painted hoses and sanded skies, and he raised his cup to his lips to silence
his sorrows, the tears welling in his eyes while he inhaled the mellifluous and
soothing scent through his nose.
“Do you feel better, Den Utaa?” was
all Soledhan’s concern.
“Aye…” said Jaicobh, his voice fraught
with the misery of overpowering delight, “I’m feelin’ better.”
Comments
Post a Comment