Tuesday Tales: From the Word Girl

Halloween is long gone, but not all of the decorations, although many are slowly being replaced by Christmas ones. I’ve put mine away and won’t get the others out until the end of the month. This week, the Tuesday Tales authors are writing to the word prompt GIRL. I’m continuing with my romantasy, The Bonds of Time. Enjoy!

As a young girl no more than five, her parents had left her to spend a week with Mamó, her Irish grandmother, while they’d attended a conference. Mamó loved to walk around the property that was her home, stopping every now and then to talk to the plants that seemed to thrive on her property but not on those nearby, claiming that the plants knew when they were loved and behaved accordingly. On the last day, she’d taken her to see the Megaliths in County Cork. The short, elderly woman had blue eyes that sparkled, curly, gray hair with a wide streak of white near her forehead, and always wore gray clothes, including fancy hats. She’d walked among the stones, touching and caressing each one, whispering to them as if talking to old friends, and Sam had imagined they’d responded. When she’d tried to do the same, her hand where she’d touched the stone had tingled and an unusual heat had filled her. Her grandmother had smiled, as if the reaction was what she’d expected, and had asserted that in twenty years’ time, she would find her destiny at stones similar to that one. “Don’t be afraid, my sweet.” We’re all grateful to have had this time with you. Time is precious.”

That had been the last time she’d seen Mamó. When she’d mentioned what had happened to her parents, her mother and father had exchanged a strange look. Her father had shrugged. “My mother has a vivid imagination, sprite. You’re years away from your destiny. Don’t rush it.” A few weeks later, a letter had come in the mail informing my father that his mother had passed away and that they would be honoring her requests concerning her estate and memorial. He had gone to Ireland alone while her mother had simply told her that her grandmother now lived among the angels. Odd that she should recall that event today of all days, almost twenty years later.

“Will you be looking at our crop circles while you’re here, not that they can be called antiquities?” Colin’s question pulled her back. “A university chap from Oxford was here in July, and he maintained than an ancient force, older than Britain herself was responsible for them. Some have been proven to be hoaxes, but others…” He shrugged once more. “Stuart Foster had one show up in his corn field two nights ago, a bit late for them, but it’s a magnificent flower. Foster is nigh onto 85, and not spry at all, so if it is a hoax, it’s still one of mysterious origin.” He shook his head as if he were still bewildered by it all.

Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.