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ELIZABETH
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THE EVENING HAD REPLACED dusk when we approached Red Cliffs. The moment we entered it was clear the town on this side of the Great Orme was Copper Ridge’s wealthy relative. A bit bigger, with the magnificent Red Cliffs Mountains in the background, clean and prosperous. Good, wide roads, lots of streetlights, lots of trees. Some houses were brick-made, some timber-made, the latter being painted in bright colors.
Both Copper Ridge and Red Cliffs were a far cry from typical western mountain towns, but in different ways: Copper Ridge with its architectural eccentricities and Red Cliffs with its resemblance to a wealthy, charming Swiss Alpine village.
We passed by the town square with a tiny building from the mid-eighteenth century. “City Hall, one of the oldest buildings in Red Cliffs,” Khalid explained, pointing at it.
Beside City Hall stood a tiny white church, likely from the same period, but of otherwise unidentified religious affiliation.
“It’s a multipurpose sacral object, so to speak,” Khalid said. “People of Red Cliffs and Copper Ridge are proud of their multicultural heritage, but in the conventional sense of the word they’re not very religious,” Khalid said.
“Lottie mentioned it. She said you have a strong spiritual side. Sounded like a sort of New Age movement.”
He laughed. “New isn’t exactly the right adjective. We live in relative isolation, have a strong connection with nature. We believe in mens sana in corpore sano. A very old concept.”
“A sound mind in a healthy body philosophy put into practice. It would be hard not to when you live surrounded by such natural beauty. So, the church is here to add to the town’s picturesqueness as if it doesn’t have enough already?”
“Let’s put it like this. People arrived here from different parts of the world, with different religions and traditions. They added to the local spiritual beliefs and came away with something we call the-best-of doctrine. The two church buildings we have, one here and one in Copper Ridge, are not related to any religion or tradition in particular. People use them according to their own faith and spiritual needs. Both churches have a minister, for simple ceremonies. Those who require more particular sacred services go to the closest cities.”
“A sort of religious lingua franca. Cool! What if a group of people wanted to have their own church?”
“They would be free to build it, and everybody would help.”
“And it would work?”
“Many things work here. If you stay here long enough, you’ll see for yourself.”
What would be long enough, I wondered. A month? Two? A year? Forever?
“Where now?” I said and refocused on the road.
“Go straight two more blocks, turn left and then right.”
“Is it a long weekend here or something?” I said motioning toward the town center, unexpectedly alive and vibrant for a weekday evening in a small town. There were many people on the streets, and the coffee shops and restaurants were full.
“No. It’s only that people here are sociable.”
“They seem to know you well,” I said. “Look how many waved and smiled in our direction. You said you were born in England but lived in the States for some years. Was it here?”
“Yes, in Red Cliffs,” Khalid said quietly and with some underlying sadness. I quickly changed the topic. “Lottie mentioned your festivals.”
“You just missed the Snow Moon Festival in February, but in April it’s Rose Moon, in June it’s Midsummer Day, in August Lantern Festival, in September—Septemberfest, introduced here by our German folk. It comes a month earlier than the original Oktoberfest, due to our harsh climate. And then, there are statutory holidays as well: Halloween, Christmas, New Year’s Eve, Easter.”
“That’s a lot of holidays.”
“Celebrations and holidays are our way to relax and socialize.”
“These festivals, are you talking about Red Cliffs, Copper Ridge or both?”
“Red Cliffs. Copper Ridge has its own,” Khalid said with a smile. “Wolf Moon in January and—guess what?—Copper Moon in March. Then Maiden Moon in May and Willow Moon in November. That’s it, I believe.”
“So many moon festivals. Is it some sort of lunar neo-paganism or a part of your the-best-of approach to spirituality?”
“The moon over Red Cliffs and Copper Ridge is exceptionally beautiful, thanks to the, er, unique atmospheric characteristics. It appears to be bigger and brighter than anywhere else in the world. You’ll see what I mean the first clear night.”
“This is an enchanting world,” I said, “if only a bit off. I sometimes have the feeling I’ve been dropped into a fairy tale, not real life. Moon festivals, ecumenical spiritual beliefs, peculiar buildings, this little Swiss-like village. Almost too good to be true. Am I going to meet a fire-breathing dragon at some point?”
Khalid winked. “To the best of my knowledge, there are no dragons nearby.” Then he added, in a tone more serious than my light comment had warranted, “You’re perfectly safe among us. Despite our little excesses, we’re quite normal.”
“Well, at least there is no medieval castle here in Red Cliffs.”
“Ah, Seth’s castle.”
“Seth? The man who had it built? Lily said he was an eccentric.”
“He was a crazy duck. If you want to see it, we can go one of these days. I’ve never been inside myself.” His knuckles brushed my cheek. “I haven’t forgotten my good manners as a host, I was planning to show you all the local attractions.”
“You were? And what made you change your plan?”
“Your schedule, Elizabeth. If you want to truly experience our little towns and their surroundings, you can’t work from dawn to dusk. There,” he motioned toward a big, sturdy brick house on the left, “this is Astrid and Jack’s.”
As I parked on the cobblestone driveway, the door opened and Jack Canagan walked toward us, with Astrid and Rosie a few steps behind him. Rosie was holding her mother’s hand.
Astrid and Jack were a breathtakingly good-looking couple: both tall, he was as muscular and strong as she was slender and gracious. They radiated vitality and youth. He had brown hair, amber eyes, and a powerful male handsomeness. Astrid’s hair, a luxurious cascade of copperish-blond, was long and held back from her noble face by a wide hairband.
Sam Wakefield was right: there was something fairy-like in her appearance; something ethereal and timeless.
Astrid was about five or six months pregnant. All three of them were semi-casually dressed: Astrid in a green maternity dress, Jack in grey pants, a light blue shirt and dark jacket, and their daughter in a cute pink outfit.
At first glance, Rosie resembled her father very much.
“Khali! Khali!” The little girl bounced with delight, pulling her mother toward the car.
Jack opened my door and helped me out. “I’m Jack Canagan,” he said and kissed my hand. “Welcome to our home!”
“I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Canagan,” I said, pleased with this old-school manner.
“Please call me Jack,” he said and then turned to Khalid, who was already on my side of the car, and slapped his shoulder. “Good to see you. How are you?”
A few yards away, I saw Astrid bend to Rosie and, releasing her hand, said, “Now you go to Khalid.”
With exceptional confidence, balance and speed for an eleven-month-old child, Rosie marched toward Khalid and threw herself into his outstretched arms.
“Khaliiii! Khaliii!” She giggled and shrieked, closing her small arms around Khalid’s neck.
“Hey, sweetie, I missed you too!” Khalid said, his voice thick with emotion. He threw her into the air, causing another joyous salve of happy sounds.
Leaving Khalid and Rosie to each other, Astrid came to me and hugged me. “I’m Astrid Canagan,” she said. “I’m so happy to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Lottie and my mother, I have the feeling I know you already.”
Then she turned to Khalid, offering him her cheek. “And how are you?”
“I’m good, sweetheart. How are you two?” he asked and gently touched her protruding abdomen.
“We’re fine, too. Moving a lot,” she said and placed her hand over his. “Did you feel it?”
“He kicked! Strong boy, huh?”
“He said hello. How is your leg treating you these days?”
“It’s much better,” Khalid said with a smile.
Astrid chuckled. “Didn’t I tell you?” Then to me, “Don’t finish your project too soon, Elizabeth. Your presence here is beneficial on multiple levels.”
Khalid cleared his throat; I blinked and blushed. Fortunately, Rosie saved us both.
“E-iii-sa-be ...?” Still in Khalid’s arms, she repeated my name breaking the word, difficult for her to pronounce, into syllables.
“Yes, sweetie,” I said, impressed. She was practically a baby. “Betty,” I said. “It might be easier for you. Betty.” I cast a glance at the three adults and explained, smiling, “That’s how my parents called me.” Well, before I turned thirteen and threatened to run away if they didn’t stop. And they did, for a year or two. I smoothed Rosie’s hair. “I don’t mind if you too call me Betty.”
Amazingly, Rosie seemed to understand. “Betty,” she repeated easily, then paused. Her tiny mouth pouted, her forehead furrowed. And then she beamed. “Bibi! Blue! Blaidd!”
Oh my god! The eleven-month-old child was reciting words that started with the letter “b.”
Astrid laughed and propped herself up on her toes to kiss her daughter, still in Khalid’s arms. “This is our little alphabet game,” she said, then explained, “She calls Jack’s mother Bibi, no one knows why because her name is Eve. Blue is our cat.”
The last word sounded peculiar – bla-y-d, with a soft “l,” long, open “a,” short “y” and hard “d.” It was a foreign word; I was sure Rosie didn’t mean “blade.”
“And ‘blaidd’?” I asked and looked at Astrid for another clarification. She just blinked.
It was Jack who answered. “A wolf in Welsh,” he said with an easy, charming smile. “A part of my family is Welsh in origin. I’m teaching Rosie our language.”
“Blaidd,” I said, loving how it rolled off my tongue. “A beautiful word, soft and smooth. Much gentler than ‘wolf.’”
More coincidences, I thought, glancing at Khalid. His mother was Welsh, wasn’t she? Then, his first wife’s name was Eve, and they had a son whose name was Jack. My mind did a quick calculation. Even if they had married when they were seventeen, could they have a son of Jack Canagan’s age? No way. He was about thirty-two, possibly older.
My eyes moved from Khalid to Jack and back to Khalid, looking for not too apparent similarities.
And I found them. Not in the color or shape of their eyes, nose or lips. No, they weren’t there. I found them in their powerful yet elegant movements, in their posture, in their exact height, in the same width of their shoulders. In the way they both ran their hands through their hair—Khalid’s black, Jack’s brown, but both soft and wavy—and rubbed their foreheads. There was something in Rosie’s small face that evoked the sepia photo of Khalid’s son. How the three of them were related I couldn’t fathom, but that there was a blood connection between them, I’d bet my best pair of shoes on.
I looked at Astrid. She watched me with a small, conspiratorial smile on her lips, as if we’d just shared a secret. I’d bet my second-best pair of shoes that she knew what I was thinking about.
“Why are we still outside?” she said, cutting short my apparently not-so-subtle visual search for more genetic clues that would confirm what I knew intuitively. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
But Rosie wasn’t in a hurry. She turned to me and, keeping her smart, inquiring amber eyes on me, held out her arms to me.
I smiled at her. “Oh, you want me to hold you? Come, Rosie.” I passed my purse to Khalid and took Rosie from his arms. God, she was so tiny and light.
“She’s a cuddly creature,” Khalid said, “and her instincts are telling her you’re a perfect candidate for her favorite way of socializing.”
“And if you’re wearing perfume—” Jack started, but I stopped him.
“I’m not. Is she allergic?”
“No, no,” he said. “She’s rather fond of scents and fragrances. She’ll, ahem, sniff you a bit. Hope you don’t mind.”
Sniff?
No sooner had he said that than I felt Rosie’s little nose on my neck. It tickled, and I laughed. She reminded me of a little puppy trying to memorize the smell of a new person or another animal.
I couldn’t help but inhale her sweet, young baby scent.
“Oh, if we could only bottle it,” I murmured, kissing her little hands.
When she was done, she closed her arms around my neck and pressed her head against my cheek. My heart melted.
“Whatever she sensed she liked it,” Astrid said with a smile.
“It could only be my body wash. It’s orange blossom and jasmine. It’s very mild.”
“I use the same one,” Astrid said. “She recognized it.” Then to Jack and Khalid, “Look how cozy she is in Elizabeth’s arms.”
Khalid smiled, his amused turquoise gaze resting on Rosie and me, stirring thousands of emotions in my heart.
I swallowed hard as I realized I’d allowed him a glimpse into my deepest longing.