Read Ebook {PDF EPUB} A Court for Fairies f by Lynn S. A Court For Fairies (Dark Heralds Book 1) by Lynn S. Marissa sat on the edge of her bed. She had carefully gathered the amulet Malachi had given her, mindful not to touch it directly. She held it long enough to numb the voice in her head. Her mind turned to another charm, the one on the chain Esteban had given her. It was impossible for her not to think about her initial reaction to that gift, and how she hid it from her boyfriend so as not to make him aware of certain details—her reluctance to wear it, for one. Sure, she kissed him, even smiled, after gently declining on that invitation once more. The next thing Marissa did was pay a visit to her mother. The idea of a golden charm fused with concrete—as in native soil—stunk of Adriana’s terrible sense of humor. “This is your idea of a joke?” Marissa was calm, but her voice denoted a quiet fury. “You suggested he give me this. God knows if you even compelled him, it is so inconceivable. And on top of that he said, ‘I free you.’ I bet you had a grand old time with your vampyr jokes no one else understands!” “Ugh, Mariushka, you could never take a prank. Such a solemn child. Where did you get your bitter blood? Your father could take and dish a good joke and, well…you got me. But before we go on, for someone so keen on keeping secrets…do you plan to have a match out here or are you the kind who needs to be invited in?” Adriana did her best imitation of an evil laugh, possibly trying to further annoy her daughter. Marissa rushed in and Adriana would have taken another jab, had she not noticed her daughter had taken as much as she could. Marissa sat down on the sofa, eyes gleaming with tears, mouth stretched as if to contain a sob. Adriana hated to see her cry; there was something about her doe eyes that reminded her of Bastian’s final days. “Dragoste, love of my life, you are reading too much into a simple gesture. Okay, I must confess. Esteban told me you were having second thoughts about visiting the Sunshine State and I found it too funny to resist. But, Mariushka, don’t you worry a hair on your pretty little head.” Adriana’s hands caressed her daughter’s temple, combing her fingers through her hair. “You will never have to run; you will never have to hide. You won’t ever have to carry the soil of the place where you were turned on to the blood.” Adriana still remembered those terrible boxes of earth her father was forced to carry, and how he once grabbed her by the hair and shoved her face into the humid soil, forcing her to breathe in. He used to tell her, “You are a dhampyr, girl. My property. Where ever we go, you must take care that I rise from this earth every night or you surely will die.” Those boxes smelled of rot and all things unavoidable. She’d never willingly impose the burden her own father placed on her shoulders. Dame Vera Lynn obituary. At the start of the second world war, Vera Lynn, who has died aged 103, was an up-and-coming dance band singer. By 1945, this working-class young woman had become a symbol of the British wartime spirit, with a status comparable to that of the patrician prime minister, Winston Churchill. After the war, her friend Harry Secombe liked to joke that “Churchill didn’t beat the Nazis. Vera sang them to death.” Lynn’s iconic status as the “Forces’ Sweetheart” was due to the success of her radio series, Sincerely Yours, which linked the soldiers at the front with their loved ones at home. In 1944, she visited the troops in Europe, the Middle East and Asia, which kindled her lifelong commitment to the welfare of veterans, especially those of the Burma campaign. Above all, her celebrity was due to her hit songs. Such numbers as We’ll Meet Again and The White Cliffs of Dover caught and moulded a national mood, despite the harsh criticism her crooning style provoked from some politicians and BBC managers. After VE Day, Lynn resumed her career as a variety artist and recording star, but her association with wartime Britain remained central to her identity and reputation throughout her long life. Until very recently, Lynn was a prominent presence at commemorations of the war. Her place at the heart of national life was officially recognised when she was made OBE in 1969, a dame in 1975 and a Companion of Honour in 2016; her 100th birthday, in March 2017, was marked by the release of a new album and a concert in her honour at the London Palladium. Equally, she became part of popular culture as cockney rhyming slang made her synonymous with gin, chin and skin (as in cigarette papers), she was hymned by pop singers of later generations including Pink Floyd and Ian Dury, and she was the subject of numerous comic impersonations, something she tried unsuccessfully to control through court action in the 1950s. 'We'll meet again': Vera Lynn's anthem of hope through the ages – video. She was an unlikely candidate for the role of national heroine. Born in the penultimate year of the first world war, she was the second child of a working-class family who lived in a small apartment in East Ham, east London. Her father, Bertram Welch, had various jobs, including working as a plumber and docker. Her mother, Annie, was a dressmaker. Vera’s vocal talent was evident from a very early age. After singing at family parties, she made her public debut at a local working men’s club aged seven, billed as a “descriptive child vocalist”. Adopting her grandmother’s maiden name, Vera Lynn soon joined a juvenile concert party, the Kracker Kabaret Kids. In 1932, still only 15, she was signed up by Howard Baker, a bandleader and agent, who supplied dance bands for functions throughout the East End of London. A brief period with Billy Cotton’s band followed, culminating in a week’s engagement in Manchester, from which Cotton sent Vera home. He later described this as “the worst day’s work I ever did”. Cotton’s loss was the pianist Charlie Kunz’s gain. Vera sang with his band on BBC broadcasts. Unusually for the time, Kunz gave Lynn free rein to choose the songs. She visited music publishers in Denmark Street, London’s Tin Pan Alley. There Vera met Walter Ridley, of the Peter Maurice company, who not only found songs for her but undertook to transpose them to a suitable key for Lynn’s unusually deep voice, which was variously described in the press as a “rich contralto” and “a freak mezzo-soprano with an irresistible sob”. From 1937 to 1940, Lynn worked with another top bandleader, Bert Ambrose, who was impressed by her enunciation of lyrics. She toured variety theatres with the Ambrose Octet and took part in broadcasts for the BBC and for Radio Luxembourg, in a show sponsored by Lifebuoy soap. There was also a debut television broadcast from Alexandra Palace in 1938. The following year, she recorded We’ll Meet Again for the first time, shortly before a newspaper columnist claimed she was selling more records than either Bing Crosby or the Mills Brothers. Dame Vera Lynn with her daughter, Virginia, in 1969, after being made OBE. Photograph: ANL/Rex/Shutterstock. Her growing success was reflected in the growth of her fan mail and in her increasing salary. In 1938, she was able to move her family to a new house in Barking and to buy a fur coat and her first car, an Austin 10. In 1939, a new saxophonist joined the Ambrose orchestra. Harry Lewis soon showed his admiration for Vera and in 1941 they were married. Very soon afterwards, the band felt the full impact of the war as Lewis and others volunteered for military service. As members of the RAF they set up the Squadronaires, a dance and jazz group that continued after the cessation of hostilities. Lewis was to give up his career in the late 1940s to become Lynn’s personal manager. He became well known for answering the phone with “What do you want her for?” By 1941 Lynn was a star in her own right and she left Ambrose to begin a solo career. She soon found work on the variety theatre circuit, beginning at Coventry Hippodrome, often topping the bill working with only a piano accompanist. At this time, BBC producers were seeking new ideas for the Forces Programme, which had been established to broadcast to the British expeditionary force. Howard Thomas, later a pioneer of commercial television, proposed a format that would be “a letter to the men of the forces in words and music”. Lynn had previously been voted “No 1 forces sweetheart” by Forces Programme listeners and was an ideal choice to read and sing such a letter. To quote the music historian Paul du Noyer, “she was not a glamorous sex-bomb pandering to the lonesome soldiers’ lower instincts. Instead she aroused a wistful yearning for the idealised fiancee.” It was an immediate success. Up to 2,000 messages were received each week from domestic listeners from which Lynn read out a small sample. She also sent out signed photographs and brief letters to servicemen at the front. This occasionally led to misunderstandings, as when she was accosted by a wife who had found a letter to her absent husband and accused Lynn of stealing him. Above all, Sincerely Yours was about Lynn’s voice and her songs. Three songs came to embody the wartime spirit and became indelibly associated with her. Yours (recorded in 1941) was a straightforward song of love and fidelity; We’ll Meet Again (1939) expressed a mood of fervent optimism and was described by Lynn as a “greetings card song: a very basic human message of the sort people want to say to each other but find embarrassing actually to put into words”; and The White Cliffs of Dover (1942) was intensely patriotic – despite having been composed by Americans. While Sincerely Yours had exceptional audience numbers, behind the scenes at the BBC controversy raged. A committee minute noted that the assembled members deplored Sincerely Yours but “noted its popularity”. The opposition to the show was part of a wider dislike of crooners, whose vocal style was held to be over-sentimental and tinged with Americanisms. Male crooners were especially denigrated but Lynn was in the eye of the storm because her show attracted such a large listenership. It was attacked in parliament as liable to undermine the morale of British fighting men. One MP went further in criticising Lynn’s speaking voice as “refaned cockney”. She was stung into responding that “millions of cockneys are fighting in this war”. So great was her public profile that she starred in three films between 1942 and 1944. They traded on Lynn’s persona, to the extent that We’ll Meet Again and Rhythm Serenade borrowed titles of her songs. All had wartime themes as a backdrop to lightweight romantic stories, which did not fulfil the promise of the title of the third, One Exciting Night. While they served their morale-boosting purpose, Lynn did not pursue a career in cinema after the war. The most affecting phase of her wartime career came in 1944 when she volunteered to travel abroad for Ensa, the organisation set up to provide entertainment for the forces. The five-month trip took in concerts and hospital visits in the Middle East, India and finally Burma. The weeks she spent with troops in this relatively forgotten theatre of war remained with her for the rest of her life and she became the most ardent advocate for the remembrance and care of veterans of the 14th Army who fought in Burma. Dame Vera Lynn applauded by Cliff Richard during her final public performance, at a VE Day 50th anniversary concert in Hyde Park, London. Photograph: Kieran Doherty/Reuters. In the changing conditions of peacetime, Lynn faced competition from new and sometimes younger rivals, such as Anne Shelton, Dorothy Squires, Eve Boswell and Petula Clark, all of whom made rival recordings of new songs in the 50s. She remained in demand for variety theatre tours and starred in the long-running London Laughs with the comedians Jimmy Edwards and Tony Hancock in 1952-54. But she was not offered work by BBC radio for several years because in 1949 the head of variety, Michael Standing, told her that “sob stuff” was outmoded. A few years later he was quoted as “still looking for the new Vera Lynn”. In the meantime, Lynn made broadcasts for Radio Luxembourg. Several of these shows were recorded with an audience of RAF servicemen, who occasionally joined in the chorus of a song. That combination was repeated on bestselling Decca recordings, billed as “Vera Lynn with Soldiers and Airmen of HM Forces”. Among these were Auf Wiederseh’n Sweetheart, The Homing Waltz and The Windsor Waltz. The first of these inspired the title of the 80s sitcom Auf Wiedersehen, Pet. The disc was listed in the first published British hit parade in the New Musical Express in 1952 and topped the American charts, selling over a million copies there. Her biggest hit in Britain was My Son, My Son, co-written by the trumpeter Eddie Calvert, which reached No 1 in 1954. With the arrival of commercial broadcasting in 1955, Lynn was given her first television series and in the following year the BBC invited her back with a two-year exclusive contract to include both television and radio appearances. Unlike some of her contemporaries’ careers, Lynn’s continued to prosper despite the arrival of rock’n’roll and, later, the Beatles. During the 60s and 70s, she made frequent concert performances, recordings and television appearances. For many of these, including two nostalgic LPs of “Hits of the Blitz”, she reprised her wartime and 50s favourites, but she was briefly persuaded to record contemporary songs such as Lennon and McCartney’s Fool on the Hill and Jimmy Webb’s By the Time I Get to Phoenix, and to make an album in Nashville. Several CD reissues of her recordings have been made, including the No 1 album We’ll Meet Again: The Very Best of Vera Lynn (2009) and Unforgettable (2010), which included three previously unreleased tracks from the 40s. Vera Lynn sings We’ll Meet Again in the musical film of the same name (1943) A prominent feature of Lynn’s career was her commitment to charities, including several that support ex-service personnel and others concerned with polio, breast cancer, blindness and cerebral palsy. A trust for children with cerebral palsy was set up in her name and continues to support a school near Lynn’s home in West Sussex. In 1995, Lynn made her final official public performance at a VE Day anniversary event at Hyde Park. Even afterwards, she attended second world war commemorations, sometimes giving a speech, as at the 2005 VE Day event at which Katherine Jenkins, Lynn’s preferred successor as the forces’ sweetheart, performed We’ll Meet Again. Jenkins later recorded the song to add to Lynn’s original. Their virtual duet was included on the 2014 CD release, Vera Lynn – National Treasure. Three days before her 100th birthday, she released Vera Lynn 100, featuring new orchestrations of her best-known songs alongside her original vocals. She was joined on the album by the British singers Aled Jones, Alexander Armstrong and Alfie Boe. Her birthday was also marked with a projection of her face on to the white cliffs of Dover. The album went to No 3, making her the first centenarian to enter the UK charts, and charted again in May this year following the 75th anniversary celebrations of VE Day, which were also marked by a duet between Jenkins and a hologram of Lynn at the Royal Albert Hall, and the re-release of We’ll Meet Again. The Queen invoked the spirit of the song as she addressed a nation in coronavirus lockdown in April, assuring Britons “We will meet again”, and echoing Lynn’s own message to fans in March: “In these uncertain times, I am taken back to my time during World War II, when we all pulled together and looked after each other. It is this spirit that we all need to find again to weather the storm of the coronavirus.” Harry died in 1998. She is survived by her daughter, Virginia. Vera Lynn (Vera Margaret Welch), singer, born 20 March 1917; died 18 June 2020. Lynn District Court. There is metered street parking around the courthouse as well as two paid lots located near the courthouse. Public Transportation. For public transportation information to the courthouse, visit the MBTA website or call 800-392-6100 . The Lynn District Court is accessible by the Newburyport/Rockport line of the MBTA. The closest stop to the courthouse is Lynn Station. The courthouse is also accessible by the following routes of the MBTA bus: Bus 426, Bus 429, Bus 435, Bus 436, Bus 439, Bus 441, Bus 442, Bus 448, Bus 449 and Bus 445. Services at Lynn District Court. This location has an Adult Drug Court. Accessibility at Lynn District Court. Please contact the ADA coordinator below for more information regarding ADA accessibility at this court location. The BiblioSanctum. A Book Blog for Speculative Fiction, Graphic Novels… and more! Friday Face-Off: Fae/Fairies. Welcome to The Friday Face-Off, a weekly meme created by Books by Proxy! Each Friday, we will pit cover against cover while also taking the opportunity to showcase gorgeous artwork and feature some of our favorite book covers. If you want to join the fun, simply choose a book each Friday that fits that week’s predetermined theme, post and compare two or more different covers available for that book, then name your favorite. A list of future weeks’ themes are available at Lynn’s Book Blog. This week’s theme is: a cover featuring FAE/FAIRIES. Mogsy’s Pick: A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas. Believe it or not, I had a tough time finding a book to feature this week. I guess I read a lot of stories featuring fae/fairies, but not a lot of covers actually feature them? Anyway, this Beauty and the Beast meets Tam Lin mashup retelling with fairies is the closest I could find, and it’s a bonus that it has multiple covers that are also quite nice. From left to right: Bloomsbury USA Children’s (2015) – Bloomsbury (2020) German Edition (2017) – Portuguese Edition (2015) Winner: These are all so pretty, and I especially like the ones that have the black/white/red theme thing going. I’m going to go with the German edition as my favorite though, because I think it’s gorgeous, and also has the strongest “fairy tale” vibes out of all of them while giving off the sense of being watched. I almost missed the blue bird, which is a nice touch. A Court for Fairies f by Lynn S. A Court for Fairies. Dark Herald Series, Book One. By Lynnette Santiago. A Court for Fairies. Copyright © 2016 by Lynnette Santiago. All rights reserved. First Print Edition: December 2016. Limitless Publishing, LLC. Kailua, HI 96734. Formatting: Limitless Publishing. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental. To my sisters, Lysandra and Lysania. You’ve brought countless moments of joy to my life. Thanks for reading my stuff without running scared. And to a sister life gave me, Rosaimee. Your unfailing friendship is something I treasure. Table of Contents. *BONUS* INSTANT ACCESS TO A SECRET CHAPTER! GET (5) FREE READS EVERY FRIDAY! The Death of Esteban O’Reilly. “My heartfelt condolences…words cannot express the depth of our pain right now…steady…be brave…” Marissa played nervously with the charm on her golden necklace, caressing the locket with her shaky fingers. She tried, in all civility, to avoid bursting in front of the audience. They were not hypocrites. They were just creatures of social bearing, bound by etiquette to make their presence felt, to share the pain. Many times she had been on that side of the curtain, making the best of rehearsed social graces. Each scripted moment allowing her to channel a bit of feeling without being offensive or intruding. It was the key to emerging victorious out of a forced situation. Though grateful for the kindness of acquaintances and strangers, the plates of food did nothing but distract her from the need to make herself useful, perhaps cooking something. It all freed her time to think, which was not good at all. Flowers, rose and hyacinth, her favorite, would always be tied to the smell of formaldehyde and cotton. Those present had no idea that they had ruined certain things forever. It was not fair to blame them. Death cast the dice and waited for it all to fall. House lost a life and the game continued. Cruel fate was the only one responsible for her boyfriend’s untimely death at twenty-six. Marissa waited for close friends to finish paying respect to the fine silver urn that kept Esteban’s ashes. While some of those present felt relaxed enough to ease into a cup of coffee and chat, she made her way to the second floor. Esteban’s eyes followed her, step after step, in photo montages adorning the stairs; frames of childhood and adolescence. She entered his old room, letting herself fall on top of the twin bed in which Esteban slept as a child, holding tight to a sham that adorned a pillow with patterns of blue, black, and green squares. The ensemble of the room evoked nothing of the taste of the man with love of sober, streamlined contemporary furniture, but at that moment, it all stood for him. Marissa couldn’t conceive returning to the apartment after the accident, that nook in Brooklyn they had made their home for the last two years. Twenty-four months suddenly became an unbearable world of memory. She was working in the city when the news arrived, and driving straight to her mother’s place in Queens, she crashed there for a week. She didn’t want to deal with rumpled sheets, or the toothpaste tube pressed in the middle, those little details that once vexed her now would only make her cry. But she missed him. God, she missed him enough to try to find anything in that room to cling to, like the softness of that pillow that no longer carried his scent. She wanted to coerce the child, no longer there, to paint her a picture of the man she had just lost. She must have fallen asleep, but the touch of a firm yet caring hand brought her back. Waking up startled, Marissa mumbled some apology while trying to fix her hair and runs in her make up. Two women looked at her, silent before her words, waiting for the young woman to catch a breath and forgive herself. “No one will blame you, child. It has been a taxing day. We are all tired, some more than others. We are all grieving at the same level.” Carla, Esteban’s grandmother, sat at the edge of the bed, taking Marissa’s hand, building a bridge between her and her daughter, Isabel, as Esteban’s mother stood, unmoved. “Marissa, darling,” Carla continued, “Isabel and I have been discussing a couple of things. We know very well what Esteban felt for you. You were not the first girl he brought home, but you were the only one he insisted the family meet. Please don’t think we are about to place a burden upon you. In fact, we know you are young and meant, in time, to heal and thrive, and build another life. Though pain seems inconceivable, it will subside. But we cannot keep silent about the course of certain…things interrupted by the accident that took Esteban’s life.” The matron looked at Isabel, letting her know that she had said her piece. Isabel let go of her mother’s hand and turned toward the bureau, taking a box out of the top drawer. It was then that Marissa noticed they had been talking in a darkened room. The light from the street lamp barely made it in a thin angle through the window and the patterns of the curtains threw long shadows over Isabel’s hands, making them look older, spotted in dark circles. “You can turn on the light,” the young woman suggested. “There is no need,” the mother answered. “I know each corner of this room.” Carla, however, taking into consideration the young woman before her, turned the switch on. For a second, Isabel flickered her eyelids and her dark irises seemed to catch the green patterns of the room. In her hands she held a small box, wrapped in soft, red velvet. Marissa guessed the contents of it before they had time to explain. Covering her lips with the palm of her hand, she took a deep breath to steady her heart and keep tears at bay. Isabel continued, automatic, disconnected from the reaction of the woman before her. “Esteban told us of his intentions before…the case is, after discussing this with Mother…” The exchange became heavy and lacking warmth. It was plain to see that Carla had the final word on their discussion. Isabel was just following her mother’s instruction, which proved to be a failing script with each word uttered. Carla interrupted yet again, taking the box from her daughter’s grip, opening it so that Marissa could appreciate the ring it contained. “This meant he wanted to spend his life with you. This is my mother’s ring, and her mother’s before her. Isabel wore it through her own journey but now it has no history that links it to this house anymore. It was meant to be yours, it still is. My grandson had his mind set before he died.” Her smile was kind, though barely a line set on the firmness of her face. Carla was determined. Marissa held the exquisite piece of jewelry in her hand, raising it to the light. It was a considerable diamond, cut in eighteenth century fashion. Beautiful workmanship cut a flawless stone into a round shape. The center stone rested on top of a white gold frame in which smaller diamonds were encrusted in delicate half-moons around it, making it look like a rose. “This…I can’t accept this.” She couldn’t hold the tears anymore as they ran down her face. She had taken refuge in Esteban’s room, trying to connect with the past, and now these women gave her a glimpse of an unattainable future. It was the worst of cruelties, wrapped in generosity and kindness. “You must,” Carla answered in all resolve. “I can’t take this ring back. It will turn all its sweet memories to sorrows. It is a terrible thing to deny a loved one departed. Please take it, and find it in your heart to do one last thing for us, in his name. Stay tonight and for the next three days. We are taking Esteban’s ashes to rest with his father and we would like you to accompany us. I know my grandson wanted you to visit Innisfree. Sleep now, dear. Think about it. It has been a whirlwind of emotion and we must have a bit of rest as well. “ Isabel broke the silence to say good night, leaving before Marissa had a chance to answer. Carla caressed the young woman’s ash blonde hair, as if playing with a doll. With utmost care, the elder helped her out of a black scrunchie that held her ponytail in place. “Here, here, this thing will only give you a headache. Take a shower and you can sleep in this room if it pleases you.” The door stayed half open while both women brought in towels, linens, even a set of pajamas for her to wear. Marissa looked at them as if watching choreography. They needed no words. Crafty hands folded and smoothed almost in unison, their need to please not quite allowing her to feel at home. Marissa didn’t sleep. Earlier that night she placed a call to her mother, allowing for her to pack a small suitcase. She mentioned the service upstate casually, but not the ring. Her mother might have something to say on the matter and she wanted to make up her own mind on the matter. Isabel waited for her as she stepped out of the bathroom, placing the laundered clothes from the night before right back into her hands. Neat as ever. The sight of the ring on Marissa’s finger gave her comfort as her eyes softened and the shadow of a smile crossed her lips. “A cab came by earlier. Your mother prepared travel luggage for you, which tells me you’ve made up your mind to go with us.” Marissa nodded quickly, taking back her clothes, yet noticing that Isabel also carried a thin, dark black veil. Before she had opportunity to ask, Esteban’s mother entered the restroom and covered the mirror. There were no replies to her curious frown other than, “Breakfast will soon be ready.” Marissa had heard it before, right from Esteban’s lips. His slight mockery of all things old world that ruled both O’Reillys and Alejandros. He was first generation born in the States, and the cultural baggage of both sides of the family was a little too much to bear. Her hands caressed the cloth, unknowing yet respectful of what it might symbolize. Downstairs, the kitchen smelled wonderful. Scrambled eggs, bacon crisp off the stove, and an assortment of fruit and bread waited for her. Isabel sat at the edge of the table, nursing a cup of tea and eating a slice of toast while writing instructions for the house maid. “Anything else you might want, miss?” asked the cook, ready to whip up a platter. Marissa was dismissive, though she did pick a bit of fruit to nibble on. “Where’s Carla?” she inquired of the maid. “Mrs. Carla is in the backyard. She finds the kitchen insufferable.” Marissa saw her, dressed in an impeccable gray pencil skirt and white long-sleeved blouse that matched her daughter. Carla held a small bowl in her hands, no bigger than a saucer. Lifting it up to her lips, the woman, usually a picture of control and demeanor, drank its contents, tilting it hungrily as if she couldn’t taste it soon enough. It was white and thick, heavy and creamed. Her tongue cleaned the bottom of that little plate. It was more greed than it seemed hunger. “Miss Marissa?” The voice of the maid called her in. Isabel had determined she should have at least a crepe. “It is quite a long trip, sweetheart. Eat something, even if you just must.” And she did. The driver picked them up at ten. Two vehicles were ready to depart the house on Long Island. The women traveled in one, while the second carried, among other things, Esteban’s ashes. Carla and Marissa waited for Isabel, while the mistress of the house took care of last minute details, including a list for weekend groceries, allowing for their return on Tuesday. “Make sure all the mirrors are covered. My son’s spirit cannot find dwelling in this house. It must be compelled to follow us to Innisfree.” Those Masks We Wear. Upstate New York might come as a shock to those who lived all their lives in the city. It seemed a world away, hard to process for those of urban settings. As years went by, people who made their living in the busiest city on the East Coast joined the ritual of habitual things, checking in and out their daily schedules like precise clockwork. Closing their eyes, most of them fell back and bought the idea that there was no world beyond the five boroughs that comprised a stretch of land known to the entire world. Marissa had never left the confines of The Big Apple. Since her birth, it had been nothing but Manhattan’s concrete and steel under her every step. Her idea of nature was none other than the greens of Central Park. Once, Esteban proposed they go on vacation. “For the love of God, sweetheart, you can’t pretend the North Atlantic actually has beaches. Saint Petersburg, Flo-ri-da; frigid name, hot sand. I’m talking about the Gulf of Mexico!” She was quite resolute in her negative response. He knew quite well she was not the sun and sand type and loved to make her miserable with his proposed excursions. She had things to do, a niche to carve for herself. She wouldn’t leave, not at that moment at least. Had Marissa known forever was not granted, she would have humored him. Esteban was always lenient with her, giving space and time to her every whim. Cynics said relationships never granted equal measures; there was the one who loved and the one who received the love. Though she never conceived herself as selfish, Marissa was spoiled, a little immature. Esteban derived a certain pleasure in giving her all. Though their age difference was merely four years, sometimes he found himself overprotective of a woman of delicate persuasions who grew up without a father figure. Since his father also died when Esteban was quite young, he understood the feeling very well. So he declined prolonging his argument into a squabble and changed the subject. The next day, he showed up, armed with a charming smile and a conciliatory gift: a gold chain fitted to a small, curved charm fashioned as a sideways eight. The symbol of eternity. Though the chain was exquisite, the charm looked opaque, rough, and untreated. It was an oddity since Esteban usually showered his girlfriend with extravagant pieces of jewelry that though lovingly given, made her feel inadequate. This was different. She loved the little imperfections about it. Her boyfriend answered as if reading her mind. “That one cost me my reputation with the jeweler. We put the malleability of gold to the test, there is fine concrete dust, even stone from the city baked into that mix. Wherever you go, you’ll take New York with you. Now, I declare you free of whatever binds you to this city. Marissa Salgado, please, take some time off.” Esteban had the kindest, warmest smiles, the best of dispositions, and a spirit of adventure she could not quite grasp. More than once, his enthusiasm overwhelmed her. Their friends used to call them Break and Locomotive. No need to say which one was which. She loved him as much as she sometimes felt annoyed by his displays. For them, it was as easy to make love as to get in to an argument in the spirit of the moment. The very definition of opposites attracting. Marissa played both their agreements and disagreements back and forth in her memory. Distracted, she took to biting the charm on her chain while an interminable road slithered through hills and valleys ahead. Exuberant greens were interrupted by the orderly layout of a vineyard or an Amish farm; friendly folk, yet separated from the world by their views of God and nature. Distant mountains, framing lakes of almost glacier blue, made her, if only for a moment, forget the reason for her presence upstate. Sitting on the second row of the SUV by herself, Marissa couldn’t help touching her hand to the glass, as a child might do when witnessing some wonder. “Do you mind if I roll down the window?” Isabel secured her dark sunglasses on the bridge of her nose, letting her know it was okay to do as she wished. Carla simply kept glued to a book, tucking the silk red marker after each page, as if expecting to be interrupted. The young woman rolled down the tinted window, allowing total access to a world of color and sound, vegetation and fauna. There was a soft, humid feeling to the air, as the breeze rising from the lake dispersed thin fog upon the road. Innisfree was quite a valuable piece of real estate, located within an esplanade of a hundred and twenty kilometers between Syracuse and Rochester. One of those hideaways where industrialization had not yet made its mark. It was a playground for the rich who didn’t feel the need to be famous. A place to downplay opulence, which was in itself a kind of eccentricity. The State Road soon took a turn into a private road that led to the gateway of the house. Impressive white gates opened and a guard assigned to take care of the property greeted the women from an equally white office located at the entrance. Beyond the gates, the front of the house was paved in delicate blue cobblestones and flanked by red maple trees that had started sprouting the first of spring leaves.