The bedroom was slowly coming together. Moving boxes still cluttered the hardwood floor, but all except two were now opened and half emptied. Nellie’s efforts to unpack were interrupted by once again digging out the shoe box of photos from beneath the storage area under the house. She lounged against her turquoise beanbag, thumbing the worn edges of the picture of the family of three in front of the Eiffel Tower.
She had not asked Nathalie much more after their trip into Murfreesboro. She focused on getting Ash set up in his outbuilding, and then Nathalie had been busy with the internet installer. She spent the following day attempting to set up her room while being sucked into her phone for hours at a time, seeking out everything on smoke wolves and regular wolves she could. Nathalie had spent most of that day on the laptop, checking bank statements and making calls to check where her welding equipment was since she hired movers specifically for that. With a full day and a half of not talking–other than standard questions regarding food or where boxes were–it seemed too bulky and awkward to randomly bring up her father. That went double–triple–for anything about her mother.
“Nellie,” Nathalie hissed urgently, sticking her head in the room while covering her phone with her hand. “Text Winny and tell him I’m stuck on hold. I’ll call him back.” She straightened. “Yes, I’m still here. I just gave you the shipping number. Oh, blast, give me a moment to fetch it. Again.”
Nellie set aside the photo to grab her phone from the nightstand. She went into her messaging app to her contacts, scrolling down to Winston Herle- uncle. She typed:
She’s on hold with some moving people.
Her fingers barely left her phone when it buzzed. She paused before turning the screen up to read the reply:
Pinched family album from Nana and Granddad. Cheers, Winston.
She smirked at his sign-off. He was stubborn about signing text messages like letters. It drove Nathalie up the wall, and she suspected that was one reason he stuck to the habit so fervently.
She typed back:
Did the album scream when you pinched it?
The response was instant:
Cheeky. Cheers, Winston.
She set her phone aside and dragged herself into the living room, her body heavy from the prolonged lounging. Nathalie was still pacing in aggravation, seething as she waited. Nellie went to rummage through the fridge. She peeked to make sure Nathalie was still distracted before pulling out one of the marinating chicken breasts. She rinsed it and wrapped it in a paper towel, stealing away outside.
Ash bounded out as soon as the door was opened. He poofed into thick, black smoke, sailed a foot over Nellie's head, and reformed behind her.
“Snuck you some chicken,” Nellie said, half whispering. She tossed it away and sank to the frozen ground, pressing her back to the outbuilding. “As far as I can guess, you’re just shy of one. You’re too lanky to be any older. Unless smoke wolves are lankier than regular wolves….” She giggled at Ash stalking and lunging at the chicken breast. “Definitely not an adult.”
“Nellie,” Nathalie called, poking her head outside. “Clean out that outbuilding, please. I’m sure that animal has messed all over it. Hello, yes? I just gave you the order number!”
Ash had not messed all over it, but kept everything contained in a neat corner away from his towels and food dish. She had read about wolves being tidy. She was glad he at least shared that with his regular counterparts. She finished her cleaning by shaking out his towels and throwing them in a pile that hopefully was fluffy. It would have been nice if they got him a bed.
“Ash,” Nellie called, heading outdoors. “Ash, back inside.” She caught sight of the tip of his tail disappearing through the trees. “Ash!”
She rushed after him. She no sooner entered the woods when she heard Ash snarl and a sound like a roar and screech responded. A mighty gust of wind crashed into her, knocking her off balance. She fell on the hard ground, instinctively curling and covering her head with her arms.
A quiet fell across the woods. Nellie stayed in her huddled position as the stillness stretched out, shaking from whatever it was that just happened as well as from the January cold. She lifted her head as Ash nudged her with his cold, wet nose. He was ginger with his front, right paw.
The woods were littered with branches as if a twister had gone through. The trunks looked steady, but there were two that had deep grooves like claw marks raked down them. Between those two trees was a white feather that appeared to glow in the watery, weak sunlight. It was the length of Nellie’s entire arm.
“Nellie,” Nathalie called out. “Perenelle!”
Nellie grabbed the feather in her scramble up. She patted Ash on the head and urged him to follow. She could feel she'd been bruised by branches falling across her as she trotted from the woods, Ash trailing her with small, pitiful whimpers.
Nathalie hurried outside, barefoot, to meet her. She threw her arms around her, pulling her into a crushing hug. She just as quickly held her at arms length to look her over.
“Are you hurt? Nellie, what was that?” Nathalie picked twigs out of her auburn waves. “Goodness, you are a mess!”
Nellie held up the feather. “Look at what whatever it was left!” She leaned away to put an arm around Ash, adding, “Can Ash sleep inside tonight? Look at his poor foot!”
Nathalie let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing her forehead. That was all Nellie needed to push Ash into the house in front of her, both of them barreling by Nathalie. Ash bounded into the bedroom, leaping upon Nellie’s bed with no whine or whimper. Nellie dropped onto her beanbag and grabbed her phone. She set the feather at her feet, and leaned back to capture as much of the feather in frame as possible to image search it. She narrowed her eyes, smirking.
“Well, I know it isn’t a swan feather,” Nellie said. “Not unless it was a mutant. …Oh, that would be horrifying! Imagine a fancy, white goose the size of a small car getting angry with you!” She looked at Ash. “Have you ever seen a goose?”
Nathalie stuck her head around the door. “I’d rather that animal did not sleep in here tonight, Nellie. I’m supposed to fetch your uncle from the airport tonight.”
“But it’s so cold out there,” Nellie protested. “And he’s hurt. And there’s a… a winged thing out there.”
“He can stay inside for now, but not for the night,” Nathalie said.
“Can I buy him a bed?”
Nathalie pursed her lips as she mentally weighed her options. “He can have a bed, but he needs to be outside tonight regardless of the bed arriving or not.”
Nellie squealed and jumped up, hugging Nathalie. “Thank you, thank you! Ash, come thank….” She stepped back, pulling at the split ends in a lock of hair. She tensed as Nathalie petted her head.
“I’m going to try clearing up the front room,” Nathalie said, her tone trying to sound cheerful. “Please don’t spend more than eighty dollars on the bed. I’d ask for much less knowing he'll just shred the thing, but I saw the prices at the store.”
“Can I use the laptop,” Nellie asked.
“Suppose so,” Nathalie said. “Just keep my tabs open. I’m planning a sculpture and don’t want to go looking for the references again.”
It was quick work to buy Ash a bed with the filters for size, rating, and price in place. Snooping on Nathalie’s references to gauge what she was planning to create–a ballerina, the pose not yet narrowed down–took even less time. Nellie moved her beanbag so she could lean against her bed, to have Ash behind her head.
“Mrs. Throneberry did say she saw a big cat-eagle thing a few days ago,” Nellie said, half to Ash and half out loud to the room. “That sounded like a gryphon to me, but she said it had white wings but wasn’t white…. No way they live here, right, boy?” She leaned her head back to look at the smoke wolf. “But you’re supposed to be further east too. Still… she was weird with how she described it….”
It would not be right to assume Mrs. Throneberry made up the story or mis-saw something innocuous just to join in the folktale conversation at the coffee shop, but people were prone to embellishing the smallest things or outright lying to contribute to these sorts of stories. Nellie understood that too well; no one ever believed her. She ran her finger down the spine of the feather, then input: griffin. After too many pictures of random people and poorly drawn cartoons, she retyped: gryphon. The images more or less showed the creatures as solid colors, nothing like the white-winged and black-headed animal described to her. She moved the cursor away from the Images tab to the All tab, now faced with stone statuettes, faded stone tablets, and links to random mythology pages, descriptions, and schools via their mascot–those respelling it ‘griffin’.
“The website previews all say the same thing,” Nellie said to Ash. “It’s like they copy pasted from each other. Isn’t that plagiarism?”
She chose three near the top. Sure enough, they offered the same information with slight differences. The last had a written description of a gryphon much more detailed: black eagle head, red chest, tawny lion body (sometimes spotted), white wings. She stared at the white feather. A smile spread across her face.
---
A clatter of a kicked box, a stumble of something–someone–heavy knocking into a wall, and the house seeming to shake with that fall all jolted Nellie awake. Her heart pounded frantically as her ears strained for more information.
“Winston,” Nathalie hissed. “Careful! You'll wake Nellie!”
Nellie reached for her phone, squinting into the bright screen. It was 1:46. Nathalie had left around when she was falling asleep four hours earlier. She rolled over, taking a long breath to calm the adrenaline spike as Nathalie and Uncle Winston whispered a half-argument over time differences and messy houses.
It was odd she had such a strong reaction to Uncle Winston stumbling over a box. The commotion was enough to wake anyone, but her dose of adrenaline was overkill, especially now that Ash lived on the property. There was a vagueness in her mind as if she had been watching something, dreaming of something, that was exciting. Trying to pick up where she left off caused a swooping in her stomach, both of nerves and joy. She could nearly see the vast sky and mountains as she shut her eyes.
“Nat,” Uncle Winston called. Nellie’s eyes flew open. “Nat!”
“Winston,” Nathalie snapped, her bedroom door creaking as she yanked it open. “Hush!”
“Do you have a spare adaptor,” Uncle Winston asked, barely lowering his voice. “I can’t seem to find–.”
“Go to sleep,” Nathalie said.
“Sleep? Are you mad?” Winston chuckled. “It’s near eight AM.”
Nellie rolled over again. She leaned up to fluff her pillow, flopping upon it with a sigh. She stared at the white feather that looked more than ever to be glowing as it latched onto and sent back every scrap of light in the dark room. The mountains, swooping excitement, and touch of nerves made more sense to her now. She tried to recapture the dream a few minutes longer before giving up and dragging herself from her room.
There was a reading lamp plugged in and resting on the floor next to the couch. It gave off a warm glow that fought against the harsh brightness of a sleek laptop set on the coffee table. Uncle Winston’s pale face was washed in the cool light, darkening the lines on his face into a dramatic mask.
His blue eyes shot up from the phone in his hands at the floor boards creaking. “Nellie, lovey,” he said happily, climbing out from the sagging sofa. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her too tight. “Did we wake you? Of course we did, what am I saying. Far too young to be sneaking out.” He thumped her back and dropped onto the couch again. “Not that you have anywhere to run off to in this god’s forsaken place.”
She half cringed and half smiled. Nathalie talked positively of Shelbyville and Lynchburg whenever they were with each other, and she tried to do the same, but they were both starting to feel how different it was from Sunrise. She settled on the couch next to Uncle Winston, yawning hugely, and held her tongue on what thoughts she could add to his comment.
Uncle Winston was once more absorbed by his phone. The light was not as bright as the laptop, but enough to blend his light colored eyes with the glow. It lightened the silver streaking from his temples, and lit up the other grays peppering his black hair. He was the only member of the family–beside herself–to not be blond.
“Nathalie refused to let me on the Wi-Fi and the reception is dreadful,” Uncle Winston said. “Would you have the password? I wanted to check in with Margo before I started work.”
Nellie typed the password into the laptop and then the phone. It was the faster option.
“Cheers,” Uncle Winston said. He eagerly watched the phone attempting to connect. “Oh, I should do the video so she can see you! It’s been ages.”
“It was last week,” Nellie said, giggling.
“Blast,” Uncle Winston said as the call failed. “She must be in the shower already. Ah well, I’ll text her to let her know your mother didn’t crash into a deer after picking me up.”
She shifted uncomfortably as the phone made audible key-clacking sounds. Uncle Winston was so nonchalant, acting and speaking normally despite him having dropped everything and flown across the Atlantic because she now knew Nathalie was not her mother.
“Still find it all overwhelming,” Uncle Winston said without looking away from his screen, him now on the laptop. She nodded and opened her mouth to confirm her meek nod in case he did not see it. “It’s all right to let it be overwhelming, Nellie, dearie.” His keen eyes flashed towards her. “Just do not allow it to consume you. Much too young to have something as silly as parentage weigh you down.” He set his sights again on his work. “Do you wish me to refer to Nathalie as your aunt from now on?”
“I don’t know,” Nellie mumbled.
“All in due time,” Uncle Winston said. He clacked away at the keyboard. “She tells me you have a dog now. I highly doubt you call him ‘that thing’.”
“Ash,” Nellie said. “And he’s not really a dog.”
“Naturally, but I’ll always refer to him as such,” Uncle Winston said. He groaned at the screen. “That absolute muppet of an assistant cited the wrong file. Pardon me, sweetpea.” He struggled out of the dip in the sofa, snatching his phone up. “I stashed the photo album in my briefcase. Just mind you don’t spill any of my files.”
Uncle Winston stood at a loss in the small house before deciding the few steps into the kitchen was private enough.
It was creeping towards 3:00AM, so Nellie decided to return to her room to give Uncle Winston space to do his work. She rummaged through his briefcase for the album, finding it easily by the worn, leather cover among the paper files. There were bits of gold still in the indented lettering that read; Photo Album. She hugged it to her chest as she slunk back into her room.
The first and only photograph on the first page was of her grandparents nearly unrecognizable in their young age in a grainy, worn black and white wedding photo. The typical stiff, grim expressions common in old photographs were only half present with the pair clearly trying not to laugh. The next few pages showed them either together in well-known European places, or singular in them–usually her grandfather in front of the landmark and her grandmother smiling over a plate of food. She skipped through the next few pages that showed her grandmother growing larger and larger with Uncle Winston, then of Uncle Winston as a newborn–the majority of those him being asleep, the rare awake ones blurred with movement of some sort. She slowed when the cycle repeated over with Nathalie, then took pauses as individual pictures of Uncle Winston and Nathalie grew together. Nana was added back in, now growing larger for the last time.
Nellie stopped with her fingers poised to flip the page to the newborn photograph she knew would be next. She never thought much about Rhys before, but now it was different. She exhaled a long, slow breath, and turned the page.
There was not much difference between Rhys’s baby pictures and those of Uncle Winston and Nathalie; the quality was better, her grandparents older, and there being individual pictures of him with his siblings being the key changes. He was bald for most–as was Nathalie–with the baldness giving way to flaxen curls–unlike Nathalie whose hair was straight. She pulled at a lock of wavy, auburn hair.
The childhood pictures were many and varied with the vast majority being candid shots someone, likely Granddad, took when the three kids were not looking at the camera at all. Half of those Rhys was crying early on and grumpy later on, the displeasure seeming to come from something to do with Uncle Winston.
She dozed off at some point, because next she knew Nathalie was yelling for her to wake up, eat, and attend to her creature. Ash's eerie howls echoed as a backtrack.
Nathalie and Uncle Winston were sniping at each other over a plate of half-burnt toast. The fragments she heard sounded like whatever it was had to do with the time differences and Uncle Winton’s troubles hearing Aunt Margaret, so Nellie grabbed her coat and headed outside.
Ash did not bound out as he did yesterday. He nosed about and took careful steps, eyeing the woods with his bright red eyes.
“Little wary after that gryphon, huh, boy,” Nellie said, patting his head. “You know I’m on your side, but I can’t help thinking you may’ve deserved getting tossed.”
She hurried through the chores of feeding, cleaning, and breaking the ice layer on his water bucket, her shivering growing more pronounced. She wrestled Ash back inside with promises to let him out again after her own breakfast, and bolted indoors.
“Nellie,” Uncle Winton said in a scandalized tone, “are you aware this woman starts her day with coffee and not tea?”
“For goodness sake, Winny, you make the same complaint each visit, as far between as they are,” Nathalie said.
“You’ve set our parents half in the grave with your American habits,” Uncle Winston said. “I do hope you’ve thought on what investments to make.”
A thought popped into Nellie’s head as she reached for the toast. “Am I American,” she asked. She dropped her gaze at the adults’ surprised looks at the abrupt question.
“You are,” Nathalie said slowly. She looked to her brother. “She is, right, Winny? Or was it more complicated?”
“No, no, she is,” Uncle Winston said. “The complication was due to not having her mother’s input.” His face scrunched in disgust as he took a sip of coffee. “You think your father’s side is complex, Nellie, dearie, it’s nothing compared to the other half.” He added a disgusted noise to go with his next sip of coffee. “Honestly, Nat, this is pure torture.”
“I told you I have milk and sugar, you eejit,” Nathalie said, her lighthearted manner slightly forced. She ripped the milk from the fridge and heavily plopped the sugar canister on the counter. “I’ll be back in a moment. You two talk.”
Nellie squirmed in her chair as Nathalie disappeared into her room. The subject of her mother had finally been broached, clearly drawing a line between Nathalie and her role in Nellie’s life. She had not wanted to upset Nathalie.
“She’s fine, lovey,” Uncle Winston said, eyeing her from over his cup. “She’s the adult. You needn’t worry yourself.” He rolled his coffee in his mouth, shrugging at the adjusted taste. “Now, you being American. Yes. It took a bit of doing to find it out, Rhys was already gone and no help, but from my understanding, your mother was born of an American mother so was considered American despite being born and raised in England. It made things a fraction easier with Nathalie wanting to settle herself in the yeehaw country.”
“Was I not born here,” Nellie asked.
“Oh no, you were born overseas somewhere,” Uncle Winston said. “The copy of your birth certificate is in my study safe, and I cannot say where off the top of my head. Not England, that much I remember. Killed Granddad and Nana, poor dears, but they really did bring it upon themselves sending Nathalie and Rhys to foreign schools.” He scoffed. “I mean, honestly, what did they expect? They weren’t old enough to resist the warmth and sunshine like a proper Brit.”
“You have my birth certificate,” Nellie asked.
“Nathalie has the original, and I a copy,” Uncle Winston said. “Or both are copies. Rhys didn’t know where Nat was, or how to get you to her, or something of that nature, so first brought you to me.” He waved flippantly, sipping from his cup. “He was mad. Kept going in circles about your mother. Can’t say as to what about her, mind you.”
“Something terrible happened to her,” Nathalie said, quietly re-entering from her bedroom with an old shoebox. “He tried to explain it, but it didn’t make sense, as if he wasn’t sure of it either.” She set the box in front of Nellie. “He wrote me quite often after he left home. He only stopped shortly before showing up at Winny’s.”
Uncle Winston’s face strained in a tired, sad smile. “Rhys and I were not as close as I would’ve liked. A decade apart will do that, I suppose. He always just annoyed me, trying to tag along and mimic me, and….” He took a breath. “And I missed him greatly once he left.”
Nellie stared at the daunting old box before her. Her father’s thoughts were inside in his own writing. She had grown to not think of her father, to have no questions of him, and now he was shoved beneath her nose. She leaned away.
“It’s all right, Nellie,” Nathalie said softly. “You keep the box. It’s there if you ever want it.”
“You removed anything unsuitable, I should hope,” Uncle Winston said.
Nathalie rolled her eyes. “Winston, honestly,” she sighed. “He wasn’t off partying.”
Nellie picked at the soft corners of the shoebox. “So… because something happened to my…” she looked away from Nathalie, “is why I’m with you. What about her family? Didn’t they know about me?”
“Her family is dangerous,” Uncle Winston said bluntly. “Rhys was quite clear to not allow them near you. An uncle in particular.” He glared into his empty coffee cup. “Whatever it was that happened to your mother was his fault. Are you sure you have no tea in the cupboard?”
She allowed Nathalie and Uncle Winston’s talk about tea and shopping trips wash over her. She inched the box near, running her fingers on the edge of the lid. Her mouth was dry. She stood, and left the box.
“Think I’ll dress and take Ash for a walk in the woods,” she announced, and hurried to her room.
---------------------
I 100% based Nathalie's phone frustrations off that interaction I had with ADP awhile back when trying to get all the 401k stuff finazlied. Annoyances can be useful, lol. I'm liking the switch from hair stylist to welder with Nathalie too, since I can write down whatever ideas I had/have for future reference. I would like to try to make something else someday.
And enter Uncle Winston! He was not orignially supposed to be more than a name to fill out Nathalie and Rhys's family, but then I decided he should be useful. That was one reason I went with lawyer so that the legal bits of moving a toddler between countries with people not her parents could make more sense. Nellie doesn't see her family in person a lot, but she does keep in contact as much as a 12yo would, so there is a relationship with each member (less with Winston's kids because of age differences).
The set up is taking longer than I thought it would, but this was always planned as a serise with each book being shorter (compared to other things I write) so maybe most of this one is just set up. I don't know. It's a rough draft.
The Castle of the Sunbird, September 2005
Where the Fault Lies, Part II, 2006
Mioko Del Mar, 2007?
Mioko, Sept 2002
Fire & Steel, 2005
