A Storm in the Making

Chapter 15--Fellow Travelers

Julius stopped and thought a moment then smirked at something only he could see. “No. They’re still in the dining room.” He’d read their thoughts, of course.

   “You’ll get to know these Travelers better in the days to come, but let me give you a quick introduction to them now.” He smirked at something funny. No doubt, Julius was mind reading again. “One of them is anxious to meet you….the photographer.”

   He turned me in their direction and we started down another walkway that led up to the patio. The walkway was broader than a sidewalk and seemed to be made of some kind of rock that had been melted together. They looked as ancient as the monastery itself. The pathway was smooth under my bare feet.

   There were five people in the group—two women and three men. Two elderly people stood close together and were obviously a couple. The rest appeared to be strangers to each other if their body language was anything to go by. Apparently shyness wasn’t a problem for some of them as they started introducing themselves the moment we walked up to them.

   “Hi there,” spoke up the youngest man boldly. He had an accent that sounded suspiciously like Crocodile Dundee’s. Was he Australian then?

   “I’m Nigel Connors. I’m from Hamilton, New Zealand. What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” he teased, laughter dancing in his hazel eyes. He crinkled his eyes in the most appealing way when he smiled. From the laugh lines etched into the corners of his eyes, I concluded that he did that a lot.

 He looked to be in his mid to late twenties. He was slim built, and tall, with light brown hair that was lightened on the tips from hours in the sun. That would stand to reason, he being a photographer and all.

   He stood with his thumbs hooked into the red belt of his robe like it was a mannerism he did subconsciously. He studied me intently with a smile that was entirely too confident.

   “Hello,” I answered. “I’m Storm Weatherly. Jacksonville, Florida.” I didn’t bother to say Lakahatchee. They would have no idea where that was. “I never could resist a free ride somewhere,” I teased back. It seemed to come natural to me with Nigel. I felt drawn to his personality. A bond of sorts. Like we were friends waiting to happen.

    I also felt something else. Julius stiffening at my side. What was that all about, I wondered, and then quickly tried to cover up that thought before Julius read what I was thinking.

   “I heard ya’ll got here today…you and your family,” interrupted the younger of the two other woman in the group. She had bleached-blonde hair and looked to be in her mid-thirty’s. She spoke with a heavy Southern drawl. “I’m Dottie….Dottie Rollins…. from Biloxi, Mississippi.” She gave me a genuine smile.

   “I’m Edgar Townsend. This is my wife, Maude.” the husband spoke up as spokesman for the elderly couple. He had a definite British accent. The man had his arm around the woman’s shoulders. “Say hi, dear,” he encouraged the woman to speak.

   The woman, Maude, had a blank look on her face like she was a million miles away. She didn’t answer, which upset her husband.

   “Maude has Alzheimer’s,” her husband apologized gravely.

 Edgar and Maude were old. Even by my definition of old. They looked even older than Dr. Spinner. Edgar’s white hair was thin on top with only a few sprigs combed over from the side to cover his bald pate. He had his own teeth, though. They were yellowed, and a little crooked when he smiled.

H  is wife didn’t smile, open her mouth, or even acknowledged mine or Julius’ existence. Maude’s white hair floated out from her head in a wild array.

   She was the only one of the group, however, that made the clunky necklaces we all wore look good. She must have been beautiful when she was younger. Much younger. Would I have to get that old someday?

    “We’re from Wiltshire, England,” Edgar added, interrupting my morbid thoughts. He had faded denim-blue eyes so like his wife’s, that they could be brother and sister rather than husband and wife.

   The third man of the group was a non-descript, paunch-bearing, middle-aged used car salesman type of man that I took an instant dislike to. He was either a mind-reader, or very intuitive because he gave Julius and me a hostile glance—like he knew exactly how I felt and reciprocated the feeling heartily.

   “Name’s Harry. Harry Baxter. “I’m from Liverpool,” he grumbled churlishly and shifted his eyes away from us.

   The way he said Harry, he left the H off the word so that it came out sounding like ‘arry instead of Harry. He had a British accent that was so thick it almost sounded fake.

   He shrugged as if trying to get the robe he was wearing to hang more comfortably and tugged nervously at his necklace.

   Julius hadn’t spoken until now. So when he spoke, it almost came as an intrusion into a private conversation…..

   “I’m sure all of you have much you would like to discuss, but Storm hasn’t eaten yet. We were just on our way to the dining room. So, if you will excuse us….”

   “It was nice meeting you,” Dottie said, reaching out a hand to me. She gave me a limp handshake. “I’ll see you tomorrow—or, maybe we’ll see each other over at the dining room. I haven’t eaten yet, either.”

   “Maude’s having an off day, but I’m sure she would agree that it is nice meeting you. Just wish it was under better circumstances,” Edgar added to the others welcome. His handshake was perfect—neither limp as a noodle, nor too firm or too long. I decided I liked Edgar. There was a sweet honesty to him that made me think of some of the better, kinder things about earth.

   Harry Baxter mumbled something like, “Same ‘ere,” and nervously reached to slide his hands into pockets that weren’t there. His eyes were everywhere but meeting mine and Julius’. I was glad I wasn’t called upon to shake his hand. I think I would rather pet a snake.

I was relieved when the New Zealander stuck out his hand. “Yeah, same here,” he said, with a wink for me alone. His smile was devastating. His rugged tan made his teeth sparkle whiter than a toothpaste commercial. The calloused hand that grasped mine was firm. A tingle of electricity rushed up my arm. He met my startled gaze with a question of his own that made us both pause. His gripped tightened slightly for just a fraction of a second before letting my hand go.

Julius cleared his throat and took my hand from Nigel too quickly. With a warning glance at Nigel, he turned abruptly and led me back down the walkway.