A blast of sun caught Karla full in the face. She squinted and smiled, reveling in the warmth of those fleeting rays.
An overcast as dense as an iron shield had ruled each of the four previous days. Living in the north of Scotland one had to grab some sun when they could.
Today, the clouds seemed in a rush. Whether they were in a hurry to come or to go was anybody's guess, but it was always a safe bet to assume things would soon get cloudier.
She lay back and pondered the sky's intentions, reclining on an old and tattered tablecloth flung on the damp grass by the pond behind the farmhouse. An open bottle of Thistly Cross cider sat within her grasp. A sketchbook and a half dozen colored pencils were strewn around her.
She couldn't sketch worth a damn, not nearly as good as Izzie. The creativity gene had skipped her entirely, but that didn't mean she never tried. She couldn't sing or dance very well either, but that rarely stopped her from belting out a tune in public or whirling across a dance floor like a maniac.
The clouds now seemed about to rally. Reinforcements were pouring over the hills from the west. She had half a mind to go back inside, but the sound of Izzie's bleating stopped her. She was squabbling with Mrs. Ambrose about something trivial again. Mrs. A was as easy-going as they come, but her sister always seemed to find a way to test her patience.
Yesterday it was about the chickens. Izzie had a bad habit of coming home with any surplus chick or duckling she could sweet talk their neighbors to part with. The coops were now bursting with gangly adolescent poults that she no longer wanted any part of.
Whatever they were arguing about now was likely none of Karla's business. If she went inside now, each of them would seek to pick their side on whatever issue was at hand. And each would feel betrayed if she sided with the other.
Besides, whenever she stayed indoors all day, she only felt compelled to repeat chores she had already done. In a fever of redundancy she would sweep where she had already swept, dust places her cloth had already swiped several times. Gleaming toilets would compel her to scrub them a second or third time.
Her compulsions were the residue of growing up with Edmund Raeth as a father. She and Izzie would be regularly berated or even beaten if Herr Raeth was not satisfied with the order of the house. Any mote of dirt neglected on the hardwood, any drop of water unwiped on the kitchen table, were grounds for corporal punishment.
Mrs. Ambrose had no such expectations whatsoever. She was not fastidious in the least. If anything, she leaned towards being a mite too slovenly for Karla's taste.
Her obsessiveness came from within. The ghost of Papa was forever looking over her shoulder, doubting, critiquing, punishing, haunting her every action or thought. The scary part was that he wasn't even dead yet. He was imprisoned a hop, skip and a jump away near Dundee in HMP Castle Huntly, an open prison for inmates whose release was imminent.
Ripples shattered the pond's mirror as a breeze ruffled the tall grass. The sun's bright sword continued to keep the advancing clouds at bay. It had been such a long and dull winter. Yet another reason to stay outdoors a little longer. The house had been cozy enough, just too darned confining.
Mrs. Ambrose had taught Izzie how to knit. Karla had not partaken of these free lessons. The only weaving that interested her did not result in scarves and shawls. But those days were gone. The Liminality was no longer accessible to her. Melancholy and boredom did not suffice to summon roots.
Mrs. A. had also tried to get them to attend church with her on a regular basis. Even though the Church of Scotland was as far removed from Papa's strict Catholic-influenced sect as Disneyland is from Alcatraz, the old woman had no luck convincing either sister to join her. Neither Karla nor Izzie could bring themselves to go anywhere near a place of worship, no matter how benign.
They each had kept their rosary beads. Both of them prayed regularly, but to Karla it served more as a tool of meditation than any beseeching or worship of a Heavenly power.
She still believed in something. How could she not? The afterlands had proved the existence of the Power or Powers-That-Be beyond any doubt. But who She/He/They were remained unclear. She prayed anyhow, and although her Hail Marys and Our Fathers addressed a Judeo-Christian deity, she reserved judgment as to whether they were deserved.
Berserkers has arrived overhead in the form of dark, moisture-laden cumuli. Another class of cloud one tier down raced chaotically like spooked sheep, casting chilly shadows between blasts of piercing June sun. Karla pulled on her favorite purple sweater, frayed at the cuffs, got up on her knees, gathered her art materials and folded the tablecloth. A détente had been reached in the house if the gentle laughter she heard was any indication.
She strolled right up to the edge of the pond, bare toes dipping into the chilly water. She tossed in bits of twig that the confused fish would snap at. This was the sort of soul-healing ritual she had missed out on all winter. Any interaction with nature, not matter how brief or trivial, always did wonders for the state of her mind.
But whenever she had time to contemplate things, her mind inevitably wandered to the afterlands, the place that still held her heart. A place she never got to visit anymore now that her emotional equilibrium had become firmly stuck above the necessary threshold.
It's not that life had become so wonderful for her. The problem was that that these anterooms of death no longer appealed to her the way they once had. She no longer had the incentive she needed to fool the roots convincingly that she wanted to end her life. That mind frame had always been her ticket into the Liminality.
It was likely that the war had something to do with her altered state. Penult had certainly helped ruin things, by destroying whatever illusion of peace had emerged between the Dusters and Frelsians. There was a brief spell there that it seemed like the souls residing there might be able to carve out a little slice of Heaven. The underworld of Root had been a haven but the surface lands were paradise by comparison.
Karla was also dealing with an ample helping of shame. James might not be dead if not for her. He would have been perfectly happy leaving the afterlands behind if only she had let him. But she had been so inspired by the pact forged by the Old Ones between the Frelsians and Dusters and so disillusioned with life that she was convinced that to be a Freesoul was the ideal state of being for the two of them. But she had never really given life a chance, and then the Pennies had invaded and had ruined everything.
By that time, James was no longer in love with her. She wasn't sure when or if she had ever fallen out of love with him. She wasn't even positive she was capable of loving someone. James had certainly penetrated her bubble and disrupted her worldview and her sense of self-reliance. But was that love? Never again would she allow herself to become so vulnerable or to force her desires on another person. She was going solo from now till the end of time.
She certainly missed James. She was fairly certain those feelings were genuine, unless it was the mere idea of him, not the person that she missed. Unlike her sister, she had not entered into any significant relationships since losing her ability to cross over. Izzie, for her part, had banished all thoughts of visiting the other side ever since meeting Jamie, the boyfriend who now dominated her existence.
Jamie lived in Inverness. He was a thoughtful young man, open to ideas and never dismissive of Izzie's tales of Root. If anything he was a little too staid for Karla's taste, adventurous more in thought than in actions. But that was Izzie's problem. Karla would not be going out with him.
Plenty of young men (and women) had hit on her during her forays into town. None of these nitwits had ever piqued her interest beyond a casual flirt. She had a taste for a certain maturity of soul that was lacking in this crowd, even in the older men who occasionally attempted to spark her interest.
But Izzie was of the age that could risk experimentation. She needed to learn how to be or not be with someone. How far to bend and when to break. Jamie seemed as safe a training ground as anyone his age could be. With his limitless patience, nonexistent temper and aversion to confrontation, Karla was more concerned for his well-being than she was her sister's.
He was not as dim-witted as some and less sleazy than most. Izzie could have easily a worse choice. Such faint praise was a blessing, as far as Karla was concerned.
For Christmas, Mrs. Ambrose had gifted the girls an Android phone to share. Of course, Izzie had snatched it right up for her exclusive use. Not that Karla minded. What use did she have for a smartphone?
James' old friends from the farm in Wales had reached out to her once or twice but she had no desire to link up with them. They would only stir bad memories.
Despite her late start in the world of social media, Izzie had picked up on it fast. She was with Jamie always, even when she was not.
As for Karla, she considered herself on retreat. Her current existence was a moratorium, a cease fire in the war for her soul. She had retreated deep within herself, re-evaluating what her role should be on this earth. For now, she was satisfied tending the livestock and helping Mrs. Ambrose with her gardens and orchard.
"Are you coming to town with us, La?"
Izzie had come up behind her unheard and unseen, making her jump.
"Sheesh! Announce yourself next time! You gave me such a fright!"
"Are you coming to town or not?"
"Why should I?"
"Suit yourself. Mrs. A. made me ask."
The old woman, purse in hand, hobbled around the rose hedge.
"Come along, Karla. You'll get yourself stagnant hanging around this old far, all the time. Come into town with us."
"Inverness has nothing for me."
"I'll buy you that new blouse you said you needed. We're headed to Graham and Company for skivvies."
"I don't need any underwear."
"Are you deaf? I said I'd let you pick out a blouse. Not necessarily at Graham's, either. We can go to H&M or anywhere you want. I received my pension check yesterday and it's time for all of us to have a treat."
"Come on La! It'll be good for you. You've been so moody lately."
"Moody? Me?"
"Yes. Moody. I'm a little bit worried the Reapers will get you."
"I can only hope."
"See? That's what I mean. Getin the car. You're coming with us."