Claiming Her. Marilyn "Mattie" Brahen

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СКАЧАТЬ of silver white hair, craggy features, and a barrel chest in an otherwise slim physique. He wrote lovely poems but apparently had never published them on Earth. He said he had been a doctor, but I hadn’t been able to verify his mortal identity. Now, however, he appeared to be a poet and only a poet. Heaven’s reward.

      —Quatama is your spirit master?!— Terence and Quatama seemed an incredulous combination.

      —Oh, ho! You thought he was exclusively your own, did you? He’s spirit master to many people. Don’t you know who he is? You’re a bit ignorant of other religions, love. I’ll have to guide you to a certain book, just to lay a clue before you, inexperienced as I am . . . or maybe I’ll just tell you, blow your mind a bit, though it may. He’s . . .—

      Ginnie came back into the room, grabbing her school clothes from the closet. “Hey, Leigh Ann. How about going downstairs and starting some breakfast for us, so I can get out on time.”

      I yawned, wondering what Terence had been pompously driving at. —Later,— I mentally told him, but received no response. “Sure, Gin.” Daniel stirred at the sound of my voice, let out his own tiny yawn, and opened his eyes. “Good morning again, pumpkin,” I greeted him. The baby giggled as I checked his diaper: dry and clean. “Come on, Danny boy. Let’s get some grub started.” I hefted him against my shoulder and got up. “See you downstairs,” I called as Ginnie slapped on her student nurse’s uniform, racing against the cold.

      “Mom really ought to raise the thermometer,” she said.

      * * * *

      I put Daniel in his baby swing as I heated his bottle and perked the coffee. The kitchen thermometer read 69 degrees, but the air in the house still carried a nip. “Hard to believe it’s nearly Spring,” I told Daniel as I tested his bottle. The trickle of milk ran warmly down my wrist. I filled the toaster for Ginnie, lifted Daniel from the swing and cradled him in my arms, feeding him.

      —I’ve been told not to tell you Quatama’s true ID,— Terence suddenly intruded.

      —Back again?— I still resented his calling Bael a devil. I almost suspected Terence of jealousy.

      —Well, I’m not, and he is,— he caught my train of thought. —Now, at any rate. It’s all well and good to say human ignorance created the job title, but you might remember you’re human as well, quite mortal, and in possession of a soul that might be a premium purchase.—

      Resentment slowly metamorphosed into a deep desire to slug him. —I didn’t take you for the fanatical religious type.—

      —I’m not. But I know the scent of eau de brimstone when it wafts under my nostrils.—

      —These are beliefs created by a humanity terrified by the unknown. Heaven and Hell aren’t places of reward and punishment. They don’t exist that way except in the minds of the fearful. The only thing that really exists are levels, based on the soul’s advancement.—

      —Or downfall into indescribable depths,— he persisted. —Look, I admit I didn’t believe in these things when I died. But there are demarcations, love. I can’t believe Quatama is allowing that bloody downsider within a five foot radius of you. Quatama must mean to pull you out of it, and ship him back to the pit.—

      — He has a name!—

      —I’d rather not say it aloud. Might attract bad karma, you know.—

      —His name is Bael, and he doesn’t rule flies.—

      —No, he rules the damned. Take care you don’t fall within that boundary.—

      —Bastard!—

      I felt him redden, a slow anger pulsating from him.

      —What did you call me, Leigh Ann?—

      I took a deep breath. —I’m sorry. Just please don’t prejudge Bael.—

      —He’s already been judged, love. That’s what I can’t get through your thick head.— Disgust ringed his words.

      —Then I may just open up the case. Now be quiet. Ginnie’s here!— “Toast is ready, Gin. So’s the coffee.”

      “Thanks, Leigh Ann. Want me to pour you a cup?”

      “Please. Danny’s taking forever to drink his bottle.”

      Ginnie brought butter, milk and the sugar bowl over to the table. She poured two cups of coffee and carried them over, then placed her toast on a plate and got cutlery from the drawer. She plunked herself down opposite me, sliding a spoon to me. “So when are we going mall shopping?”

      I propped Daniel’s bottle under my chin to hold it and added sugar and milk to my coffee, pulling a napkin from its holder on the table. “When I get a job and some money.”

      “Oh, come on, Leigh. You don’t have to buy anything. Just come along. I need a new pair of dress jeans, and we can check out the spring clothes together. We can go this Saturday.”

      “Oh, all right. Danny will probably like an outing.”

      Our mother came into the kitchen, followed by Dad and Fred, the kitchen suddenly crowded.

      “Good morning, moppets,” Dad said, unfolding the morning paper. “Did one of you make the coffee?”

      “Leigh Ann did.”

      “Good. Saves your mother time. Now you can get to work on an order of eggs and toast, Miriam.”

      Mom had already taken the frying pan out. She held it menacingly. “Do you want anything else?”

      “I’ll take a glass of juice, fresh squeezed, of course.” His eyes twinkled; he winked at me.

      Mom put the pan down and grabbed a stack of small plastic tumblers from the upper cabinet. She pulled a pitcher of orange juice from the fridge and plopped tumblers and beverage on the table. “Processed. You want fresh squeezed, get up early and squeeze them yourself, Bill.”

      “Hey, but that’s what I have a wife for.” He grabbed the prepared juice and poured himself a glassful.

      “Mmn. What do you want for breakfast, Fred?”

      “Just some cereal, juice and toast. I’ll make the toast for Dad and me.”

      The family ate hectically, Ginnie and Fred finishing and rushing off to their respective schools. Dad lingered over coffee. Mom finally sat down with her own cereal and coffee.

      “So, Leigh Ann,” my father said, “have you made any decisions since the weekend?”

      “Find a good day care for Danny. Find a job for me.”

      He glanced at his grandchild. “I hope he doesn’t turn out like his father.”

      “Dad . . .”

      “I mean it. I’m almost tempted to tell you not to work, to stay here and raise him properly. But we really can’t afford to keep you both. You’ll have to make your own way. If you’re going to live here, you have to contribute your СКАЧАТЬ