Strange Deliverance, page 29
And why is all this exchange of goods, ideas, and even people possible?
Because the rule of Mayor Gross is over. The letter I had Tam write for me, signed "Anonymous," told him that an intruder had been seen in the Town Hall on the night they had discussed their plans for Nostalgia Night, and that unless he resigned immediately, all would be revealed. . . . And it worked! I would have signed it, but I didn't want to get any of my family into trouble. As it is, my father is now on the Council, and Harry Ross the carpenter is the new Mayor. They are building a new village to the south, on the old camping site, mainly to supply fodder and grow more vegetables, plus the dyeing and treating of wool. The place is called—what else?—New Deliverance.
They say that Gross has gone quietly mad. He is never seen in public, and rumor has it that he plays all day with boxes of bricks. Generally people are sympathetic, because of course they don't know the truth behind it all. They blame his "indisposition" on the traumatic events of that fatal Hallowe'en night: the burning of the Market Hall, the naked Sven's breakdown (nobody believed his story about the spaceship, because no one had had the time to look up and see it and of course all the remains were swallowed up), a picnic gone wrong, and the tragic deaths of Lally and the twins, trying to put out a fire in the Wilderness which left only the Standing Stones.
That is what is generally believed. Once Sven had recovered from his coma he remembered nothing, but his grief for Lalage has not stopped him from getting betrothed to a nice, quiet, sensible girl who designs knitting patterns. As for my other friends, Rosellen is moving here with Alex next spring, once the youngest (number four) is ready to travel, and Neil and Alice are already at New Deliverance. It seems that Perdy's palm-reading is all coming true, although Alex hasn't written his book yet, and I have yet to become the Journeyer she promised.
But I will be, I'm determined on that. Once Alex comes he can have my school job, and I shall ask Tam to take me with him on his next journey south, pointing out that he once promised to take me to see the sea. We only see each other twice a year, and gradually the different life he leads is taking him away from me. He is still warm, considerate, affectionate, but now I want more than that. The passing of the years have only made me surer how much I need him, and I believe the only way to make him realize that he needs me too—and he does: sometimes women see these things more clearly—is to share his travels with him.
In the meantime, even without Tam and Perdy, I'm not exactly lonely. No way! Perhaps the greatest gift of the Ring I now wear is to allow me to communicate with the animal world, and my animal world is filled with just one object: Bungee.
He's a full-grown black tom now, is the greatest companion anyone could ask for and has only three things on his mind: food, sleep and sex, but I come a good fourth. He has taught me to read some of his body language, interpret his "talk" and even thought-read. It's much easier than you would think. I prepare something special for his supper, send out a clear "Where-are-you? It's-all-ready . . ." all the time looking at his dish, and after a moment will come his picture: a nearby street from cat's eye view as he plods home.
Here he is now. "Hi there! What's to eat, then?"
The events of that terrible night of Hallowe'en will be with me always, but mercifully my nightmares are decreasing. I miss Nan very much, and all that was good of Deliverance. I realize, too, just how many lessons I have learned, especially about Power. Not only the power that old megalomaniac imposed on us with his dream village, nor the high-tech mechanical powers of the aliens, not even the hidden powers that this earth still holds in its ancient stones and customs, but one more important than all the rest: the power of love.
The love that made a mother give up a baby so that it would survive, the love of a grandmother for her granddaughter and vice versa, the love and gratitude that turned a lazy and feckless Griselda into a good wife and mother, and, most of all, the love and devotion that turned two simple-minded young men into willing sacrifices to the image of their Princess. . . .
I have buried the book of fairy tales. After what happened I found I never wanted to turn the pages again. I wrapped it safe from decay and went out one morning with Bungee to find a spot where it would be safe until perhaps someone who didn't know its sad history would find and read it with the delight I once did, without the same associations it now has for me.
I have told Bungee what I intend to do, and he says he's quite happy to travel too. By the way, he lives up to his name, the name the Herb-Woman gave him: he has the most prodigious leap in the world, a fact I soon found out after putting some food "safely" on the highest shelf. He is also a thief, and I love him. That's another kind of love.
But there is another. With the spring will come a cessation to the whining wind that sears the winter prairie; the air will soften, the flowers will bloom, the young cattle will fill the air with their calls. I will cast off the thick duvet and woolen wear, the birds will sing all day in my tiny garden and the sun will rise earlier and earlier. . . .
And with the spring will come Tam.
My love.
THE END
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Mary Brown, Strange Deliverance
