Coral

--Snegourka--


He wasn't looking for a pretty face
She wasn't searching for the latest style
He didn't want someone who walked straight off the tv
She needed someone with an interior smile

She wasn't looking for a cuddle in the back seat
He wasn't looking for a five minute thrill
She wasn't thinking of tomorrow or of next week
This vacancy he meant to permanently fill

I need an everlasting love
I need a friend and a lover divine
An everlasting precious love
Wait for it, wait for it, give it some time

Back in the world of disposable emotion
In the climate of temporary dreams
He wasn't looking for a notch on his bedpost
A love to push, pull and burst at the seams

Is this love worth waiting for
Something special, something pure
Is this love worth waiting for
Bitterness will die for sure

Something special, something pure
Is this love worth waiting for---Everlasting Love-Howard Jones

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Amanda had known since her earliest childhood that there was something special about her mother. Something that had no name, and that she herself did not possess.

Her mother never spoke of it, and therefore, Amanda instinctively never asked about it. Over the years she had nearly forgotten the unusual things that used to happen when Estella was angry, or excited. The feverish memory of her mother curing her broken leg by waving a wooden stick, must have been nothing more than a her imagination.

She had never met any of her ' over there' family, as her Garrett relations called Estella's people. But every Christmas, there were gifts from her Grandmother Winter, and her Aunt Eloise.

Estella had oil portraits of both women hanging on her bedroom wall. Both faces had high, elegant cheekbones, and sharp straight noses. Their dark hair was pinned into elaborate hairstyles, and they gazed at the artist with flirtatious, yet mocking dark eyes.

The portraits had been painted when both women were quite young, and to Amanda's eyes, it might as well have been the same woman in each picture, so similar were they in appearance.

And the one that was Winter, her grandmother, could just as easily been Estella, except that Estella kept her hair cut short, and wore it most usually in a simple tail behind her neck.

Amanda looked like none of these women, except for her sharp chin. Her face was of a smooth, heart shape, with no discernible cheekbones. Her eyes were not so large, her skin not nearly so smooth.

She had very straight hair, and it's shade was nothing more or less than orange. Some people were generous enough to describe it as ' strawberry blonde', or even 'copper'.
But she saw it as orange, the same as the flowers that grew on the trumpet vines along the fences. It was the very same color as her father's hair, and just like Princeton, she had a faint dusting of pale golden freckles across her nose, despite Grandmother's rigid regimen of buttermilk baths. The merciless Louisiana sun was to blame for these, though she had never in her life been beneath it without a hat or umbrella.

Sometimes she liked to lie out under the great oak tree, safely ensconced in shadow, and imagine what it must be like in England. She had always felt a little out of place in her own world, though she loved her home dearly.

It was nothing she could describe, merely a feeling within herself that she was out of place and time. Because of this, she generally avoided unnecessary socializing at every opportunity, preferring to keep to herself and her own quiet pursuits.

Her life was composed of what she had to do, and what she did for herself, and the unspoken assumption that one day she would marry one of the county's eligible bachelors and have children, a house, and if she wanted, a teaching position at the same school that had taught her.

However, all of this this pre-destination changed with the coming of the owl.
The moment that the owl appeared at the kitchen window, it's gentle knocking on the frosted panes was as good as a solid blow to deflect Amanda's life from it's assumed course.

As she regarded it, she felt an awakening.

It was no ordinary owl. It wore a lace collar, and a silver filigreed silver cylinder held a tightly rolled scroll of paper. Everything she had forgotten about her mother not only returned to her memory, but seemed to make perfect sense, and she hurried it inside before anyone could se it.

She had seen this owl once before, on Christmas eve.

Amanda had been five, and should have been sleeping. But instead, she had crept up to the garret window, where, nestled in her blanket she intended to keep vigil until she sighted the approach of Father Christmas. The night had grown longer and longer, and she had eventually drowsed, only managing to force her eyes open occasionally.

The last time she had peeked out of the window, she had seen a white owl, burdened with a silver, lumpy sack, winging it's way across the night sky toward the house. By pressing her sleepy face to the window, she had just been able to see her mother below on the veranda step, catching the bird on her arm, and untying the bag.

The next morning, Amanda had been in her own bed. Downstairs, the stockings bulged, and the tree was stuffed with gifts. She had told her mother that she dreamed Father Christmas was tiny, and had ridden a snowy owl, instead of a sleigh. Estella had laughed it off, and fed her candy, pressing gift after gift into her young hands.

Now she clearly understood that it had been no dream.

That very same owl was now standing on the counter; haughty, magnificent, with glossy white feathers, and large gold eyes.

" Mother?" she called, keeping a wary eye on their 'guest'.

Estella's grief had been sobered by the sheer desperation of their recent plummet into debt, and now, as so often this week, she sat rubbing her face while sorting through bills and receipts. She had a mournful hopeless expression as she looked to her daughter, and to the newcomer. Suddenly her face brightened.

Eloise's owl!

Snegourka had brought many parcels and letters to Estella over the years, but only at night. Snegourka understood, in only the way magical animals could, that the utmost discretion must be used around Muggles. Now she was arrived in broad daylight, her leg extended impatiently, her expression mimicking her owner's imperious stare. Eloise hurried to retrieve her burden.

After the letter was removed, Snegourka settled herself to wait; stating through this gesture that she absolutely would not leave until a suitable reply was composed.
" Amanda...would you find some bread and jam for Snegourka?" Estella asked, breaking the seal on the parchment. " She's come all the way from England, and must be very hungry."
England!

The thought titillated Amanda's imagination as she searched the kitchen for some jam. She found just a tablespoon in the bottom of the jar, spread it dutifully on the end of a bread loaf, and offered it gingerly to the bird. Snegourka, after considering the fun of biting her fingers, decided to be magnanimous, and take the food gently.

" This is from Aunt Eloise." Estella stated, as Amanda was longing to stroke the lovely white feathers on the owl's plump breast.

The seldom discussed but very important Aunt Eloise, Amanda thought. How curious.

' She has invited us to visit her."

" In England?"

" Yes. I have to admit, this is an unexpected blessing to me Amanda. I was just wondering what we were going to do with ourselves. How would you feel abut going to England?"

" Oh, I'd love it." she answered, a thrill in her heart. Guiltily she suppressed the elation. Her father had just died, and she and her mother were in dire straights. This was not a vacation.

" I want you to understand...I don't believe we would be returning. From Eloise's undertone, not only do I suspect that she is insisting, rather than suggesting, but I believe she means for this to be a permanent situation."

" Permanent." Amanda played with that possibility in her mind. Did she really want to leave her home, the familiar trees, the manners she was accustomed to? She calculated the alternatives. If her mother left, she herself would know very few people, aside from her uncles and aunt, and none of them were going to welcome her. She would have to go to work, and try to find her own way.

Her mind was suddenly filled with sharp, colorful images of autumns and springs, of rivers and flowers, of faces she knew, and landmarks she had known since her earliest memory. How could she be homesick so soon, without having even left yet? The feeling warred with her desire to see England.

Estella misunderstood the pinched expression, and thought back to her suspicions that Amanda had a secret love, that had not yet been realized.
She smiled sympathetically.

" Perhaps we should discuss this more completely. I believe there are some things you need to know, now...now that your father...well, now that we might be returning to my family. " she bit her lip. Then she turned to face the owl.

" Snegourka, excuse a moment please. We'll have Eloise's reply directly." she ushered Amanda from the kitchen and into the small living room.

Amanda was struck again by a homesickness. This room was where she had learned to write her name, where she had first read Jane Eyre, where she had roasted thousands of marshmallows and fed them to her laughing father.

" I'm sure that you remember, when you were a little girl, that time I was angry at your Aunt Lorraine?"

Amanda had a vague memory of her Estella and Lorraine, her father's sister, arguing in the kitchen at Christmas.

Something had happened, something had broken.

No, something had exploded!. There was blue glass all over the floor, and Estella told her not to come in because she might cut her bare feet. Lorraine was crying.

" Your blue dishes! Are you talking about when she broke them?" Amanda ventured.

" No...You see, I broke them. I was so angry at Lorraine for...well, it was for some petty argument at the time. Now I can control such things, but at that time, I hadn't had much practice at...restraint. "

" What happened? You didn't throw them, they broke all at once. I remember the sound.Did you you push her into them?"

" I blew them up, to be perfectly frank. I was very mad, and instead of slapping Lorraine, I used the energy to blow up the dishes."

" You mean...with your mind?"

" Yes...or rather, with magic."

" Magic! " Amanda gave a soft laugh. " There really isn't such a thing as magic, mother. Things like that happen all the time. It come from the mind. Psychic powers, is what they call it. If you read a book on-"

" I will concede that a certain degree of it is due to the powers of the mind. However, Amanda...there is such a thing as magic. And Witches, and Wizards."

Estella took a cigarette from her silver case and showed it to Amanda, who was her regarding her mother with thinly veiled skepticism.

" Do you know how we light these?"

Amanda shook her head, regarding her mother warily. She had always seen her use the matching silver lighter, an anniversary gift from Princeton. A lighter was no secret. Nor was it magic.

Estella gave a tight smile, and gave the cigarette a snappy little shake, as though she were extinguishing a match. The end flamed up brightly, causing Amanda to give a slight jump, and almost smile with the delight of any child witnessing legerdemain.

Uncle Hugh had also made quarters disappear and reappear from behind her ears. It was simply sleight of hand. Not magic. Amanda's face fell, slightly.

Estella saw this and laughed.

" Does your Uncle Hugh know this trick? Accio wand!" a long stick of wood suddenly flew from the top of the bookcase, into Estella's hand.

" Wandless magic was my forte. I won many house points for my ability and control. " she said, laying the cigarette into the ashtray. " I can see what you are thinking. Lighting the cigarette was a party trick, summoning my wand was telekinesis. I never thought it would be so hard to convince you! I suppose I'll have to go a bit further."

She pointed the wand at the ashtray, and incanted strange Latin sounding words. First she sprayed the smoldering cigarette with a spray of pink water. Then she transformed the ashtray into a cup. Next, she turned it into a statue, then a book. A breeze from her wand ruffled the pages.

Amanda's eyes widened, and Estella finished her demonstration by transforming the book into a white kitten with large imploring blue eyes.

" Touch it, it's very real."

Amanda hesitantly reached for the cat, and it rubbed against her hand, purring loudly.

" Petrificus totalus." Estella intoned, and the cat gave a slight jerk and stiffened. With a flick of her empty hand, it turned into an apple, with four furry legs, then again, an ashtray.

" There is more. So much more. We have our own world, Amanda, and it can be dangerous place, but a wonderful, beautiful place as well. What do you think?"

" I can't quite believe it. " Amanda admitted carefully. "Can Aunt Eloise do this as well?"

" Yes. As can your Grandmother Winter. We all do. I have used it many times over the years, only I couldn't let anyone know."

" Is it wrong?"

" No, just misunderstood. Your father knew what I was, but of course, I could never tell his family. When Lorraine saw me break the dishes, I had to cast a memory charm on her, to make her forget. That is how we protect ourselves."

" Wherever there is protection, there is danger first." Amanda stated.

" There is always danger. You are in danger right now. You have been all of your life. So have I. There is the danger of death, of accidents, of illness...and also because Muggles, that is people who aren't Witches or Wizards, are sometimes hated and targeted by wizards."

" Why?"

" Prejudice runs both ways. Muggles believe Wizards to be freaks, and Wizards believe Muggles to be inferior. Some Wizards. Some are much more open-minded, and most simply have nothing to do with Muggles one way or the other."

Amanda sat quietly for a moment, absorbing this news. She wasn't as surprised or disbelieving as she should have been. The feeling of earlier had returned, the nagging sensation that she had known all along that there was Something Else.

Everything was actually beginning to make more sense now, instead of less, and the tiny part of her that had always dreamed about England and a life not her own, suddenly overwhelmed her with the desire to go. Now, without packing, without talking further. It was suddenly a craving, the call of the sirens to her ears. She even stood before she could stop herself.

" Now, Amanda, I have been perfectly honest with you. And will be even further. You may ask me anything. However, I have to first request that you reciprocate, and tell me something. I think it's important before we make any plans."

" What is that, mother?" she asked, distractedly.

" Tell me about... J.H. Hannigan."

Taken off guard by her mother's request, Amanda could only stare placidly a moment, as the fantasy of her mother's secret world was dispelled by her own paltry reality.

Who was J.H. Hannigan? For a bitter moment, she had forgotten about him, but now that he had resurfaced, his name pricked her mind.

" What should I tell you about him?" she asked, seating herself once more.

" Tell me about your feelings for him, and more importantly...his feelings for you."

Amanda opened her mouth instinctively to lie. Not because she had anything to hide, but because the entire memory of Hannigan embarrassed her, and she was still hurt and angry.
Thinking better, she sighed, and began a trim narrative.

Her mother listened quietly, and without expression as she told how she had first seen him at Uncle Hugh's. He had ridden his new stallion down to Hugh's. A tall, magnificent bay stallion that he had purchased in Kentucky, and had been delivered by train.

Nearly everyone had admired the blooded animal, making predictions. Hannigan and his father had made their money for years, breeding quality horses for quality pursuits. They had run into a bit of a dry spell though, and this horse was another in a long line of hopefuls.

This horse was guaranteed to breed winners though, and the moment Amanda first saw the master, she thought that was true of him as well. Like his horses, Hannigan was tall and proud. From his immaculate suits, to his professional manicure, he was obviously someone who demanded a certain amount of recognition.

Unlike his father and grandfather before him, J.H. chose not to contribute any physical labor to the family business. He was the mind, the face and the visionary; the person who rode the stallion to the neighbor's house to display his dominance, skill, and prosperity.

It was one of those strange quirks of Nature, that She had created J.H. nearly perfect, with gleaming black hair, white, even teeth, a tall straight body, but at the last minute twisted his left leg severely, a birth defect that doctors and surgeries had only somewhat corrected.

When he was seated, or standing still, a person would never notice it, but when he walked, it was with a swaying limp that accentuated the ungainly curve in his knee.

Despite his numerous attributes, he had settled his mind on this single flaw, and worried it over and over in his heart until it was sore point. It's existence festered in his mind, rotting away slowly, and taking with it all that could be good about him.

Amanda had not known about this. When she saw him, he was astride the bay, one fist resting on a hip, the other lightly holding the reins at rest, as he passed a few pleasantries with Uncle Hugh. Hugh's wife, Sarah, had sent Amanda out to invite the men to lemonade on the porch, and Amanda had been barely able to get the words out under Hannigan's flirtatious scrutiny.

J.H. Hannigan was desired by a great many females, but he chose to pick thorough them moodily. He wanted a woman that was just as beautiful as the race horses being pampered in his stables. A lean, leggy woman with spirit and passion. But then, he couldn't tolerate the idea of a woman more perfect than himself. The type he wanted, and the type he courted were two different breeds entirely.

Amanda had unsuspectingly crossed his path, and her only crimes were in unabashedly thinking him beautiful, and being almost pretty herself. She had always been very self-conscious, and very shy, and this was her first experience with romance. When he had cornered her later and hurriedly whispered a few pretty words to her, she had been too stunned to speak.

He had remedied this by sending her notes. Over the next few weeks, he played the perfect suitor. The perfect secret suitor at least. He hadn't dared to face Princeton, who had no respect for anyone he considered to be as rakish as J.H. Hannigan. Amanda overheard her father and Uncle talking about that " Northern woman" that J.H.'s father had married.

They speculated that she was the reason for his lameness of body, soul and mind.

Amanda concerned about her father's opinion, had made her hesitant about accepting Hannigan's flirtations any further. He eventually softened Amanda with his notes, with poems, with flattery. Then, he arranged an assignation. He had intended to soften her a little further, preferably in the tall grass under the moon and stars, then demand that she marry him. With luck, she would be married and under his possession before she ever discovered his handicap.

Not that he would allow her to comment on it. If she ever did, she would be incredibly sorry.

The night had not gone as planned. Amanda had went, yes, and waited under the oak tree. He was late in arriving, since he lived further away, and had chosen to ride the stallion.Unfortunately, the horse spooked at the sight of Amanda appearing from behind the tree, and had thrown Hannigan unceremoniously to the dirt road. Amanda had helped him to his feet, and noticing his limp, mistakenly thought it was due to he fall. When she had offered to call the doctor, he had barely restrained his temper, and he had chided her coldly.

Afterwards, he wasn't in the mood to woo her. The wind, the moon, the whisper of leaves and grass, brought out a dark melancholia. He hadn't even been angry, merely depressed, and after an awkward silence, he excused himself, saying he would meet her again the next evening. Then he had just limped away into the darkness to find his horse.

Amanda returned the next evening. And the next. Only after a week, when her mother noticed how exhausted and pale she had become from her sleepless nights, did she forgo the nightly excursion, hoping that he would forgive her.

Over dinner three weeks later, she froze as her she heard her father speak Hannigan's name once more. He had heard it from Mann MacDougall that the young Hannigan had returned form New Orleans yesterday.

He had been in New Orleans? What did that mean?

She did not have long to wonder. That evening, her mother's friend, Marie, had stopped by for cordial and gossip, and had brought the newest tidbit from the social buffet.
J.H. Hannigan was engaged!

He had told her so himself, just that afternoon, when she had met him outside the courthouse.

For the very briefest of moments, Amanda had let herself imagine, that it was she that he was referring to, and that he had come back, and would ride any moment up the drive and claim her. She knew though that it was not to be.

That Sunday she had a glimpse of his fiancee; a bony, yet exotically colored young woman, who promised to always do and be everything just one step behind Hannigan himself.

That bit of business had occurred several months ago, and he still hadn't married the girl, though everyone knew they lived together in his father's guest house. What the better people were calling a ' right scandal', and because of this, for a long time a secret part of Amanda hoped that he was still thinking of her, and might one day return.

As she finished telling most of this to her mother, adding she had not seen nor spoken to him since that Sunday, Estella frowned thoughtfully. Her opinion of Hannigan was that he was simply a selfish cad. However he had given her daughter an opportunity to learn an important lesson about life and love. No real harm had come from it. Amanda had been in love with the type of person he had promised to be, not the person he was.

" I am very sorry it had to be that way." Estella said eventually. " I was so fortunate in finding your father."

" Yes. But I've decided that I have no need for love." Amanda said " I mean, romantic love. I still love people, but I don't think I need to be loved by anyone. Just you, mama." she smiled.

In fact, she had all but sworn to never allow herself again to be taken in by the promise of love, the flatteries of men, or false beauty. It would be easy for her right now, just to walk away and never think of Hannigan again.

" They've called me old maid, often enough, " she thought to herself." Well, let me be one. I'll live alone one day in a small cottage, and I'll have a cat on my hearth. I'll crochet pretty things for people, and have tea and grow herbs in the window boxes. And I'll always wear dresses. Not ugly, shapeless skirts or dresses, but real dresses, with trims, and collars and lace." she imagined herself walking to some small town, wearing a large straw hat, it's ribbons coordinating with the seasons. She would sell eggs, and buy pretty floral paper to write her letters on.

" Mother? If we go to England...what will we do? Are their jobs that these persons work?"

" Many of the same jobs that Muggles work. But don't worry about that just yet. Eloise is offering to take care of us, and she would consider it rude if we didn't allow her to do so for awhile. Isn't it strange now, how I am suddenly missing them? My mother, and Aunt? I wonder what Agnes looks like now? And if Demogene outgrew her stutter?"

" Who are Agnes and Demogene?"

" My cousins. Oh, there are many cousins, but I don't know if they are all on speaking terms. And my brother Rogero. I wonder how he is now?If he ever- Oh Amanda...I think I have done you a great injustice by keeping you here. I should have taken you on visits, but I was so happy.Time just slipped past me, I suppose. So fast."

" Mother? Let's go. Write Aunt Eloise and tell her we will come. We could leave tonight!" Amanda exclaimed, excited. She had aunts, and cousins, and uncles over there. Why should she wait to see them?

Estella laughed.

" Not tonight! We have to make some preparations. Just so long as you won't be leaving behind anyone too important."

That night, Amanda happily gathered the love letters that Hannigan had written. Dumping them into the fireplace, she forced herself to set the match to them. They were quite possibly the only love letters she would ever receive, yet it was entirely liberating to watch the flames grow up to consume them. Goodbye...she whispered to herself. Goodbye old Amanda.

Goodbye Childish fancies.

Goodbye lost love.

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Footnotes:

Snegourka comes from the Russian Folk tale of the Snow Maiden