~What I See, Finale~

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Link to Part Three (and Parts 1 and 2):  HERE

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The mid-wife, Adwen, was brought back to our home by Jessie.  We sat her down, explained her part in this tale, but without placing blame at her feet.  I spoke softly to her and reminded her of the gift she and I shared.  I felt her looking at me, into me, penetrating my mind.  I let her in and showed her there was no evil intent lodged there, in any corner of my brain.  She seemed content and was thus ready to assist us in any way she could.

There wasn’t much time to prepare or rehearse for we didn’t know the exact time they would come for me.

Papa came up with the plan and after we listened he said, “Okay, are there any questions?”

Everyone was silent  We waited.  Nightfall arrived and shortly after so did the pastor, Mr. Jenkins and Mrs. Holland.

Adwen spoke to them.  “My friends, this is insanity.  The girl is no more evil than I am.  She and I share the same gift.  You have never feared me and you should not fear her.  She came to you, Mr. Jenkins, to ask forgiveness and ask you for help with her next vision she had.  Mary did not realize the vision was about herself.  She has accepted it as fate and hopes it can be turned now from a source of ugliness to peace.  Mary has named Mr. Jenkins and her son as her attackers, but she only asks to be left alone and for there to be peace in the village.”

Mr. Jenkins was enraged.  “Of course she claims this, but there is no proof.  She only says this to try to divert the attention away from her devil worshipping ways.  She was out in the woods to be a wife for Satan and he bruised her.  This was not the work of mortals, but of Lucifer himself.  This evil being must be dealt with!!!!”

The first attempt to save me failed.  Mr. Jenkins grabbed me and started to drag me towards the door.  “If she can be saved, she will be.  Or she will be exiled.  I hope you said your goodbyes because I don’t think she’ll ever be back again.”

Jessie started to cry, but Papa and Mama stood their ground by the door.

Mama said, “What happened to you, Jeb?  You used to be a kind and gentle man.  When did you change so drastically?  Is your change the work of the devil or your own?”

He pushed Mama aside and Papa stepped between the doorway and Mr. Jenkins.  “Not so fast, Jeb.  I’ve got something to say too.”

The pastor stepped forward.  “This is God’s work now.  Let us go.”

There was only one more chance and we saved our best defense for the last.

Sobbing, Jessie pleaded, “Please let us say our goodbyes then.  Let me play one song for my sister so I can remember her singing.”

Without waiting for a response, Jessie started to play my concertina and I began to sing a song of Hireath….of longing, rememberance, of the trees and of the wind.  A song which rooted all of us with our ancestors, the lyrics rising and falling like the waves.  The love always there, sometimes forgotten, temporarily, but always there.  In our hearts, and in our souls, the very core of our inner light and being.  An undeniable purity of our ancient kin and to the land which always calls us home.  To hear it is to understand it and be unified by it.  I saw it as I sang it.  The light circled us, all of us, and in this moment, I knew no harm would come to me.

My song, our song, ended gently and quietly.

“No one who could sing like this could be evil.  Rather, she is a gift, an angel, sent to us to teach us to repent and live a more Godly life.  Forgive me, child, for the wrongs done upon you and to your family.  We shall leave now, ” said the pastor.  And they did.

It was 2am.  A little after 3am I would have been flung into the river to wrestle my spirit from the devil.  Instead, I sat in my parent’s home, surrounded by love and warmth and for that I was grateful.  My name is Mary and I will continue to see what I see, but now, hopefully, my gift will be put to good use, as openly and freely as Adwen uses hers.

 

 

 

About the Author ()

I am very passionate, sometimes too impulsive, a lover of life and all that it has to offer.

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