Lorrieann’s World

Gabriel surveyed the large round table, noting the place settings Malus had laid out. No two settings were alike, the china and table linens each bearing differing patterns, some depicting whimsical animals or flowers, some adorned with symbols. The tablecloth was embroidered with gold and silver lines connecting at seven points, forming a star of sorts with the place settings at each of the points. The center of the table was completely barren of any dish or ornament, save for the coruscating stars of silver and gold borne of the sunlight shining on the embroidery threads. Gabriel had been seated at ‘north’, and was pleased to note that Malus had placed his walking stick against his chair. He reached for it casually, finding a surge of comfort in the smooth silver globe of the handle.

“You really expect us to just sit—” Maggie began, but was silenced when Malus spoke up.

“Madam, I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to prepare this meal, and to see that you want for nothing during your stay in Arcana. A bit of civility on your part is small thanks to ask.”

“Excuse me?” Maggie glared.

“Please,” Janie placed her hand on Maggie’s shoulder. Maggie pulled away sharply, her jaw tense around her tightened lips. “Please,” Janie implored, reaching again to Maggie’s arm, her almond eyes welling with tears. “No more fighting, please?”

Maggie sighed, the fight seemingly drained from her by Janie’s touch on her arm. She took a quick visual survey of the others, and noting that they had all wandered toward the table without quarrel, she relented, giving Malus a noncommittal nod. “Yeah, sure. No more fighting.”

That one will be the life . . . death of me, Gabriel thought, as he took his place at the northern point, watching as each of his guests chose a place at the table. Seth was the first to find a place, choosing the seat set with terracotta plate and cup to Gabriel’s right. Propped against the simple glass water goblet was a card painted with the image of a young man dressed in buckskins and barefoot, skipping along the edge of a stream, a fishing pole resting on one shoulder, his catch jauntily swinging from a string in the other. Seth examined the painting for a moment, then turned the card to see the other side was blank. He shrugged, placing it back against the goblet, then slipped the flaxen, rustic-looking napkin from its clay ring and spread it politely on his lap, all the while keeping his head bowed, his long hair concealing his face.

Spenser chose the place to Seth’s right, offering the boy a comforting pat on the shoulder, as he took his seat. “Very nice,” he said, admiring the rich brown and green plate at the place he’d chosen. He traced the gold tipped edge of the plate, noting the iconic animal shapes painted into the border. “Swahili?” he asked. Gabriel smiled, tipping his head in response. “Very nice,” Spenser repeated, then picked up the card that was placed at his goblet. His depicted a tall, dark man, garbed in a colorful dashiki, a long wooden staff in one hand, a lantern in the other as he gazed onto a rich lush valley where gazelles and lions were co-existing. He pointed his card out to Seth, commenting, “The Peaceable Kingdom,” then placed it back against the goblet.

Yes, well done Malus. At least two of them have found a place to their liking. “Please,” Gabriel said, looking up to the remaining guests, “I’m sure there is a place for each . . . sit, my friends. Sit.”

Janie gave Maggie a quick pat on the hand and led her to the table. “Why not,” Maggie muttered, glancing around the table. “I’ll take this place I guess,” she said, taking the seat to Spenser’s right, nearly directly opposite Gabriel’s seat. She gave a cursory survey of her place setting of ruby red, the plate and cup each adorned with a four-sided knot-work figure rendered in gold. She made a scoffing little chuckle at the card propped on her glass depicting a statue of a woman wearing a blindfold and holding a scale. “Cute,” she mumbled, haphazardly dropping the napkin of finely tatted lace to her lap.

Janie took the next seat, sitting quietly and looking small in her seat. “Oh!” she gasped quietly, tracing the delicate pattern on the plate at her place. “Cherry blossoms,” she explained to Maggie, pointing out the pattern. “My grandmother had a set of china with nearly this same pattern. It was very old . . . had been handed down from mother to daughter for seven generations . . . until most of it was lost during the war . . . ” she admired the cup, noting the lack of handles, just as her grandmother’s set had been. She picked up the card at her place, smiling at the delicate image painted in muted tones of apricot and pink and outlined with wisps of blank ink depicting a lovely woman holding an infant, and dressed in a flowered kimono. “So delicate and so strong . . . ” She showed the card to Maggie, then pulled it back, almost protectively when Maggie rolled her eyes.

“May I see?” Elizabeth asked, taking the seat next to Janie. Janie held the card to show, pulling it back when Elizabeth went to take it from her hand for a closer look. “That is pretty,” Elizabeth said, gently, then turned to her own place. “Well would you look at this. I’ve not seen one of these since I left New Orleans,” she said to no one in particular marveling at the bleeding heart emblazoning the dish and cup. “Momma Joe would snap this up for her collection that fast if she saw this.”

“It’s lovely,” Janie commented, though her brow wore a severe crease at the image of the heart skewered by a sword.

Elizabeth laughed lightly, then reached for the card that was set at her place. Elizabeth’s card, slightly bigger than the others, looked like it had been rendered in waxy crayons, and depicted a smiling, dark-skinned woman wearing a colorful caftan, a matching turban wrapped high on her head. She held an ornate chalice above her head as if in offering. There was a serpentine symbol on the chalice, that seemed familiar, as though she’d seen it recently, then realized it was the same symbol that Gabriel was wearing on his cravat.

Gabriel traced his finger along the twisted serpent pin. Elizabeth blushed and quickly looked away. She knows I know her thought . . . interesting.

Kohler was settling into his spot now, the seat to Gabriel’s immediate left. “This is Ming!” he marveled holding his cup close to look at it.

“You have an excellent eye,” Gabriel said.

“The cup alone is worth a fortune at auction, but the plate, too . . . do you realize what you have here?” Kohler asked, a grin curling the side of his mouth.

“It is a cup and a plate,” Gabriel replied, lifting a brow. “Is it not to your liking? Malus bring something else for Mr. Kohler would you?”

“No! No . . . it’s . . . I like it very much.” He set the cup down and picked up his card. His was similar in style to the one at Janie’s place, having been rendered in watercolor and ink. Kohler’s card depicted a man wearing ancient Samurai armor, seated on a golden throne, a large golden sphere shining above his head. He put the card down, and turned to his host. “So . . . now what?”

“Now,” Gabriel replied, “we dine. Malus?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, a formal bow of his head. He gave one sharp clap of his hands and a chorus of surprised gasps sounded from the guests, as one by one, silver domes appeared over each of the plates. A basket containing several varieties of bread and rolls dominated the center of the table. Sparkling water bubbled up from the bottom of each goblet until they were filled to the brim. Bowls of colorful relishes and sweet butter danced into formation around the bread basket. At each place, a candle twinkled happily in a votive cup that matched the place setting. When the table had settled, Malus said, “There, I believe you have everything,” then turned to go.

“You’re not leaving are you?” Gabriel asked quietly from the side of his mouth, reaching out to touch Malus’s elbow.

Malus gave him a patient smile, and tapped the ball of the walking stick that rested next to Gabriel’s chair. “I shall be close by should you, or your guests, require my service.” He bowed to the assembly, then walked away quickly, vanishing into the lush green of the garden.

Gabriel grasped his walking stick before looking up to the stunned staring faces on his guests. Perhaps I should let them dine alone . . . . The slightest of tremors created a pattern of concentric circles in his water goblet, in answer to his thought. Yes, milord . . . it was only a thought. He beamed to his guests, motioning to the domes covering the plates. “Please . . . enjoy.” He lifted the dome over his dish, jumping to his feet, sending his chair scraping against the stones, his walking stick clattering to the alabaster. “Zounds! What manner of creature is this?” He dropped the dome crown-down into the middle of his dish.

Spenser let out a guffaw he quickly checked. Maggie laughed more at Spenser than at Gabriel’s startled reaction to his dinner.

“Far out! Baby lobster things!” Seth said, craning to see what was on Gabriel’s plate.

“Baby lobsters?” Elizabeth laughed. “Son, those are Louisiana crawfish in black butter.” She drew in a long breath over her dish.

“Crawfish?” Gabriel said, trying composing himself, as he stared at the creatures swimming in a pool of glop and vegetation.
“They look all the world like . . . scorpions. Are you certain they’re . . . edible?”

Elizabeth cracked a shell, sucking out the meat, licking her lips after. “Mmm, sure are. Delicious.”

Janie let out a polite, nervous giggle, lifting her dome. “I guess we all have the same dinner. I half expected them to be different like the dishes. I’m glad though, I love creole.”

Kohler rolled his eyes, shaking his head at Gabriel. “You’d think the man had never eaten,” he muttered under his breath, removing the dome from his own place. “I’m not much for creole, myself.” He looked into his bowl, and jumped to his feet as Gabriel had, sending his dome splashing into the bowl. “What is this? There’s . . . there’s eyeballs in my bowl!”

Spenser howled, slapping his hand on his leg, and pointing. “Lamb’s eye stew! Peek-a-boo!” He laughed, until Kohler scowled at him. He swallowed his laughter, and spread his napkin on his lap.

“Guess our dinners are not all the same,” Maggie chuckled, sarcastically. “What’s wrong, Kohler, never eaten before? I suppose I’ve got chilled monkey brains? Stuffed cockroaches? How ’bout deep fried tarantulas in garlic? Whatever it is, I’ll bet it isn’t . . . ” she lifted her dome, her eyes going wide, the first genuine smile crossing her face, “corned beef and cabbage!”

“Me too!” Spenser beamed, rubbing his hands together merrily. “Red potatoes, carrots . . . mmm. Well done, sir.” He tipped his brow to Gabriel, who was just settling back into his seat.

“Uh . . . thank you, Professor, but the bill of faire was not my doing. You have Malus to thank. Please sit down, Mr. Kohler,” he said, not looking up, but poking at the crawfish with his fork. “I’m sure you can subsist on bread and butter if the soup is not to your taste.”

Seth snickered then lifted the dome of his own plate, letting out a slightly disappointed sigh.

“What’s wrong, kid?” Kohler snorted. “You get stuck with eel a la mode? Not so funny when it’s your plate that’s full of chum is it?”

“Hmm? Oh, no it’s fine,” Seth replied, not looking at Kohler. “It’s my favorite lunch. Tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.” He offered Gabriel a shy glance, and nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

Gabriel felt an odd vibration on the arm of the chair, quite different from the tremors that had come before. Yes, I heard him . . . He leaned slyly toward Seth, pointing alternately between his dish and Seth’s, then raised a conspiratorial brow with a wink. Seth grinned, and handed his plate to Gabriel, accepting Gabriel’s crawfish in exchange.

“You have a taste for the exotic?” Kohler asked Seth, as he watched the exchange. “Try some of this.” He held the bowl of lamb eyes in Seth’s direction. Seth shook his head, then planted his sight only on his food. “How ’bout you, Gabriel? Anyone?” The others paid him no attention as they hungrily ate the meals they were given. “I’m talking, here . . . ”

“And they’re eating, Mr. Kohler. As you should be.” Gabriel took a roll from the bread basket and offered it to Kohler.

Kohler scowled, refusing the offering. “I’m used to far better treatment.”

Gabriel ignored him, and picked up one triangular half of the cheese sandwich, sniffed it, then nibbled at the corner. “Oh my, that is delightful.” He took another bite, savoring the sensation of the buttered bread and cheese in his mouth. He took another bite, a bigger one. “MMmm. Mimplymelightful!” He mumbled, his mouth full of sandwich.

“Try dipping it in the soup,” Seth suggested. “It’s best that way.”

Gabriel swallowed. “Oh?” he asked, then did as Seth had suggested, soaking the corner of the sandwich. “Mmmm! Marvelous! Simply wonderful. Thank you, lad.” He glanced up to see Maggie looking at him, a curious tilt to her head, an amused grin on her face, watching him as he enjoyed the sandwich. She looked away quickly when she realized he’d noticed her staring. “Is your dinner to your liking, madam?” he asked her.

“Oh,” she nodded, swallowing the mouthful of cabbage she’d just forked in. “Yeah…not bad.”

“Good,” Gabriel replied, and looked in turn to the other diners. “And yours? Professor? Doctor?” Each nodded enthusiastically, and continued eating. Janie made the politest little burp, then pressed her hand to her lips, looking around, apologetically, then resumed eating her dinner.

“I’m not satisfied,” Kohler grumbled, sitting back folding his arms over his chest.

“Not enough bread? There’s water too . . . go on, eat up,” Gabriel encouraged.

“You should have traded with me! The kid could have eaten that sandwich. You didn’t even offer! What makes some snot-nosed teenage hippy more important than M. Robert Kohler?”

Seth looked up, stung. Gabriel raised a soothing hand in his direction. “Eat your crawfish, with my compliments, lad.” He turned to Kohler, his hand finding the handle of his walking stick. “There are none here who are any more or less important as any other, Mr. M. Robert. All are equal at my table. But if you require an explanation I’ll give you a simple one. You see, even though this young man was disappointed with the meal placed before him, he did not berate his host and then demand something new. He simply said ‘thank you’ and was prepared to eat it.”

Kohler’s face flushed, but he had the grace to hold his tongue. The others stifled snickers as they swallowed their dinners, save for Seth, who seemed to shrink down into his chair keeping his eyes fixed on his dish.

The remainder of the meal passed in near silence, broken only with polite requests for bread or butter to be passed.

Spenser made the one true attempt to start a conversation. “I noticed the pillars . . . Doric aren’t they?”

“Doric? I’m not certain. I believe they are marble,” Gabriel replied after moment’s thought.

Kohler and Maggie both laughed into their cups. Janie and Elizabeth exchanged a silent giggle. Spenser nodded, smiling, and did not pursue the issue.

Gabriel leaned toward Seth. “Have I said something . . . inappropriate?”

Seth gave a quick glance to the others, then answered softly, “He was asking on the style, sir. The pillars are Doric, but made of marble.”

“Well isn’t that what I said? Marble?”

More snickers around the table.

Seth drew his lips tight, glancing around the table at his dinner companions. “Yes, sir.”

Gabriel smiled, giving Seth a pat on the hand. “Thank you, I have learned something. Doric. . .interesting.”

Kohler shot a haughty sneer toward Seth, and muttered something snide under his breath.

“Are you finished with your bowl sir?” Malus inquired, politely.

“Where the hell—?” Kohler jumped, startled, when Malus appeared behind him as if stepping out of mid air.

“Your bowl? May I take it?”

“Uh . . . yeah sure.”

Malus bowed then waved his hand over Kohler’s bowl. It shimmered then dissolved into the table, leaving no trace of its former existence. He then moved gracefully around the table, removing each place setting in a like manner, followed by astonished gapes, that he seemed to not notice. When he finished clearing the dishes he stood back, taking the dutiful posture of a maìtre d’.

Gabriel stood slowly. “Your rooms have been prepared—”

“Rooms?” Elizabeth asked? “We have rooms?”

“Of course,” Malus said, rolling his eyes. “Does that surprise you? Did you expect to be berthed in the garden?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Honey, I don’t think anything would surprise me anymore.”

“That will do, Malus,” Gabriel said, grinning. “If you would please follow Malus, he will show you the way. I shall see you all in the after-dark.”

“The what?” Maggie laughed.

Malus leaned toward Gabriel, whispering.

“Oh. I meant, the morning,” Gabriel said. “Morning . . . that time when the light returns.” He looked toward Malus for confirmation.

Malus nodded, then walked briskly down the alabaster path toward a solid hedge of holly. A wave of his hand, and an arch appeared. He turned to face the guests. “This way.”

“Not surprised, at all.” Elizabeth muttered to Janie, as the six guests formed a single file row and followed Malus through the hedge.

Gabriel stood back for a moment, until the hedge closed behind the last guest, Seth. He turned his face sky ward and raised his hands palms up. “Are you certain?” A grumble below his feet was the reply. He sighed, retrieved his walking stick and made his way slowly toward the hedge, feeling the heaviness of his new-found humanity growing with each step. “Yes, yes . . . I know. . .I know . . .”