Old Magic (10 page)

“What happened then, Dad?”

“Casey held on to that rod so hard, fearful of losing it and getting an earful from me.” He almost cries as moisture floods his eyes, but he sniffs and keeps going. “He fell into that river, swollen a bit from recent rain. I couldn’t hold him. I yelled at him to let go. He did eventually, but by then he’d drifted into choppy water where the current claimed him. He went down over a small waterfall into much faster running water. I couldn’t do anything. Damn leg!” He thumps it with the palm of his hand, then winces with the sudden pain. “I watched him go, sure that I would never see him again.”

Jarrod slides his arm around his father’s stooped shoulders and they embrace. “It’s okay, Dad. I know you would’ve done everything you could.”

“Your mother, God bless her, was already on her way back by then to collect us. We got in the car and followed the river. But it was useless. We’d lost him, couldn’t see him anywhere. People from the other side heard us yelling and screaming, and came to see what all the ruckus was about. Thank goodness they had a mobile phone. They called an ambulance and helped us search.”

“Tell me you found him,” Jarrod’s voice drops to almost a whisper, his face bloodless white.

Ian Thornton nods to reassure his son. “About a kilometer south of where he went down, he was floating in a pool. He wasn’t breathing though. By then the police and ambulance arrived. They revived him, but it took so long, son. So long, we don’t know . . . the effects. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I understand, Dad. What have the doctors said?”

It’s Ellen who answers, her voice high and edgy. “They said they won’t know till they’ve run some tests. He was breathing when they brought him in, but unconscious. He could be in a coma, Jarrod.” And adds with a hint of hysteria, “I mustn’t lose him.”

Jillian’s arms tighten around Ellen’s shoulders as the woman’s whole body begins to tremble. She’s losing control and I feel helpless. “He’ll be fine,” Jillian soothes. “He’s in expert hands now.”

“You don’t understand,” Ellen mumbles, losing control again. Her head is shaking, eyes enormous jittery balls. She looks wild. “I can’t lose another son!”

It is this agonized statement that makes everybody go dead still. Both Jarrod’s parents look straight at him, guiltily. Jarrod’s voice is deep, his eyes narrow and intense. “Mom?” It’s only one word, but the tone demands an explanation.

His father replies, “I’m sorry, son. It’s not something we talk about anymore.”

Jarrod goes deathly pale. “What don’t you talk about, Dad?”

Ian sighs loudly. “The others. The babies. Nobody knows the hard time your mother had. We swore after you were born, so strong and healthy, we’d start afresh and never mention the pain of the past.”

“You have to tell me now.”

They look at each other like they’re trying to stare each other out. Ian is first to look away. “We were both so young when the first came early. He was ten weeks premature and only lived twenty minutes. Doctors said it was best that way and we hoped for another child real soon. A year exactly later the twins were born. But they were premature too, their tiny lungs hadn’t stood a chance. Both picked up infections and died within their first week.”

He pauses, his eyes pleading with his son not to make him continue. But Jarrod’s need to know is stronger. “Go on,” he urges through grinding teeth.

“We waited three years to help your mother build her strength, and we hoped this time it would be different. Alex, we called him. He was beautiful, but tragically frail, born with only half a heart. He lived three weeks, but every day was a miracle.”

Ellen whimpers into her handkerchief. The woman is distraught. She doesn’t need to hash this out now, recalling the painful past, but Jarrod is driven. “Was that it, then?”

“No,” his father replies in a whisper-soft voice. “You may as well know the whole truth, now that it’s come out. Your mother had some surgery to clean and strengthen her womb. We had already decided to stop after that last one, but the doctors were sure this time she had a good chance. . . . Technically, they couldn’t find anything wrong.” He paused, the past coming back to haunt him. I sense he knew some day it would. “There were two more, both boys, both stillborn.”

Tears flood my eyes, and when I look at Jillian, I see her eyes are teary too. There is so much feeling in the room, it is literally an energy that pulses like a heart beating on its own. It startles me to realize the strength of it is coming from Jarrod. It isn’t anger, but an interesting mix of wonder and shock and alarm.

“When you came along,” Ian continues a little more brightly. “You were so strong and healthy—a true miracle. Your mother and I swore to put the past behind us. To move forward we had to forget the pain that went before. You see, if we didn’t, we may have raised you as if you were made of fragile glass. You would have suffocated in our fears.”

“So you never told me,” Jarrod replies softly.

“When you were seven, and still strong and lively, even if a little clumsy, you gave us courage to try again.”

“Casey.”

“Your little br-brother.” Ian attempts a smile, but his voice breaks on the last word.

I watch Jarrod as he takes this all in. I want to probe, but don’t dare, not when his feelings are so obviously intense. It would be insulting and intrusive. But his emotions are clearly displayed anyway. He shifts from open shock to a kind of stunned awareness. After a long few moments, Jarrod’s deep green eyes narrow and shift sideways, catching mine. Even though his words are meant for his father, he never stops looking at me. “What does that make me?”

“You?” Ian replies. “You’re our seventh son. Our lucky seventh.”

Jarrod

Dad’s revelation shocks me. This is the moment I start to believe in the curse. Actually it’s quite an enlightening moment in many ways. I have a clear picture of the struggle my parents endured in the years before I was born. The pain of it goes straight through my chest, like a dagger to my heart. How much pressure can one family take before it collapses? I feel a sudden swelling of pride for both of them. They’re strong. Stronger than I could ever be.

So now I have to look at things differently. The vision of my world has radically changed. My family is cursed. Whether I want to admit it or not, the evidence is there. What family these days has six births and six deaths and continues to try for more? It’s as if I had to be born—so the curse can live. Have my parents been manipulated by some force greater than life itself?

What am I thinking? Can I hear myself? Cursed, as in jinxed? Cursed, as in ancient sorcerers wielding magic from centuries past? I don’t believe in this stuff. It’s not possible. It’s pure fantasy! There has to be an explanation for everything. I live by this rule.

What is happening to me?

I try to pull myself together and put reason to this sudden madness. I’m just distraught, that’s all. I’m in shock from Casey’s accident. My little brother could yet die, or be brain-damaged for the rest of his life. On top of this I just found out I had other brothers—six of them, all dead before I was even born. I wonder where they are all buried. It’s a thought that hits me unprepared. My eyes fill with moisture.

Kate is staring at me, wondering I guess what I’m thinking. It’s a wonder she’s not in my head right now, trying to figure me out. In some ways I wish she was, then maybe she could tell me what’s going on in there. I have to sit down, get a grip. My head drops into my hands, it feels good there, not so heavy.

A warm gentle hand touches my shoulder and I look up. It’s Kate. “Are you okay?”

I nod, not trusting words. Something might come out that sounds like an admission, and I’m not ready to hear my doubts verbalized. It will make it all too real.

The doctor appears. I only notice when Dad’s crutches strike the tiled floor with a hurried sort of tap. All of us stand and form a half-circle around her, eager for news of Casey. Her name is Dr. Reed, and she was on duty when Casey came in. “He’s a strong young man,” she begins, letting us know right away he’s okay. “We’ve had to drain a lot of water from his lungs, but fortunately the rivers and creeks up here are pretty clean. They bottle it, you know. So I don’t expect problems with infection. All the same, I want to keep him in overnight just to be sure.”

Even though we all have them, Mom is first with her question. “Do you know if there’s any . . . ?” but she can’t finish. Brain damage.

Dr. Reed’s smile is reassuring. “There’s no permanent damage, Mrs. Thornton. He was apparently resuscitated within a safe margin of only minutes. He’s a very lucky boy. It could have been a lot worse.”

We sigh collectively, and there’s plenty of tears, this time with intense relief.

“Would you like to see him?” Dr. Reed asks with a kind of chuckle, like she’s cracked a personal joke. “He’s keeping our nurses on their toes. He’s wide awake, hungry, and full of energy, which is amazing considering the ordeal he’s just been through.”

We all laugh at this. Not because it’s particularly funny, it just helps release a potent amount of stored tension. Casey is small but incredibly active. He can eat like a starved pig. It would be nothing for him to go all day without food, too busy racing and tearing around, only to find when he finally does stop, all the food in the house isn’t enough to satisfy him.

Jillian turns to Mom with a warm embrace, then Dad and me. Kate stands back quietly, her eyes dewy and understanding. I’m glad for her silence, right now nothing makes sense in my head except the relief sweeping through me at Casey’s good news. She knows, and I know, that soon we will talk. About the curse. Yet, I’m not looking forward to it. Maybe, just maybe, she might be right.

They leave and we go to see Casey. He’s sitting up on a clinical-looking hospital bed in a room on his own. No wonder he’s giving the nurses a hard time, he hates being alone. He looks in pretty good shape, considering. He’s eating vanilla ice cream and when he sees us, he chucks the spoon down and starts grinning his head off.

Mom and Dad start crying again, and when they finally finish smothering him with hugs and kisses, I get my turn. I hug him and hold him tight. It’s the strangest experience. Not that hugging Casey is strange. Growing up I always helped Mom look after him. I’d push his pram, rock his cradle, pick him up when he fell, and sometimes I’d just sit and watch him sleep, like I couldn’t believe so much energy could look so peaceful. It always made Mom happy when I did this, like nothing could possibly happen as long as someone was watching him. And when he was older, I kept an eye out for him at school. But this feeling I’ve got churning inside right now is something more than just the usual protective older brother stuff. Reluctantly I pull back, and to cover my erratic emotions I smile and mess his hair.

A distinct and unshakeable feeling hits me hard in my stomach—Casey’s near death is somehow my fault.

Kate

The whole town hears of Casey’s accident and by sunrise, Sunday morning, a community team has been put together. Hannah arrives for breakfast, filling Jillian and me in on the details. They’re not a bad lot when something’s wrong, or someone’s hurt. Mrs. Daniels had the Country Women’s Association members baking early so the Thorntons had three hot meals delivered by 8:00 a.m. Ken Derby, who owns the local hardware store, took over a new fishing rod for Casey, to replace the one he lost in the river.

“There have been offers to clean their house and do gardening around the yard,” Hannah explains. “Someone even offered to fence off the river from the back of the house.”

We’re sitting around the kitchen table while Jillian loads our plates with pancakes and Hannah piles on heaps of butter, maple syrup, powdered sugar, and maple syrup all over again. I smile at this, wondering where she’s going to put it all as she has no stomach, and think about these people who have shown real kindness. It’s one of the reasons I love living here, even though I doubt their kindness would extend as far as Jillian and me. Most people, while often browsing through the Crystal Forest, never include us in their social calendar. I’m glad for Jarrod though, it will make him feel accepted. It’s something he deeply desires, to the point where he loses objectivity.

The front door jingles and Jillian swears under her breath. She’s a mess and customers are in the room next door. “I’ll go,” I tell her. She turns to me with a relieved smile. I leave Hannah happily finishing off a second and third helping of pancakes, licking the maple syrup off her dripping fingers. I smile and shake my head. I know she never gets to indulge in little luxuries like pancakes and syrup at home. Food is scarcer there, has to go round more mouths, including an elderly grandparent who recently joined them. And it’s not as if she’s going to put on weight. Hannah is as thin as a sheet of paper.

On Sundays Jillian opens at nine. I tell her to wait another hour, but it’s her busiest day. A lot of people come up from the cities for the weekends, the tourist park is full almost every weekend, except through the winter. She’s making the most of it while the weather’s still okay.

But it isn’t a customer that’s in the shop browsing. It’s Jarrod. I see his bike out front.

I wait at the back of the counter and he walks toward me. “Can we talk?”

His tone is deadly serious, his eyes understandably red-streaked. He obviously hasn’t slept much, yet I have this feeling it’s more than Casey’s accident that is giving him insomnia. “Sure, come upstairs.”

We almost make it too, but the front door jingles this time with real customers, and when we turn at the sound and recognize who they are, both of us, for our own reasons, freeze.

“Jarrod!” Tasha Daniels purrs. She’s followed by her favorite lap dog, Jessica Palmer. “Fancy seeing you here. I heard about your brother. I hope he’s all right. Mom’s been cooking since the crack of dawn. Did you get the food?”

He doesn’t reply to the verbal onslaught, just gives a kind of nod and angles his body subtly so that now I have his profile and Tasha his full attention.

Jessica Palmer moves in closer, edging her “best friend” slightly behind. I think the action quite brave, especially for Jessica. Generally, she knows her place—well and truly in Tasha’s shadow. Apparently she’s decided Jarrod is worth the risk of upsetting Her Highness. “Ryan’s throwing a fancy dress party on Saturday night, the official first day of winter. D’ya wanna come?”