The Siren's Tale (41 page)

After the events of December 25,
Marlena spends time grieving for her lost love and digesting the family history as best she can. Because of the home schooling she has received, the young siren is now better prepared (her elders hope!) to make her decisions. Indeed, over the next few days, Marlena Bellum makes some of the best decisions of her entire life.

As a result of all she has
taken in from the solstice story—not the least of which is a clearer understanding of her own nature—Marlena finds reserves of strength and good judgment within herself that she never knew she had. There is much for the elder sirens to be proud of. Marlena has managed not only to reject temptation from Harry at the critical moment, but also to take on the big risk of single motherhood. 

When she attends
Harry's funeral on December 31, she stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Lila Coffin Drake. Their image of defiant solidarity is not lost on the local nay-sayers.

As the months go by,
Marlena will find the necessary courage not only to carry her pregnancy to term, but also to save her ancestral home from the wrecking ball. She will dedicate herself to moving forward while staying put. She will live in the pink house and fight the developers at their own game, saving as much historic architecture as she and Bryce Scattergood can afford to buy, barter, or steal. 

The elder sirens are relieved. However, the joy Chloe
Vye feels over Marlena's redemption is tempered by an anomalous feeling of apprehension. She first becomes aware of it at Harry Drake's funeral, in the Scottish Presbyterian Church of Bulette.

As Chloe is leaving the burial mound, she tastes something unpalatable, as though she has bit into a bitter orange
. The sensation is simultaneous with her noticing a tall, young Native American standing at the gate to the graveyard. Clearly he belongs with Bates Funeral Home, as he wears one of their cheap, long-sleeved white shirts and a purple armband.

B
usiness is brisk for Bates Coffins, LLC. Now that district mining operations are booming, about once a week, an employee gets careless and pays the ultimate penalty. Bates has hired a half-breed Indian to assist in his coffin customizing operation.

As Chloe
follows the mourners past the young man, he takes off his feathered, felt hat and tosses back a mass of long, curly, black hair. Dust-like sparks of red-gold flame arise like an ethereal mist, a vision that disappears as abruptly as it arose. 

“
Are you all right, Chloe?” Marlena asks her cousin in a murmur.

“
Just thought I saw a ghost,” whispers Chloe. “I think it very odd that the young man over there with Bates has my mother's eyes.”

Marlena
says nothing, but Chloe notes the young man continues to focus those topaz eyes like radar on all the mourners as they leave, as if he were memorizing their faces.

Afterward, Chloe teases a conclusion from her hunches.

She reasons that if the young man were indeed a long lost relative, there would be only one reason for him not to come forward and make himself known. It would be because he does not know of the family connection. 

Perhaps there is a remaining, undisclosed secret in her mother's past. Cassandra always said she had no further knowledge of her firstborn after his birth and adoption, but was she telling the truth? Chloe decides not to mention her suspicions to anyone, least of all to
Marlena, who has enough to absorb.

All's well that ends well. Or is it?

In a quirk of fate, both the faithless
lover and the false prophet are now dead. Through powerful storytelling, my daughter and I have cajoled Marlena into making the decision we hoped she would make. Despite the family curse, Marlena will go through with her pregnancy, and our line will continue.  

I
must admit, though, I am left with a slightly galling perspective.

I went through a lo
t of trouble and pain. I learned life's lessons the hard way, but I have had to endure the added pain of having my skeleton dragged from the closet, inspected, and exploited, all for the benefit of teaching our young cousin what she might have figured out for herself, if only she had confided in us earlier. Harry Drake's life might have been spared, and my private life might have remained shrouded in mystery, if my young cousin had been more shrewd and less sentimental.

Is
Marlena mindful of how I sacrificed my privacy for her? Sufficiently respectful of her powerful gifts? I doubt it. Has the young siren proved herself worthy of the mantle I bestowed upon her when I yielded our traveling cloak to protect her from the gunman? Not to me she hasn't, not yet.

Indeed, thanks to
Marlena Bellum, our troubles are far from over. The deadly curse has been re-ignited in modern times and will follow us wherever we go. We must be vigilant against the malignant forces of fear, bigotry, and superstition, as well as from evildoers who may lurk within the family. Our little ones must be protected.

Ma
rlena assumes her pregnancy will automatically yield a girl, one graced with our special gifts. However, there are no guarantees; DNA rules. I (and I alone) possess the gift of second sight. It falls to me to reveal glimpses into the future. My visions are no longer the stuff of dreams, as they were when I inhabited human flesh.

I can predict with confidence
Marlena will get her wish and have her baby girl; a new siren will be born to the line, exactly ten months after conception. But that is not the whole picture. So I have tried to tell Marlena, only she did not choose to hear me.

On December 31, 1977,
when Marlena stood over her lover's grave in the Bulette churchyard where Curly and I first met, she wept inconsolably for her lost love. She was too consumed with grief to be pondering her siren lineage, but that big head of hers was swimming with pious resolutions: to make good on her better instincts, do more for the community, stick by her extended family, and be a good mother. Blah, blah, blah.

“
So here is where the future gets more interesting,” I said to Marlena. “On the summer solstice, June 21, 1978, you will deliver not only a girl, but also a boy. Let's see what you can do with twins, hotshot.”

My message did not get through; I could see it in her eyes.

There is a
tsk tsk tsk
behind me. Caesar, who is forever chomping at the bit to get more involved with our family, thinks I am too hard on our beautiful cousin.

Caesa
r, while a slob himself, is a snob about appearances. He adores Marlena. He was ecstatic about the dramatic demise of ugly Mrs. Brown-Hawker, a true horror of a human being. He went a step further. He made sure there was an outing of “her” true gender. After Letty was asphyxiated by the meshing of her unraveling turban and the revolving mill wheel, her dead body lay by the side of the pond. Caesar used his telekinetic power to pull the heavy skirt up over the corpse's head. Thus were revealed male genitalia, so that all could see “she” was in fact a “he.”

The
transvestite Lester Brown possessed a rabid jealousy of our siren family that truly was worthy of his mad ancestor. Now that Lester has been exposed as the gay lover of old sourpuss Thomas Hawker, the scandal is shaking Alta to its staid, bedrock foundation. And Caesar is laughing his pale ass off.

My son, who died on the same date I did, is now
my constant companion in the spirit world. He buzzed in for the Zanelli reunion without an invitation, a by-your-leave, or a warning blast from on high. I think of him as the uninvited fairy at the banquet. He has taken a rabid interest in our family's future.

I don't know about anyone else, but I doubt that is a good thing.

Caesar is quick to point out that even with Letty Brown-Hawker out of the picture, there is another who has both the means and the motivation to poison the soup in our future households. I speak of my handsome grandson, Dakota Lawless, Caesar's son by that poor Lakota Sioux Indian girl.

I see Dakota will
become a most powerful demon, the first our line has ever produced. The sparks he gave off during Drake's funeral did not escape my notice as he stood at the cemetery gates, staring moodily at the family he knows nothing about and yet evidently hates with a deep passion.

I have never told Chloe about Caesar and Dakota, nor did I mention Caesar by name in the siren's tale. As for being a demon's aunt, Chloe is clueless, though she may have her suspicions.
Luckily, Dakota is not fully aware of his powers, at least not yet.

As they say in Hollywood, that is another story.

Following the dramatic events of Christmas week of 1977, the Widow Drake proves to be an exceptional ally to Marlena Bellum.

First, Lila lends
Marlena enough money for Marlena to take Bryce Scattergood up on his offer to sell her, at a very attractive price, several historic properties from the Scattergood trust, as well as her ancestral Victorian home, the Bellums' “pink house,” that is about to be foreclosed on by the bank. Drake Enterprises has its eye out for demolition and development of the old neighborhoods. When Drake Enterprises calls foul, Bryce points out that Sarah Bellum, Marlena's grandmother, was a Scattergood. Therefore, Marlena's favored position in acquiring the lands is perfectly legal, a matter of a family member guarding for the family its own longstanding interest.

Second, a
t the end of probate, when Lila receives the bulk of Drake's holdings, she then executes a trust devolving control of her estate to Drake's heirs after her death, which means Marlena's twins will be fabulously wealthy one day.

Third, Lila
becomes the first investor in the Scattergood-Bellum REIT, dedicated to acquiring historic properties in Wyoming and the Dakotas. The launch is slated for the summer of 1979. Marlena's PR engine is underway a year in advance, publishing in its mission statement a claim that “the acquiring and preserving of buildings of historic and aesthetic value in the northeast district of Wyoming furthers the community interest more than does profit-based development.”

Fourth, the
operation of the REIT is to be housed in Drake's Roost, which Lila has already turned over to the Northeast Territory Historical Society, of which Bryce is the founder and president. NTHS plans to use as seed money the revenue from public tours of the mansion.

Marlena
now gazes into her crystal ball with an ever deeper sense of purpose. Chloe helps her scrub the ball from time to time.

Marlena
and Ron are having cocktails in the parlor. She tells Ron she would not be at all surprised if there turns out to be a hidden agenda in Lila's investment in the REIT. Lila's sights, she believes, are fixed squarely on Bryce Scattergood.

“
That is my prediction. Lila will marry Bryce,” Marlena says to Ron. “She is the marrying kind, no matter what she says.”

Ron represses a smile.

Anyone who knows both women will bet serious money on their becoming business partners as soon as Marlena completes the finishing touches to Sally's Shell Mansion in Key West and after Lila returns from Europe. Then watch out, Wyoming developers!

Ron's personal wish for the future is
no secret to anyone. His love for the beautiful mother of the twins is both physical and spiritual. Their occasional lovemaking seems to him a dance of hearts and bones, where one cannot be felt apart from the other.

Marlena
is learning to trust again, and Ron must be content to wait patiently. He believes the feeling she has for him is more than physical. He hopes one day they will form a permanent bond. The twin girl, who is already talking at six months, calls him Dr. Daddy. He does not mention the word “marriage” to Zaddie's mother, however.

In t
he past year, Marlena's life has become much more joyous and inclusive. It is also something of a juggling act. She is fully engaged in doing all the things she loves passionately, child-rearing being uppermost among them. She is very, very busy.

Though he would like to be everything to her, Ron is primarily the choir to whom
Marlena sings. Listening to Marlena talk about her causes and watching her nurse the twins are the joys of his life (outside the bedroom). He frequently eggs her on for their mutual amusement.

And so, when he now asks
Marlena whether Lila's investment in the REIT is a sound one, she obligingly plays her part to the hilt.

“
It will be a tough struggle against the development interests, but we will prevail,” asserts Marlena in what Ron calls her “mother-preacher” voice.

“
Affordable housing does not have to mean clear-cutting trees and pre-fabbed homes. Solar panels, rehabs, and rooftop gardens are the wave of the future. Mark my words.”

Ron pretends
to play devil's advocate. “But that sounds like a terrific amount of work for you and Bryce, darling. Will you have time for your writing? You owe it to your readers to continue.”

“
What did you say?”

Across the slate coffee table, Apollo is
bellowing “Chattanooga Choo Choo” for the twins at the top of his lungs. Ron raises his voice and tries again. “I said, you owe it to your extended family to keep on writing.”

Marlena
shakes her head at Ron, indicating she still cannot hear him.

Ron bellows,
“ALL OF US CHICKENS WANT YOU TO KEEP ON WRITING.”

She smiles and shrugs.

Marlena's self-published book,
Home Schooling: How to Build a Happy Home/life
, which she co-authored with Dr. Chloe Vye, has been a phenomenal success. Written in seven months, its first printing sold out in three. The bestseller is a compendium of advice on post-modern architecture fused with psychology; there are floorplans and child-rearing techniques, even tips on improving one's memory.

The final chapter,
“The Glass Treasure Chest,” was on Marlena's lap for final editing when she had her first labor pain. Chloe said afterward that “the mere thought of our manuscript being so close to the finish line was enough to induce labor.” Part storytelling, part architectural drawings, part how-to-do it, the essay tutors modern home-makers on how glass brick, vaulted ceilings, feng shui and Navajo artifacts can co-exist happily in a sunny, whimsical, cheerful home environment.

Indeed
Marlena has created that very same home environment, with the help of her extended family, in her beloved pink house, which now includes a wing for the grandmother-in-residence, Faith Bellum. Grammie Bellum played a key role at the grand birthing event.

“
Publish or perish!” Marlena sang out to Chloe on her way into the district hospital in Corinthus. The twins were born in the best possible setting, the new Cassandra Vye birthing room, the first in Wyoming. It was funded by the trust Chloe manages.

Dr. Ron presided over the natural childbirth, assisted by the extended family:
Faith, Chloe, Annie, Lila, Coddie, Bryce, Apollo, Sally, and Stretch.

“
Here is the second one!” he called out. “Whoopee—a boy, with black hair! His head is about half the size of hers. Not that his is small, but hers is rounder and bigger than any I have ever seen.”

After the birth,
Marlena seldom is alone with the twins. Ron is a constant presence and Chloe stops by daily, as does Lila, when she is in town. Today, Apollo and Ron are the sole visitors.

Apollo abruptly pauses
in his singing.

“
The big redhead wants you,” he declares.

Zaddie
has been sucking on Apollo's knuckle with such greedy ferocity that the knuckle is turning purple.

“
Hand her over, champ.”

Fussing as she smells breast milk,
Zaddie clamps on, working the nipple furiously.

Now
Grammie Bellum is coming down the central staircase in her chenille robe and slippers, having been awakened from her afternoon nap by Apollo's singing. She frowns at him, and Apollo flees to the kitchen with little Gordie.

Faith si
ts down next to her daughter on the buttery-yellow leather couch. She detests the color, but Marlena says yellow makes people cheerful, so she dare not say a word against it. She diverts her brown eyes from Marlena's overflowing breasts and engorged nipples, and gazes proudly at her round-headed, red-haired granddaughter.

“
Do you think you will ever wear a bra again, Lena? With your figure and your rise in the publishing world, I would think—”

“
Think what you want, Mama. But first hear me out.”

“
Uh, oh,” says Ron. “Better run and take cover, Faith.”

“
I predict Britain's next prime minister will be a woman named Margaret Thatcher. In 2012, I foresee a young woman on the cover of
Time
magazine with her arms folded, and the caption is 'What—Me Marry?' I have seen these things in my dreams, Mama. The old restrictions that held us back are falling by the wayside. Women are well on their way to running the world, and I will not get in their way by conforming to outdated stereotypes. Now, if Zaddie ever asks me to wear a bra, I will do so. But not until then. That is the best I can do.”

“
Oh, have it your own way, Marlena. You always do.”