Chapter 16: Isle Netter

“FORE!” Charity hollered down the fairway. She held a heavy driver over her head, and her tongue jutted out of her mouth as she prepared to amaze her onlookers with her patented Apache Death Stroke! She limbered up her hips as she poised over the Tee, concentrating as she lashed out at the tiny white ball with everything she had. There was a loud crack, and she followed through like Monty instructed before letting out an exuberant whoop and dancing around. “YES!” she cried, waving the club wildly, causing the group to step back. “Did you see that?” She shielded her eyes from the bright sun, trying to see where her ball went. “Fuck yeah! That was a solid home run, baby!”

“Christ, child!” Alistair exclaimed. “Where were you going with that?”

“You sliced it right off the fairway,” Celeste declared haughtily.

“Hell yeah, I did!” the Apache girl retorted triumphantly. “Suck it!”

“That wasn’t a compliment, you twit!” the other girl retorted as she stepped up and bent down to place her Tee. “Just watch ... and learn.”

Kathy, Peter, and Maggy stood back, snickering at the antics as their girl made a face at the blonde’s back, mimicking her last words. Then she grinned at them and strutted to their side, muttering, “Apache proud!”

The English girl’s swing was more controlled, and the resulting crack seemed cleaner with a crisp metallic chime. Her ball arched high and straight across the fairway to bounce onto the distant green. She turned back, holding her club over her shoulder, to gaze at Charity smugly. “You’re trying to ‘drive’ the ball, not slaughter it.”

“Yeah?” the other girl replied defensively. “Well, mine went way further!”

“Yeah!” Celeste shot back, pointing her club to the right of the tee box. “Over there towards...”

“Norway,” Alistair offered.

The Apache teenager blinked and let out one of her maniacal laughs, “This is awesome! Lemme try again!”

Isle Netter was colder than the Americans were used to. A crisp breeze came unimpeded off the North Sea, and they had to layer every coat and sweater they had brought to stay warm.

Charity was particularly peeved for relinquishing her warm tribal-patterned blanket coat from her luggage before they left. “Remind me to return Mama’s gift before we leave!” she grumbled, as she walked along with Kathy and Peter through the small quaint village that occupied the island. Ahead of them to the north, they could see the distant crumbling ruins of Castle Corcoran, which once protected the small community from Norman raiders.

“You’ll do no such thing!” Kathy remarked ahead of the two girls as she strode along, holding Peter’s hand. The three ladies quickly adapted to wearing the local women’s long woolen skirts and quilted heavy cloaks to ward off the chill.

“Stop being a pussy,” Peter grinned back at her. The brim of his hat shadowed his eyes.

“You sound just like my dad,” the girl grumbled.

Kathy laughed, and he stopped, turning to face Charity. She halted to avoid colliding with him and gazed at him uncertainly. His smile was radiant as he hugged her and kissed her cheek.

“That was the finest compliment you could ever give me, sweetheart,” he replied, releasing her. “May I one day be lucky enough to have a girl like you.”

He turned back and continued down the packed dirt track. Kathy winked at her and skipped to catch up with him.

“I envy you,” Celeste sighed. “Surrounded by people who love and adore you.”

Charity turned to the whimsical blonde, “Don’t you think your family loves you?” She adjusted her heavy bag and took the girl’s gloved hand.

They followed the other two, slowly catching up. “Yeah, they do,” she conceded. “But not like that.” She pointed toward the two adults ahead, “My family is ... broken and distant. And everyone expresses their love ... differently. Sometimes I feel like I’m less of a daughter and more a piece of clay to be formed and molded.” Her voice sounded drawn and pained as her breath clouded the air and dissipated. “My pedigree already shapes my future. Thus, I will be groomed and indoctrinated until I’m ready to take my place among the aristocracy.”

She was talking about something utterly foreign to the Native American girl. Instead of offering empty platitudes, she playfully nudged the taller girl off the packed trail into the mud.

“Ugh! Look what you’ve done to my shoe!” Celeste complained as she skipped back onto the path. They continued to hold hands through their flannel gloves.

“Don’t be a pussy!” Charity quipped back, earning a glare and retaliatory shove.

“You’re the one whining about the temperature!” the English girl retorted. “I thought it got cold in the desert at night.”

“It does,” she replied earnestly. “But this is a different cold. The wind cuts right through you,” she shivered. “Besides, I have the right clothes back home and a horse to keep me warm.” She glanced ahead at the landscape. The crumbling ruins had grown in height as they drew closer, making an epic backdrop behind the couple walking ahead. “Guys! Hold up!” she called out.

Peter and Kathy turned back to find the girl setting her bag down. She pulled out a tripod, and extended the legs before setting it directly in the center of the worn track. Next, she produced her digital camera and mounted it onto the tripod. “Okay,” she called out. “Turn around and face the castle. Keep holding hands!” She waited until they were positioned to her liking and took several shots.

“All right!” she grabbed her bag and tripod, swinging the legs closed. “Come on,” she said to her quiet companion, walking briskly toward the stationary couple. She counted her steps until she reached them and set up the tripod again. “Okay, walk closer and stop after 30 paces.”

Celeste watched in wonder as they followed orders and halted once more.

“Oh, this is gonna be awesome!” Charity muttered as she snapped more shots. She grinned at her friend as she took the tripod and moved forward to catch up with the couple. “Okay, do it again,” she instructed. “Thirty more paces.”

After capturing them again, she set up her tripod again. “Okay, I’m gonna stay here and take a series of shots as you walk up to that gatehouse.”

“Barbican,” Celeste offered.

“What?” Charity asked, glancing at her curiously.

“The entryway to a castle is called a ‘barbican,’” she replied politely. “In the olden days, they’d raise and lower a portcullis to control entry within the bailey.”

The brown girl nodded with a strained expression as she listened. “Okay. That’s cool.” She turned to see Kathy and Peter watching them with subtle smirks. “Well ... go on,” she shooed her hand at them. “Go check out your Barbican thingy. We’ll catch up.” She waited for them to move away, snapping an occasional picture as they grew smaller.

“I see what you’re about now,” Celeste stated admiringly. “You’re going to superimpose these frames into one image, right?”

“Sort of,” Charity replied, capturing one more shot before the couple disappeared within the massive old structure. “I think I’ll do it in oil. I’ll sketch it out and see how it looks on paper before I decide.” She detached her camera and collapsed her tripod, stowing both in her bag. “It seems like such a pivotal moment, you know?” She shouldered her bag and retook Celeste’s gloved hand. “I can feel how over the moon Peter is right now. How often does somebody get to check out an old castle—that they just bought?”

“I must confess I’ve never been inside an old castle,” the blonde replied whimsically. “I’m rather excited to see it.”

“Let’s go then,” Charity rummaged in her bulky bag and produced a rolled-up wax paper bundle. She opened it to reveal two pastries. “Sausage roll?”

Celeste’s eyes lit up, and she eagerly took one. “Oh, bless you! I was feeling a bit peckish after that long walk.”

Charity bit into hers, replying unintelligibly with her mouth full.

“Yes, quite.”

“My God, babe!” Kathy exclaimed as they wandered around the inner courtyard, strewn with boulders and overgrown weeds. Occasional scat piles indicated frequent intrusions by the island’s red-hued sheep. “This is unbelievable! I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience!” She held up her bare arm to reveal goosebumps. It wasn’t from the chill.

He gazed back at her adoringly. “I know,” he whispered. “I feel it, too.”

“It’s like stepping into the past,” she breathed, spinning in a circle as she gazed at the ancient crenelated walls and dilapidated towers. “Can you imagine us playing Dungeons and Dragons back in the day ... How cool would it have been to run a campaign here!”

Peter smiled, recalling their childhood when he, Kathy, Alan, and a few friends spent long nights around a table adventuring and slaying monsters in their imaginations. “Fuck! That would have been awesome!”

She took his hand and led him toward an old entry into the inner keep. The broken oak door lay tattered to the side. A plastic sign warned people to keep out and warned them of the danger of collapse. “Did you ever imagine us doing this right now?” she breathed, her crisp emerald eyes glowing.

Peter felt a catch in his throat as she gazed back at him. “I dreamed it, but...” he left his thoughts unspoken as they stepped into the cool, shadowy keep. They entered a large open chamber stripped of furnishings. Bright sunbeams leaked through open windows, and cracks disrupted the shadowy interior. Everything was drab and dusty. “Oh ... wow!” he laughed as they studied the walls and vaulted ceiling.