Chapter 13: Just Between Friends

Monday, 2 June 1969

Wayne stared at the contents of the crate with the declarations slip in hand. It would double as inventory when they packed and unpacked. He was ready to close the lid.

“Gail, is that everything from your end?” he called.

“Just a minute,” she called back from the dressing room. She entered with a plastic box of assorted thread, needles and buttons. “Don’t know why the last thing anyone ever thinks to pack is a sewing kit,” she said. Wayne noted the addition on his list.

“Well, there shouldn’t be anything else left in there for you to bring. We’ve packed everything the theatre owns.”

“You didn’t do too badly yourself,” she said looking around at the clean and stripped-down shop. “You coming down for the party tonight?”

“Naw. I haven’t even begun to put my own things together yet,” he answered. “I’ve got two days of laundering to do before I can pack.”

“Well, I’m off and out of your hair then,” she answered. “You’ll lock up?”

“Yeah, I’ll check everything.” She left and Wayne shifted the lid of the crate into place. He carefully hammered down the nails and secured the metal straps. It would travel just fine if anyone could lift it. Finished, he sat at the workbench where he had done so much props work in the past year. His art box sat in front of him on the bench. He had finished a couple of other projects in the last three days as well. His hickory stick lay across the bench, glistening with a fresh coat of tung oil. In his hands lay two polished pieces of rosewood. He carefully wrapped them in a piece of tissue and laid them in the box, then closed the lid.

“This place sure looks empty,” said Judith from behind him. He jumped.

“Judith. My god, I didn’t hear you come in,” he said turning toward her.

“I’m a silent walker,” she said. “Like a cat on the prowl. Meow.” She did remind him of a cat the way she sidled up to him.

“The fog creeps in on little cat feet,” Wayne quoted. There was a moment of silence as they looked at each other. “I ... uh...” he started. “I’m sorry about Saturday.”

“I came over to apologize, so don’t take the words out of my mouth,” she said. “Unless you intend to do it lip to lip.” She kissed him. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been much of a girlfriend lately. Too many things happening. Too much to regret.”

“I haven’t exactly been the King of Hearts,” he answered. “I don’t know what to say or do to make it better.”

“Let’s not muddy the water with anything but our apologies tonight,” she said. “That way when we meet next time it can be fresh and new. You can find some clever way to introduce yourself.”

“Hello. I love you. Won’t you tell me your name?” he sang.

“Not bad, but I’m sure you can be more original than that.” She leaned down and kissed him again lightly on the lips before she turned and left the room. Somehow, Wayne thought, there was a note of sadness in the way she had kissed him. He couldn’t quite place it. Maybe he should go after her now.

No. He’d made a promise.

He picked up his walking stick and art box and checked to see that all the doors were locked. He took a quick glance at his watch then shut out the last of the lights. He was late already. He’d told Rebecca he’d be over at eight o’clock.

Rebecca met him at the door and assured him that his late arrival had only allowed her enough time to finish getting ready. She led him to the kitchen. The table was arrayed with artifacts, among which were her walking stick and knife. When they entered the room, Wayne stared at the array. He felt a sudden shiver down his spine. Rebecca turned toward him from the kitchen door. In some way, he felt as though he had just been locked in. It didn’t strike him as sinister or threatening. He felt secure, accompanied by a sure feeling that they would not be interrupted. He returned his attention to the table as they sat.

In addition to her walking stick and knife, the other staff that Wayne had brought to her was on the table and Wayne laid his own next to it. Two goblets were also on the table. One was pewter. The other was silver, set in a bronze stem and base. Both were heavily inscribed with some foreign letters. Wayne detached himself from the scene in his mind and tried to get a better view of the layout on the table. There was something special about it. Rebecca’s staff, Wayne’s staff, and the one that had been delivered lay side-by-side-by-side. Opposite them at the far end of the table lay a small ring, set with a black star-stone. Wayne’s hand went automatically to his throat. Rebecca’s knife lay on the table opposite the two cups. She had lit a candle in the center of the table.

“What are these things? I should know. I should put this over there,” he said with his hand pulling the chain from his shirt.

“It’s not necessary. You should keep it on. This is my circle and your tools are welcome guests.”

Wayne’s head had that cottony feeling that he got when something important was just beyond his reach. He knew something, but he couldn’t bring it together. And the dreams this weekend confused him. Sometimes he couldn’t separate them from reality. He really needed to get more sleep.

“Let me help,” Rebecca said. She placed her hands on his temples gently rubbing to relax him. He smelled something that opened his senses.

“What is that?”

“Tiger balm. It will help to clear your head. You’ll be able to focus. Now what you are seeing is a set of items that are said to work together as a focus for psychic power. You are working on one of the items—the knife you know as Elhin—so it was only fitting that the other items in the set be present for the restoration.”

“Are you some kind of psychic?”

“Some kind. Most people have psychic power of one sort or another. If you are ready, you can begin with Elhin. Can I pour you coffee?”

His cup was missing. And his knife. That’s what was needed. He should have brought them with him, but he’d already sealed them in the crate.

“Yes, thanks,” he said sitting down at the table. His eyes came back once more to the array of objects as he opened his art box. There was a kind of sense to the way they were laid out on the table. He set to work on the small knife with carving tools and pliers.

“This arrangement reminds me of something. I should know it. Did I sleep through that class?”

“Yes, you should—and probably do—know it. But it wasn’t covered in class. She’s told you. It’s just locked inside until you need it. I’ll tell you, too, and put my own seal on your memories so you will dream true. They represent the four cardinal directions.” A light came on in Wayne’s mind.

“East for air,” he said. “South for fire. West for water. North for earth.”

“Right,” Rebecca answered. “And the tools represent those elements. The Athamé or knife for the East, the staff or wand for the South, the cup for the West, and the disk or pentacles for the North.”

“What is the language inscribed on the cup and staff? Is it Greek?”

“No. Not exactly,” Rebecca said. “Why?”

“The letters are on my cup and knife and pentacles, but I don’t know what they mean. I know the knife came from Greece, so I thought the letters might be Greek.”

“Well, if you don’t know Greek, it would be easy to confuse. I don’t know the actual origin of the symbols. The alphabet is called Theban. It’s a mystic rune alphabet. Each letter stands for a certain story, in addition to the letter itself.”

Wayne carefully pried off the last of the charred handle from Rebecca’s knife. He worked with the practiced ease of a skilled craftsman. He smoothed the shank with fine sandpaper and steel wool until it glistened.

“Now,” he said to Rebecca. She sat across the corner of the table next to the ring watching every move. “I think you will like this.” From his art box he produced a small, tissue-wrapped bundle. “Would you like to open it?”

“This is exciting,” she said, accepting the bundle. She had not let him take the knife out of her sight to work on it, but she was far less reticent about letting him touch it. If he had the choice he would have done all the work in his shop and brought her the finished product. But she had insisted that the actual repair work be done in her kitchen. He watched as she unwrapped the little package and exclaimed in delight.

“It’s beautiful!”

“I’m glad you like it. I know it means a lot to you,” he said with obvious relief.

“Oh, I knew I’d like it,” Rebecca answered. “But it is so much more wonderful than I imagined.” She unwrapped the other half of the rosewood handle. In her hand, it was like a fine piece of red silk. With the limitation of only three days to complete the project, he had gone for simplicity and elegance. They were two smooth perfectly shaped and polished pieces of wood with one, almost overlooked, surprise.

“Wayne, what is this?” she asked. He was blushing. His cheeks felt like they were on fire.

“In all the best romantic literature, it’s always a jeweled dagger. It’s the only jewel I had. I hope it’s okay.”

“Okay? It’s wonderful! But how did you ever... ? You didn’t buy this, did you?”

“I had an aborted engagement a couple of years ago, just out of high school,” he explained. “I had the ring and ... well, I wanted to do something special with it, but I couldn’t exactly give it to another girl if I ever decided to get married, and...”

He was cut off by the woman’s arms wrapping around him, pulling him up from his chair so she could kiss him as she hugged him tightly.

“Thank you, oh, thank you, my friend.”

Wayne was confused. She was a professor. She’d nearly flunked him out of school. Now they’d just kissed, and it wasn’t just a friendly peck on the cheek or stage kiss. He’d become aroused and now—shit!—she was crying. He fumbled for a moment and pressed a clean handkerchief into her hand. She took it, but reached out to wipe a drop of moisture from his own cheek before using it.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Allen,” he said. “I didn’t mean to overstep...”

“Oh hush. And don’t ever call me Dr. Allen when we are in a protected circle. No one has ever given me a diamond before.”

They both started laughing, giggling as she pushed him down in his chair again. Wayne checked the fit of the handle on the shank of her knife, mixed epoxy, and spread it on the surfaces. He pressed the pieces together. Rebecca poured fresh coffee while he held them. He handed her the freshly hilted knife, its rosewood handle lying in her palm, the single diamond eye winking out at them.