This is episode fifty-four of the novel, From Here To 1137 AD. If you would like to purchase From Here To 1137 AD, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback.
Truth And Love
The next day, the oxen were hitched, and another day of plowing ensued. Thomas continued to teach Tom the finer points of plowing by oxen. It created hearty laughter and memorable moments.
In a strange way, although Tom was three years older than Thomas at present, Tom felt younger than Thomas. He viewed him as older and wiser. At times, Tom tried to present himself as the older and more experienced, but it seemed unnatural. Whether it was because of the knowledge of an eight-hundred-year difference in civilizations or something genetically instinctive, he simply did not know.
Lattice brought bread and cheese to the field. Thomas stopped the oxen, and they sat beneath an oak tree that marked the boundary between the Bales’ farm and their neighbor’s farm. They talked and ate. The oxen rested.
The cheese was hard, and Thomas shaved it with his knife and passed the shavings to Lattice and Tom.
“If you defeat Bouchard, will you return to your home?” Lattice asked.
“I will return to my home,” Tom assured. “Bouchard will not defeat me.”
“Where is home?” Lattice asked.
“It is far, far from here,” Tom said. “It is so far away that the name would mean nothing to you.”
“What is its name if it means nothing?” Lattice urged.
“It’s called Ohio.”
“That is a strange name,” Lattice said. “I never heard of it.”
Tom smiled. “Isn’t that what I said?”
“You are a curious fellow,” Lattice said. “I’ve never met you before, but I feel as if I know you.”
“I feel the same way about you and Thomas,” Tom said.
“If you were here when Geoffrey was alive, you two would have been good friends—just like you and Thomas.”
“I am sure we would have been,” Tom said.
“There is something I am curious about,” Tom said.
“What is that?” Lattice asked.
“Where I am from, the custom is for the woman to change her surname when she marries a man,” Tom said. “And she takes her husband’s surname.”
“My father was known as James Shepherd, and I’m known as Lattice Shepherd, wife of Geoffrey Bales.”
Tom again gazed into the open countryside. He thought, ‘From this generation to mine, the genetic similarities between Gene Francis and me are greater than Lattice and Tom is to me, yet there is something beyond genetic matching that draws me close to them. It can’t be measured, defined, or seen. It’s just there. Their memory I will carry eight hundred years into the future. But they will remain planted solidly and deep into my heart as if they are walking every step alongside me.’
Thomas interrupted Tom’s thinking. “I will finish when I am at that stake. That is about three furlongs.” Thomas pointed to a stake in the ground a short distance away. “And you rest, Tom. Tomorrow is a big day.”
“Yes,” Lattice said, “Help me back to the house with the cheese, bread, and mugs.”
They gathered the uneaten cheese and bread. They swallowed the last of the ale. Tom and Lattice walked toward the house.
“What is it you wish to speak to me about?” Tom asked. “You really don’t need help carrying these things.”
“I want you to leave,” Lattice said regretfully. “You are confident, but Bouchard is trained. I haven’t noticed you doing anything to prepare for a sword fight. You don’t even possess a sword. When Geoffrey fought Bouchard, he prepared for a month. I pleaded with him every day not to fight Bouchard. He was certain also. I cannot bear to see another man die for my honor. Everyone knows what really happened; that’s honor enough for me.”
“Thomas was willing,” Tom said.
“I had him talked out of it,” Lattice said. “I asked him who was going to care for me if he were dead?”
“And you were as close to death as anyone, two days ago,” Tom said. “If you had died, Thomas would have picked up the sword.”
“Please,” Lattice pleaded, “leave in the night. Follow the road north and take the next road west. In a day, you will be beyond the realm of Bouchard and Whitford Castle.”
“You know it is in vain you are speaking.”
They reached the door, and Tom held it open for Lattice. They walked in.
“Sit,” Lattice said, gesturing kindly to the table.
Tom sat, and Lattice sat across the table from him.
“I feel there is much I don’t understand about you,” Lattice said. “You say you are related to Geoffrey, and you are from the south. I am from the South. I have never heard of you. Geoffrey never mentioned anyone in his family named Tom.”
“I told you all that I know,” Tom said.
“There is something else,” Lattice said. “You say you are related to Geoffrey and his family, but something is troubling.”
“What is that?” Tom asked.
“I feel we, you and I, are related,” Lattice said.
“Indeed,” Tom said, “that is troubling and difficult to explain.” Tom looked around as if trying to find something to change the conversation.
“The troubling thing is that I feel as though you may be a son,” Lattice said. “I was sixteen when Thomas was born. I had no man before Geoffrey. And if you are nineteen, as you claim, that would have made me twelve or thirteen when you were conceived.” She smiled broadly. “And I know that didn’t happen.”
“Sometimes people have feelings. And they are misread,” Tom said.
“Can you tell when a person hides the truth from you?” Lattice asked.
“You mean lie?” Tom said.
“I suppose,” Lattice said, “but that’s your word and not mine.”
“Sometimes people say things that are not true to protect those they love,” Tom said. “I have been raised to believe that truth is the most valuable thing there is. Only from truth is understanding. Truth and love are the soil and the crop. The crop can only grow if the soil is good and nourished. Love grows on nourished truth.”
“Your own words betray you,” Lattice said. “Thomas knows who you are. I can tell. I vaguely recall you putting something on my chest while I was near death. It was something not from this world. You are not from this world, but you are a part of me in some sort of way I can’t explain.”
“I made Thomas swear not to tell anything he knows about me, other than what is already known by everyone,” Tom said. “He is a man of his word. I will set him free from his promise, but only to you.”
“I want to hear it from your lips,” Lattice said.
“I have violated the trust handed to me on two occasions,” Tom said. “It has only been to those I trust and love. I cannot conceive that the promise I made was absolute. Explanations are needed, especially to the ones I love and who love you.”
“Do I demand too much from you?” Lattice said.
“Never.” Tom reached across the table and patted her hand. “Have you ever desired that someday you will hold a grandchild?”
“Yes,” Lattice smiled.
“And,” Tom asked, “holding a great-grandchild would be that much more meaningful, but less likely to happen?”
“Yes,” Lattice’s smile slowly faded.
“What if you could live long enough to see a grandchild ten generations into the future?” Tom said.
Lattice chuckled. “That is foolish to ponder. I’ve never thought about such a prospect until now. And even now, it cannot be imagined.”
“I, Tom Bales, am a thirty-third-generation grandson of you.”
Lattice smiled as if she were about to entertain a drunk man’s ramblings.
“The truth is,” Tom said, “I come from afar: from a land not yet known to people who live here in England today. And I am from a time 800 years in the future.”
Lattice looked away for a moment.
Tom waited for a reaction. He wondered what thoughts might be rushing through her mind. What element of 1137 AD could she latch onto that might help her grasp the concept just presented to her? He began to wonder if he had overstepped the realm of reason with her. He wondered if he should have ignored her demand to hear it from him and leave it to Thomas. Likely, he, being more familiar, could have gained greater confidence and trust.
Lattice turned back to Tom. She reached across the table and placed her hand gently on his. She leaned slightly forward and looked into his eyes. “You are telling me the truth. I cannot pretend to understand what you have told me, but I know it is the truth.”
No comments:
Post a Comment