Thursday, October 20, 2005
The Pendant - By Abigail Coover
Prologue
".....And so it shall be, that a representative will be chosen, one of admirable quality and rare spirit, selected out of anywhere in space and time, and on whom shall rest the fate of this world...."
Chapter 1
The Minister of Krackenbarry
The town of Krackenbarry was well suited to its unusual name. It was a small, tranquil community two hours from anywhere, a storybook place nestled among woodsy foothills and fields with meandering fences. Those who came upon it usually did so by accident. Its residents were retired folk, elderly but cheerful people who had become weathered by time and were now perfectly content to tuck themselves away into the back drawer of society. The homes were built in a dignified New England style, aproned grandmothers of houses with sprawling front porches and temperamental floorboards. The placidity of the place was untouchable, so that even a funeral was unable to achieve an entirely melancholy atmosphere.
For Carissa Wallen, Krackenbarry had always been synonymous with "grandma's house," and it was the weekend destination for holiday vacations and summer visits. This time, however, she was there for what everyone in the town oddly referred to as "the final parting".
In her opinion, her grandmother had already left. The body that lay in the casket had no essence of her grandmother in it, only the lifeless appearance of a once soul-bearing vessel that was now empty. Even her grandma's hands, clasped neatly atop her stomach, seemed more made of wax than anything real.
Carissa felt conspicuous. At fourteen, she was at least half the age of anyone else in the room, and being of the deceased's immediate family, was seated in the very front row. Directly behind her were two rows of curly white and gray heads, some with tiny hats and some without, and knee-length wool skirts with stockings and a variety of low-heeled shoes. She understood that they were her grandmother's closest friends. Beyond them were seated more town locals, most of whom were younger than that gray-haired bunch, but all still upwards of fifty years. The one exception to this was the man who stood before them, at the speaker's stand beside the casket. He was minister of Krackenbarry's only church, and was certainly no older than twenty-eight. He was Italian and with his curly black hair and eyebrows, his coal eyes, his dark suit and sun-kissed skin, he was a splash of intrigue amidst a sea of seemingly ordinary people. He attracted Carissa's attention simply because he was the one individual who was more conspicuous than she. He had an enjoyably peculiar manner, which may or may not have been a result of his foreign background.
The minister solemnly began the ceremony, expressing his deep respect for "Ms. Mabel Wallen" and adding his personal condolences before yielding the floor to others. Carissa's mother spoke, and several of her grandmother’s friends followed with their own tributes. Carissa listened distractedly while trying to keep her gaze away from the lifeless body, which seemed to hold an eerie presence in the room. By the end of the proceedings she had firmly decided that her own funeral would not have an open casket.
Once the ceremony was over, the entire gathering reconvened at the town banquet hall for dinner. There, the funeral attendees sat and ate and rehashed their favorite stories of Grandmother Wallen. The gloomy cloud that had hovered over them earlier dissipated now that they had moved out of the funeral parlor. Thanks to the townspeople's cheery attitudes, and the fact that the woman's death had not been painful or untimely, a light atmosphere was easy to achieve.
Carissa still felt out of place surrounded by the adult chitchat. She gradually migrated over to the punch bowl and lingered there, gingerly sipping a cup of fizzy red juice. She felt lonely, and it wasn't simply because she was standing in an empty corner of the room with only a punch bowl for company. Her grandmother had been the only relative, aside from her parents, with whom she had any familiar acquaintance. None of their other relatives lived even remotely close by, and of those, the relations were distant and vague. In essence, her mother and father were now her only family. It left her feeling bleak, like the last stone on a seashore with all the other stones swept away, and only a matter of time before the waves overcame her as well.
She had been standing there several minutes thinking these things when the curly-haired minister appeared and helped himself to the punch. With one hand resting in his pocket and the other holding the cup while he sipped casually, he looked out at the cheerful gathering and regarded them with an appreciative smile.
"They are very content, eh?" he remarked at length, his words rolling together like a tumbling handful of marbles.
Carissa glanced at him warily. "Yes. They do."
"It is a good thing," he went on. "That is how your grandmother would have wanted it. She was a remarkable woman, you know. We'll miss her, of course, but it's the mentality of these people to laugh over the good memories rather than be made gloomy with their end. That is what I love about them."
Carissa looked at him wordlessly, wondering why he was sharing all of this with her. Perhaps he thought she needed consolation.
"Mabel... she was a person who was sure of her purpose," the minister continued, as his voice took on a mysterious tone. He absently swirled the punch in his cup and gazed at the rows of tables, directing his words to the air and seeming to speak to no one in particular. "She knew. She was certain that everyone had some kind of purpose or another. She always had her mind open to each day's possibilities. Always made me think. Who knows, after all. Who knows what type of purpose we may find ourselves able to serve. Who truly knows..."
Carissa stared at him curiously, watching him get lost in his thoughts, and concluded that he was a strange young man indeed.
* * *
It was a long drive home, and Carissa said little for the duration. She listened halfheartedly to her parents' conversation concerning the funeral and Grandma Wallen, while her own thoughts kept returning to her unusual exchange with the minister. His words disturbed her somehow, perhaps because she felt that she was one individual to whom they did not apply. She was as average as a school day, and sometimes felt like little more than a shadow, a puff of wind that came unseen, was barely felt, and passed away without so much as an imprint or echo. Many times she felt hollow - entirely hollow.
Night had settled by the time they pulled up to their home, a white townhouse with black shutters and brick-colored window boxes. It stood hemmed in by larger brick buildings, law offices grouped on the left, an old apartment building behind, and a noisy boarding house on the right. An alleyway ran between their home and the boarding house, and circled around to their back door. Once, Carissa had been sitting on her back stoop when a fat, potato-faced man had opened the boarding house side door and tossed a scrawny Siamese kitten into the alley, while a small boy in the background wailed protests. Evidently the kitten was a stray and had done something to aggravate the potato-faced man. Despite the boy's pleas, he slammed the door and left the kitten there mewing. Carissa had wanted to take it, but her mother had a contempt for household animals, especially strays, and so Carissa had only sat and watched it stagger down the alley. Two days later she had seen it lying in the street down the block, and now she was never able to cross the back steps without the episode coming to mind.
After she and her parents entered the house, her father, Kenneth Wallen, retreated to his desk in the living room’s far corner. A few years ago he had helped to start a new company, and it had flourished rapidly. Carissa wasn't sure exactly what he did, but she knew it had something to do with researching alternative energy sources, and making current ones more efficient. At any rate, tonight was the final evening of a long weekend, there would be last-minute work to do. Her mother, Celia Wallen, took two thick binders filled with notes concerning the biology class which she taught, and became occupied in the kitchen. Carissa lingered at the bottom of the staircase, watching them, and felt - hollow. Even more exhilarating, she thought dismally, tomorrow was another day of school. She breathed a heavy sigh, trying to brush away her agitation, and tromped up the stairs to her bedroom.
submitted at 12:45 PM
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