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Catherine’s Castles ^© Linda Pilkington printed on the City Castles®, LLC web site by special permission of the author. This story will appear as a serialization.  

In the Future, The Castle in the City (or Gwynie’s Story) will be available for purchase on this web site.All copyrighted materials are published here in order to promote City Castles®, LLC products.  They may not be used in any way to promote any other products.

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 The story is most appropriate for mature teens or young adults.  I have never felt that I could, or should, edit a story to free it of every fearful occurrence.  I would rather show that my characters learn to be brave- and to face that which frightens them.  However, children may be afraid of imagined characters and events- and in that case, should not read – or have the story read to them.  The characters and events in both books are imagined ones.  Since they are imagined, there is no need to look for their counterparts in real life.

 If you find some resemblance with “real life”- there are reasons for that- among those reasons are (1.) your own good imagination (2.) though this work is a fantasy- I am describing people.  People tend to share common behaviors, characteristics and destinies. 

 And now- rest, read- and later- return and bring a friend, and join us in “ The Queen’s Parlor.”  We will be looking for you at www.citycastles.com. – Pass it on!

 And now let us put all cautions, and worries behind us because- once upon a time…

 Linda Pilkington

 

  __________CHAPTER 3___________  

Catherine’s Castle © Linda Pilkington

Autumn had been determined to give summer a beautiful end; October had ended in a blaze of color. With a few glimpses of the glories that nature had painted, and then exhibited for her admiration, Catherine had rushed-headlong into November.

She ran, and ran fuming at her favorite season’s disappearance, as she raced from class to work, from work to the apartment.

But she could not stop. Every day had been so full of classes, facts, papers, discussions and tests that Catherine was sure that she had hopelessly confused them all and that if she were suddenly given a test on history she would have answered based on what she had learned in anthropology. And she was convinced that for the rest of her life she would muddle what she had learned in Biology with Psychology because the classes had run back to back and she had no time in which to separate her notes or her thoughts in between them.

 

She marveled at the frenzied lives her friends lived. They went from party to party, and seemed determined to involve themselves in whatever decadence was available to them, -how they ever managed to do class work - and still have time for iniquity- Catherine didn’t know.

But she sighed and acknowledged that they must be "better managers than I am." She was not doing a good job at anything. She had decided that any tasting of forbidden fruit must be put off till some time in the future, since she had no time, or any appetite for it-at present.

At her office job, the subject of time off for the holidays had come up, and since one of Catherine’s duties was to fill in for those employees who were gone on vacation, the Office Manager began the process of setting up the holiday vacation schedules.

This process took several days and was only accomplished after several private-but not-quiet interviews between the O.M. and the other employees. These interviews brought on tense silences within the entire office.

Angry looks, loud sniffles, and the sudden banging of desk drawers accompanied these uncomfortable silences by her co-workers. Catherine soon understood that the drawer crashing was a substitute for angry words and arguments. Sometimes, these sounded in succession, as if a crash by one worker required an answer in kind from across the room. She found herself listening for nuances and for unspoken meanings, in the sound-, as she would have listened to a spoken conversation.

"Mary is commenting on the fact that Renee always does get the very best of everything in this office." She would interpret.

"Renee gets the best, and plans on getting the best and doesn’t care if Mary sees her obnoxious grandchildren at Christmas or ever again- and by the way, she hates Mary’s dress." Catherine noted- at the answering crash from Renee’s corner.

Despite her interest in this new mode of communication, the crashing drawers caused Catherine to jump, and lose her place in whatever document she was preparing. And if everyone else had their nerves jarred, as hers were- she was sure it caused an epidemic of headaches.

Then Catherine’s own schedule was written, revised, and rewritten, until it was finally slapped on her desk accompanied by an angry look-from the O.M., as if the annual scheduling ordeal was all of Catherine’s fault.

Along with the schedule, Catherine was given the advice (in a shaky voice and with a shake of the schedule- almost in Catherine’s face) that if she had plans to travel back and see her family, then it had to be before the holidays ever began. As she had talked, the O.M. had grown more agitated and red -faced, feeling perhaps, the resentful stares from her employees that had continually bombarded her back.

Before she turned back to face the backs of the heads of the other employees, all of them suddenly intent on their computer screens, the office manager had demanded the dates of Catherine’s possible absence, in one- days- time, " or it would be impossible to cover her time off."

Catherine spent a desperate night on the phone between her family and the airlines, and finally had been lucky enough to book a cheap flight, for a pre-holiday visit at home. Until the O.M’s outburst, Catherine hadn’t realized that she wanted to see her family- but the tides of war that surrounded her at work made the thought of the quiet, and of her generally, peace-loving- relatives- more than welcome.

It had only been a matter of weeks since she had seen them, but she had realized, once safely on the plane, that she had missed them all.

Suddenly, she yearned to hear her mother’s low quiet voice and to feel the comfort of her touch. She knew that she had longed for her father, and the sense of safety and protection she had always felt in his presence. She had missed Melinda’s irony and quirky sense of humor; she wanted to talk to Gwynie and to hear the way that she unconsciously called Catherine- "Cathenon" whenever she was in a confiding mood.

After the hurry and the relief to be off, these tender thoughts about her family soon left her digging in the pockets of her jacket for tissues to stem a flood of guilty tears that suddenly rushed down her cheeks.

She turned her face to the window until she could control the deluge, the feelings that had brought it on, and the lump in her throat that threatened more emotional havoc was to come.

"This is too much!" She thought, irritated, in spite of her sentimental turmoil- "why couldn’t I have cried like this last night when there wasn’t a plane load of strangers to stare at me?" But by the law of contraries- the night before Catherine had been a master of reason and logic- packing only the bare necessities, and being worldly-wise and witty- somewhat at her family’s expense- and for the entertainment of her roommate.

Looking back from the sentiment of the moment, she felt as if she had betrayed all that was dear to her for a bit of shallow laughter. And so when she embraced her mother at the airport she had felt as if she owed her an apology instead of a hug.

When she had met her father, and held the callused hands that had worked so many hours for her and her sisters- she had felt  her own disloyalty, and had to leave the room quickly to wipe away the tears that had started to her eyes.

But of course, this tenderness could only survive the first few hours of her visit. Then her view of and her feelings for her family had gone back to an uncomfortable variability.

How pretty Melinda had grown! Melinda’s skin had the clarity that Catherine had always longed for, and her sister’s hair gleamed with health. Along with these generous thoughts, Catherine who had always been content with her own appearance now felt a sudden spark of envy.

Gwynie was a darling, as usual, but Gwynie now seemed tongue- tied around her oldest sister. It was as if a few weeks had made them strangers- and this put Catherine out of patience. After all, she had written her sister letters, and had worked herself silly over Gwynie’s Story.

No, she certainly had not  neglected her family, she had called them, making a special point of talking to Gwyn- so why did her little sister smile shyly, and silently, and then edge closer to her mother?

The thing she had wanted most was the comfort of her mother’s presence. But her mother was so busy trying to make the house perfect, and intent on bringing a sense of holiday atmosphere to the visit- that Catherine seldom talked to her.

Her father was preoccupied too- he seemed always to be working in his office, and worrying over bills, or outside repairing the wooden fence in the back yard.

"Last week there was quite a wind," he explained, " And we are going to lose that fence if I don’t do some work on it."

So Catherine stood at the upstairs hall window and looked down at him, as he worked, pulling out boards- bracing that old fence as if he were totally absorbed in the task.

"I won’t even be here at Christmas- you would think the fence could wait until after my visit." She thought-feeling neglected.

It was strange to her, because her father had always been the parent that had kept them together as a family. Like the hub in a wheel- they had all been spokes circled about him-gathered together because they knew that he loved and valued their time together. And they had always accepted his plans for family activities, for his sake, even when they wanted to be off on their own.

It was her mother who had always been interested in her children’s individuality-she had been most anxious that they grow. For their own protection, they must learn and master all that would help them to have better lives.

It had been most important to her mother for them to develop good character and personal strength, while their father was interested in the families’ identity, and the survival of that identity.

"Now he is just interested in the survival of that old fence." Catherine said, somewhat petulantly- and nearly under her breath.

" Yes, -well he had better be- that old fence doesn’t have a thing but Popsie’s will power holding it up and hasn’t had for the last six months." Melinda answered, making Catherine jump. Then after a silence, while they both watched their father dislodge a rotten fence post, Melinda began.

"Catherine, what did the kids do at lunch when you were in high school?"

Catherine smiled, "What do you mean- `do’?" She asked, turning into her room-with Melinda close behind.

Melinda had gone to lie on Catherine’s bed, and dislodged Catherine’s irascible, elderly cat. He scowled at her before stalking away.

"I mean did they get together at different places over lunch hour?"

Catherine felt a little nervous. Even if Melinda seemed off-hand about it-, the question was serious.

"Tell me what’s going on." Catherine said, falling into the comfortable pattern of talking things over, that the older girls had established years before.

"Did the kids go to each others houses over the lunch hour?"

"If you are asking whether couples used their parents houses when no one was home- over the lunch hour- yes. Yes, a lot of that went on in high school."

"Lots of my friends did it when they were only freshmen." Catherine said.

" I bet that you didn’t." Melinda said tentatively, -since she had entered high school she had found that the people you least suspected did all kinds of things- but…Catherine?

Catherine smiled at her sister’s averted face. Melinda might act like the most practical and worldly wise fifteen-year old- but now she looked very much like a little girl asking if there really was a Santa Claus.

"No, I didn’t." Catherine sighed; glad to relieve her sister’s mind-but wondering about herself. "I guess you could say that I didn’t fit into my friends world." She continued, slowly.

"But you have always been popular-how could you be popular and not go along?" Melinda asked and then waited.

"Well, - I don’t know about the popularity, Melinda. Sometimes, I think the word gets around that a person is popular- and it becomes an accepted fact before it is a reality."

"If my supposed popularity is real then I’d explain it by saying that it was because I had some confidence in myself-or at least I looked as if I did."

Melinda, examined her nails, and thought that it was more than seeming confident that had made Catherine popular. Then, as usual, she gave up trying to define or understand the quality or charms that her sister possessed- but she sighed and wished that she could acquire them.

"You are popular, and you have been since you were at least fourteen. Do you remember those boys in Iowa that used to follow you around and chant, ‘Colorado Girls- you are so fine- Colorado Girls make me lose my mind.’ That kind of thing doesn’t happen to anyone except movie stars- but it happened to you."

"I remember that – but I remember something else that you were too young to realize- all of those guys were insane about our ‘Iowa cousin-Natalie’- especially Martin Williams- they were probably doing it to get Nat’s attention."

"Beauty and popularity-I’m sick to death of hearing about them. People pay too high a price for them. Doesn’t the world care about anything else?"

"Oh yes," Catherine replied- "The world also cares about conformity, money and power- at least that’s what the majority of people care about. And if you don’t have most of those things- or at the very least money- then you don’t count for much or get very much in this life."

"Why Catherine, you sound bitter!" Melinda exclaimed – studying her sister’s face.

"Well, I’m not exactly bitter- just tired of the stupidity that goes on- and probably still jealous of Natalie."

At this point, both girls sighed, because their "Iowa cousin- Natalie" was two years older than Catherine was, and a startlingly- beautiful woman, and Martin Williams was the most gorgeous hunk they had ever known.

"About the noon hour thing, it’s hard when you’re a teenager-it’s hard not to do what your friends do- even if they are doing something stupid. But there are lots of things that I didn’t do, and not because I was good-or even wanted to do the right thing." Catherine said.

" Actually, I felt as if I was cursed to do right. I’m afraid I am a little like Manna- we are both scared of vice-you know. Believe me- I tried to be like my friends, but I never could somehow." Catherine said in a discouraged tone, as if her exertions to be sinful had been exhaustive as well as futile.

Melinda smothered a laugh as she thought of Catherine’s failed efforts to copy her friend’s dissipation, and she remained quiet to see if her sister would say more.

"When Mother says that this is the City Castle- and the land that separates us from our neighbors is the `dry-moat’ of that castle- I think that she is right. Something kept me apart- and still keeps me apart from the way my friends think and live. It’s as if the distance of space- in this neighborhood- made us stand apart. I’m not sure what it was- maybe we just read more, and thought things out better-or maybe we are really non-conformists."

"And those were the only reasons you didn’t go off with some guy?"

"Are you being pressured by some guy?" Catherine asked, although she knew that Melinda seldom answered personal questions- no matter who asked them.

Melinda didn’t answer; instead, she seemed intent on exploring the pattern on Catherine’s bedspread with her fingernail.

"If the moat wasn’t the only reason… what else?"

"I haven’t thought about this for a while…" Catherine said, knowing that Melinda wanted to know-for some reason of her own.

" The biggest reason was probably that I had known all of the guys in our group since we were little kids. I remembered, in detail, their personal habits, and so I tended to shudder - whenever they made what –for them- passed for ‘romantic’ suggestions."

"I thought that John Allan was cute… I was crazy for him." Melinda said, sitting up and grinning. "So what icky habit did you think of that turned you off?"

"I’ll admit something mean, that I only went with him for someone to date. You know- you can’t always stay at home."

"But what did you remember about him?"

"Alright, I’ll tell you but it still makes me sick- so I probably won’t be able to eat one bite of dinner…it was his nose…when he was nine or ten he couldn’t keep his hands away from it- and he didn’t use a tissue."

"But later on he was sixteen or so- I imagine he kept his hands off his nose by then…Ugh…I think Manna is making peas tonight."

"Well probably," Catherine replied, still speaking about John Allan’s nose at sixteen, " but you never can tell what people do in private. So since I couldn’t be sure about that I just made sure he kept his hands off me- believe me it was not easy. Let’s not talk about John Allen, and please, don’t talk about food."

Bored with John Allan, Catherine tried harder to remember that long, strange summer.

"Maybe I haven’t taken to sin because of The Talk." Catherine laughed, referring to the thorough, and lengthy "coming of age" talk that their parents had given to both girls.

"Oh please-don’t bring "The Talk" into it! I am sure that it has scarred us both for life. Kids from dysfunctional families are lucky compared to us-I bet that they do not have some version of "The Talk" inflicted on them. They are left free to pick up whatever information they can manage- in the streets-not us- we had a two-day sermon on morals, manners, biology, philosophy, religion and money management-all rolled into one. I’m sure I’ve forgotten all of it just out of resentment- or because they had totally exhausted me.-Really, mind control-I’d call it."

"Well, there were a couple of things that I still remember- the part about how much more important it was for kids without money to apply themselves. Melinda, if our parents wanted to control our minds- they wouldn’t have filled the house with books with all kinds of views-would they?"

Catherine said, laughing.

"I don’t remember that practical part-and that would have meant something to me. Instead, I got to hear about Emerson and Compensation- at twelve- ‘the systole and the diastole of the heart.’ " Melinda groaned.

"Would you listen to me?- what they said was that if I messed up-in any, or all of the ways a kid can mess up- that I didn’t have any way to recover. That kids with money had resources-that usually, they got another chance. That I didn’t have that luxury and so I had to be careful and not make bad mistakes if I wanted a better and happy life." Both girls thought for a moment.

"Anyway I think I was lucky that whatever did stop me- stopped me. Lots of bad times came out of those noon time get together."

Melinda, eager for a bit of gossip-as long as she felt secure that Catherine wasn’t involved in any of it- waited. And finally when Catherine had paused to think and seemed troubled, felt that she must prompt her- or her own curiosity would never be satisfied.

"So what happened? Did any of the girls … well did anybody get caught?" She stopped-not sure how to go on without sounding too eager.

"I’m not sure- since I wasn’t involved- I didn’t hear much about it- just a word or two here or there. But yes, I know at least one girl who was hurt really badly."

"It wasn’t anything-well not the usual consequences that you expected to have happen- I mean she was always a lucky one. Things always went well for her."

"Well, then tell me what happened-none of the obvious- what then?" Melinda demanded- her patience over.

"Well, after an entire spring of this, guy after guy- she fell in love with one of them…and she was nothing to him. Melinda, I can’t explain this to you- but she meant nothing at all to him. She was just another girl to be with- nothing special at all. And this girl-who never took anything seriously, who laughed and ran and never stopped… well it was a terrible time for her…I don’t think that she ever recovered from it…"

They had been called to dinner then; they had never finished the conversation. But Melinda had had her suspicions about which of Catherine’s friends had been "the girl". In the weeks to come- Melinda, although not prone to introspection, thought of the conversation, and if Catherine had been able to follow her sister around-, she would have seen the effects of that introspection.

After her trip, Catherine had come back, and promptly gotten a cold. She had fought it valiantly; while finishing two projects at work, which had been carelessly, abandoned, by those responsible for them-as they left the office for their holidays.

And then just as she was breathing a sigh of relief-and trying to settle into some kind of normalcy, she had found that an instructor in her philosophy "talks and salon" series- had assigned an essay for the one class that she had missed.

And so one Saturday morning she sat at one of the dinette tables in the kitchen -dining room, thumbing through her notes, while trying to think of something of value to write about "philosophy and character."

Brittany had taken pity on her friend’s situation and offered to do all of the Saturday work. Catherine was grateful, and a bit relieved, because Brittany had been busy the previous two Saturdays and Catherine had had to do all of the chores alone.

Both of the girls were aware that it was "pay back" time. It was an unwritten rule with them that too much giving and too much taking could strain even the best of friendships and since they valued their friendship they tried to maintain some balance in their obligations to each other.

"Catherine, the bathroom…" Brittany, stood at the kitchen door holding a bottle of bathroom cleaner and with a sick look on her face.

"Yes? - What about it? Are you done?"

"It was awful. I will never go in there again. I am never going to get over it. I’ll see it all of my life."

"What…the stools not over flowing!" Catherine jumped up to take action-but Brittany motioned her back.

"Well, what is wrong with you- you look sick."

"Listen, I picked up the toilet brush, and this slithery bug came sliding up out of the holder. Catherine, just imagine, creatures living in the toilet brush holder! It was awful. How could it live there? What can be done about it, Catherine?"

"Well, first of all, are you done with everything?" Catherine asked- just a bit suspicious that Brittany might be trying to get out of the work-after-all.

Brittany had buried her face in the dishtowel that hung near the kitchen sink.

"Yes, I’m done." She said, her voice muffled by the towel.

" You cleaned the living room, our bedroom, and the bathroom?" Catherine ticked off the chores before she would let Brittany go on to another subject.

"Yes, everything, even the kitchen- I did it while you were on the phone." Brittany’s voice, coming out of the towel, sounded weak with disgust and martyrdom.

"What can we do, Catherine, that creature there- living in a toilet brush holder… disgusting, awful…"

"Well, there’s no accounting for tastes, peoples or bugs-obviously this bug has lowered his standards-or has issues with self-esteem. There, there,- I don’t have time for any crisis other than to recommend therapy for the bug, and hurry for you- or vice-versa. I thought that you were supposed to meet some people at the mall."

Brittany, peeked out at the clock, and then disappeared for a few minutes during which Catherine heard the sounds of hurried washing, and the closet door squeaking.

"I’ll be back when I get back, Oh, Hi Liam." Brittany said as she opened the front door-just as Liam was going to tap on it.

"Come, in even if Catherine won’t pay any attention to you." Brittany said, and then raced down the stairs her spirits rising at the thought of lunch and shopping with friends.

"Hi Liam." Catherine said-poking her head around the corner. "I will too pay some attention to you… I haven’t seen you since I was sick."

Liam stood grinning down at her. As he had stepped through the door-he had put his hands behind him, "Pick a hand, choose right and gain the prize, Pretty Lady" He said – seeming to grow taller as he assumed a famous drawl.

"Liam, nobody does John Wayne anymore, no one- take my word for it. Most people don’t even know who he was anymore." Catherine said, solemnly.

"Come on, little lady, don’t you be shy now…"

"Ok, ok- if you will stop. But you must trust me on this-no one will understand that imitation- not in this or the next, century, Liam. I pick that hand."

" A malt, and chocolate too- you remembered that I liked them."

"Thanks." She hugged him with a flush of gratitude- and was given a small vase of flowers.

"And red carnations with baby’s breath-very pretty."

Liam, held her off from him, " You look better, at least I think that you do-I can’t compare. You wouldn’t even let me through the door when you were sick. How could I help you if you wouldn’t let me come in? I would come over here, and knock and you would only talk at me through the door. There I would be lurking outside- talking at the door; you couldn’t reply above a whisper-and then your neighbors would go by and stare. It happened twice-me talking to an apparently uninterested and unresponsive door; I expected them to call the police."

Catherine laughed, "You couldn’t help me… I had to get well on my own, and all I could do for you was to give you my virus… and it was a killer. Brittany slept on the sofa, and wouldn’t even use the bathroom unless she had decontaminated it with lots of lethal chemicals. She nearly annihilated me… but she didn’t get sick."

"I see that you have lots to do-but give me an hour – then, I have to go to work. I’ll soon be out of your way, and I’m sure Brit won’t be back until late so you can work and catch up without us bothering you."

"Go rest on the sofa and I’ll make you some tea, and me a sandwich- if you have food."

Catherine sipped the malt and rested until Liam brought a steaming cup of tea to her, and then she sipped from the teacup and the malt- inter-changeably.

"The malt tastes good… I am much better… I’ve just been working harder than I want to work."

"But I haven’t asked, what happened with your term abroad?" Catherine had asked this last question lightly, but she stared into her tea while waiting for the answer.

"Still don’t know…everything was sent off- but it was late-and the program fills up fast." Liam sat, staring at his sandwich.

"Six months ago, man… six months ago all I could think of was ending this year of college with that term abroad…France… I thought about it for so long, and saved every penny. I didn’t think that I would ever make it, and now..." He trailed off.

Catherine took a chance look up from the cup, just as Liam took a chance look at her.

"Well, I know that it would be wonderful for you, Liam. Something that you would never forget." Catherine said, trying to put some enthusiasm into her voice. But to herself, she thought, "he will get accepted, and he will go. He won’t want to leave me-but it’s his dream-and he can’t give it up."

"There are many things that are unforgettable, Catherine. Some of them are a long, long, way from France." Liam said, and for a minute, they looked at each other.

Then, unsure about what came next, they both looked back at the coffee table. If they had known each other longer, and if they had been less reserved, or cared less about each other- the next scene might have been as predictable and as thoughtlessly and as carelessly played out as hundreds of others are between young couples.

There can be no certainty as to why the predictable and obvious did not occur. They were young and each had strong feelings for the other. But they were also the oldest children in their respective families, and had always been responsible.

Liam’s thoughts were unspoken…and so they sat silent and uncomfortable. The predictable scene moved off into time, and the silence had stretched too thin until one of them was forced to speak.

"Catherine, let’s talk about something else- anything… tell me about your trip home."

Catherine took a sip of tea, in order to think, and to calm her feelings.

"What," she asked herself, "is there to do-except talk about something else? We can either make this a big crisis—some sort of scene, but the timing seems wrong for theatrics."

And so, Catherine, fearing embarrassment for them both, and eager to spare them both- began to talk about her family and forced herself to act happy when she felt a bit tragic.

"I have been complaining about the trip and work and everything, and Brit always holds me to our rule. We can tell a whole litany of bad things, but no matter what the mood – we are forced to tell something good at the end."

"It wasn’t exactly fun- that trip…" She got up and went to the kitchen, as if warming her tea was the only thing on her mind. As soon as she was around the corner, she quickly stepped into her bedroom. She smiled at herself in the mirror, bit her lips – closed her eyes to focus on the story she had to tell-all this in the manner of an actor putting on another character- and then she returned to him in the living room.

"On the whole- the visit wasn’t what I expected, but the one good thing that happened was that we talked about my mother’s book club- and that is always a treat."

Liam looked a little at loss.

"It started this way, we had company, and during the conversation my mother referred to her book club, and she said-"the present club is all that I wanted it to be- much different than my former club."

Mother always says it in exactly the same way-trying to be explicit and entirely renounce-‘my former club.’ It always sets Melinda, my father, and myself off- we must leave the room; which we did-straight away- without any explanation-leaving my mother, the company, and Gwynie alone at the table. We fumbled our way out of the house into the back yard and stood there clutching each other- in hysterics- like we always are at the mention of "my former club."

"But why?" Liam asked, beginning to smile.

"Years ago my mother got involved in a book club full of people who were absolutely unsuited to each other-and most of them were absolutely unsuited to clubs, or to reading." Catherine’s face took on a look of delight as she began her story- and in a moment-, Catherine, the writer- and not the woman he knew sat beside Liam Sonders.

End of Chapter 3

 

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