A Glimpse of G & H

This is a scene from “Gwyneth and Harold”, a tag-team writing effort that doesn’t even have a working title other than “G&H”

This is a scene from “Gwyneth and Harold”, a tag-team writing effort that doesn’t even have a working title other than “G&H”. It’s not much more than a glimpse of one character… and a sample of writing. It’s definitely rough draft, but fun, nonetheless. Enjoy!

He had the distinct impression that he should say something, but was unsure what that something might be.

The need passed when he rested his head on the pillow and Gwyneth gave him a firm 'goodnight'.

Harold finally drifted off to sleep some time before the sun came up. It was more sleep than Gwyneth got.

Lying in the dark through the long night, a hundred thoughts raced through her head and none of them made any sense. Except one. She couldn't continue to lie here and do nothing. Instead she emerged from her side of the bed, scooping up her basic clothes before quietly leaving the bedroom. Dressed by the time she reached the front door, she grabbed her boots and made her way across the field in front of the house. She wasn't quite sure where she was going. Then again, if she were honest with herself, she knew exactly where she was going.

"I just made a fresh pot of tea," the MacGregor yelled from the front steps of the cottage as Gwyneth swung open the gate. "I've been expecting you for some time now."

"Oh, have you now?" Gwyneth smiled as she took the cup from his hand and passed him in the doorway. Taking a sip and releasing a long held sigh, she set the cup on the table and collapsed onto the couch.

It was a man's house, she thought as she surveyed the environment the MacGregor had created for himself over a decade ago when he had decided he couldn't live in the farm house without Mary Katherine. It was warm and dark with rich colors woven throughout the large room that comprised the living, working, and eating section of the building. But it was comfortable and Gwyneth knew she had come to the right place.

"Now, Gwyn," the MacGregor began, closing the front door behind him and looking at the waif who had curled up on his couch. "Why don't you tell me what's brought the clouds back over your eyes?"

"Oh, Ian…"she responded, looking up at him with dark circles that spoke volumes to the old man. He'd seen and heard much in his lifetime and was a shrewd judge of character and events. What alerted him to the gravity of the situation was the use of his given name. Gwyneth only used it when she was in great pain and before the last breath left her mouth he had seated himself on the sofa and wrapped her in his embrace.

"Now, Gwyn, me darlin," he begin, hoping soothing words would take the tension away from her body. "I'm here, child. Talk to me."

But words failed her and she simply allowed herself to be held by the only paternal figure she had ever truly cared about. Slowly the tears began to form in her eyes, snaking down her cheeks and falling on his well worn flannel shit.

"Good, girl. Cry it out if need be."

A woman's tears had never bothered Ian MacGregor. He had always felt closest to Mary Kate when she'd felt free enough to share her tears with him. And never was he one to say that men didn't cry. On the contrary, Ian MacGregor was proud of the fact that he wept when the spirit moved him and cautioned younger men not to avoid their own emotions.

"I don't know." Gwyneth's words came out with a deep sigh that let her sink deeper into pain and it was here that Gwyneth felt safest to let pain begin to run its natural course.

"Have you an understanding why you're weeping, child?"

Gwyneth shook her head gently, but it was enough for Ian to comprehend her response.

"Then let it flow, lass. Eventually the reasons will become clear. For now, you've a need to weep so that is what you shall do.

And so, Gwyneth spent the next hour quietly listening to the MacGregor's words of wisdom as they washed over all that she was feeling. She found as much strength in his words as in his embrace. She also felt a solitude that she knew she needed. As always, she was the last to know.

"What is it you want, Gwyneth?" the MacGregor began when her tears slowed a bit. "Have ya any idea at all?"

"I know what I don't want to do," she began, easing out of his embrace a bit, but not leaving his side.

"That's a start. And what might that be?"

"I don't want to practice law any more." She knew that she could say those words to the MacGregor and they'd be taken as a simple statement of fact. Saying those words to almost any other person in her life would have drawn a retort and an argument. But not here.

"Good Lord, Gwyn!" the MacGregor began in a voice that surprised Gwyneth. Surely he wasn't about to argue with her. "That's the best news you've given me in months." His rich laughter made Gwyneth smile though she wasn't quite sure why.

"It is?" she asked, hesitantly looking up at him.

"But of course." Ian waited a minute before going into his explanation and allowed Gwyneth the luxury of enjoying one moment when all the important people in her life we of one accord. Briefly his thought turned to the man he had seen at Gwyneth's side the day before and he wondered how important that man was to her life.

"Don't misunderstand me, lass. You're a fine barrister. One of the finest I've ever seen and with a family full of 'em back home, I've seen more than me share. But you've so many other talents, Gwyn. And lawyering makes you into a woman not quite the same as the woman you are truly in your heart."

Gwyneth smiled. It wasn't such a different thing than Harold had indicated to her. Maybe it was time to allow her heart to be a bit free.

"Well…."she began, not sure what to say next.

"Well, nothing, lass. You've no reason in the world not to walk away from it. It's not like you need the money, Gwyn. You've more than enough, I'm sure."

"I've saved and invested well," she said.

"Saved and invested well? Gwyn, tell me, have you touched the investment you made from the fee when you won my case?"

"No. It's all still there."

"Still there and then some, I'd say. I've not touched mine either, not the cash settlement that is and mine's grown four-fold. If yours has done the same, then you've a cool two million dollars right there."

"Well, actually, it's a bit more than that."

The MacGregor laughed and knew that with Gwyneth's penchant for understatement, it was more than likely that single nest egg had grown to nearer four million.

"And you've added to it, I suppose?"

"Always, Ian. You taught me well about saving for that rainy day."

"Well, it's not exactly raining right now, lass, but the sun's not shining full on your face either." Ian waited and let it sink in a bit what he was saying to her.

"Leave it behind you, Gwyneth and come home. Here's where you'll mend the full way."

Gwyneth knew he was right and in that instant, she knew that at least this one decision was made.

"And, Gwyn, you know you've a bit of coin to inherit when I'm gone."

Gwyneth sat up straight like a shot. "Ian, don't say that!"

"Don't say what? That I'm an old man and death is just tapping his foot on the other side of the door waiting for me? Oh, Gwyn, don't deny what's the truth. And the truth is, I've had a great run in this life, but it wouldn't sadden me much to go on and meet me Mary Katherine." A look that ran the gamut between sheer joy and deep sorrow crossed Ian's face. "And where else would my money go, girl?"

Gwyneth didn't know what to say. Ian and Mary Katherine MacGregor had already given her everything she needed in this life and the talk of money didn't set well with her.

"You've plenty of family in Scotland, Ian, and that's where your money should go. To family."

The MacGregor's famous laugh filled the cottage as he wrapped his arms around her again and drew her into his enormous embrace. "Aye, Gwyn, I've plenty of relations back in the old country. And each of them has had my purse to get an education and their children and their grandchildren, but I've not been back there in 40 years and they've not been here. They're good relations, Gwyn, but as for family, you and Mary Katherine are all the family I've ever needed or wanted. Have you no idea how much she loved you as her daughter?"

Gwyneth closed her eyes as she let her mind wander back over the time she had spent with Mary Katherine MacGregor. A life's worth of longing for maternal love, affection, and guidance had been fulfilled in the few short years they had together. Mary Kate had taught Gwyneth about all the gentle things in life-how to sew, to quilt, to paint, to tend the garden, to cook, and those things a gentlewoman pursued. But, she'd also taught Gwyneth about the fierceness of love, the importance of forgiveness, and the zest one needed to attack life. Together with Ian, they had taught her the value of a well saved penny and the shrewdness needed to survive in the world, all tempered with compassion and care. Had an angel allowed Gwyneth to create the perfect parents, they would have been no different than Ian and Mary Katherine.

"She was the perfect mother to me," Gwyneth whispered as the tears again rolled down her cheeks. "And you are the perfect father."

In that moment, tears began to well up in another set of eyes and the two held each other for a while as memories and dreams washed over them, filling both their hearts with love and warmth.

"There's another thing I need to be telling ya, Gwyn," Ian began after they'd both shed the tears their hearts required. "I've put your studio to rights."

Gwyneth wasn't sure what she had expected Ian to say, but it hadn't been that. She sat up and looked at him with shock on her face.

"You what?"

"You trashed it well, Gwyneth, before you left and I finally decided it needed puttin' back in order."

"But, MacGregor, you had no right!"

"I've every right because I love ya," he said, watching her rise from her seat next to him and start pacing the room. He hated to see her like this, so filled with a mixture of anger and pain. "You've a gift, Gwyneth, and I don't want to see it tossed away. Paint or don't paint. It's your choice, I know, but I'll not see you miss the chance just because your studio was filled with memories of him."

Gwyneth froze and stared at Ian. They'd not spoken of Hank in such a long time. Not since the night Ian wanted to kill the man, but had preferred to offer what comfort he could to the woman he loved as a daughter.

"I can tell by the look in your eyes, Gwyn. You've begun to travel the road back from all that and I'm thinkin' it's time we spoke of it. Perhaps it will help you take the next steps."

Gwyneth sank into the chair nearest the fire and looked at Ian with red-rimmed eyes. "I don't think I can, Ian." The pleading in her voice almost stopped him, but he was determined to help her begin to get past this.

"You can, Gwyn. You know you can. You painted some marvelous things while he was in your life, but he wasn't the reason for their glory. It was your talent and your work." He let those words sink in before continuing. "All the work you did with him there, even the canvases you slashed, are stored in the shed behind the cabin here. You've no need to ever look at them again, if you so choose, but everything else remains in your studio." He watched as little by little what he was saying made it into her brain. "The studio walls have been washed and painted. The glass has been replaced. The handles have been replaced on the brushes you broke and there's a fresh canvas sitting on your easel. It's all there if you want to go back to what you had before, Gwyn. Long before."

"But… " she began, her voice trailing off. She had no words now as memories flooded her mind.

And Ian was determined to make sure she had good memories to squeeze out the bad ones.

"Oh, Gwyneth. You know the seasons series? The ones of the outcrop of rocks that you painted a few years after Mary Kate passed on?" Gwyneth nodded and he continued. "Gwyneth, the Lord himself couldn't have painted those better and he's a fine hand with a brush."

Gwyneth smiled as she remembered the rush she'd gotten from painting those very pictures. The enormous canvases had been leaned against the far wall of the studio, too big for an easel, but almost too small for her vision. They'd been her gift to the memory of Mary Katherine and nothing would have made her part with them.

"Why, Gwyn, that fancy man gallery owner from Philadelphia said he'd give you half a million dollars for them and you know he'd have sold them for at least twice that."

For the first time during this long day, Gwyneth actually laughed remembering the negotiations the gallery owner had tried and all the machinations employed. All the while, the MacGregor was watching and willing to step in. It hadn't been needed and the two of them had celebrated her small victory over one man's greed.

"It was a fine thing to watch, Gwyn," the MacGregor laughed, the twinkle returning to his eyes. "The poor man didn't know what had hit him."

Filled with love, Gwyneth returned to the couch, giving the MacGregor an enormous hug of her own. "We're a fine team, eh, MacGregor?"

"That we are, lass. That we are."

He hugged her in return. His heart filled with pride and love and joy, along with a small glimmer of hope that Gwyneth was at last on the road back to wholeness.

When the MacGregor moved his hand, it never registered with Gwyneth. It did however register with the man about to knock on the door. Instead, he opened quietly and walked into the room. In an instant it became clear to Harold that Gwyneth had spent these last few hours deeply embedded in both joy and pain. He walked in and said….