A Proud Howard Tradition By astraplain@yahoo.com She was twirling. Spinning round and round until the blue sky and green grass melted together like a ruined watercolor. And still she twirled. Her head was getting lighter now, and she could almost imagine that her feet would leave the ground. She would twirl like this as long as it took for her to fly. "Stop that!" The breathless shout didn't startle her one bit. She'd been peripherally aware of her friend's approach for several minutes. She never closed her eyes when she twirled like this, and she never, ever got dizzy. As long as she kept spinning. "I hate it when you do that." The new arrival announced dropping to the ground and panting. It was far too hot a day to run like she had. But she had *news* and she just couldn't wait to share it. "You-always-say-that." She timed her words so that she spoke each one as she faced her friend, keeping the rhythm of her turning steady. She'd added her arms to the motion, raising them up and to serve as wings. Breathing easier at last, the messenger crossed her arms and waited. She counted silently to herself back from twenty to one, then called, "Beaverlee!" It worked almost every time. The twirling stopped abruptly, and gravity claimed another victim. The dancer's knees bent, and she controlled her fall onto the soft grass. Blue eyes pinned the messenger with a killer glare. "Don't call me that." And then she let the dizziness pull her flat onto her back in the grass. A few seconds latter she added, "Collie." "That's Kellie. And I didn't run all the way out here in this heat just to watch you dance yourself dizzy. I've got news." Hidden reserves immediately kicked in and the dancer sat up. "So tell me already." There's a trader ship due in. Three days from today. Whaddya think, Beverly? Maybe your Nana'll get you a pair of real dancer shoes to replace those old worn out ones you always wear." She paused dramatically. "I'm gonna get something special for my mother's birthday." "You always say that, Kellie, but you end up spending all your credits on yourself." "That's when I was younger and selfish. I'm more mature now." Beverly snorted. "Mature at the ripe old age of nine? Well, I guess I know what to look forward to on my next birthday then. Maybe I should get in my bid for a seat on the Council before they're all taken by the other mature soon-to-be- nine-year-olds around here. Sam's got a birthday next week." "Beaver!" Kellie tossed a handful of grass in at her friend. In seconds, they were up, shrieking and chasing each other around the field. ***** "Beverly Howard, you get yourself upstairs and get cleaned up. You know we've got company coming for supper and you managed to lose yourself for the entire afternoon and then come home looking like this." Nana Howard stood, hands on her hips, and gave her granddaughter The Glare. The girl was a sight, with blades of grass sticking to her hair, and several obvious dirt and grass stains on her clothing. She was a little thing, small for her age, with hands and feet too big for her body, and brilliant blue eyes too large for her face. Topping it all was the crown of red hair. People who didn't know any better thought it ironic that such a shy, quiet child would be blessed with that hair. The few people close to her knew just how appropriate the color was. The child was a Howard after all. Nana accepted the mumbled apology, and shooed the girl upstairs. Returning to the kitchen she watched the other half of the errant pair trudging away slowly. She allowed herself a smile at the differences between her tiny Beverly and the large- for-her-age, dark-haired Kellie. It was no secret that they were the neighborhood misfits. She shook her head. Kellie Kelly.. The family had made much of the fact that naming the first-born child Kellie was a family tradition dating back hundreds of years. As far as Nana was concerned some family traditions deserved to be broken and that was one of them. By the time she was finished with her musing, she'd finished her dinner preparations and fixed herself a some tea. Carrying the cup into the sitting room, she waited for her guests to arrive. ***** The harsh wailing of sirens woke her from a fitful sleep. She and Kellie had spent the last two days imagining what exotic goods the traders would have when they arrived tomorrow and she'd been too excited to sleep. Her bedroom door opened and Nana rushed in. She was carrying Beverly's coat and boots. "You're awake? Good. Quickly now, and silent as you can be. Get dressed." Beverly felt herself pulled from the bed. "What's wrong? Nana?" "Don't talk and don't ask questions. Raiders have come." Beverly still stood there, numb, until she felt Nana dig fingernails lightly into her forearm. "Move girl." She hissed "Now!" Beverly suddenly found she could move again. She dressed faster than she ever had before, then packed a few changes of clothes into the carrysack Nana handed her. Nana was nearly dragging her out of the room when she remembered her dance shoes. "Nana, the shoes." Nana stopped, tears threatening to overtake her. She shoved them aside. "Leave them. We need food more than dance shoes." "But…" Beverly tried to pull away. "They were Mama's." Nan tightened her grip and dragged the girl out of the room. The noises were louder in the hall where the windows had been open to let in a cooling breeze. There were screams now, and the sound of weapons. The air smelled funny. Beverly stopped trying to pull away. She followed close to Nana, trying desperately to be quiet. ***** The Howard home was on the outskirts of town, nestled in the woods. Beyond that was a dense forest and the caves. Nana knew them all from her forays for cooking herbs. It was there she took her granddaughter and the seven other people she was able to reach before the raiders came too close. They stayed a week, living on the meager provisions they'd been able to carry, and native roots. On the morning of the eighth day, the man they'd sent to out to scout for raiders returned, face streaked with tears, and told them they could return to what was left of their homes. The raiders were gone. The little procession made their way through the forest silently, unable to convince themselves the raiders were truly gone. They knew the truth of it when they saw the smoke. The center of town was either burning, or gone. Buildings left standing had been stripped of anything of value, either technological or monetary. ***** At first there was too much to do in one's own home to worry about the neighbors. Many other groups had fled into the woods, like Nana's group had, and they were slowly returning home. At last, the remaining Council members called a meeting of all the remaining Arvadans. No one knew how many were dead or what the was left, and salvageable. But everyone knew that Arvada was in trouble. The hospital and communications center were the first buildings the raiders hit. They had both been burned to the ground. ***** Nana mashed the last of the roots and sprinkled in some herbs to take away the bitter taste. Behind her, she heard Beverly enter the room. They'd been lucky. The raiders had taken or destroyed almost everything they owned, but their home was still intact and, for the moment, they had food. A nearby stream provided drinkable water. Carrying the bowl to the table she frowned. Beverly was in her usual chair, staring fixedly at the place on the wall where her mother's picture had once hung. "Have some dinner, Beverly. I put in a little sugar today." Silently the girl held out her plate and accepted a scoop of the mashed vegetable. Her eyes never left the empty spot on the wall. Just as she had at every meal since they'd returned to their home, she ate precisely half of the portion on her plate, then left the table. Today Nana had had enough. "Beverly." The girl stopped but didn't turn. "Come back to this table, girl." No reaction, just a numb compliance. Beverly came back to the table and sat. "Now eat every bite that's on your plate. I won't have you wasting away." Something flashed in those blue eyes. "Like Mama? You won't have me waste away like her?" "That's right!" Felisa Howard had very few sore spots. Isabel Howard's death was one of them. She leaned across the table and gripped her granddaughter's chin. "Don't you even think of that, my girl. I will not lose you like that. Do you hear me?" Beverly nodded. She managed one bite before the tears started streaming silently down her face. Each bite became harder to swallow. Tears continued to stream down her face. Finally she dropped the fork and ran from the room, through the house, and out the door. Felisa let her go, unable to hold her own tears back any longer. ***** It was late afternoon when Felisa came for her. With Beverly there was never any doubt where she'd be. Years ago, in happier times, they'd named the place Isabel's Stage. After her death, Felisa had refused to call it that any longer. To her it no longer had a name. Beverly was dancing, of course, twirling, always twirling. Felisa slowed her pace, taking time to observe the tiny figure as she moved. In her daily tasks, Beverly often got tangled up in those big feet and awkward hands, but when she danced, she was a fairy, pure grace and flame. She was so different from dark Isabel, whose every motion had been dance from the day she was born. Isabel was born to be a dancer, and the dancing had killed her. But not Beverly. Felisa Howard *knew* that her granddaughter would be a healer. It was a proud family tradition, and her Beverly would uphold it. "Nana?" Beverly's voice startled the woman out of her musings. The child had stopped, a fact for which Felisa was very grateful. Watching all that spinning made her dizzy. She watched the girl drop to the ground and sat beside her, waiting until Beverly could focus again. At last she sat up. "I'm sorry, Nana. I didn't mean…" "Yes you did, Beverly. You always say what you mean, and the madder you are, the more truth there is in what you say." "Why did she do it, Nana? It was because of me, wasn't it?" Felisa reached for the child, but, as always when they talked about Isabel, Beverly refused any offer of comfort. She sat cross- legged, back straight, and looked directly into Felisa's eyes, betraying no emotion. Felisa sighed. There was no reaching the girl until she let her guard down again. "It wasn't because of you, Beverly, or your brother. Your mother loved you both very much. And she loved your father too, and she loved her dancing. She had to make some hard choices, Beverly, and those choices cost her her life." Felisa looked away from those blue eyes, unable to continue. Yes those choices had cost her only daughter her life. And there was a little piece of Felisa Howard that would never forgive Isabel for that. Isabel was a good dancer, beautiful, graceful, and with a more than passable technique, but she'd never had the discipline to practice like she should. She advanced only so far on her raw talent, then stopped, relegated to small parts or the corps de ballet. Then she met Paul. He was hired as male lead for the troupe, and he instantly took a fancy to Isabel. She was a perfect contrast to his chiseled, blond perfection with her masses of dark hair and those enormous hazel eyes. Together they danced as if they belonged together. And outside the troupe, they did, rapidly becoming lovers, and them marrying. But within the troupe, Isabel was still playing secondary parts. She'd improved a bit with Paul's help, but still lacked the years of hard work and practice that the principal dancers had. After a time, she grew frustrated, watching Paul dance with other women, and she took refuge in jealousy. She imagined her husband in affairs with most of the other dancers and began making wild accusations. Through it all, Paul was devoted to her, and when they discovered Isabel's' pregnancy he immediately requested a leave of absence from the troupe. Away from the pressures of dancing, Isabel regained her emotional stability and reveled in her pregnancy. Paul pampered and cared for her before and after his little girl was born. Awed by the child, he turned in his resignation from the dance company and bought a home for his family. For two years Paul and Isabel raised their daughter, happy to be together as a family. To support them all, Paul had opened a dance studio. At first Isabel was thrilled that he would always be close to her, but then Paul started spending more time at the studio. They had explosive confrontations about it until Paul finally admitted that he'd reapplied to the dance troupe and was waiting for their response. Isabel was frantic. She'd just found out she was pregnant again, and she'd been saving the news for their anniversary in two weeks. Over the next several months, she tried everything she could to keep him with her. Paul agreed to stay until the baby was 3 months old. Any longer and the troupe wouldn't hold the job for him. As desperate as she was to keep him with her, Isabel became more critical and demanding. By the time Benjamin was born, Paul was counting the days until he could leave. When the day arrived, far too much had been said between them for Paul to ever change his mind. Isabel could keep the marriage contract if she wanted, but she shouldn't expect him to abide by it. They were taking a personal transport vehicle to the shuttleport, arguing as usual while Beverly sat silent in the back tending Benjamin. As they got closer to the airport, the shouting got louder. Isabel reached for the controls, and Paul slapped her hand away. With a cry, Isabel grabbed his arm. Paul turned to look at her, taking his eyes away from the road for a moment. Isabel screamed, and then there was a terrible grinding crash. Benjamin Howard was killed instantly. Paul died six days later, having regained consciousness only once. Isabel was hospitalized for 2 weeks then released, fully recovered except for some weakness in both legs and her left hand. Despite some cuts, bruises and a minor concussion, Beverly Howard escaped the crash unharmed. Felisa Howard arrived four days after the crash. She packed up her daughter, grandchild, and the remnants of their lives and took them to Arvada III. Eight months later, Isabel was dead. The warmth of Beverly's hand brushing her hand jarred Felisa out of her reverie. She was startled to see fear in the girl's eyes. "Will the dancing kill me too, Nana?" The soft voice fell away on the whispered question. Felisa threw her arms around her Beverly feeling the child's trembling. Tears sprang into the woman's eyes. "No. Oh, no, Beverly. You're too strong for that. You are a dancer, my child, but it's not your life." "But it is Nana. Mama and Papa were dancers. I love dancing. I… I have to dance. It's inside me." Beverly pulled her self away from her Nana's arms, wringing her hands as she struggled to express herself. Felisa caught those hands in her own, turning them to look at the palms. "You've the hands of a healer, girl. That's what you're meant to do. The dance is your siren song. You have to learn not to listen to it." She winked at Beverly, watching her build her arguments. "You really think you're the first Howard to be called to the dance, child? There were flame-haired Howards healing *and* dancing before you were even a hint of an idea in a fairy story. Now get yourself home and clean before somebody with some sense comes here and sends us both off to tend to our work." Beverly reluctantly climbed to her feet. Behind those blue eyes, Felisa knew she was still thinking up her arguments. "Nana?" "Help me up off this ground, Beverly, then ask your questions." Beverly obeyed, lending her grandmother a hand, and smiling at the show the woman put on as she rose. Felisa Howard may be a grandmother, but she was far from old and feeble. She brushed the grass from her pants then started walking. Beverly kept to her side and Felisa gestured for her to continue. "If healing is such a proud Howard tradition, how come you're a farmer?" ***** "Don't drink that!" The cry startled Beverly, and she dropped the cup of water she'd just lifted from the stream. She looked up at Nana, suddenly frightened at the expression of terror on the woman's face. "Nana? What's wrong?" "There's six more down with the sickness. Gavin thinks it's in the water." "But what do we drink? I'm thirsty, Nana, and it's hot." Felisa fought back the tears that threatened to betray the words she must say. "Beverly, we can't risk the water. For now, we go thirsty. But I'll think of something quick." "You were gone a long time, Nana." "I know, child, but it couldn't be helped. Come inside, it'll be a little cooler there." They walked back to the house in silence. Once inside, Felisa dropped into the nearest chair and closed her eyes. She's lost track of how long it had been since the raiders had come, but she was sure it was weeks. They'd all been such damned arrogant fools, convinced that help would come, that they could survive. How long they'd waited, sure the missing people were simply hiding in the woods, waiting for a safe time to return home. But it was late spring, and unusually hot for the time of year. With no power and many buildings destroyed, people finally took to looking in the houses standing empty. The grisly remains of the missing people shattered many of the illusions the community had been able to create. No one else would be returning from the woods. Arvada was settled by hard working people, practical people. They formed work teams to bury the corpses and assess the remaining supplies. Teams were assigned to tend the few crops that hadn't been burned. The report from the survey team was grim. There was little food left, and fewer medical supplies. Felisa spoke then, reminding them of the bitter roots that could be used for food and the herbs that could be used as medicines. She had learned of a few of these herbs from her mother long ago, but Felisa had had no desire to be a healer and had struggled against her mother's efforts to teach the art. How true were the words her mother had said, the very thing she often told Beverly, that Howards were healers. It was in the blood. It was a proud family tradition. The one part she had never told Beverly was that any Howard who broke that tradition was doomed to tragedy. Something Felisa herself had scoffed at until Isabel Howard had wasted away, refusing all food and drink as she danced herself to death. Walking back from the meeting that afternoon, Felisa Howard had decided that the only way to protect her Beverly from the Howard curse was to become a healer herself. It was too late to protect herself, she knew. She had strayed from the tradition, and worse, she had allowed her only child to turn away as well. But Isabel had been a Howard oddity with her dark hair and eyes. Beverly was true Howard, and Felisa would make the child a healer even if she herself had to embrace the teachings she'd rejected so long ago. Standing, Felisa reached out to Beverly, taking her hand. "Come, girl, there's something we must do." ***** Beverly was running, anger and fear driving her faster across the fields until she was in Isabel's Stage. She immediately started dancing, swinging her arms up wildly and weaving through a series of steps she'd choreographed with Kellie one warm day during spring thaw. She couldn't twirl today. She was too angry, and you couldn't fly if you were angry. Mama had said dancing was flying if you worked hard enough and did it right. Mama had done it right, so had Papa. Why couldn't she ever do anything right? She lost her concentration and got tangled up in herself, falling hard. She screamed, an inarticulate cry, and kept screaming until her throat burned and she felt a heavy lump in her chest. Nana had forbidden her to come here anymore, telling her instead to spend her precious dance time in the woods looking for stupid old weeds. What difference did it make? That's all they talked about anymore - herbs, and healing potions and salves that stunk. There were no more quiet walks or fairy stories. Now it was unpronounceable plants and an endless stream of sick people. What did it matter if she knew what to call the rotten old plants anyway? All their time was spent looking for, then preparing the foul things, only to have the people die anyway. Plants wouldn't help them, nothing would. Like nothing could help Papa, and Benjamin, or Mama. What did it matter? They were all going to die. She wanted to die like Mama, dancing, always dancing, falling over and over, but never stopping for anything, not even food or drink until the weakness had pulled her to the ground one last time, never to move again. Curtain call, Mama had called it. That's what Beverly wanted. Maybe then she'd see Mama again, and Papa, and even little Benjamin. How could that be bad? ***** Kellie Kelly was the oldest of five children, and Beverly Howard's closest friend. She was also the last of the Kelly family. When Beverly found her, she was lying in her bedroom, coughing constantly and too weak to move. Beverly scanned the other rooms and promptly blocked out the images of the corpses. In the late summer heat she ran, flying, finally flying as she searched house after house for Nana until she found her at last, tending to the Scannlon's baby. "Please, Nana, come quick. Kellie's sick." "Beverly, let go of my arm. I'll come with you as soon as I finish here." "But she's sick. Really sick. I think she's dying." "I'm sorry, Beverly, but I can't leave here yet. You go to her, take some of the herbs. Brew the tea with the water in the canteen and have her sip it slowly. I'll be there when I can." Beverly stood there, torn between arguing, and returning to care for her friend. After a moment's hesitation, she took the herbs and the canteen and ran. ***** Felisa Howard was exhausted. For months she'd struggled to care for her friends, watching them die, knowing she and Beverly could be next. And Beverly, the girl refused to learn, refused to understand what was happening and why she must learn the herb lore. She thought the child was stronger than that, but it seemed as if the siren song had claimed another of Felisa Howard's family. She opened the door to the Kelly home and stepped back, steeling herself against the stench she knew awaited her. She called once, then twice, but Beverly didn't answer. Fear gripped her, as it often had in the past months. The sickness came so quickly. She found her grandchild in Kellie's room holding the girl's head in her lap, softly singing and stroking her hair. Felisa noticed the untouched cup of herb tea on the night stand, and the pallor of Kellie's skin. Too late, always too late. "Beverly?" The girl didn't look up, she just kept singing. "Child look at me." Slowly the head rose until blue eyes met green ones and Felisa knew she had been wrong. This tiny child was strong enough, stronger than Felisa had ever been. Beverly had silenced her siren. "Come home, Beverly, let Kellie be with her family." Gently, with infinite care, Beverly lay her friend's head on the pillow and arranged her hair. Then Beverly stood, taking Felisa's outstretched hand. "Nana, teach me about herbs. I want to be a healer." Hand in hand they walked out of the room. Beverly Howard never looked back. :::end:::