Avoid if triggered by misplaced apostrophe's. (essayel) wrote in morningstar_mnr, @ 2010-06-05 16:27:00 |
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Entry tags: | au, chas, deacon, npc |
AU - out of the City.
Charlie was waiting for Deacon at the appointed time without a trace of a hangover either. He smiled his way round to the passenger seat of the big black car and got in with a cheery, "Hello - oh, damn, no leather pants!"
Then they headed out of the city.
It was a beautiful day and they rode with the windows down and music playing - though not so loud that they couldn't carry on a conversation. Out of the city and into a more forested area they went - slowly climbing into more mountainous area until Deacon finally took a turn off the main road and onto a blacktopped road that eventually turned into dirt and gravel.
They climbed up the slopes of the foothills until they came out of the trees and into a broad clearing where a quaint tow story house sat, it's immediate yard filled with flowers and looking inviting. A newer barn sat off to the right of the house where the fence began and a smallish heard of cattle grazed. To the left of the house and closer to a line of trees was an older run down barn where Deacon said the cider mill sat and behind the house was an apple orchard and vegitable garden.
"Home sweet home," Deacon said with a smile and as they pulled up to the house all tension seemed to leave his body. The city boy went away and it was clear that this was where his heart was.
As the engine cut off the front door opened and a slender woman with sun warmed skin and blonde hair stepped out onto the large front porch with a smile.
"I was wondering when you'd get here," Jessica said as Deacon and Charlie climbed out of the car. Her eyes darted to the dark haired man then back to Deacon and she came down the steps to greet them, giving her son - who stood a good head above her - and warm hug.
"Traffic gettin' out was a bitch," Deacon said, hugging the small woman tightly then turning to Charlie. "Mom this is Charlie Shaw. Visitin' from England. Charlie this is my mom, Jessica."
Jessica gave Charlie a warm smile and held out her hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Charlie."
"And to meet you Mrs Ferrell," Charlie said, taking her hand. "Deacon's told me quite a lot about you and I'm very grateful for the invitation. I'm a country boy too and - well, frankly the city is a bit busy for me. This now - oh, it's lovely."
Jessica looked proud. "Thank you," she said and slipped her arm through Charlie's and lead him up the steps and into the house. "We had a much bigger farm down in Georgia but after Deacon's father died we moved up here. Thankfully the house is paid for or we might not make it in this economy but we do alright. I couldn't imagine giving it up."
Deacon had followed and once inside Jessica handed Charlie back to him. "Why don't you show him around and I'll just finish up dinner," she told him.
"Sure," Deacon said and waved at the room they were in. "This is the living room," he said and chuckled as his mother rolled her eyes and headed for the kitchen.
Charlie chuckled as he followed Deacon. "This is a nice place," he said. "I can feel it. And the soil looks good too." His eyes sharpened as he spotted an arrangement of framed photographs on a dresser and he made a beeline for them. "Oh wow - miniature you!" And a younger Jessica and a baby. But no pictures that he could put the name 'Dad' to which made him wonder a bit.
"That's Maura," Deacon said, pointing to the baby in one picture and then a lovely blonde in another. "My sister. She's off at college right now."
"She's lovely," Charlie said. "What's she studying? She looks artistic."
"Horticulture," Deacon replied. "She's the one that designed the flowerbeds in the front yard. She's got a green thumb and a good eye." He was obviously proud of her and smiled at her picture then sat it down. "Anyway kitchen is through there. Smells like mom is makin' fried chicken. Food of the gods that is. There's a big dinning room attached to the kitchen, a bathroom and guest bedroom down that hall there." They were headed in the general direction of the stairs as Deacon spoke.
"Got an office down that way and then the back porch - it's all screened in. And then we can go upstairs to the bedrooms..." He headed up the stairs in question which naturally had numerous pictures along the wall going up.
Charlie climbed after him, glancing from picture to picture, but one stopped him in his tracks. "Good grief," he said. "That's - I've got the sketches for that one at home. That's one of great grand-dad's. Who is that? I always wondered."
"Huh?" Deacon looked at the picture in question. "That's my grandpa, James," he said. "What do you mean you have the sketch?"
"That face, that man," Charlie said. "Gr-granddad left me his sketchbooks and his equipment in his will. The painting of City Hall too. He must have drawn him a couple of dozen times, and there are sketches that I'm sure correspond with that painting. I didn't realise he'd ever been to Georgia."
Deacon shook his head. "James was here, in the City. Worked for the guy that built Morningstar Manor. Was his driver and stuff." He paused, head tilted as he studied the picture. "Ya know, he used to mention someone - a friend. He'd get kinda quiet sometimes after. A... Henry I think?"
Charlie had raised a hand to run it along the edge of the frame. It was a typical Vance, by no means photographic and filled with apparently random strokes of the brush that when viewed as a whole transformed into a fold of cloth, the branch of a tree, the grain of the wooden porch the man was sitting on. Charlie sighed with pleasure and admiration. He just knew that it had been the last sunny day of summer, the leaves were already yellowing, and the turn of the man's head and his grave smile reflected that sense of ending.
"Great-grandad didn't talk much about his past," Charlie said quietly. "But it's all there in his sketch books. I think they were - good friends. I'd like to show you sometime."
"I'd like to see them," Deacon replied, gazing at the painting as well. He'd never thought about the way his great grandad would go quiet after talking about Henry - Henry who had given him the lighter he was never without. At least when Deacon had been younger he hadn't thought about it. And when he'd gotten old enough that his own choices had suddenly made him think, well his great grandad had already passed on.
"C'mon," he said, taking Charlie's hand and continuing up the stairs. "I better show ya the rest before mom has dinner ready."
Charlie squeezed his hand and didn't let go, feeling in need of comfort because it had occurred to him that his great-grandpa had been here and had met James and had gone home and - had drawn him over and over again.
On the landing he moved closer to Deacon's side but still held his hand, leaning his head to touch Deacon's shoulder for a moment. Deacon smiled softly and turned a bit to face him.
"C'mere," he said softly and cupped Charlie's jaw, leaning down to kiss him softly for a moment.
Charlie kissed him back, drew away for a moment, then gave him another one on behalf of James and Henry. Of course it was possible they were jumping to conclusions, but kissing Deacon could never be a bad thing.
When the kiss broke again Deacon's smile was tender. "What was I doing again?" he asked with a little chuckle then gave himself a shake. "Right - tour. So. Um, Maura's bedroom is there, bathroom there, mom's room and.... mine."
He opened the last door and they stepped into a comfortable room that still held a hint of teenage life.
Charlie chuckled. "I have that poster too," he said nodding to one rather faded image overlaid by some rather more grown up ones. "Hell I think every teenage boy had a copy at some point. Lovely legs, hasn't she." he turned on the spot. "yes I can imagine you in here. What's the view like?"
"See for yourself." Deacon went to the window and pulled back the curtains. He had to admit, it was a spectacular view. The pasture with the cattle, the woods, and if you looked you could just make out the glitter of water from a lake.
"Oh lord, that's gorgeous," Charlie said, fingers itching to draw it. Sometimes he thought he channelled gr-grandad. Certainly he had a knack of picking the same sort of subjects.
"I think," he said, "that I ought to paint a picture of you to go with the one of James. it seems - fitting."
"A painting? Of me?" Deacon laughed softly. "Well I guess if you really want to." He looked out at the trees and the distant lake and pointed. "There's an old cabin out there. Great grandad took me to it a few times. Right by the lake. I'll show you after dinner."
Charlie nodded. "I'd like that," he said and turned from the window to smile at Deacon. "By then I'll be angling for a sneaky make out session, you realise." he shrugged. "That's just the effect you have on me, sorry. Do you play that guitar?"
Deacon's smile was pleased at the thought of the make out session but then he looked towards the guitar and nodded. "Yeah a bit," he said and picked it up, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing the guitar in his lap. A quick bit of tuning and then he started playing.
He was good, Charlie heard, without much real surprise. Deacon seemed at least competent at everything. he handled the instrument with the ease that suggested a good deal of practice in the past, though perhaps not too recently. There was a few fumbled notes.
Charlie perched on the window sill and hummed along, his voice a vibrant baritone, trained and strong, thanks to years in the church choir where half the choristers were Welsh and brought up on the old tonic sol fah that put music in the bones. Deacon smiled and began humming along as well, their voices mingling quite well until there was a shout from the stairs.
"Dinner's ready," Jessica called up.
"Comin'," Deacon called down and put the guitar down. "We better go before she comes and drags us by our ears. And believe me she will."
"My mum can be like that too," Charlie admitted going to the door and opening it. "Sunday lunches in particular are like a military campaign, but then she'll be cooking for about twelve so I can sympathise." he sniffed. "Oh that smells good. Any idea what we're having?"
"Fried chicken," he said as they headed back down the stairs. "Probably with mashed potatoes, green beans, salad, rolls." He licked his lips and sure enough as they came into the kitchen that's what was on the table.
"There you are," Jessica said with a smile. "Have a seat. What would you like to drink, Charlie? I've got ice tea, water, sodas, beer?"
"Water would be nice,please," Charlie said, taking the seat. "I've never had fried chicken before so I'd like the full unsodadulterated experience."
Jessica smiled and got him a glass of water, herself some tea and Deacon a beer and took a seat. "Well dig in boys."
Deacon grinned and did just that. His mother's fried chicken was his favorite food on earth.
Charlie watching his technique for dealing with it, copied it and a moment later was making soft but enthusiastic noises. "Oh wow that's good," he said, as soon as his mouth was clear.
In fact the whole meal was good. Initially they concentrated on eating but after a couple of minutes Charlie asked a question about the cattle and Jessica replied and farming talk flowed freely.
When the meal was done Jessica brought out her homemade apple pie and ice cream and by the time that had been finished off everyone was stuffed to the gills. Deacon eventually excused them - saying he and Charlie needed to work off some of the fantastic meal and that he wanted to show Charlie more of the farm and Jessica, with a little knowing look in her eye, nodded and shooed them away.
So off they went, strolling out along the fields and into the woods and down a well worn, if old, path towards the glitter of the lake. "There's this great spot down here," Deacon said as they walked, "where someone built an old cabin. I keep saying one day I'll fix it up cuz it's got the most amazing view of the lake. Just never had the time."
They stepped out through the trees and were there - a small clearing that had begun to get overgrown but the cabin was still standing, strong and solid, and looking out over the water.
The atmosphere reminded Charlie of home, though the pastures were fenced rather than hedged and the cattle were an unfamiliar breed. He walked as Deacon's side, hands in pockets, and asking questions about this and that. The cider mill was inspected and Charlie cooed over it, deploring the damaged state of the woodwork but certain that it could be restored. Down thrugh the orchards they walked until they reached the slope that lead to the cabin and he fell silent because he had seen that too - painted and drawn - in Henry sketch books.
"it has a big stone fireplace," he said. "And a chimney crane. You have a genuine antique there, Deacon."
Deacon looked at the cabin. The stone chimney was visible but the chimney crane...
"You've got drawings of this too don't you," he said, though it wasn't really a question.
"Yes," Charlie said, quietly. "Lots of drawings." He turned and walked backwards, looking back towards the farm. "All around here. I'm guessing that the cabin had stayed in the family and when the farm came on the market you were able to come back here? Good sound farmerly sense."
Deacon nodded, hands tucked into his pockets and watched Charlie. "He always talked fondly about this place. But - great grandma never mentioned it. She said something about his fishing cabin and the friend he'd take with him."
Deacon's eyes went to the lake for a minute, remembering the look in James's eyes when he would talk about the cabin.
"They knew each other," he said after a moment. "They - loved each other."
"Yes," Charlie said, in a small voice because they had also left each other.
And that was what he'd be doing soon. Tildy was already making plans about what he could do to help Derek, and suggesting that they buy a nice wooden shed that he could use as a studio.
If he had any time or enrgy spare to paint after ostrich wrangling.
He took a deep breath. "Seth," he said. "Seth suggested I stay for a while. We, um - work well together. Our styles are complimentary. He's been talking about employing me to help him paint large scale works and murals. I'd have to look into the legalities. It's not easy to get permission." He turned a hopeful face towards Deacon. "Is it?"
"Depends," Deacon replied, eyes on Charlie. "If it's a work Visa... and if you have plenty of work." He rocked on his heels for a moment. "Mom's talked about gettin' that cider mill running again."
If he could figure out a way to keep Charlie here - he would.
"Funny," Charlie said. "I went into this book shop near the Manor and the man in there - great tall black man with little gold glasses - he gave me a book about microbreweries and said that he likes to make sure people have the book they really need by any means possible." He took a deep breath. "I don't suppose there are many people here who know how to pack an apple cheese for pressing. If you think that such a skill might be useful ... Gr-granpa made a reasonable living out of painting plus farming plus making his own cider. I - er - wouldn't have to be dependent on anyone."
"Well then I guess we need to start seriously looking at how to keep you in the country," Deacon said then smiled and there was a hint of wickedness to it as he took Charlie's hand and pulled him towards the cabin. "Other than me putting you in handcuffs and lockin' you up of course."
"And that would be terrible, how?" Charlie asked, and still gripping Deacon's hand, took off for the cabin towing him along.
Deacon laughed, following, and as they tumbled through the cabin door he pulled Charlie to him, kissing him hungrily. They knew they were following old footprints, and they clung together in the damp mouse-smelling dimness, hoping that their path would come to a happier end.
Mini summary: D takes Chas to meet his mum, they make a startling family history related discovery, and Chas decides he really doesn't want to repeat history and go home.