Lady February (6 Nov 2001) Tom visits his grandmother with some questions about his family.

Clarisse Smith's Home
This is a small cottage on the outskirts of town, surrounded by trees. The dirt turnoff from the paved road was identified solely by a set of mailboxes for Clarisse and her neighbors, and the numbers on the cottage marked this one as Tom's grandmother's house. A small orchard and garden fills the area behind the cottage, marked in the summertime by fruit and vegetable growing busily.

Inside, the cottage smells much the way that old people's homes always do: dusty and aromatic with medicines of various sorts. Here and there, are old paintings and black-and-white photographs of various people, such as a still of a long-legged fellow wearing aviator's goggles pushed up into his black moptop, standing in front of an old-style barnstorming plane. The main room furniture is sparse, with just a table big enough to seat four at best, a couch, several wickerwork chairs, and some shelves.

"What a surprise, Tom! Usually I only see you when I come to town for our little family dinners," Mrs. Smith says, smiling at her favorite grandson as she bustles about to make tea for her guest. Some lemon biscuits sit in a saucer on the table already for him to nibble. "What brings you out here?"

Tom grins and says, "Hey, Grandma. I know, I don't come around as much as I should." He pulls out a chair and sits down, taking a break from the walk. "Came by to talk, actually. I've been reading up on lots of town history and such, like the old manor. I got curious as to my own family history, wanted to ask you about what the town was like years ago, what Grandpa was like, and all that," he replies.

Grandma Smith chuckles and sets a teakettle on the stove. "Goodness! The old Harcourt Manor, do you mean? I remember playing there as a little girl. It was beautiful in its days, a grand old belle of the south right here in Ainigton, and we used to dream it was a palace. And your grandfather! Such a man, always gadding about the country. Whatever should I talk about first? There'd be so much to say!"

"Yeah, it's an amazing place. I'm helping the new owner clean it up some," Tom says. "Well, I'd like to talk about Grandpa first. Meeting the new owner of Harcourt made me kinda think of him. I don't remember too much about Grandpa. Do you have any pictures of him? How'd you two meet? What was he like back then?"

Mrs. Smith gestures around. "Oh, the best pictures I keep on the walls to remind myself what he was like. It's as if he were around still, dear Tom, except of course, he doesn't do any of the work! Not that that's any different than how it was.... And of course, I do have a few albums, but we could be here for days going through them." She smiles and ruffles Tom's hair. "Do you know, you're turning out the spitting image of him? I always thought it was so sweet of your parents to name you after dear Thomas."

Tom blinks and almost slips out of his chair. "R...really?" Tom asks. "How'd you two meet?"

"Well, your hair's darker, of course. Tom's was a light brown, almost gold when the sun would hit it right, but it was always ragged because when he was flying, the wind would whip it about," Mrs. Smith reminisces. "He was a barnstormer, you know, dear. He'd fly his old plane -- he called it Eleanor -- around the country, dusting farmers' fields with whatever chemicals they'd been promised would solve all their fertilizing and insect problems. This was after the Great War, of course."

Tom grins. "Oh yeah. I forgot that he was a pilot." Tom stands up and walks over to the picture of the man with the goggles pushed up into his hair and peers at it intently. "Did he grow up in this town?" he asks.

Mrs. Smith shakes her head as she takes the teakettle, now whistling, off the stove and turns the gas off. She puts tea in to begin steeping. "He grew up in the City, but we met at a dance when he was out this way, dear. He came back pretty regularly, and one thing led to another, you know...." She sighs romantically.

Tom sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah, actually. Must've been kinda hard when he had to leave and go back to the City. I kinda know how you probably felt, I think," Tom says, then blinks and says hurriedly, "That's really neat, being a pilot and all. Did he ever visit Harcourt Manor?"

"Well, he moved here after a while, because the air was so much nicer than in the City, and we had to live somewhere, when we got married," Mrs. Smith observes cheerfully. "But no, I don't think he'd ever been to the Manor. Playing at Harcourt Manor was before, when I was a little girl."

"Really? What did you play over at Harcourt?" Tom asks.

Mrs. Smith smiles, thinking back to her childhood. "Oh, we played all sorts of games! Sometimes we played debutantes at a ball, and I made Bryant be my beau because it wouldn't have been right for Anastasia to squire her own brother around, and sometimes we played lords and ladies. John was never very much on these games, though. His parents wound up sending him to a boarding school, to curb his temper." She shakes her head and judges the tea has steeped long enough, so she pours a cup for Tom and one for herself, then offers honey and cream to sweeten the tea to his tastes. "What a sad ending he came to, poor man."

Tom walks back over to the table and picks up a cup. He takes a sip and smiles. "Agatha, Alice, Rebecca, and now Elinor, have all played over there. We played a game pretending we were part of a fantasy world called Mirari." He shrugs. "Anyway, I remember that name ... Anastasia. It was in some history I read! What was she like?"

"Why, did you name your world Mirari after a mirror too? Such an amazing coincidence!" Mrs. Smith smiles as she seats herself and sips tea, barely sweetened. "We used to pretend an old mirror that Anastasia had was a gateway, that would open up into this other world, you see. She was a wonderful actress. She would be the haughty Lady Angelique one moment, and then she would play a fearful fairy, shrinking against our cloaks the next, asking for shelter from the horrible Destroyer. I could practically see the poor thing's wings shivering in the cold, bitter winter! It's no wonder that Anastasia went on to Hollywood. Her talents would have been simply wasted here in Ainigton."

"Yeah, I played a 'Lord Explorer' of Mirari in that game. Though, it's gotten kinda creepy lately, so I've backed off some," Tom replies, then asks, "What was this Destroyer thing? We've made up something kinda like that too. Um, Grandma, did Bryant play someone called 'Bram'?" Tom asks.

Mrs. Smith looks back in time, eyes unfocused as she tries to recall. "Do you know, I don't seem to recall who made him up, dear. He was just this nebulous evil who did horrible things, and it was our jobs as lords and ladies to put things to right in Mirari. Otherwise, I suppose, we would have had to quarrel among one another to have something to do. Not that we didn't, at times." She smiles fondly and pats Tom's hand. "My! I'd forgotten all about those wonderful times at the Harcourt Manor. And yes, I do think he was Bram. It was much easier to remember his play-name than Anastasia's." Her eyes start to get a little curious, as she opens her mouth, a question forming there.

"Who were you?" Tom asks, growing a bit more serious. Tom's brow quirks and he asks, "Did you play a Lady November, by chance?"

"I? I was Lady ... Cherise of February," Mrs. Smith says, distracted from her imminent question. It takes her a moment to recall the name, but once she does, there's a change in the way that she presents herself, a fey lady behind her eyes. "Lady of a land that hinted at springtime's coming, icicles melting slowly onto the few bravest flowers that dared the harsh snows. My lands may not have been so prosperous as those of the Spring, but my powers were not inconsiderable, when I chose to lend them to my sister-Lady of April." Her voice is soft and whispery.

Thomas eases back down into the chair and interlaces his fingers in front of himself. "How much of it was really a game? Was there really such a world?" Tom asks softly, concerned at the sudden change in her personality.

Mrs. Smith startles. "Oh! Forgive me, dear. I was just remembering how much fun it was to play her." She laughs and urges her favorite grandson to have a cookie. "Oh, it was just a game. There was nothing real about it, though we did get awfully caught up in it at times. Of course now and then, Anastasia and Bryant would make a fuss over something being 'from Mirari', but I knew they'd just been over to the pawn shop and picked something up." She smiles knowingly at the boy. "But it would have been rude to spoil the fun, wouldn't it?"

Tom picks up a cookie and takes a bite. After a moment of chewing, he downs it and follows with a sip of tea. "What did they make fusses over?" he asks, then says, "And oh, the reason I ask is we found some old letters written by a 'Lord Bram' in the house. That's all."

"Well! You must have found some of Bryant's old letters. We used to keep up correspondence that way, just because it helped make the game feel more real, when we couldn't all be together at one time," Mrs. Smith says. She tries to recall some examples, smiling at the nostalgia awakened. "Oh, there were these medals, once. We'd made such a to-do about awarding honors to our bravest knights, and then Anastasia came out later and showed us how her little teddy bear was wearing one. It was so adorable!"

Tom grins. "Let me guess. Sir Theodore?" Thomas finishes off his tea and smiles. "Agatha and Alice found that bear and that medal. Though I think the bear had certainly seen better days." The boy shrugs. "Our game has actually mirrored a lot of yours, it turns out. Odd, huh?"

Mrs. Smith sips from her teacup. "Not at all, dear Tom! Lords and ladies have always been a favorite pastime of children, haven't they? Everyone knows what a knight or king looks like, how they act. The tragedy would be if a generation were to grow up not knowing anything of the great stories of our past. Mallory's Morte d'Arthur, Spencer's Faerie Queene, Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream..."

"Yeah, but in our game, there are Lords for all the months, a Palace of All Seasons, and so forth. Even before the letters, we had them," Tom says. "Why, we even had a villain called the Year's End, the Destroyer. Must run in the family or something." He shrugs and helps himself to another cookie.

"Really! Well, perhaps a ghost was lurking about to whisper ideas into your ears," Mrs. Smith suggests, eyes lively with mischief. "They do say that the Harcourt Manor is haunted, don't they?"

"Yeah, well, they say a lot of things," Tom replies, grinning. "I've always gone and looked for such, never found anything. You know me, always heading off into the unknown. So, how'd you guys defeat the Destroyer?"

Mrs. Smith scolds lightly, "I do hope you're being careful, Tom! An old house like that is dangerous, just because anything could be rotted through, and I'm not just saying that because you're a child. You're nearly grown up now."

"I'm careful. I only work in the areas Mr. Kunig has given the okay on. I know better than to walk across a dubious floor," Tom says. "Dad's made sure I could notice such things. I keep an eye on the others, from time to time, to make sure they're okay."

Mrs. Smith nods slowly. "Good. Mr. Kuning seemed like a nice gentleman. I took him some of my fruit when he moved in, of course. The house seemed like an absolute fire trap then. Such a shame that such a lovely old house came to such a state, but of course, it's understandable since Anastasia didn't want to move back to town after her younger brother died. What was there for her here? An old house where she used to live, that would have done her no good as an actress."

Tom nods. "What ever happened to Anastasia? Is she still acting?" Tom asks. "And I think I read it, but I forget. What happened to her brother?" he adds.

Mrs. Smith shakes her head wistfully. "She died some years back, I think, and her body was buried next to the others in the old cemetery behind the church. I went to the service, of course. It's sad to think that there'll be no more of the Harcourts now. We had such good times together." She pauses to recall. "Well, John, her older brother, he was the one who committed suicide because he'd lost the family fortune. Jumped out a window. It was such a shock! And Bryant, he died in that freak accident where they claimed he was holding some sort of seance. Imagine! It'd be just like a City newspaper to put it in such a way."

Tom nods and says, "That's just horrid." He sighs. "I'd have loved to have given those letters back to Anastasia. I think she would have liked to have seen them again." Tom stands and stretches. "I think Agatha and Alice would love to know that's where the letters came from, Grandma." He smiles. "I think I'd like to go find them if I can. I hope you don't mind me leaving soon? I'll certainly try to come by more often."

"Of course, dear, you're always welcome here," Mrs. Smith says with a smile. She gets up to show him to the door, opening it to let in the fresh air, cool and redolent of the summery forest. As Tom stands, his gaze falls upon a small object on the mantelpiece, that he hadn't noticed before when he was sitting: a tiny bronze medal, threaded upon a ribbon of blue and green.

Tom smiles to his Grandmother. "Grandma, may I look at that medal just before going, please?" he asks.

"Hmm? Certainly, dear," Mrs. Smith says, a puzzled note in her voice.

Tom walks over to the mantelpiece. Carefully, he picks up the medal and examines it, turning it over slowly in his palm.

The medal is somewhat worn now, perhaps by handling, and shows what seems to be a two-pointed star, the northern and southern tips elongated, ten other tips so short as to be mere fringing about the center. A flower winds around this star, a violet.

"The medal of House February?" he inquires. "It's very pretty. Kind of like the one we found on Anastasia's bear. Different symbol, of course."

"Well, yes." Mrs. Smith's cheeks color faintly. "It was so sweet of them to find one for me too, and then to lay it at the feet of my toy soldiers so that I would find it. I eventually gave them away, but I kept that to remember Anastasia and Bryant by."

Tom gently sets it back on the mantelpiece. "I hope I'll have such memories of our game that I'll want to keep," Tom replies and heads back over to the door. "All I have is the beret my father gave me. I wear it in the game we play," he says and reaches out, hugging his grandmother gently and says, "Bye, Grandma, I'll stop by again soon. Promise."

Mrs. Smith smiles and hugs her favorite grandson. "Be careful, dear." She kisses Tom's cheek and then stands to let him go, holding the door open.

"Always," Tom replies. He heads outside, pausing to wave back to her, smiling. He watches her for a minute, then turns and heads out onto the road and starts walking back toward town. "Better go by Harcourts," he says, "Agatha's probably there." He then laughs and shakes his head and says, "Thomas of House November, grandson of Lady February. No wonder I'm so bizarre." He grins and breaks into a light jog, enjoying the day as he heads toward town.

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