Of Waves and War

17: how i longed for you

Penelope

"Don't mind them," I say, putting down an axe as I escort Cleia into the kitchen.

"My word, those awful young men," she shudders.

"They're trying. The authorities can't do anything, and Telemachus is quite insistent he prove his manhood and drive them away himself. He misses his father so it's good for him to occupy his time," I say, locking the door and going to get tea things.

"What do they think they're doing?" she asks, horrified still.

"Having a sit in, till I agree to marry one of them."

"And what does Telemachus think he's doing about that?"

"Well, when shouting at them didn't work, he's resorted to attempting to annoy them into leaving. It's very effective in upsetting them, except last I overheard now they just want to kill him," I say, pouring us both tea.

"How did that boy think he was going to annoy them into leaving?"

"Mostly mournful piano music. But he's escalated. When he came home with a set of cymbals my father in law moved out to the hunting cabin, said to tell him when the coast is clear. It's a good activity for Telemachus and I'd sooner he be exercising his inbred desire to aggravate people who aren't as smart as him, here, at home, than off someplace else where I can't keep any eye on things," I say, pouring us tea.

"Where is Telemachus now?"

"He's staying with a friend, Nestor's youngest boy, Eche, they're the same age and good friends. I think they're sweet on each other honestly. I'm glad he's getting out of the house for a bit," I say. I sent word so that he'd be aware that now the suitors want to kill him. That's a problem, but not one we're not equipped to handle. I told him to go stay with his grandfather for the present. "But what brings you here?"

"I was sent for," she frowns.

"Not by me," I say, "Show me the paper."

"I've not brought it—-I didn't think—,"

"Never mind," I say, smiling a bit. Not the first bit of godly intervention this family has seen. "I'm glad you've come, especially if I'm right."

"You're too much like your husband," she sighs.

"Or he's too much like me," I say, smiling a little.

"Will you tell me what you mean?" she asks.

"In time, if I'm wrong then it means nothing and I'm glad to have an old friend here. If not, all will become apparent," I say, "And saying things out loud sometimes makes them not happen. Some wishes are too dear to put into words."

"And I thought that boy would never find a girl that could keep up with him," she sighs, shaking her head.

"Imagine how my family felt, I was always the quiet one," I say.

"I can't imagine you quiet, my lady."

"I didn't have someone to speak my mind to," I say.

"I can't imagine he's dead," she says, quietly, tears in her faded eyes. She was Eulises' nanny and Telemachus' a bit. Mostly because she doted on him as one of her own. She never had any children of her own and it was her chief job to mind Eulises as a boy. Now she lives on our estate of course, and I try not to trouble her in her old age for any real duties. When Telemachus was little and Eulises just gone though she came over quite often to help me mind him, even though I did have other servants. Both of them love her obviously and can generally behave more like polite human beings in her presence.