His Shrouded Soul
an excerpt

“Mr. Rogersin, you are going to die,” he began abruptly. Dr. Kulp looked him firmly in the eye as he said this. His old, worn visage had no bursts of emotion or feeling. He stated this terrible diagnosis as though he were reading from a medical dictionary.

There was a pause. Dirk asked the only question that came immediately to mind. “When?”

“As to that,” the doctor said, taking his glasses off and pocketing them, “I cannot say.”

* * *

With a simple glance to his left, he saw her. The paddle boat he sat in was of a rough, old wood construction. It had lost the heavy varnish and paint coating that had once made it the standard of the Henders family in nautical transportation. With the house, Tiber had inherited this boat. It usually lay in quiet anchor on the slim, street end pier just down from the house. Tiber was too large to go out in it, but Kirk could. On weekends like this, he would make the most of it.

The water was clear and reflective. From up close, Kirk could see far into the depths; at a distance, he could see the sky telescopically. In a few hours he would paddle the length of the lake and back. His arms were growing stronger each time, but often he would go too long between his outings. He was frequent enough for his arms to remember the ache earlier in the trek and remind him of the pain he would have for the next few days.

Today, he enjoyed the smoothness of the lake. There was no wind this day and his strokes were not hindered by any abnormal waves. It was arm against mirror-surface. In all his time, he had not found a day of this beauty. His eyes hungrily ate at the sights about him. Then, her boat appeared. She had three servants paddling and swiftly passed him by.

Her hair was done up in a bun and set under a wide, saggy-brimmed straw bonnet. Her dress was of a soft, Easter green and it fluttered in the rare breeze that managed to find them on the lake. Sarah’s eyes were laughing as she took in the lakeshore to her left and the various birds that had congregated along the water’s edge. Kirk could see nothing particularly funny about the way the birds were arranged or what they were doing.

He felt himself, naturally, pressing harder, pushing himself beyond what he had intended. With three rowers to contend with, each under specific orders not to slow down, Kirk only slowed the speed of their distancing. It was hardly an even match, but he could not help his acceleration. As such, her boat was passing back across his almost two-thirds the distance across the lake instead of half.

Kirk could not see her as well from this direction – for easier rowing, he had set his back to the bow and his feet were planted upon a wooden plank crossing the boat. His muscles had become considerably sorer from the exertion. After they had passed long out of the distance he could clearly see her from, he had stopped glancing around. It was like a game children play, knowing that something was coming and guessing it would be there at any second while they waited. He almost saw her boat cut by his several times, at varying distances to starboard or port, but he dared not look back to see how close they were to returning.

As they drew even, she caught his eyes. He had hardly begun to realize her ship had returned – the illusions past had jaded his eyes. Those beautiful green eyes pierced his own. Her laughing face had grown strangely serious and adult – as though something he had not yet rowed into awaited him with effective sobriety. The rowers sat in front of her. She was facing the bow as they the stern. It served a dual purpose; they rowed better and could watch her better from that position.

The rowers ignored Kirk, just as they had on the way out, and kept to their tasks. Sarah sat in the middle of their much larger boat. It cut the water, leaving a slight wave in its wake. Kirk could not feel the slight bumps of it. The natural sensation of the rocking boat masked that aspect. Kirk did not say anything, he had nothing on his mind but for the strain of his exercise and her beauty – neither of which would have made for good conversation in passing.

Sudden movement rocked the other boat. The rowers halted their oars and held the side to steady the motion. They did not have time to realize that what had upset them was the upheaval caused by Sarah leaping between the two boats. She made it, but her long skirt was soaked as it trailed her into the boat. Kirk was so astonished he couldn’t do anything but continue to paddle as he had done.

They had brought themselves a few lengths away from the other boat when Kirk realized fully what had happened. Sarah sat, her face glowing with a manic energy, and her increased beauty dazzled him. She seemed, so far, to have barely given notice to him. What had her was the escape. The action – the state of having defied her caregivers, and acted in a risky and unusual way – was suddenly everything. Kirk was not seeing any of this. What he saw was a young woman who had risked a bad fall to leap into his boat.

Neither spoke, but held to their own parts as the boat rolled onward. Kirk could see the other boat turn and frantically row in their direction. He had a sudden urge to out-run them, as impossible as that might be. Sarah saw the direction of his eyes and looked about. Just as Kirk began to row harder, she turned back to him, seeing him directly and looking at him eye to eye.

“Row faster!” she urged, her voice unearthly in its enthusiasm and enjoyment. He rowed faster. “On, on!” she called, and he continued pushing the distance. His arms were taut and the fire within them – the ache of straining muscles – competed with the fire from his heart. It was a race with his own sense of affection. “Beat them to shore!” she cried, happily.

The race was mismatched. Kirk may have had the advantage of surprise and a head-start in the direction they all moved, but the other boat had a superior set of rowers – trained and more numerous. He, also, had taken on another passenger to weigh down his efforts. The oars felt like sticks rolling through large quantities of mud, but he pressed on.

She grasped the railing, as though expecting a supernal leap forward that could jostle her from her seat. Her face and whole being showed a joy and excitement that would have terrified Kirk normally. He felt transference of exhilaration, and strove to make that into more rowing power. There was lightning on a clear day, radiant energy given physical form.

Yet, the other boat gained. It was as a slap to Kirk’s feelings and to the spirit of an individual’s supreme moment of accomplishment. He had crossed an eighth of the lake in a time that would have made most local sailors look up, yet, he was failing to escape. They would reach him before he found the lakefront, and then …what?

He fought, partially for her own enjoyment, whatever escape she meant it to be, but for his own free moment. He wanted to enjoy and cherish every moment that he had with her in this boat still. It may not last long at all, but for that brief time, they had been a pair – a pair in some misunderstandable venture – and that would make each instant a glory for him. It was a thing he had never known.

In all his time, Kirk had known companionship, hope, fear, anger, sadness, joy, and the various other emotions people are wont to know. This new feeling was foreign to him. It was some strange blending of things. People often refer to it as the budding of love – but Kirk was unsure if that could be it. He did not recognize all the signs, for his youth and naiveté, but he could see that it was a special thing, indeed.

The bow of the pursuing boat was nearly to his stern. Sarah turned and kicked at it gleefully, aggravating her rowers and upsetting both boats with a series of small rocks. Kirk just smiled and kept at the rowing. The pursuit slowed some as the rowers took turns stopping to turn and urge them to stop. “Ms. Sarah, please stop the boat.” “You there! (to Kirk) Stop and bring back Ms. Sarah.” “Ms. Sarah, your mother will not like this.”

“No,” she said (turning to Kirk with eyes shining brightly), “Don’t stop! Make it a race to the shore!”

At her urging, Kirk continued rowing. His strength was nearly gone, but he persisted. He knew the moment he stopped he would fall over his oars in collapse. It was all he could do to press on this last bit. The shore was still a hundred feet out and the closest rower was reaching out to restrain their bow. Sarah struck out at him, but he would not release his grip. Hands of iron from years of rowing could not be dislodged by the inexperienced and tender hands of such a youth.

Sarah, finding capture so sudden, decided to make the most of her escape. Running the length of Kirk’s boat in a stumbling, upsetting manner, she leapt over the stern into the water and swam for it. Using the last couple of yards to her advantage, she proved herself an abler swimmer than Kirk had seen before. The shorter dress of this outing was not in her way as much as the previous and, with a mind bent on direction, she swam out toward the shore.

Within a few yards, the water depth disappeared and she was running in the shallow water. Leaping playfully forward, she dashed towards the shore at a faster rate than the boats, which still pulled slowly closer to the shallow waters. Kirk kept mechanically rowing; his body was soon to collapse, but the last order rung in his ears. He took it with the seriousness of a child obeying a joking adult.

In the shallows, the trio of rowers pulled in their oars and ran ashore, chasing the flighty young woman. Kirk kept rowing until he was unable to continue, stuck up against the ground, he fell forward and lay unconscious in his boat at the water’s edge. If he had known the time he had made on this run, he would have been overjoyed, but any conception of time was beyond him and he slept.