From Across the Ancient Waters Read Online Free

something sinister. Had she been a prankster, mean-spirited, or a giggly simpleton, she would scarcely have been given a second thought. That she spoke little, and was
better
than other children, made her an object of mistrustful and dark speculation.
    Her light hair, shooting out from her head in the disarray occasioned by being raised by a man not a woman, surrounded features pale but full of health. Out of their midst gazed wide, knowing, trusting eyes of deepest blue green. Their shades were as changeable as the sea itself. At one glance, they seemed to reflect the blue of heaven, at another the emerald green of several inland lochs at the height of spring’s snowmelt.
    Young Gwyneth’s ageless face was one any thoughtful grown-up would pause over with mingled admiration and question. In truth, who could not admire the graceful loveliness of childhood, a beauty still dormant but waiting to blossom? In the midst of their awe, however, rose the riddle of those empyreal eyes. They surely possessed some secret that might be worth knowing but which would not be easily discovered. The face bore a complexity of expression only a true Celt could recognize. And then only one who knew the old mystery of the ancient race.
    That her dead mother was no native to Gwynedd and, said some without a wisp of evidence to back up the claim, was more than a little disreputable herself strengthened the conviction that the odd child, if she was not one already, was well on her way to becoming a witch. The child’s tongue was cursed. That alone was a sign that must be heeded. No good would result when she came of age.
    Hopefully before then she would disappear from among them.
    Codnor Barrie himself came from a decent Welsh family. He was mostly respected among his fellow workers. He had no complaint against him other than falling in love with an Irish lass who had borne him a witch-child and then promptly died for her trouble. The poor widower was left alone with his baby. The good little man may have named his daughter for the Snowdonian region of Gwynedd. But that could not prevent her being what she was.
    Once her peculiarities became evident, Barrie was offered no more help by the women in the village such as they would have given any other poor father with a daughter to look after. Those who had nursed and bathed her in infancy now feared for the day the curse of the growing girl would come upon them. They wanted nothing to do with her. The Christianity so deeply embedded in their Celtic blood was heavily laced with superstitious remnants of the paganism out of which it had grown. They trembled at the sight of her floral bouquets as maledictive charms against the doors of the village from the nether regions.
    The mother’s untimely death, though rarely spoken of, was never forgotten. What could it be but a verdict from on high? It was only a matter of time before similar judgment was rendered upon the daughter. Doubtless some ill-fated misfortune would eventually fall upon Barrie himself for allowing the evil to invade Snowdonia from across the Irish Sea.

F OUR
    Secrets of the Sea
    G wyneth ran to the water’s edge and skipped merrily along it for some distance, then slowed. She realized that the tide on this afternoon lay uncommonly low. The flat, wet expanse of sand was much wider than usual. She gazed all about then returned in the direction from which she had come. She passed the end of the path from above then continued northward where a rocky shoreline gradually encroached on the expanse of sand until replacing it altogether. A stormy few weeks had prevented her coming here for some time. With the tide so low, she could again explore the crags and boulders and caves at the water’s edge.
    Two or three minutes later she was scrambling about the base of the rocky headland, scanning the small pools left by the tide for tiny sea creatures and plants. Living things of all kinds and species gladdened Gwyneth’s heart. Hers was a