Overcomer - The Journey by Judy Colella (top 10 non fiction books of all time txt) 📕

When flames were dancing in the large fieldstone hearth and everyone had found a place to settle, Katie repeated her question about Croghan’s ability to eat.

“When I’m in actual time, a specific place and time on earth, I’m every bit as normal and human as you, Katie,” he told her with a smile.

“So when you’re at the Hub, you’re not human and you don’t have to eat?”

“Well, I’m… human, but no, I don’t eat because time doesn’t move there.”

“Wow, that’s like, incredibly bizarre. And where is this Hub? You make it sound like it isn’t anywhere on earth.”

He sat back and crossed his legs, clasping his upper knee with folded hands. “It is and it isn’t, and I’m not trying to be enigmatic here. As I explained to the Kellys before you got here, the Doors connect it to this world, but the Hub itself exists outside of Time, and therefore isn’t part of the physical plane.”

“And that’s why angels can show up when you call them?” Celeste asked. “Because seriously, I kind of doubt I could play a note, sing out an angel’s name, and have her zap into my living room.”

Mr. Croghan laughed. “Probably not.”

“Yeah, but wait.” Katie frowned, sitting forward. “Doesn’t the Bible say something about ‘entertaining angels unawares?’ And every time one of those guys pops up, it looks like a person, right? So why couldn’t an angel like Celesta drop in for a visit?"

“You have a unique way of putting things, Katie.”

“Maybe, but I think my question is valid.”

“All right, it won’t happen, and I’ll tell you why. Angels are spirit beings, while we are flesh and blood. Those who appear on earth are given the outward form of humans so people don’t have heart attacks, and don’t go blind. You see, they are energy – light – and would be blinding in their natural state to you or I… even at the Hub, they must take on a human-like form for my benefit. Celesta, for instance, is gorgeous – more glorious that any mortal – but even she contains her light in a shape that we can recognize. She’s also not one of the angels who would be sent here unless something specific was needed. Understand?”

“Well, yeah. I read sci-fi stuff, so what you’re saying isn’t all that hard to imagine.” Katie shrugged.

Donal got up and gave the logs a jab with the poker. Amid orange sparks, the beautiful, mellow light from the flames flared for a moment, then settled into a steady, comfortable crackling.

Between a satisfying lunch and the peaceful warmth of the fire, Eileen began to relax. “Can you explains a little more about those Servant Helpers? And why are they called that?” Sitting beside her daughter, she placed one arm around the girl’s slender shoulders.

“It would be my pleasure.” The Keeper sat forward once more, his green eyes gleaming in the firelight. “First, the name is literal. We are the servants of the Great Magistrate, those of us chosen to serve at the Hub and elsewhere, both human and angel, and these people are our helpers. Which brings us to the part that involves Cian. Celesta told me where to find him, so I went through the Door into the boy’s time.”

“I’m not clear on all this Door and Portal stuff,” Eileen was beginning to understand her husband’s remark about an impending headache.

Forearms on his thighs, pursing his lips, Croghan stared into the fire. “There are twelve of these Doors on every continent on earth, yet only twelve altogether, which I doubt I could possibly explain right now. But,” he added, looking back at Eileen, “because of the way Time is divided into such small increments, each Door can be opened into a Portal, representing just one of an almost infinite number of moments along the timeline. Does that help?”

Eileen shrugged. It had, but like so much else this man was telling them, it also brought up new questions. “For now.”

“Good.” Croghan sat straighter. “So I entered a year when Cian was about eight, and began to make inquiries about his family. I had my other Harp, the one I take on journeys – the one in that box next to your chair, Mr. Kelly.”

“What? This is – was – is? Is yours?”

“No longer. It belongs to Celeste now. Had you looked a bit more deeply into its history, you would have discovered that its origins were all but unknown, its age extreme. I will tell you later how it came to be available to you.

“Well, I took on my old profession of bard and began traveling about, picking up tidbits of information here and there to make my songs and news current. Eventually I reached Donegal Bay, known as Tír Conaill back then, which I may have mentioned. Once in the area, I sought out one of our Servant Helpers who lived in what is present-day Letterkenny. I told him what was going on, and arranged to meet him later that night to let him know whether or not I’d found the boy Celesta had sent me to seek.

“Finding the lad’s home was easy enough, since there were few cottages about back then. When I knocked on the door, a stunning young woman opened it. She was holding a large spoon, her apron showing evidence of extensive food preparation. I introduced myself only as Croghan the Bard and asked if I might use her cottage as the gathering place to play for the village that evening.”

Cian, who was across from Eileen, gave a start. “You remember what my mother looked like?”

“I do, but this is something you and I will discuss later in private.”

“Why in private?”

“When I tell you, you’ll understand. For now, though, I must continue.”

Cian nodded, but Eileen thought he looked upset. Interesting… but Mr. Croghan had resumed his tale so she returned her attention to his narrative.

“She told me her name was Fianna, and that she’d have to ask her husband when he came back. In the meantime, she offered to let me in, asking if I was thirsty. As she was speaking, a little boy had come from behind her, and she put her hand on his head, tousling his dark hair. He looked up at me with eyes the color of granite at the bottom of a crystal pool and a face that rivaled those of the angels. The woman saw my reaction and smiled. ‘He is beautiful, is he not?’ she said, and I had to agree. I leaned down and asked him if he liked music and a good tale. He said he did, indeed, and looked sideways up at his mother, grinning.

“I asked him his name, and he told me it was Cian, son of Dara. I liked his forthrightness – cringing, shy children annoy me, I’m afraid.”

“You must not have ever had children, then,” Donal said.

“Alas, you’re correct, sir.” He paused, looking down for a moment, then got to his feet and went to stand by the fireplace. “I’m sorry if this is causing you pain, Cian, but it must be told. By the way, MacDara was not his surname as you use them today, but a respectful family identifier.

“So, now. The cottage was small but well kept, and unlike other cottages built in that era, this one had an inside hearth. Fianna told me her husband had seen them in Wales at some point before she married him, and wanted to make the cottage a special place for her.”

“Why would a hearth make it special?” Eileen asked.

“Because the alternative was a fire pit in the middle of the floor and a hole in the roof overhead. I’m sure you can appreciate how much cleaner it was with a hearth, Mrs. Kelly.”

She nodded.

“Cian’s father, as he said when this first started, was a weaver. He was also a sheep farmer and a swordsman, a skill his mother had as well.”

“My mother used… wait.” Cian closed his eyes, a crease appearing between his brows, but then he smiled. “I remember now. She was first to show me how to hold one, but it was made of wood… ash… huh.”

“That’s right,” Croghan said. “Cian, can you remember anything else about that day or about your parents?”

“I’m not sure.” He stared off for a few moments, but then blinked and stared up at Croghan. “My father didn’t own a horse or a wagon. He – he had to carry on his back the clothes he wove when he walked to the next village to sell them. When he returned, he would have things we needed that we couldn’t produce ourselves.” He nodded. “I do remember that. And that I helped him shear the sheep so my mother could spin the wool into threads for his weaving.” He put a hand to his head, rubbing one temple, and took a deep breath. “Wow. I can’t believe I’d forgotten all that.”

“With everything that’s happened to you since then, I’m not surprised, only glad it’s coming back.” Croghan turned to Eileen. “There’s not that much left to tell of this part, but I was wondering, dear lady, if I could trouble you for some water.”

She removed her arm from Celeste’s shoulders and got up. “I’m sorry. I should have thought of that.” All that talking, she realized, would make anyone thirsty, and she berated herself for being a poor hostess. “Be right back.”

As she filled a pitcher with fresh water, she could hear Cian ask Mr. Croghan something about his father.

“He was a strong-looking man,” Croghan said, his rich voice carrying farther than Cian’s despite being in the other room. “A lean, muscular fellow he was, with a face nearly as handsome as yours, boy. You know, seeing him and Fianna side by side, I could see why you turned out to be such a beautiful child. You seem to have gotten the best characteristics of both, with a little something extra from some ancestor – grey eyes, rather than blue like theirs.”

Eileen took a lemon from the refrigerator and cut it into wafer-thin slices, which she added to the water after putting in a handful of ice cubes. No one had said anything after Mr. Croghan’s description of Cian’s parents, so she hurried, guessing everyone would start getting impatient.

“Okay… tray… glasses. Good.” She came back into the family room where Donal jumped up and took the heavy tray from her, setting it on the coffee table.

After everyone had helped themselves, Croghan thanked Eileen with a short, formal bow, and returned to his story. “Like you, Mrs. Kelly, Fianna was most hospitable, and made us all a wonderful meal; shortly afterward, people began to gather at the door. I’d spread word of my presence as I’d walked through the village and surrounding areas, and since a traveling bard was their main source of news and entertainment, well, you can imagine how crowded things got! Those who couldn’t fit inside found places to sit right outside the open door, on the hillside beside the west wall of the cottage, and in the yard surrounding it within its enclosure.

“When I was done and everyone had gone home, I waited until the family was asleep and stepped outside to meet with the Servant Helper who would accompany us through the Door – he would be part of this, too, you see.”

Eileen was confused. “Who – the Servant Helper?”

“Exactly.”

“But what about his parents? Did they just let you take him away?” Celeste snuggled closer to Eileen. “You were the traveling media guy, but they didn’t really know you.”

“It seems you, too, have a way with words. And you’re right, but I was coming to that.”

Celeste stared for a moment. “Oh. Sorry.”

“No problem. Now about this Servant Helper – he was waiting at the end of the path, leaning against the gate and chewing on his long grey beard – I got the distinct impression he’d been waiting a long time. His name was Niall.”

The way he’d