I - Thyme to Search

"It's no use. I'll always know!" the child yelled as she stood,
pushing the chair back with her calves. She ran for the back screen
door, down the steps and out of sight among the trees bordering her
yard before her mother could reach the living room.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled quietly as she passed Tera on her own path to
the back door. "She's worked so hard, and still . . . "

"I'm sure she sees my frustration as well," the young woman sighed, on
her feet and eyes fixed on the same door. She was tall, with hair so
blonde it was almost a cloud of white curls clouding her face. "I
struggled, but, nothing like Thyme has. Maybe walling off won't work
for her after all."

"Maybe nothing will." Tears cut off the mother's voice, but it was the
waves of pity and pain that assaulted Tera. A longing to help, to do
something, anything for her child wove around every other emotion she
experienced. Sharon turned from the door, but could not force her gaze
from the floor. "I knew the eclipse wasn't setting right. I should have
refused. If we hadn't been out there, she'd still be able to control
it."

Tera felt her body change, a cat's relaxation into a pounce, she
loosened but tensed. Her gray eyes shone as her mind spun and her mouth
struggled to keep up.

"You mean it wasn't . . . she could . . . it didn't . . .
before?"

"Oh, her gift has been there her whole life, as far as we could tell,
even as a baby," Sharon assured the young lady. "Even the nurses felt
strange."

"But it wasn't constant, uncontrollable?"

"Well, no - at least not that she gave evidence of. She didn't mention
it at all until after the elliptical festival. By noon the following
day she collapsed, and it's been a plague ever since. He might have
needed it, but she certainly didn't."

Tera was off the threadbare sofa and pacing in front of it. "So there
is a reference," she said quietly before shifting her attention back to
Sharon. "That's been our stalling point. Thyme!" she added,
startled.

Out of breath, she stood on the steps, holding the door open like any
other child. There were pieces of green tangled in the red knots of
hair, and strands of liquid gold brushed back from her face.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you. It's not your fault," she
said between gulps of air.

"I'm sorry for being so frustrated. But I have an idea. Would you be
willing to try again?"

"What's different now than a few minutes ago?" Suspicion floated up
over the piercing green eyes, more than a child of six should
carry.

"It's worth a try, sweetheart," her mother tried to help. "Come back in
and we'll talk about it."

Still wary, Thyme took her place in the brown corduroy chair again
while her mother poured a glass of lemonade for her. Tera eased onto
the edge of the couch, eager and edgy.

"Can you remember what it was like before the eclipse?"

"Not any better. He was still here."

"I mean, when you had to look to see someone. I realize it's probably
cloudy, but please try."

"Why?"

Tera had never known anyone who challenged people so plainly, so
constantly, especially a small girl. It wasn't like she had to test
people, already knowing what she did about everyone she contacted. Tera
swallowed the "do you want my help or not" that rose to her lips and
tried again.

"Because I think it will help you separate. I learned to separate my
feelings from everyone else's before I could wall them off. You need to
do something like that."

"I told you," Thyme argued, "that I don't see feelings. And I don't
hear thoughts either. There's nothing to separate."

"But there is, " Tera argued back. "You see who a person really is,
what most would call their soul, right?"

"I guess."

"So begin working to tell them apart from your own."

"My own what?" Thyme asked, honestly puzzled.

"Your soul, Thyme. Who you are."

She sat for what seemed the longest time, but was probably only about
ten minutes in silence, never moving. Confused, then frustrated, and
finally angry, the emotions swamped Tera more strongly than she had
ever experienced, and she was already shielded.

"That's a stupid thing to ask. It's a stupid thing to try! Stupid!"
Again, she bolted from the room, only this time to her bedroom, the
door slamming behind her.

"I'm sorry," her mother whispered yet again.

"So am I," Tera never knew if she had actually said the words, or just
felt them.