The Whirring

By Will J. Donnel

Unravel the profound mysteries of existence, where the heartbeat of love and the hum of the unknown intertwine.

In the vast expanse of our universe, where the lines of reality blur and intermingle with fantasy, The Whirring emerges as an extraordinary tale that beckons readers with its magnetic pull. It's not just

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: May 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9798822952959

Will J. Donnel

Will J. Donnel masterfully weaves the tapestry of American fiction with the threads of everyday wonders. A Californian by birth and an IT professional by trade, Will resides in Northern California, enjoying the harmonies of family life. Beyond The Whirring, his debut, he envisions a literary journey as expansive as his interests - from thrilling rides on his Harley Davidson to tranquil walks with Blue, his faithful dog.

Book preview

Copyright © 2024 by Will J. Donnel

All rights reserved

No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted in any form by any means–electronic, mechanical, photocopy,

recording, or other–except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without

prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 979-8-8229-3187-9

Table of Contents

The Whirring Prologue

Part One

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

Part Two

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

Part Three

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

Acknowledgments

For Mom:

Thank you for the priceless gifts you gave, but most of all for the unconditional love and support you so selflessly and abundantly bestowed upon us.

May we all one day fly together in formation.

Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings

where we had shoulders round as raven's claws.

~Jim Morrison~

The Whirring

Prologue

I

feel warmth flushing through my body, not from the quilts made with love by the hands of family that cover me, but from the grace of God and Jesus.

I see the foggy shimmer of sunlight beaming through the window panes of the slightly open french doors as the white sheer curtains ripple with the oscillation of the fan and the warm breeze flowing through.

The garden is full of chimes singing as the leaves from the old oak trees dance in harmony with them. It's so peaceful and calming, watching the hummingbirds take turns kissing the nectar from the feeder. I feel the hand of my husband in mine as I slowly roll my eyes to my right to meet his. He's looking right into me with those big, golden-brown, innocent, kind, and lost eyes. I am exactly where I am supposed to be in this moment.

But I feel something tugging at my heart. Oh yes, I remember now! I have been getting so lost in my thoughts as of late. Let me continue…I was telling a story of great importance—

There has been a tale known by my family for generations, one that will live on for generations to come. A story of a kinship so strong that many were envious. A story of strength, courage, and love that first was told in Ireland and continued across the Atlantic Ocean. It began ages ago, when a young woman whose husband was killed in the streets of Belfast sailed alone with her eight small children to America on a ship called the Rob Roy. She was courageous, as were the kinsfolk before her and the ones that would follow. My story is of the ones who followed but held the powers of the generations before, passed down from Irish men and women long, long ago. It is up to you to decide if what I tell is true or make-believe. It is for you to ponder whether such powers can live in the hearts of children. I know the answer, because I am an old woman and think myself wise, and because I have witnessed the things I will tell, but you of course may think me feeble minded, or you may believe that I am just a typical grandmother who dotes on her grandchildren.

I will begin my story with the introduction of five children, my grandchildren, two from my youngest son and three from my daughter. Both sets of children were raised in very different environments but were very close just the same. The first two—a boy Coleton, who was twelve, and his sister, Kayla, eight years old—lived with different mothers and only saw each other on weekends, which they spent with their father, but shared a great love for one another. The other three—two girls, Alina, also twelve; Emalee, seven; and a brother, Donnie, nine years old—lived with my daughter and their father and were together all the time.

Coleton was actually the oldest of the cousins, but just by two months. From the beginning, he had been the most outgoing, most adventurous of the brood. He was very smart but not always wise. Towheaded, with eyes of the bluest blue, he was a big lad, much bigger than most boys at twelve, and very foolhardy at times. His Irish blood seeped through in every detail of his appearance. Although his sister, Kayla, held the same amount of Irish blood, she had been born with the dark features of her mother: brown, almond-shaped eyes and a warm glow to her complexion. It would be pondered whether her quick temper was inherited from her mother or if it indeed was from her Irish side. She was a very loving child but at times would make one pay dearly for just an unsolicited hug. I knew the child was filled with love, but it lay behind a barrier that would take time and gentleness to bring out. The one person she freely gave her affection to was her brother, and at times, like any brother of that age, he was stern with her but was also very protective of her.

Alina, the next oldest, unlike Coleton, was small for her age, a fact she greatly resented. She was agile, quick, and a real natural beauty. To look at her, one would think she was fragile and dainty, but when needed, she could whip any boy she had ever met. I really don’t believe she saw the beauty in herself, only the tininess and the freckles that graced her porcelain skin. I had told her that the freckles were only a reminder of where angels had placed kisses upon her, but I believe she would rather have been without them. Her eyes, unlike most of her cousins’, were not just blue but also held a tint of green at times, and her hair was naturally streaked with gold but often dyed to match her fancy. She had been blessed to see within the hearts of others and to find their goodness. She also held powers over the animals like her mother. Animals of all kinds, both wild and domestic, would become extremely docile and calm when in her presence, as if they knew her goodness and she theirs.

Donnie, her brother, had the look of a lad who had roamed the moors in times past. He had an unruly mop of brown hair that hung in ringlets past his collar, and he was very polite, always showing regard to others. He came across as being shy at times, when in truth, he was a thinker. When he did talk, which was usually only around family, the words would pour forth in excitement; he barely drew breaths between sentences. Thick, dark lashes framed the darker blue of his eyes, which held many captive and created an air of mystery about him.

Emalee, the youngest child of the brood, also had eyes of blue that sparkled. Her hair was thick and hung in golden curls to her waist. Her skin, the fairest of fair, cast an angelic look to her tiny round face. She gave her hugs and kisses freely, especially if chocolate or ice cream had passed her lips. She and her older sister, Alina, loved dresses and things that sparkled and glittered, as did Kayla. I believe they inherited this from their great-grandmother, for my family always teased she was part Gypsy. Yet Alina most times would be found in jeans, out playing any boy that dared to challenge her in sports. Seldom did she lose, despite her size.

Part One

1

Washington State, 2006

T

heir grandfather and I, the Davenports, were vagabonds of a sort for we had no permanent home and had traveled from place to place since our retirement. It was on one such journey that I first realized the powers of my grandchildren. It all started when the old man and I were taking Alina and her brother and sister to the state of Washington to visit their uncle, my oldest son, Holden Davenport, who I feared would be a lifelong bachelor. The children were crazy about him, and he about them. We had pulled our motor home off to the side of the road for a rest. Suddenly, Alina called to me.

Mema! she shouted excitedly. Come here. Hurry!

Rushing over, I saw her looking down beside the front wheel. What is it, girl? I said, trying to see over her newly red head of hair.

Oh, Mema. Her voice was filled with sorrow. It's a dragonfly, and the poor thing is dead.

I remember how choked her voice was with emotion, and I tried to comfort her.

Honey, lots of dragonflies and insects get harmed when one travels. I tried to reassure her. Why are you so upset?

Because I heard the fairy screaming, Mema!

I looked at her eyes as they filled with tears and knew the child was not making this up. Alina, what do you mean, the fairy was screaming? I asked her as she gently picked up the dragonfly.

I heard the fairy cry. Don’t you see? That's how I knew the dragonfly was there. She answered so seriously. Didn’t you tell us since we were babies that fairies were real? Didn’t you hear her?

Honestly, I had not, but I have heard the whirring of their wings since I was a child. I also saw things when my children were young. So many, many years ago that I had almost forgot, until that moment. While her grandfather, brother, and sister ate lunch, I asked the girl to walk with me. Side by side, we walked in the cool grass while she gently held the dragonfly cupped in her hands. We came to a large, beautiful pine and sat beneath its shady branches.

Alina, tell me of the things you have seen or heard, I said.

What do you mean? she asked, tilting her head to one side.

Tell me what you know of fairies, besides what I have told you.

Squirming around, being oh-so-careful to avoid dropping her treasure, she laid her head in my lap and looked thoughtfully into my eyes. Well, I think I have seen a fairy before, but I’m not really sure. They move pretty fast, you know, Mema. But I have heard their wings before and sometimes their tiny laughter. But this was the first time I ever heard one cry. It is such a sad sound. I don’t ever want to hear it again. Her blue eyes filled with tears once more.

Have you ever told your mother of these things?

Sometimes I do, but not all the time, she answered, looking thoughtfully down.

Why not? She had the gift also as a child, I told her, smiling.

Really? Her voice sounded surprised. You never told me that, Mema.

Well, you never asked me before. All my children had the gift, some more than others. Your mother had the gift with animals, much as you do.

Cole and me talk about it a lot. I used to tell my friends at school, but then they started teasing me, so now I just pretend like it was a joke or something.

I thought back to a time when I was young and recalled just such teasing; my children had endured the same. Perhaps that is why our senses became dulled and our hearts no longer felt the other realm as we once had, for I had denied my gift.

So Coleton has also seen or heard such things?

Oh yeah, more than me I think. Then laughing, she said, Well, maybe, you know how he exaggerates sometimes.

Ahh, yes. I laughed with her. That boy does have an imagination, but you must never doubt him when it comes to things we have talked about. Promise?

Yeah, I promise.

When I was younger there were times I was ashamed, or maybe afraid of our family's gift, and I know there were times my children were also. Do you know what happens to a gift when it is neglected? I asked her seriously, watching as she shook her head. It gets lost. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you, Ali girl?

Her blue eyes shone back at me with a maturity I had not expected. Yeah, I know what you mean. I don’t care that the others tease me; I just don’t tell them anymore, that's all.

Good girl, I said, standing and pulling her up beside me, hugging her close. Now let's get back before your grandfather comes looking for us. We’ll talk more of this tonight, but for now it's just our secret.

The next few hours passed slowly for me as I watched the sun pass from sight. The two younger children, Donnie and Emalee, laughed and played games, just joyous to be on an adventure with us. I glanced back at Alina, sitting quietly, staring down at the small jewelry box I had found to place her dragonfly in. I watched as she opened the lid and gently stroked the iridescent wings that still shimmered against the deep blue and green of its body. As if knowing somehow that I was watching, she raised her head and smiled. I believe she was as anxious to continue our conversation as I was. Winking at her, I smiled and turned back to the road, which was now eerily dark except where our headlights carved a narrow path in the gloom.

2

D

arkness had settled in when we reached the final campsite at the RV park, and the air held a chill to it, as it often does in Washington. While their grandfather set about settling us in, the children and I headed off to gather firewood. Each of them carried a flashlight, but there really was no need, for the full moon had defeated the veil of clouds and bathed the forest in a glorious glow. Emalee hung close to my side, gripping my hand tightly, while Donnie jabbered nonstop as he waved his light wildly. Alina walked but a few steps ahead, holding her light steady on the path with one hand while the other still gently held the box with her treasure.

Mema? Donnie asked, voice raised with excitement and a little fear. Are there bears in Washington?

I’m sure there are, I teased, but we don’t have to worry. You’re so loud; you’ve probably frightened them away!

Smiling, yet never slowing his one-sided conversation, he edged a little closer to me and Emalee. Without warning all three of us almost ran over Alina, who had stopped in the middle of the path and was looking up into the branches of a tall pine. Shhh, she whispered. Did you hear that?

Obediently we all quieted, and no one spoke for a moment; then within seconds Donnie said, Yup. Just as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Alina looked toward me to see if I had heard. I wasn’t sure what she and her brother had heard, or even if they had heard the same thing.

Ali! Emalee stomped, folding her little arms across her chest. Stop it—you’re scaring me. They’re scaring me, Mema.

Scaredy-cat, Donnie teased. I’m not scared—are you, Mema?

It was just at that instant that a huge pine cone flew from the darkness and landed within inches of my feet. I swear I had visions of a large bear leaping onto the trail. Emalee must have had the same feeling, for within seconds it was all I could do to hang on to her. The sound of Alina and Donnie laughing at us brought me back to my senses. We didn’t go any farther but gathered what firewood we could and headed back to the camp, me being brutally teased all the way.

I was getting worried, their grandfather said as he helped us pile our small bundles into the pit. Thought we were going to have to eat cold beans tonight.

Papa, you missed it, Donnie started in. You should have seen Mema's face. She sure is a scaredy-cat!

Yeah? I teased back, Who was asking about bears? I bet it was an old bear that threw that pine cone at us.

Nope, he answered, still smiling at me, It definitely wasn’t a bear, right, Ali?

I could tell by the way she smiled at me that we would have much to talk about tonight, but there was no way I could ever have imagined what an adventure it would take us on. Their grandfather made a huge fire, and we feasted on hot dogs, baked beans, and marshmallows. The campground echoed with the sounds of laughter as we filled our stomachs and warmed ourselves.

3

W

hile the fire burned low and the children quieted, I watched as they huddled near the old man. That is what I call their grandfather, but I do it with great affection. All the grandchildren love him dearly, and he them. It is really no wonder, though, as he is just an overgrown child himself. They are so gentle with him and very protective, for he injured himself some years ago, and sometimes when his bones ache, he finds it difficult to get around. I watched now as Donnie gently helped him from his chair and into the motor home. Emalee's eyes were growing heavy, too, and she crawled up into my lap, and within minutes she slept.

Don’t stay up too long, he hollered from the door, blowing a kiss to all.

Mema? Ali spoke as he closed the door. Now can we talk?

Donnie had finally grown quiet as he stirred the ashes with his stick. It was peaceful by the fire and interruptions would be few, so I nodded and she began. I listened intently, running my bony old fingers through her hair, loving every inch of her. There were times, I’m sure, when my caressing hesitated for an instant while I tried to understand what she was telling me. It was truly amazing, but I never doubted her for a minute. It was as if the stories that I had been told as a child, stories that had been passed down from times long, long ago, were once again alive. Things that I and my children had lived and now seemed were about to live again.

She told me of things that she and Coleton had experienced since they were very small and said that even Donnie had shared in some of them. I interrupted her only once, and that was to ask her what she had heard in the darkness earlier this evening. Without hesitation she told me it was about the dragonfly she carried. Yup, came Donnie's voice from the fire. The dragonfly.

So you did hear it too, I said. I wasn’t sure.

Didn’t you hear him, Mema? she asked. I thought sure you would.

I guess it's like that gift we talked about, Ali, I answered sadly, wishing I had heard what they had. I didn’t take care of it—guess it's gone now.

I don’t think so, Mema. He knew your name.

Stunned, I could not speak but let her continue. Ali, Donnie, and I were to return tomorrow, to the same place, but after the others were asleep. I must admit I was a little frightened. I couldn’t help but worry if maybe it were a trick by something evil, instead of something good. I prayed that my ability to hear and see the things my ancestors did would return to me so that I might know for sure.

Morning came with a heavy fog-like mist. The children wasted no time in pleading to go to the play area that was just across from our campsite. Swings, a slide, and a small wooden fort lay surrounded by the forest. Trails took off in every direction, but so thick were the trees and plants you could only see down them a few feet. It was as if the paths disappeared into the sea of green. Even our little dog was anxious to run and play; of course he always was.

Please, Mema, please! they all squealed as Buddy yapped, drawing from their excitement. He was as comical as they were, and I’m sure he had no idea he was a dog, but rather thought himself just another one of the kids. Ali had bought him for her grandfather after his old dog had died, picked him out from a litter of pure-white pups. He was the only one with one brown ear and a brown tail; she had even named him. I smiled, remembering the day she had gotten him for us, how he had jumped up on her and knocked her to the floor, smothering her with wet kisses as she laughed. Forgive me—I tend to lose my train of thought, and I know you are anxious to hear the rest of the story.

The children moaned only for a moment when I told them there would be no playing in the park today; we were going to spend the day sightseeing with their Uncle Holden. We dressed and combed our hair, with the exception of Donnie, I think; even though he told us he had, it just didn’t seem to make any difference. The old man had laughed at him and told him to come here, then tousling the thick curly mop with his hands, he said, winking at us, There, boy, now we’re ready.

Morning passed into afternoon as we walked around the fish market at Seattle's waterfront, rode to the top of the Space Needle, and let the children play for hours in the amusement park. Holden had brought along a young woman whom the children had bonded with instantly. Her laugh was infectious, and she seemed the only one who could keep up with them. After buying sandwiches and drinks, we went to the beautiful Alkai Beach for a picnic lunch. While the children chased the waves and the old man took pictures, I stared at my oldest son sitting next to me.

You seem happy, I said. The kids sure like Camilee.

Yeah, she's really great—just friends now, but she touches my heart. He picked up a rock and threw it in the sea. What's on your mind, Mom? he asked, smiling at me. He always seemed to know when I had something stirring.

Remember when you children were young? I hesitated. I mean, do you remember any of the strange things that happened?

He didn’t answer for a moment, gazing at me intently. Then looking toward his nieces and nephew, he smiled. They’ve got it, don’t they? He paused for a moment. What happened? he asked excitedly, glancing back at me with a grin. Boy, I miss those days. What a kick we had as kids.

I smiled sadly, for I knew what he meant not to have that anymore—at least I thought I did. I told him what had happened the previous day and about the incident in the darkness the night before, and that I was a little fearful because I didn’t want to bring the children into harm's way.

You’ve sure turned into a fretter, Mom. Just do what you always told us: trust in your heart. You used to love an adventure; at least you said you did. What's changed? he asked, trying to comfort me.

I don’t know, maybe just old age. Tell me, Holden, do you still have any of the powers you had as a child?

He thought carefully for a minute, running his hands through the warm sand. I’m sure I do—just haven’t had the need or much desire to use them, he said with a gleam in his eye.

I