Nils Vindhler, the Forrester’s Butler - The First Day

          Nils stood at the window overlooking the thick carpet of grass in the front yard.  From where he stood he had a long view of Mount Curve. He watched a Buick convertible approach the house, rolling up the hill known as the Devil’s Spine; Nils spotted it just as soon as the car began its ascent of the ridge.

This would be Johnny Holiday, he said to himself; the first and only appointment for his employer, Colonel Forrester, that day.

Nils watched as the young man came to a stop along the street in front of the house, pulling up against the curb, his car sounding to Nils like the engine needed oil.

He is early, Nils noted to himself approvingly.

            The young man put the car in neutral, allowing the engine to idle without getting out, as if he was not sure he would stay, or perhaps he was merely waiting to come to the door at the exact time of his appointment, Nils thought.

            Nils watched him behind the wheel smoking a cigarette.

            The Colonel had informed Nils that the young man was from the newspaper, and had given Nils instructions to prepare a room for the boy, along with several other things, which Nils took care of.

Nils had not been expecting a guest, and this bothered him. The Colonel normally kept him informed of his plans, and this was clearly something he had planned without his advice.

He instructed the staff regarding their guest, telling them to treat him in all ways as if he were a member of the family.

From the corner of his eye Nils observed the Colonel’s dogs: massive huskies—wolflike; he watched them watch the car. They are good boys, silent and steady as Nils had trained them to be.

He watched as the young man finished his cigarette and got out of his car, he studied his manners as he straightened his belt and tie, smoothed the front of his shirt with his hands, brushing the stray ash away before adjusting the tilt of his hat.

            His cloth was poor, but his manners told Nils that the boy cared about his appearance and had been brought up in a disciplined home. That also speaks well of him, Nils thought.

He walked with a steady gait as he came to the door, passing beyond Nils’ line of sight.

Nils listened while he knocked, three short taps, forceful enough so as to be heard, but not demanding, and he was polite with the maid who came to the door.

Nils listened while he waited in the hall, going to a vestibule where he could observe him further.

He watched as the young man examined the furnishings; he was self-composed even when he was alone. Placid and observant, Nils thought, considering for a moment if these were or were not the proper attributes for a journalist…concluding that they were.         

Nils was about to enter the hallway and greet the young man, when Celene, the Colonels younger daughter, entered from another doorway.

It was unexpected, and Celene was not herself; she had not been of sound mind for some months, staying out late, dancing and drinking with irreputable people, a trend of behavior which disturbed Nils, but there was little he could do about it.

The Colonel’s daughters were not his responsibility.

Nils patiently observed their encounter.

Once again, the young man was polite, while Celene was playful, intrusive and silly, in her spoiled-childish way. The young man played along with her games, seeming to enjoy himself, while at the same time attempting to keep his composure, and remain in control.

This speaks well of him too, Nils thought.

Just as Celene was taking her games a little farther than Nils liked, pretending to faint and fall into the young man’s arms, he entered the room and broke up the scene.   

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Colonel Albert “Guy” Forrester - The First Day

The Colonel listened to their footsteps as Nils escorted the young man away from the arbor in the garden and back to the mansion. He had not paid attention to their approach, but as he listened to their departure he detected a stiffness to Johnny Holiday’s gait, an unsteadiness that made the Colonel wonder if he was slightly drunk or merely hungover.

It also occurred to him that the boy was simply nervous.

He followed their progress with his ear while standing at his work bench, still as a statue.

The Colonel’s hearing was sensitive enough to discern the difference between their footsteps even as they made their way through the grass. He listened as Nils led Johnny across the drive, then following the walk around the side of the mansion, and he listened as Nils opened the external door to the guest suite for him, standing aside so Johnny could enter the rooms ahead of him.

He could hear the woosh of Nils’ sleeve and was able to visualized the expansive gesture that was customary to the old butler as he invited Johnny to step inside.

Johnny Holiday, the Colonel thought, an absurd name. It was a name that lacked gravitas. People would be inclined to take him lightly, he surmised, but that was Johnny’s problem, not the Colonel’s.

He would be curious to see how the boy overcame that difficulty in the days to come, if he was able to overcome it all. He wondered if Johnny was even aware of the impediment it represented for his advancement…it did not matter, the Colonel concluded as he listened to Nils enter the mansion after Johnny and shut the door behind them.

The Colonel turned to his work bench, and with a few concise movements he neatly cleared the detritus of leaves and stems and soil from its surface, he was as efficient as a waiter decrumbing a table.

As he cleaned his tools he allowed his mind to dwell further on Johnny Holiday. If he was correct about who Johnny actually was, he would have a new name, a name appropriate to his birthright…his anonymous and ignominious past would become a footnote to a greater story.

The Colonel returned everything to its place, except a pair of pruning shears, and he resumed tending to his flowers, occasionally stopping to examine the contents of the liquid boiling in the garden-cauldron and stir the aromatic brew with a long-handled wooden spoon.

This was meditative work and it pleased him to do it, even in the heat.

The Colonel was in his element, he had carefully cultivated this space here in the city, where he cared for the good things that come from the earth. He was surrounded by ancient trees, shrubs and flowers, all carefully cultivated for the energy they contained and the memories they stored, as well as their medicinal properties and alchemical powers.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of herbs with undertones of wafting that came wafting from the cauldron in steaming waves, adding to the day’s humidity.

The Colonel had enjoyed his conversation with Johnny Holiday, though he kept it to himself, and was not likely to admit it. He found the young man to be honest and insightful, and though nervous, as most men were in his presence, he had not wilted under pressure.

There is promise in him, the Colonel thought, as a stream of hot air-laced with cool-currents blew across his face, carrying the flinty scent of electricity with it from the approaching storm.

He turned his face to the dark clouds gathering in the western sky and considered the day ahead. It would soon be raining; he would be driving into the storm on his way to the Chalet at Lake Roland, in Kensington…and though there was promise in the young man, there was much to be discerned in the days ahead; there was much to do and only seven days until the new moon.

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