Previously:

Cordelia believes she knows how Madeline's dowsing teacher is connected to the place they are staying for the Harp Therapy course.
"She took a deep breath, put her head down and raised it with the answer. The 'right on the nose' answer. I was amazed, but not really. I don't think I would have guessed what Bob had told our group in all of this world. But she got it."


*************

Cordelia didn't yet realize she's nailed the answer. Hopefully, my next statement would let her know. "It was not coincidental that you had to come to this country, this set of cottages, this miniature museum of mourning."

I couldn't wait to tell Bob what we'd discovered. As many say, and I believe it, 'there's no such things as coincidences'.

"You were right in your sensing. Bob, who also was an inner dowser, told us he had a vision that in one of his past lives he was a young boy in England. He, along with hundreds of other young boys, stayed in cottages before going off to war. Our dowsing teacher believed, he, like most of the boys in the cottages, never returned."

I would be telling her something she already knew, but I needed to say it. "That's what all those items on display are, Cordelia. They are pieces of reminders of loved ones, whose parents, siblings, cousins and dear friends waited for word of survival and safety and return.

"Or maybe, they heard nothing and died wondering what had ever happened to those precious little boys. Bob was held close to someone's heart in times of war, WWII and now we know, also during WWI."

Cordelia was silent. I stopped talking, and joined her in the place she had been transported. I knew she also was envisioning the goings-on around these cottages.

"The emotions that must have been swirling around, makes me catch my breath with a salty taste forming in the back of my tight throat. The terror those boys must have had."

We recognized the source of the deep sadness we'd experienced, upon entering our cottage. We realized we were being called to release some trapped spirits.

"Maybe Bob stayed in our cottage as a young boy." Over the years many boys had enjoyed one of their last cigarettes or written home, letters which would never be sent, nor received.

Reclaiming our walking sticks, we consciously shuffled down toward the cottages. It was time to cook something for supper. My stomach growled with emptiness when I smelled some form of grilled beef wafting from the rear of one of the cottages, a couple down.

While waiting for the chicken to bake, we planned to discuss our adventures for the weekend coming up.

"We just have tomorrow, Friday, for my class, which by the way, you and the other guests will be observing the part I told you about earlier. Then Saturday, we can hit a couple of the places you've got planned for us. Have you thought about a day-long activity for us yet?"

Just as I was readying to elaborate, there was rapid rapping on the door. "I'll get it. Coming." Cordelia raised her voice enough, so they could hear her.

She stood at the door for only a moment. "Okay, I'll be there."

Shutting the door, she turned toward an inquisitive me. "Well? What was that about?"

"They want to get together to discuss playing our harps around some labyrinth on some Tor. You got me. I have no idea. Hopefully, I can find out more tonight. Mm mm...I think our chicken is done."

As Cordelia lifted the chicken out from the hot oven, I swooped in behind her to get the crispy baked potatoes.

"Well here goes." Cordelia took a deep breath, shrugging. "Certainly is an odd looking chicken."

That was my very thought. I'm sure she was referring to these English walking farm birds with extended, thin necks. There were long skinny legs with the feet still on them, that we saw in the market...and purchased. We had reported to each other, it's what we seemed to eat most of the time. I usually had chicken this, and she might have had chicken that.

Whether it was our imagination working overtime, or it was a fact, the chicken tasted a bit strange. It's a good thing we were hungry and flavored it up good. Fortunately, the potatoes tasted like our American potatoes.

After we scraped the last of our meal from our plates, we sat down with a cup of coffee. I hope we weren't breaking any cottage mores by having coffee and cake rather than tea and crumpets.

"Oh, look at the time. I've got to get over to the meeting. We'll talk about our weekend plans when I get back."

I opened my mouth to say something. She was already out the door.

*******

When Cordelia returned, there was a choice of which to discuss, our weekend itinerary or to hear what exciting plans her group of harpists had orchestrated. She seemed a bit conflicted.

Not with which to discuss, but as to the tenuousness of the labyrinth walk. No one had even examined the labyrinth or knew where it was and if it even still or ever existed.
She said, "As our group continued discussing the history of this labyrinth, someone, who probably was not so hot on circling and at the same time climbing the hill, intimated the whole thing just might be a masterful myth. So we don't know, now. I guess we see as the time gets closer.

"Enough of that dredging. Tell me what you mapped out for us on Saturday?"