"The god is dying,"  Nan murmured.

"What did you say?" Her husband, Ed, responded.

Nan looked up from the section of the newspaper which highlighted happenings in other states and was targeted at transplanted Easterners. "It's harvest time in the Midwest," she said. "My Wisconsin farm roots are showing."  But she said to herself,  'the god dies now with the harvest. Just like Dad did last September.'

"You haven't lived there for decades, Nan. Besides, you wouldn't trade a California winter for a Wisconsin winter, would you?"

Nan shrugged. Being married to a retired career soldier she had lived through a variety of winters from severely cold to tropic and never objected to seasonal changes or a lack of them. "The fall equinox is tomorrow, too," she said. "The days and nights are balanced." And Mabon, the second harvest, can be celebrated in any climate, she thought, even 12-month temperate Southern California. Not that she did anymore.  Not for years.  Not since leaving home.  But she had celebrated - when Dad died and she returned to the family farm in western Wisconsin.  Following the Funeral Mass, she walked up and down a stripped corn field, remembering the ways her father had always honored the earth. She had offered a blessing for the life of Daniel Conor to Anann, the Irish Mother Goddess, his spiritual patroness and for whom she was named.  And there, in the midst of the discarded husks and churned black soil, a strong sense of her father pervaded her. Danny had returned to the earth to ready his soul to be born again rather than had his soul been transported to a distant celestial realm. For on the surface Danny was Roman Catholic like Nan's mother, but his true nature followed the Celtic Wheel of Life.  His spirit would have settled for a while in the Summerland as he called it before beginning a new cycle, a new journey.

"The length of the day doesn't make much difference in this climate," Ed said, returning to the sports section article on the San Diego Padres' latest win. 

"We always gave thanks for the harvest, Ed," Nan persisted, "the hours in the day or the temperature has nothing to do with it." The Witches' Thanksgiving was how her father described Mabon, but it was not a remark she'd make to Ed. A Catholic school education had left him cynical of religion, but also with ingrained superstitions.  Serving twenty years in the Marine Corps as a helicopter mechanic and seeing action in Vietnam and Granada had re-enforced his attitude. Working now as chief for a crew who maintained Med-A-Vac helicopters which often
shuttled gang-wounded victims kept his attitude firmly intact. 

He peered at her. "So buy Indian corn and gourds. Change the table arrangement and get ready for Thanksgiving early like merchants do."

"And bypass Halloween?" She teased.

"That'll never happen. Halloween is Holy Rite."

"Are you saying you're willing to wear your ghoul mask when you answer the door this year?"

"Nope. Ever since I scared that little ballerina to tears, I've sworn off being a bad ass."

"Margaret will be having her annual costume gala. Maybe I'll work with a Celtic theme for us."

Ed folded the newspaper. "Just don't make me look like a fag."

You have to say that every year and have I ever?" Nan looked down to hide her irritated expression.  Ed allowed her to dress him for Halloween if the costume was macho.  He'd been the Big Bad Wolf to her Little Red Riding Hood.  Bandito to senorita.  Gangster to moll.   His favorite had been the Executioner.  She'd wondered more than once about Ed's choice and the implications of her being Ann Bolyn, famously beheaded by Henry VIII.

The kids had been more fun. She didn't sew particularly well, just enough to get in straight seams and even hems. Her creativity and inspiration flourished with felt, paint, boxes, scissors and glue. Her son was like his father and limited Nan's
attempts, but her daughter had shared Nan's enthusiasm.  The prize costume in Nan's estimation had been the old fashioned alarm clock constructed of painted cardboard and a battery which made the hands spin. By pulling a string inside the costume, the tin-foil plate alarm rang.

Nan stood up to clear the breakfast dishes. "What time is your golf game?"

"An hour. Speaking of thanks, Honey, I give thanks for the daily sun which allows me to play golf on days off."  He grinned at her. 

Nan smiled, but felt the familiar sadness that she hadn't been able to shake for weeks.  Ed's flippant attitude wasn't the issue.  Two years dating at college had ended in his enlistment and their wedding.  In another twenty nine years of marriage she had given up trying to talk through to the emotions he hid behind his joking.  A physical intensity and their two children continued to bond their relationship so it had never become critical to seek beyond the mundane, yet lately the lack of communication had heightened her despair.  Their youngest had left for college earlier in the month.  Typical of seasoned military kids, both had quickly assimilated and shown no signs of homesickness.  Logically she understood empty nest syndrome; it was another thing to deal with the reality.

This past spring she had watched the steady decline of their Cocker Spaniel until it was a no longer a quality life for the dog.  Putting down Lulu had been a wrenching experience.  Turning fifty this year might be affecting her, but not that she was aware of it consciously other than finally succumbing to estrogen replacement therapy to control hot flashes.

She wondered if the decision not to pursue a career outside the home was backlashing now that the children were gone, but couldn't think of what she
had missed. Moving as often as they had and trying to keep family life normal with Ed's extended absences, she felt raising two secure, adjusted children was more important. Volunteer work at the schools and an occasional job cashiering at base stores had been enough.  She had dutifully taken the children to church, hoping for the influence of Christian values, but resisted personal involvement.
It didn't ring true for her, shaped as she had been by Danny's belief structure. The result of the subtle, but determined war between her mother's Christian God and her father's Pagan Goddess had kindled lasting confusion in her. Drawn to her father's faith, Nan was made to feel too guilty by her mother's for her to do
anything more than long for a relevant spiritual niche. As a result she had no faith-center. The children must have sensed it because they found no validity
in church, either. She and Ed hadn't set very good examples. 

After Ed left, Nan set a cup of tea to steep while she combed her hair. She didn't look fifty, she thought. Her fair, oily skin had always been prone to blemishes, but it had also hindered wrinkles and avoiding the sun, so frustrating as a youth, had
helped keep her complexion smooth. Crow's feet had yet to invade the soft flesh around her brown eyes. Her rusty-blonde hair had plenty of gray, but the contrast was slight.  She'd put on weight, but proportionally.  For her age, she considered, she looked pretty good.  But for whom?  Ed's interests were work and sports. Sexual excitement always accompanied reunions while he was in the service,
and unlike some of his fellow military retirees, he maintained a trim physique.  But daily togetherness had reduced sex to what it had always really been - a
satisfying, but perfunctory act.

She collected her tea mug and went out the sliding door of their patio home past Ed's lounger on the small concrete slab and the weather-proof cabinet which contained a TV.  This was the first property they had owned in their entire marriage and when Ed retired from active duty two years ago they decided to stay put as much for Ed's preference for the weather as for convenience. Their son was in LA attending college and their daughter had the same intentions.  In fair proximity to the base, the building complex owned by an ex-Marine offered affordable deals to service personnel and attracted other military which appealed to Ed.  She had spent hours preparing the dirt on the borders by the block fence
to plant as many different colored flowers as offered by the nursery. This past spring, though, she had lost interest in the annuals.  When the tulips and irises
had finished their bloom, she'd let the areas go to weeds. 

In a rare show of independence, Nan had insisted they spend extra and purchase this housing unit because of the preserved Spanish oak which shaded half the small yard, and she had placed an iron table and matching chairs under the tree. An arc of six great  English  oaks  had  shaded  the front  of  the  Wisconsin farmhouse and her father had held them in great reverence.  An odd thought struck her.  Had Danny weighed the trees' value in his marriage proposal to her mother?  Danny had inherited the farm through his wife's family.

Nan settled under the tree and took a deep breath of the scent in the air.  Her neighbor Debbie's rose garden nestled on the other side of the block fence. 
Danny had been careful to integrate the Pagan into the Christian year, she recalled.  Her mother paid no attention to Danny's light comments about Celtic
traditions nor had Nan's three brothers.  But Danny sensed the interest in Nan and nurtured it.  Christmas/Winter Solstice,  Easter/Spring Equinox, while the household celebrated the big holidays of the Christian year - Danny and Nan secretly noted the Pagan symbols and meanings.  Yule logs and decorated trees, bunnies and eggs - she learned that the Christians had appropriated occasions and practices that had been celebrated for thousands of years.  On St. Patrick's Day Danny wore a triple-snake-entwined pewter medallion under his work shirt to protest the annihilation of the old Celtic ways by the Christian missionaries who invaded Ireland.  Despite his wife's protests, he refused to name a Patrick among his five children of whom Nan was the eldest. 

Perhaps ignoring her true spirt had caught up to her and the ennui would lift if she honored it again.  Nan stretched her neck to see behind the tree and considered the north wall of the fence.  An altar could be incorporated into the space.  A low bench could serve the purpose and not be obvious.  Samhain approached in another month, the Witches' New Year according to Danny. 

The Sabbat to reflect on the past year and more importantly, to honor ancestors. An easy time to integrate a celebration for those who followed the Old Ways since on Halloween people expected witches, cauldrons and ghosts. Perhaps without realizing it she had always made a big deal of the holiday with decorations and painted cookies baked specially for the trick or treat hordes. 

When the children were young she had gotten permission to organize elaborate Halloween parties in the base's community center. Gelatin 'brains', slimy plastic eyeballs, spaghetti 'guts', strobe lights and dreadful characters jumped into the visitor's path.  One year she'd enlisted a huge corporeal to rise suddenly from a coffin. Creepy things brushed your face. She had perfected a truly scary haunted
house without being gory or too gross. She thought of the scores of acquaintances she'd made through the years and wondered how many hated to see Ed transferred because Nan would no longer chair the Halloween extravaganza. 

Nan felt a glimmer of the old excitement in her nostalgia and smiled.  Halloween was simply a mask for Samhain, and Samhain meant a new year, including resolutions.  It was time to recall her past and see how it might apply to her future.

"What the hell did you pay for the fucking water last month, Nan?" 

At the garbage dumpster, Nan fixed a puzzled expression on her face to give her time to answer Carla who lived across the alley and was currently standing with hands on her shapely hips.  Carla had a ravaged face to match her foul mouth, but men paid little attention to it.  She had made a career out of serial military marriages and wore tight white knits to showcase her spectacular breasts, tiny waist and stair-stepper firm legs.  Her complexion may be pitted and discolored, but the rest of her ivory skin had the texture of soft butter and the finest down as to be almost non-existent. 

"Water. Mmm. Around $30?" Nan said. She paid the bills, but didn't obsess over them and never retained numbers.  Ed's present salary package and military
benefits afforded them a preferential life-style even with 2 kids in college.

"$30!  Try $45.  That damn kid of mine spends too much time in the shower whacking off.  He could do it into the sink and save me money."

Nan smiled in what she hoped was a neutral way. Carla didn't shock her, but she didn't appeal to her, either, and didn't wish to encourage an acquaintance. 

"There's your next door neighbor, the Bible Babe.  Which saint do you suppose she'll pick this year for Margaret's party? I'd like to see her do John the Baptist, head on platter, goggle eyes vacant."  Carla said sarcastically, referring to Debbie whose husband was a retired Air Force chaplain.  Nan hid a smile.  She had wondered herself more than once if her north-side neighbor was welded to the designer eye frames she must have purchased in 1985.  The wide round lens magnified her hazel eyes.  On a sixties plus woman with wrinkles, glasses of this type were not only dated, but magnified the wrinkles.

Debbie and Carla had in common dedication to exercise. Debbie rode her stationary cycle daily at 6 a.m.  Carla maximized her exposure to men by
working out at a trendy gym. It wasn't enough to form even a slight bond for them, though.  Debbie never verbally disapproved, but the corners of her mouth dipped. She had an expressive mouth.  Her lips would purse while her eyes looked bland. She liked to be right,  but  softened  her  opinionated  attitude  with "sweet smiles.  Any conversation between Debbie and Carla was like between two aliens.

Debbie appeared through her gate with a large black trash can on wheels, and Nan's eyes were drawn to a rectangular cast iron grill displayed like a picture at an outdoor craft show.  She wasn't a scrounger.  Other people's discards and rummage sales had never interested her, but this piece was just what she could
use for the altar surface. 

"Tomorrow is trash day," Debbie said. 

"Like don't we already know?" Carla responded.

"Is that iron piece yours?" Nan asked Debbie.

Debbie looked at her fence and shook her head.

"I might have a use for it," Nan said. When she got closer, she gasped. "It's in the pattern of a Celtic Circle." 

"You mean a Celtic cross or a knot pattern," Debbie said.

"No, three spiral circles within a circle, and a central circle. See?" The grill was heavy and Nan hefted it on her knee to brace it.

Carla saw a dirty slab embedded with busy swirls, a bitch to dust.  Debbie felt the smack of Paganism and disapproved.  Nan recalled Danny's words," When you
ask for something, She finds it for you".

With a scouring pad, Nan tackled the rust spots on the grill and considered spray painting it black to give it luster, but decided against it.  She had just spent over an hour imbuing the grill with her energy.  It would have innate luster from her. She found in their metal storage shed the portions of four maple-wood legs that Ed had cut off a thrift store table their son had purchased and wanted shortened to use as a coffee table in his apartment.  The altar wouldn't hold heavy objects so glue would be sufficient to adhere the legs to the grill.

Nan took a break to fix lunch when the altar was finished.  She cut chunks of cheddar cheese, an apple and put the slices on a plate with crackers.  Then, with plate in hand, nibbling as she walked around the house, she collected items for the altar, trusting her instincts to draw her to the right ones.  She discovered that odd items which she had purchased or saved now made sense to her.  From
the living room she took from a shelf the gray and black mottled pottery chalice purchased at a Renaissance Fair several summers ago.  The pot-throwing vendor had been a witch, a plain pewter pentacle the size of a tennis ball had hung between her breasts.

From under the bed she drew out the oak twig she had found in the front yard of the family farm during her last visit.  At the time of discovery, it had seemed
as if Danny's voice said, "Thank the tree even if the twig is on the  ground" was a memory of his voice and a comment surely made years ago when he was
teaching her to respect the life in all things, an attitude which kept him from fully fitting in with other farmers.  He abhorred the hunting season and spent
considerable time casting protection spells around the two-hundred acre farm so that hunters with their high-power rifles who did cross on to their property would have no luck.  A deer bagged for food and done with a proper ritual was sacred, but for recreation it was a sacrilege. 

In the extra bedroom they used as a study Nan lifted from the top of the computer hutch the cream-colored holey stone she had just taken from the beach a couple days ago on a walk following dinner at an ocean-side restaurant. Even Ed had been impressed with the unusual sprawling shape and size.  It had a naturally flat bottom and one of the several burrows had a wide enough circumference to hold a nine-inch candle.  At the other end of the upright side of the stone another hole would hold a fat stick of incense.

From the built-in floor-to-ceiling cabinet behind the desk she spent more than half an hour seeking the battered cardboard cigar box which contained her girlhood collection of barn owl feathers.  She selected 3 of the small soft wisps and also found the shamrock-shaped, kelly green glass bell she'd forgotten she had.  It had been her grandmother's.  With so many cousins she'd been allowed to make one choice among the possessions when her grandmother passed.  Her mother had been upset - Gran Conor collected cut glass crystal and Nan ignored what might have been a valuable heirloom in favor of cheap glass, but Danny had been pleased.  The bell was one of the few possessions surviving intact when his parents immigrated from Ireland to America. 

Lastly she rummaged in her jewelry box for the gold ring, a serpent laced about two emerald chips which Danny had found at a farm sale.  She slid the ring on
her right pinkie finger since it was a child's size.  Did it gleam because of the sunlight from the window struck it or because of magic?   Nan trusted her first
impression - she gave credit to magic.

Nan arranged her elements on the kitchen table, touching each one with pleasure. Everything was right here waiting for her, she thought.  Why hadn't she noticed sooner?  She placed the items in a plastic sweater box.  Ed would be home soon and she wasn't any mood to answer questions This choice, this way she was planning to pursue, belonged to her alone. 

"What's in that glass?" Ed pointed at Nan's goblet.

"Blackberry wine."

"Is that a Jewish wine?"

Nan bit off a retort. "It's just...wine."  Then she clarified, "harvest wine."

Ed drained his beer mug. "You're really getting serious about this harvest thing, aren't you?" 

He regarded her from the opposite end of their couch.  "Been thinking about Danny?" 

She looked at him in surprise.  Ed was not sentimental nor especially sensitive.  "Yes," she said.  "Grief seems to stretch out...to hit you at odd times.  It lasts much longer because of that."

Ed moved closer and put his arm around her. "You want to go back for a visit? See your mom?"

Nan and her mother had always tolerated each other, as if her mother knew that Danny didn't fully belong to her.  Or that Nan belonged to Danny more than she
did because of the Celtic spirit that filled them both.  Nan hadn't understood jealousy as a child, but had come to terms with it as an adult.  Her mother never
had.  Nan had gladly followed Ed from base to base, missing Danny, but understanding that it was best. 

"No, Danny isn't there anymore," she said.

"I didn't' suggest that he was, " Ed said, his tone odd.

"I found your antlers. The box was mis-marked as 'toys'."

"I knew we couldn't have lost them!" He exclaimed. "I remember smokin' that buck like it was yesterday.  I was sixteen years old, the youngest in the family to ever do it."

Nan knew well the story. He was a middle son in a family of boys and with four competitive brothers she understood Ed's pride.  Discovering the antlers, which
had been lost since their last move, had given her an idea to enhance his prize with spiritual significance. "I've decided on your costume for Margaret's party.
I'm fashioning a crown piece to secure the antlers on your head and will decorate the branches with autumn-colored silk leaves. You can wear brown slacks and a brown sweater."

"And go as a studly stag?" He said, grinning.

"And as the aging, sacrificial god."

Ed's eyebrows knit. "As...what?  How much wine have you had?"

Nan smiled at him and got up from the couch. "The oven timer is about to go off.  Dinner will be ready." 

Ed picked up the wine she had left by her seat and sniffed it, then stared at the direction of the kitchen.

Days passed.  Nan continued to search through their stored possessions, particularly her many boxes of Halloween paraphernalia. Papier mache, cardboard stand-ups, fabric dolls, even macrame - midst a moderate collection of black cats, ghosts and spiders, her hoard of witches astounded her, and she
had been unconsciously partial to ones on brooms or stirring cauldrons. 

The number of rubber snakes seemed out of proportion, too, until she remember Danny's reverence for them, thus imparting her own respect for them.  Nan wasn't aware of what her father had done to insure the safety of the snakes, but her
brothers were never able to catch one, even the slow moving garter variety.  She, however, frequently had their company while tending the family vegetable garden and the snakes showed a bold familiarity by slithering across her foot or hand. 

Nan also consulted the newspaper and determined the phase of the moon so that she could start attuning to it again.  Danny had lived not only by the seasonal cycles, but by the moontides.   Draw what you wish during a waxing moon, he said, send away the negative while the moon waned.  The new moon was the Maiden and promised new beginnings; the full phase was the Mother and Her Energy was at a peak; a Crone moon was dark and protective.  Nan had stopped being amazed by her recall.  Danny's
presence was growing stronger.

Agitated, Nan stared out the kitchen window.  The night sky beckoned her.  The last full moon before Samhain would now be high over the house, but Ed was on the patio watching a football game.  If the Chargers weren't playing, another team would be.  Why didn't he go to a favorite bar?  Why didn't he have bachelor friends with big screen TVs who male-bonded by sharing the experience of a sporting event?  Was it wrong for her to hope her husband would leave her alone at night?  She had wanted the yard for almost a month to set up her altar items for
blessing yet in spite of an increase in caustic remarks to him, she couldn't get the nerve to approach Ed for the space.  Tonight, though, she felt compelled to honor the Esbat and would just have to make do.  She could wait until the traditional time of midnight, but years of farm life had made her an early riser and her mental focus would be off at such a late hour.  Danny had once assured her the time wasn't necessary.  The power was in the spirit of the communion. 

She wished she had her father's athame, a two-sided blade knife etched with snakes which he used to cast the circle, hail the directions and welcome Anann.
One of her brothers must have taken it or her mother had  thrown  it  away  after  Danny's  death.  But  she couldn't do such a thing, anyway. Her ritual would
have to be mentally performed because of Ed's presence, because of the closeness of neighbors. 

Nan straightened her shoulders and opened the refrigerator for a bottle of cabernet.  She would fill her chalice and take her tools to the altar.

"It's the third quarter, time out for the Bears," Ed said to Nan who had stepped on to the patio. "The score is..."

"Did I ask?" She said curtly.

Ed hit the mute on the remote. 

"Would you watch the rest of the game in the house?  I'd like to left in peace out here."

"I can do that.  I can..."  Ed rose from his lawn recliner. "What are you drinking? Are you drinking wine?  You don't drink after dinner.  And what's that stuff in the
box?"

Nan sighed impatiently.  Ed was rarely curious.  He had made no mention of the altar by the north fence which likely meant he hadn't even noticed the small, low table.So why was he starting now?

"I feel like drinking wine and looking at some things that remind me of Danny," she said firmly. 

Ed glanced at the TV where the game had started again.  His index finger hovered on the remote to bring up the sound, then he turned reluctantly to
Nan.  "Would you like company?"  He offered. 

"Oh, sure.  And the entire time you'll be concerned about a fabulous play you might be missing."

"Nan, let's go out tomorrow night for dinner and we can talk."

"You don't need to change your routine, Ed.  Just give me the yard this evening."

He started to speak, but changed his mind.  Instead he gripped Nan's shoulders and kissed her forehead before walking into the house.

Nan smiled skyward and was treated to a cloud fringing the middle of the moon and dissipating, creating the illusion that the silver orb had winked.  Her smile fell and her eyes widened.  Danny had placed great emphasis on the importance of Her Signs, and this one filled Nan with joy.

"I can live with watching my games in the house if I have to, okay?  But the Halloween stuff,"  Ed said. "It's in every room.  I take a piss and have to look at a
wall with a huge poster of three witches stirring green goo in a pot.  What's the deal?  Has Margaret asked you at the last minute to set up a haunted house
here as part of her party and you forgot to tell me or is this a new decorating urge I have to live with?  Explain the damn snakes.  I tell you, Nan.  I don't like the one draping the headboard of our bed."

"Now I know why I'm always wiping up after you.  You look at the wall instead of the toilet," Nan responded and took a bite of her salad.  Ed tackled problems
with bluntness which had made him successful in his career choices and until now, successful in marriage.  They hadn't even been served the main course yet. 

He rubbed a knuckle through his military-clipped gray hair, his blue eyes unfocused.  Sure signs of aggravation, Nan observed, but no longer disturbing
gestures to her.  Acquiescence to his moods, automatically assuming the role of peacemaker, accommodating to his wishes - Nan no longer cared.

"Jesus, what's that supposed to mean?"

"You have poor aim."

Ed gaped at her.

"I cut my hair," she said. "Did you notice? I mean, literally cut my hair. I've always wanted to do that so I went out and bought barber shears.  I took the wires out of my bras, too, because they were uncomfortable.  I can live with droop.  And for the
same reason I took every pair of shoes with a heel higher than an inch and gave them to charity."  She lowered her voice, but it was just as defiant.  "I quit waxing my upper lip."

Ed's chest rose and fell rapidly and his eyes narrowed, but he kept his tone civil.  "Have you gone women's lib on me?"

Nan chuckled. "I've gone to myself."

"This is your woman problem, isn't it?  You need more hormones." 

"If you mean menopause, I'm seriously looking at chucking the hormones and using alternative ways to handle it.  I picked up a soy supplement."

Ed gulped the rest of his beer and reached across the restaurant table, his hands palm up. "Honey, I don't know what to do with you."

Nan placed her napkin by the side of her plate and scooted back her chair.  "Do with me?  I feel...I feel like a virgin."  She ignored Ed's stunned expression as she stood up and leaned on the table.  "A virgin in the Old Ways sense.  A woman whole unto herself.  I read that recently on an Internet site maintained by a
Celtic priestess. The Web offers more than just e-mail, Ed." 

She reached for her purse on the chair rung.  Ed rapidly stood up and scrabbled in his back pocket for his wallet.   He tossed a twenty dollar bill on the table and smiled hesitantly at her. "I don't like to eat alone, so if you're leaving, so am I."

Nan felt herself close to tears, but she strove to keep her voice solid. "I ate alone many times.  I never left you."  He edged around the table and took her arm, waving at the waitress with the other hand to indicate the money. "Who's leaving who?  We're leaving together."

Nan's shoulders slumped. "It's not about leaving. It's about finding.  I'm finding myself.  I'm not sure that includes you."

Ed, his expression grim, kept his mouth shut while he guided her to the exit.  He didn't want to talk about this at all and certainly not in public.  The change of life was hitting her hard or she was having a delayed reaction of grief to Danny's death.  Whatever the case, she just needed time to get over it.

Samhain at last, Nan thought with anticipation as she stood in the yard, breathing deeply of the rain-swept breeze.  At sunset the drizzle had disappeared and
the watery sky treated the earth to a glorious fuchsia panorama mottled with peach-hued clouds.  Now a gray mass cloaked the evening sky.  Since the
aborted dinner several days ago, she and Ed had almost reached a non-verbal state.  He hadn't even bothered to argue when she told him she wasn't feeling well and he should go alone to Margaret's party. The 31st had fallen on a Saturday which guaranteed a big turn-out, and Ed wouldn't have to deal with husbandly courtesies.  He could leave his antlers in the S.U.V. and surround himself on
Margaret's deck with ex-Marines unless Carla cornered him.  Carla had no loyalties except to herself and a man alone was fair game.  Ed found the woman disgusting; therefore, in Nan's estimation, he was most deserving of her flirting. 

Oak twig in hand, Nan paused before the altar where she had arranged her wine-filled chalice in the center with a picture of Danny in a plain silver frame behind it. The owl feathers were anchored by the bell to the left and to the right she had placed the stone stuck with both a lit black candle and a smoking stick of
sandalwood-mugwort blend incense.  She had searched the Internet and found so much information on the Celtic Pagan path that she had stopped.  She had grown up in the tradition; she just needed to trust her own instincts and let her subconscious recall meaningful ways for ritual. 

Raising her arms Nan began to twirl clockwise, the tie on her black terry robe loosening. 

 "East to South to West to North 
  and thrice around be bound. 
  Hail to thee directions be 
  and a circle cast, tight and sound." 

Arms still lifted, she faced the altar, then gazed skyward. 
  "Blessed Lady Crone, welcome." she intoned. 

  "If Danny Conor is there, 
  tell him it is Nan who cares. 
  If he be about, tell him to route. 
  I'd have a word, please."

She lowered her arms and sank to her knees on a yoga mat placed on the wet grass, her palms spread wide on either side of a small round mirror in front of
the chalice.  Her face down, she kept her eyes closed to visualize her father, and Danny's voice rushed into her head ...we celebrate a oneness of spirits on Samhain and the trust that death in this life is not the end.  The veil is thin between the worlds on this night and we welcome our ancestors to join in the honor of their lives and the eventual rebirth of their souls...

"'Course, my Darlin' Nanny, we wish to respect that evil exists and protect ourselves. They of malicious intent can be travelers through that same thin veil."

Nan opened her eyes at what she swore was the actual sound of her father's voice, not a memory, and blinked at the reflection from the mirror.  A white-gold
light flared from it.  The candle was doing it, she thought vaguely, because the moon was trapped in an overcast sky, and  the alley light was burned out. 

"You leave a bit of goodies for the spirits, Dear, to keep them happy."

"The pie by your picture here is made with Jonathon apples, Dad," Nan whispered dreamily,  "I rolled cinnamon and sugar into the crust just the way you
always liked."  Why wasn't the light hurting her eyes?  She wondered.  She stared right into the mirror without squinting.

"Ed is a good sort, Nanny.  Loves you.  But he's stuck and real lost, so you have to teach him."

"Teach him? He has to be open to it. He hasn't entertained a new idea in thirty years..." 

"He'll be open to it."

Nan realized that she had started to cry. "It's too difficult.  Ed is too set in his ways..."

"Try."

Around one a.m. Ed found the house empty and went outside.  He turned on the yard light, but had already figured out where she was likely to be.  In the north
corner.

"Nan?  Nan, you're cold.  And you're wet."  He squatted next to her as he touched her shoulder. 

Nan turned her head to see him. He was staring intently a the guttered candle and the jumble of items.  Did she detect a wary respect or was it just her wishful thinking?  "I was warm so I came outside,"  she said.  "I fell asleep."

"On the grass, draped over this table."

"It's an altar."

Ed bit his lip. "Okay, altar.  What kind of...altar?"

"I had a dream about Danny.  The altar...helped me to have it.  To clarify things."

"Will you be yourself again now?"

She sat up, straightening her shoulders and back. "This is me.  The issue now is are you willing to accept it?" 

He looked again at the altar and at the determination on her face.  "I'm willing to learn so I can keep you."

"You have to do it for yourself, your own soul, not to please me."

His soul?  He didn't want to get into his soul!  But he couldn't say that.  Ed's chest rose and fell with rapid breathing.  His answer would be very important and
his customary candid approach wouldn't work.  "I need help with that," he said carefully.

"I'll help you," she replied and smiled gently.  "But you have to be serious, Ed.  I'll know if you aren't."

The altar kept drawing his attention, particularly Danny's picture which seemed to have its own light source.  "I believe that," he said, "I believe being serious is a major requirement."

"Oh, sincerity is major, too."

"Nan, could we go in now? I've been drinking beer and..."

"You want to look at the three witches on the wall."

"Yeah, I...I'll look where I'm supposed to look...so I keep it clean."

"Did Carla hang around you tonight?"

"Ugh.  Did you put her up to that?"  Carla's unwelcome attention had made Ed realize that if he took his wife for granted, he might end up single and dealing with
women like Carla all the time.

Nan laughed and put her arms around his neck. "Happy New Year," she said.

"It's Hallow..." Ed cleared his throat.  "Happy New Year."

"The Wheel has turned.  It's the Celtic New Year."

"This has nothing to do with church, does it?"

Nan laughed at his anxious expression. "Pagan," she whispered.  "The Old Ways.  Danny's path."

Ed suddenly relaxed with a sigh.  "Danny mentioned some general things about this before you and I were married.  He wanted me to understand about you, but
you never showed any interest so I'd forgotten about it.  Until now."  He gestured at the altar.  "Now it's coming back loud and clear."

"Danny did that?" Nan turned her head to see her father's picture. The silver frame seemed riddled with sparks which could be attributed to their yard light,
but she didn't think so. 

"Are you stiff?" Ed asked. "Uh, you're sort of . ..hanging out of your robe. Need a hand getting up?  Like to be...carried?" 

Nan glanced at her exposed breasts and at Ed whose face had blended into a shadow.  "The pressure on your bladder...?"

"...is not that great."

"Okay."

They both stood and before Nan could move away from him, Ed scooped her into his arms.  She watched the altar over his shoulder as he walked towards the house. The silver frame still had a glow.

Nan woke early on the 1st.  She should be tired, but then, Ed had been the active one, taking charge and thrilling her with pretty fancy bed tricks last night, allowing her simply to enjoy the attention.  And they had talked afterwards.  Not anything deep, but she appreciated his struggle.  And she had patience as long as he continued to try.  It had meant a lot to hear him say he loved her, too.

She smiled at his reposed face.  Did she detect lingering satisfaction?  It had been like reunion sex following a long tour of duty and a big breakfast was
in order. 

Breakfast.

She swiftly threw off the covers.  Debbie spent Sunday mornings at church, but she often cut roses for the breakfast table.  If she stood right at the fence
and looked over, she could see into the yard.  She wasn't overly inquisitive, but Nan was sure the woman checked.  She had made no comment yet
about the altar, but then it hadn't held pies or photographs or candles before either.

Trembling Nan stared at the terra cotta pie plate. Birds may have eaten the pie or even ants or other insects, but nature wasn't so orderly.  And the weather was soggy, yet one perfect wedge of apple pie remained on the plate.  She looked at the mirror and her father's picture, half-expecting an answer, but both were just what they were.  No mysterious light illumined them. 

Nan shook off the images and started to collect the altar items.  As real as  the conversation  with  Danny had been, in truth?  What had happened must be
credited to an overly-stimulated imagination or a very vivid dream.  And it didn't matter.  What mattered was that she had received advice and Ed had become
responsive.

She touched the pan to pick it up. "One slice for you, Nanny." She heard clearly. "You deserve your share of the pie."

Her breath caught at a lump in her throat and her eyes misted, but a smile also lifted her lips. "Oh, Dad," she said softly, "thank you for everything. And, to you, Danny Conor, merry part until we merry meet again."