Before Violet

The Swallow

     The first memory I ever had of flying was being on the beach of Ecarte Island with my twin brother Bren, watching my Grandmother Violet flying a kite.
       Once the glider, made of bossa wood, lightweight tissue paper and twine,  securely rode high in the sky, Grandmother Violet looked down at me and simply said, "Are you ready to fly, Hyacinth?"
        In answer, I distinctly remember confidently thrusting out my hands as she gave me the twine wrapped around a strong wooden rod.  I had watched her control the kite with subtle tugging of the string, letting out a little and then winding it again, over and over.  I kept that in mind as I took control. 
         My brother Bren was not as excited about flying as I, and spent his time digging clams in the sand. He stopped and looked up at the sky, hand at his brow to shield his eyes from the sun.
        He then ran toward Grandmother and me shouting, "Wow, Hya! Look how high!! That is brilliant!!"
         I laughed. Grandmother Violet merely smiled, her mechanical hands clasped easily in front of her, braided silver blonde haired head tilted up to the sky. 
           For a moment, I controlled the glider very well, but then the sea winds made it take a sharp plunge. I heard Bren gasp as I tried to quickly regain control. I began to panic and Bren begged Grandmother to take back the rod of twine. I almost wanted her to, but she made no move to do so. 
         I struggled, regaining control and then losing it again until, ultimately, the glider crashed into the sand. 
        "Oh, no!" I cried, quickly winding the twine. I saw that one of the wings of the glider had snapped in half.  I looked back in horror at my Grandmother Violet, who had still made no move.  "It's ruined!" I shouted back to her in dismay.
            She said nothing until I trudged back to her with the broken glider in hand. "I'm so sorry, Grandmother." Everything looked blurry through my tear-filled eyes, including her calm face.
             Grandmother Violet inspected the wing, called it salvageable and declared it time to visit Grandfather Gilbert at the vineyard.
             It was a typical response from my father's mother.  When tragedy struck (or what my four year old mind perceived as tragedy), it was my experience to never see my Grandmother Violet become overly emotional about any of it.  She took all things in phenomenal serene grace, but, then again, I had yet to see her ecstatically happy, over anything, either. The only moments I knew she was truly happy in her heart was when she was in my Grandfather Gilbert's presence, and seeing it warmed my heart.
        Perhaps staying in the neutral zone of emotion was for the best.  My mother, tended to go from thrilled to forlorn in a matter of minutes. Those sorts of swings always made me nervous and clumsy around her.
        I had decided long ago to strive to be calm, cool and collected, like Grandmother Violet, to subtly tug here, let go there and keep the tethered glider steady up in the sky.  I, dare say, it would serve me well in years to come when I was controlling a glider that was tethered to nothing on the ground.
                      *.                *.           *

     By the time my brother and I were 10 years old, we were becoming more and more separated because of schooling and differing interests.  Bren was sent off to the boarding school our father had been educated as a nautical cadet, a family tradition. 
       I was sent to a school in Leiden for young female debutantes. Needless to say, I did not fare as well as my mother had hoped.  I had no interest in being a socialite.  I wanted to pilot planes, which was certainly NOT in the school curriculum, nor in my mother's plans for me.
       Since the moment Grandmother Violet gave me control of the glider kite when I was four, my passion for flying grew. Soon I was studying flying instruction manuals and asked for airplane rides as gifts for my birthdays. I also had an increasingly desire to ultimately live on Ecarte with my grandparents, as I tended to do throughout summer holidays. 
        During the summer of my 15th year, I arrived on Ecarte with my father to find not only my grandparents, but also their friends from all over the island waiting for us. 
        "What's going on?" I asked my father.
        He grinned and answered. "I may have done something your mother will never forgive me for."
         I was brought outside and my mouth dropped open in disbelief.

          "Is that. . . is it mine??"
           "You'll need lots of practice, but, yes, she's yours."
          Forgetting all the calm, all the cool, and all the collected, I jumped into my father's arms and wept with joy.
          My father laughed, and then sat me back down on the ground again. "Actually, if it had not been for your grandmother. . ."
           I looked over at my Grandmother Violet, standing close beside my Grandfather Gilbert. Again, her serene expression left me wondering her true thoughts, as always.
           "Did you talk my father into getting me this, Grandmother?" I asked, walking over to her. It was as if I were approaching myself as a woman in her mid-50's.  I had always resembled her through my father, the same hair color, the same build, the same face shape. My only feature that differed from her was the eye color.  Her eyes were the most refreshing of ocean blues. I got my grandfather's eye color, which was the same emerald green as the brooch Grandmother always wore at her neck.
             "Did you?" I asked again, still sniffing a little.
             "I did, yes." she confessed. "I have a business proposition for you."
              "Business proposition?"
               "Yes, the postal service is in need of expansion.  I need you to pilot this plane for postal deliveries here and neighboring islands."
              I was speechless in response to this most perfect of opportunities. All I could do was nod vigorously.
              "To be sure, Hya," interrupted my father, "Only after you have a pilot license can you take the position. I've hired an instructor to teach you properly. He should arrive by mid-week. By the end of the summer, a goodly amount, if not all of your training will be complete."
            It felt as if life had just began for me and it was the most beautiful of all that was possible as I slipped into the plane's open cockpit.
          A name for the plane automatically leaped into my brain.  Her name would be The Swallow, and she was the most gorgeous of all that could take flight.