The CyberSybils are Proud to Present Lady Liberty

LADY LIBERTY

Miss Olivia and Domenico had been enjoying the last sweet breaths of an Italian summer when their phone rang late on the fateful date of September the eleventh.

"Olivia, dear, pack your things immediately and return to the house with your young man," Professor Peyton gently decreed from his outpost in Normandy. "The United States may be going to war. Your mother and I want you here, with us - we're going home to America as soon as is possible."

A stunned Miss O handed the receiver to her fiancé, then rushed outside to the canal-lined street, not waiting for her father's explanation. When the young woman stopped and regarded the passer-bys, she saw noble Venetian eyes filled with tears, heads hung in grief.

"What has happened?" she asked no one, yet All. "What could be so terrible to provoke talk of invasion - oh no," the American began to cry as her eyes alit on the mind-boggling photographs the evening newspapers displayed. "So many old friends - Wall Street attacked - the World Trade Towers gone - this cannot be!" and the kind, gentle Domenico arrived just in time to lead his bereft lady home - he himself in a state of shock to see his birth city aflame.

"We have to get back to the States - I don't give a damn about those stupid Sufi scrolls!" Olivia ranted when behind closed doors. "To hell with all of them - all these religions and isms that murder innocent people in the name of...of..." and the words failed to materialize, such was the rage back their attempted formation.

"Darling, these murders been a great loss to humanity - we are all the poorer as a result of such despicable actions. If the CyberSybils are meant to have the scrolls, then they will be delivered before we leave. If not, then to hell with them - as you say. Now come to bed and be still - there is nothing much more to be done today, I fear."

Yet the steadfast tenor secretly stayed up long into the night, booking train passage back to France and contacting his own family, still based in the great state of New York, whose compassionate harbor goddesss was, and remains, a beacon of Freedom to millions the world over. No doubt, Lady Liberty wept along with countless others that night, mourning the passing of so many souls, wishing for once that Her stone arms might truly cradle the thousands of spirits that gathered in defiance near Her flame.

Ere long, the duo were set to depart. Olivia stared out the window, swallowing back still more tears as she contemplated leaving the lovely vista swimming before an adoring gaze. Yet a new shore beckoned, and she knew that somehow she and her family must re-group, board up Château Gâteau and return to the land of the free and the home of the brave.

"Ready?" Domenico asked, setting down a valise so he might wrap Olivia in his protective arms.

"No," she faltered, then regained composure. "This is all so terrible - I hope my brothers, sister and their children are all right - although, compared to the losses of others, I feel selfish saying so."

"We'll be in France soon enough and we'll call everyone from the farm, agreed? Then we'll cross the Channel to London, fly back to the States perhaps via Canada if the US airports don't open right away - and drive home if we have to."

"Yes, but where is home? Boston? New York?"

"Salem, Massachusetts - the New Jerusalem it was named - I know you love it there, O, and that's where we're going to reside. I adore Hawthorne, a native son, not to mention the sea, so..."

"How did you know?" Olivia gasped, her happiness inspiring yet new waves of guilt. "I've always wanted to live there..."

"Your father is a very wise man," Domenico winked.

"I can't wait to see him - and Basque - and Posh," Olivia conceeded with a grin. "You must miss Locky, too - have we been living in a dream, thus far, caro mio?"

"We're allowed - it was less than a year," her lover reminded. "Now, let's get going...we can't miss that train."

"I notice that those silly frappy Cappys never sent us the scrolls," Olivia called out as Domenico headed down the stairs, loaded with luggage. "Some Sufis they turned out to be!"

Unbeknownst to the skeptical CyberSybil, at that very moment, a bemused Father Cadiro sat at his desk in Comacchio, reading a letter of instruction from one Father Falcone, directing him to send a monastery envelope stuffed with photocopied texts to one Miss Olivia Peyton, c/o one Posh Peyton, Château Gâteau, Bar sur l'Aube, France.

In light of the recent tragedy abroad, the letter concluded, the Bretheren of Sincerity are most pleased to consider that soon a copy of our precious scrolls will be held safe in a New Jerusalem, that old American settlement established on once new-found shores. May Lady Liberty bestow Her grace upon them, and we fervently pray that Her children around the world will soon know the calm of true inner peace that passeth all understanding.