Welcome to the EPILOGUE of "Music of the Heart"!

If you have NOT yet read "Music of the Heart," you may wish to do so before embarking upon this one, as the following chapters WILL contain "spoilers" for that story.

Not beta'd, so pardon any typos.

All chapters are associated with songs. You can go to and find my username (ChelsieSouloftheAbbey) and the playlist "Music of Our Lives" to hear each song. It's free if you download Spotify. Alternatively, you can find them all on YouTube.

Thanks! :)

CSotA

Whose hands are these

That touch me when my soul is bare?

Whose hands are these

That offer all they've got to share,

To show the way

And stay the course?

Whose hands are these?

These hands are yours.

"Whose Hands Are These," ~Neil Diamond

Elsie crested a small hill as she made her way back to the cottage, sighing in relief as she spied Charles tending the roses that peeked out from behind the corner of their new addition. Home at last! One hellish trip into town and back, on errands that could have waited until tomorrow: done. She shook her head, remembering once again that she preferred to go into town with her husband as opposed to alone … especially when they were out of stamps.

As she approached the cottage she placed her basket down on the ground, shifted the weight of the bag in her other arm, and reached out to unlatch the gate. As soon as she passed through it, Elsie heard her husband's lovely voice reach her ears, only to frown as her brain processed what he'd shouted. No, that was definitely not a 'Hello, love!' like she had expected, but rather something that sounded like a word Charles never uttered outside the walls of their home, and normally not even inside of them. Evidently he hadn't heard her come home at all, and something was decidedly wrong.

Elsie quickly left her bundles on the front step and rushed around to the patio. One glance told her all she needed to know: there stood Charles, holding one hand under the other, the topmost one being squeezed into a fist as if his life depended on it. She spied her new pruning shears where he'd dropped them … and a small amount of blood dripping from the middle of his fist, over his other hand and onto the ground.

"Whatever happened?" Elsie said, mildly alarmed. "Well, never mind, I can guess what happened," she continued, noticing his look of disbelief. "Let's get you inside, now!"

Moments later, as she held Charles's hand over the kitchen sink, Elsie gently rinsed the cut with tepid water. "It doesn't appear too deep, despite all the blood," she mused. "I gather my new, petite pruning shears weren't made for men?" She turned off the water and handed him a clean flannel. "Squeeze that for a minute, dear."

Charles grumbled out a "Thank you." Elsie smiled at him, then raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.

"I thought I'd cut back the roses a bit, thought I'd try out your new shears. Not my most brilliant idea, evidently. They somehow slipped in these ridiculously huge hands I have, although I'm still not sure how I managed to cut myself because the blades should stay on the inside of them … " Only then did he remember that she'd just returned from doing errands. "How was your trip into town?"

"Don't get me started on that just now," Elsie said with a grimace. "Suffice to say it was an experience better left forgotten."

"Well, now you have to tell me," Charles answered, watching intently as his wife applied a salve to his cut and then wrapped gauze around his hand. "How do you do that so perfectly?" he marveled. "Like a nurse, really."

"Farm girl, remember?" she chuckled. "Lots of farm accidents."

Charles could have kicked himself for making her think of the farm. Yes, lots of all sorts of "accidents" to patch up … He looked at her with sad eyes, but she just shook her head and patted his cheek. "It's all right, love," she said softly. "Nothing to fret about."

Charles followed his wife to the front door and picked up her basket with his unscathed hand, allowing her to hold the door for him as they went back into the kitchen so that he wouldn't have to grab it himself. He used his good hand to unpack the basket and bag, handing her the items so that she could put them away. She had evidently made it to the post office (stamps), the grocer (fresh greens) and the tea shoppe (new tea – flavored with CINNAMON? She's gone mad …), along with having gotten him a couple of books at the library and … yes, some new yarn for Brenna's fall sweater.

"Elsie, how on earth did you manage all of this in just under a couple of hours?" Charles asked, bewildered.

His wife huffed in response. "Oh, I was on a roll after the first stop, I can tell you! Care to guess where that was?"

Charles closed his eyes and answered with a sigh. "The post office, I presume?"

"Heavens, how did you guess?" Elsie took a deep breath. "Yes, well, that horrid postmistress was ever so unpleasant, to the point that I practically threw the money on the counter and left with our stamps, trying to ignore her multitude of questions about my 'dear husband, Charles' who, did I even realize, is such a 'kind, darling man,' – oh! I was still so furious when I arrived at the grocer's that Mr. Cox didn't say much beyond a friendly 'Hello,' and everyone must have taken one look at my face and seen my rage, because they virtually jumped out of my way, enabling me to grab the collards I needed for dinner in about a minute flat!" Elsie paused for a minute to catch her breath, then furrowed her brow. "Actually, I do feel badly about that ... quite pushy of me, really."

Charles just stared at his wife, trying to process the words that were spilling out of her mouth. His wife, as a general rule, was not terribly fond of the flirtatious postmistress, but the woman must have truly been rude for Elsie to have allowed jealousy to get the better of her in public.

Elsie continued on, well aware of how out of character her words must have sounded but feeling unable to stop now that she'd started.

"Then I made it to the tea shoppe. Because I'd ordered the new tea last week – don't look at me that way, dear, you'll love it – it was waiting for me at the counter when I arrived and so I didn't spend much time there, either. By the time I got to the library I was still in a bit of mood so I simply asked for two of their newest biographies instead of taking the time to browse, figuring you wouldn't mind terribly much what they were if you'd not read them yet – you're such a love about that, dear," she said, patting his arm. Deep breath. "By the time I picked up the yarn, I was exhausted. Needless to say, coming home to you bleeding all over our patio was the icing on the cake!" Elsie took one look at Charles's face, noticing his eyes wide with what looked suspiciously like fear, and turned her back to him, standing at the sink and trying to rein in her emotions. Retirement, oh yes! 'More time to take a stroll into the village, Elsie!' What a treat THAT has been!

"Elsie, love, come here," Charles said softly. When she didn't move, he approached her from behind and encouraged her to turn and face him again. He looked into her eyes, then wrapped his arms lovingly around her shoulders and drew her to his chest, caressing her with the hand that wasn't throbbing. After a moment, he pulled back a bit, leaning around to kiss her gently on the side of her neck, just under the ear.

"Now … better?"

She nodded, wiping her eye with the edge of her sleeve. "Yes, much. You always know just what to say or do to make me feel better. How do you do that?"

Charles just smiled, then tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. "I think it's because I love you," he said with a wink.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Elsie looked away from the page she'd been reading and let her attention fall instead to her sleeping husband. His head was resting on her thigh, his hands carefully laid one on top of the other on his mid-section as his feet dangled over the edge of their massive sofa. Just like a baby, she thought blissfully. She let her gaze travel over the curls that had fallen onto his forehead, smiling to herself, and continued on down to his lips, noting how they were barely parted in his sleep, and to the scar that was on his chin. She resisted the urge to touch his hair or the stubble on his face lest she waken him. As her eyes moved even further downward they glanced upon his hands, noticing how the injured hand peeked out from underneath the unharmed one, and her eyes rested upon the white bandage, focused on it and yet not really seeing it as her mind began to wander further.

How can hands that BIG be so gentle? Elsie pondered that for what must have been the millionth time, reflecting on the irony of how Charles was perhaps the largest man she'd ever met but, in many ways, he was the gentlest being she'd ever known. Tall, broad-shouldered, booming voice, massive chest … and hands that were as gentle as the finest rain. His were hands that could polish a cabinet full of silver, simultaneously grasping and rubbing the cloth furiously over each object while maintaining just the gentleness needed not to bend the fragile details of each item. They were hands that could pour a glass of wine without letting one drop fall, a flick of his wrist and his carefully-measured grasp perfect every time. They were hands that could chop firewood for the upcoming winter, rip apart old branches, break down worn fencing that needed replacing … and hands which, in the very next moment, could lift their sleeping granddaughter from her crib without waking her. They were hands that could brush across Elsie's face as she was just falling asleep and feel light as a feather, and that could maneuver the clasp of her finest silver chain or the tiniest of buttons on her favorite dress.

And he has invisible hands, too ... the ones that can somehow reach into my very soul, feel out just what I need, and selflessly leave whatever it is inside so that I can heal when I am hurting.

She realized with a start that Charles was no longer sleeping; instead, he was staring at her face, his eyebrows furrowed in a silent question.

Elsie nibbled on her thumbnail, putting an answer together as best she could. How do you put this into words?

"I was thinking about you … about how gentle you are … about how you always know what I need, when I need it, and how you give so freely of yourself," she whispered. "I could tell you every day how much this marriage, this life, means to me, but nothing I say will ever be enough to thank you for this love, Charles." With that, she did reach down and run her fingers through his hair, combing it back over the top of his head as she did so.

"I only need to look into your eyes, Els," he replied softly. "In them, I see everything that you are, and everything that you need, and I am privileged to be the one to whom you show what's inside, and the one you allow inside to care for you."

Well, then … She leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips, giggling at how his nose bumped into her chin. "Let's head up," she said. "It wouldn't do to fall asleep here when we have that great … kiss … big … kiss … bed up there."

Charles managed to sit up and swing his legs down to the floor. He held out his unbandaged hand to help Elsie up from the sofa. "No," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "that wouldn't do at all … not after the day you've had."