Chapter 29 A Voice in the Night
Meg smoothed her hands down the linen shift, telling herself it wasn't that inappropriate a choice of clothing. Though the weather had changed outside the air in the cabin was still quite warm and this was the only thing available except for her winter nightgown. Her dress was still wet from the lake and everything else was already packed for their trip. Although they had yet to have whatever could be gathered for dinner, it was not that long before bedtime, so why not be comfortable?
Cooking dinner in your petticoat…for comfort, or for temptation?
"I can tempt him if I wish," she whispered, arguing with the voice of Miss Prim and Proper as she started braiding her damp hair. "He is my husband, after all!"
Husband…one word which set her mind adrift again. She sighed dreamily, remembering the way he had kissed her at the lake. Really kissed her for the fist time. Although Erik was not yet her husband in the fullest sense of the word, he had started down that path and she wanted more. Dropping her long braid down over one side of her shift she plucked at its drooping neckline and decide it was the perfect thing to wear. And maybe it would help coax Erik a little further along that path, she thought with a smile.
He'll pull away again, Meg; you cannot win this fight until he's ready…
She remembered the stiff set of his shoulders and tight line of his lips when he had had enough and sighed in partial resignation. Glancing down at the side split that began just above her knee she reconsidered the shift's low neckline and compromised. A little modesty would not hurt, she thought, moving to the wardrobe for a shawl. It would not be ladylike to expose too much, she decided, sifting through the contents of the drawers as she tossed aside the wintry clothing. Suddenly her fingers brushed against a foreign object and upon digging deeper she uncovered a flat package. Gently lifting it out, she stared at it a moment, finally realizing by its size and shape what it was.
"Arlene!—how did you manage to hide this here?" she whispered to herself as she clutched it beneath one arm and pulled out a lightweight shawl. Sailing it over one shoulder she went to the door and pulled it open, finding herself face to face with Erik. He stood at the threshold with one hand raised as if to knock. As they stared at each other he slowly lowered his hand, his eyes shifting to her half bared shoulder from which both shawl and shift had slipped down. Shrugging that shoulder and disregarding his mildly scandalized expression, she smiled brightly.
"I'm ready—"
"Dinner is served—"
She bit her lower lip as he pursed his and took one step back, bowing slightly and sweeping his arm aside. Dipping into a slight curtsy she passed before him and went toward the table with gradually slowing steps. It was already set for two, complete with a small candelabra which cast a romantic glow to the cold meal waiting for them. Resting a hand upon the chair she studied the small bowl of greens, plate of cheese and crackers, small platter of poached salmon and glass bowl of fresh berries. Two glasses of white wine were already poured, and she turned to shone at him in wonder.
"How on earth could you make din—"
"Someone left it in the icebox," he interrupted, coming toward her. He stopped behind the other chair, resting his large hands upon the back. "I merely set it out for us."
"Arlene," she stated, drawing the package from beneath her arm and extending it to him. "She delivered this as well."
He lifted a hand but hesitated, his expression doubtful. "For me?"
She nodded. "It's the gift I told you about."
"You have already given me two gifts."
"This is the most important one, though together they cannot compare to mine," she declared, lifting her ring toward him as if to remind him.
He frowned. "It is not meant to be a competition."
"I know but when I saw it I simply knew you must have it," she smiled, nudging it toward him.
He accepted it and held it aloft as she moved behind him to pull out his chair. Throwing her a cautious look, he slowly sat down, resting the parcel upon his lap. She grabbed her chair and pulled it out, sitting and facing him as she watched eagerly as he began to unwrap it.
"It's fragile," she warned as he parted the paper and began to unfold the layers of protective tissue.
His eyes lifted to hers as his lips half turned up into a smile. When he spread aside the papers he rested his fingertips along he frame, staring at her gift in silence. She followed his gaze over the miniature stained glass replica of Arlene's window. Erik looked up suddenly, his expression tender.
"Where did you get this?" he whispered, his eyes traveling slowly over her features.
She smiled joyfully, shifting her chair closer and resting a hand upon his knee. He stared at her bold gesture momentarily but lifted the glass so that the candlelight glowed through its vibrant colors and carefully executed designs. "It's beautiful…"
"It's the Tree of Life, from the garden of Eden," she explained, noting the golden trail of light behind the doves flying toward a pink and lavender sunset. "Arlene has a small gallery in the village where she sells her work."
Together they studied it until Erik placed it back into the wrapping and leaned toward her, lifting his fingers to gently caress her cheek. "It's perfect," he whispered, "remarkable…"
Like you… his eyes told her as they held hers. She took his hand between hers and held it.
"It was the nearest match I could find to the one in the foyer."
He stared back down at the glass. "It is nearly identical," he agreed.
"She told me how much you liked the one outside Pieter's office," she added.
"…I would like to explain why," he said softly and without looking up.
Meg held her breath, sensing the importance of what he was about to say. Arlene had tried to relate that moment when she had come upon Erik as he had sat transfixed, staring up at the window as he sat before it in his wheelchair.
"I had a dream, or a vision as Pieter insists," he began, slowly tracing one finger across the surface of the glass. It bothered her that he did not look up but she listened carefully to every detail of his experience while he lay near death for so many days at their arrival. She had recognized its threat and had prayed while he clung to life, and now that he offered her a glimpse inside his soul she heard him explain how during that time he had been changed by his encounter with the heavenly realm. He told her about the man-God he had seen, and that he had offered himself in a life of service. Her throat choked with emotion as she listened, and when he finally looked up he seemed relieved to have shared it with her. His expression was filled with peace and he smiled as he stretched back in his chair. She released his hand and touched his forearm as he reached to set the glass upon the opposite side of the table. In profile his deformed cheek looked suddenly different, as if somehow it had smoothed out even more. But how could that be? she wondered.
"When I saw that window," he sighed, turning back toward her, "it was so similar to everything I had seen and felt during that time, as if Arlene had visited that same place."
"You actually saw Him," she said softly, "in your vision."
He nodded. "When I awoke and read His description in the Scriptures, it confirmed every detail."
She sat back with a sigh of pleasure. "I am so happy for you, Erik."
"Have you had a similar experience?" he asked her, reaching for her hand again.
She shrugged. "I hear His voice from time to time, like a whisper almost. But your experience, Erik…it must be that you have a calling upon your life, to have experienced such a thing."
"I doubt that," he said with a slight shake of his head. "Just a greater need."
"Or both."
He studies her expression a moment, as if trying to decide something. Then he squeezed her hand. "The package which Pieter handed me earlier…it was from your mother, dated some time ago but delivered to him only this morning."
"Mother wrote you again?"
He nodded toward the hearth. "It's over by the sofa, if you'd like to read it."
She got up and adjusted her shawl around her shoulders, moving to fetch his mail. When she sat down next to him and pulled out the note and flyer, she read them with growing alarm.
"How could they do this without your permission?" she railed, shaking the flyer in anger. "And poor Maman, left to manage everything all alone!"
He raised a hand to the back of his neck and massaged it, and without being able to help it she pictured herself doing that someday. "Apparently Don Juan will threaten the stages of Europe enough to raise funds to repair the damages I caused," he said with a sigh of frustration. "Worse, they plan a grand reopening in the autumn, the full performance premiering once again."
She met his worried gaze, desperate to think of a way to help him. But nothing came to mind. "I'm so sorry…"
He slumped backward, raising his arms as if to stretch his sore muscles. "I would fight it through a legal battle if there was any other way to pay for what I've done…I suppose it is the least I can do, though I would rather burn all copies of the score to prevent it."
"But Erik, Don Juan is a masterpiece!" she objected. "Your first opera—"
"It's a horrible, twisted disgrace!"
Shocked at the vehemence of his response, she held her tongue and looked into his tortured expression.
"Don't you see?" he breathed, "it expresses all the anger and evil I held inside—"
"But you've changed, Erik—"
"No, I've been changed," he shot back. "There's a tremendous difference between the two."
When he put a hand on her arm and squeezed it gently, she nodded, placing her hand over his. "You're right, I've experienced the same thing, though not quite as dramatically."
"Then you must understand why I cannot bear the thought of that opera—that 'music'—ever being heard again. It reminds me of who I could be, were it not for the grace of God."
"Maybe you should fight for your rights as composer."
"I doubt even that would keep Mons. Andre and Firmin from finding a way to capitalize on it."
"Perhaps you could change it somehow, especially the ending—make it into something more redeeming?"
He stared at her a moment, obviously considering it. "What do you have in mind?"
Thinking quickly, she squeezed his arm. "You could write an epilogue, something like the 'moral of the story.' It could be very powerful if done properly, and it would even benefit others if they could learn from your example."
"That's ingenious!" he said, his eyes lit with interest. "Perhaps add another act?"
"Yes, exactly."
"As a means to decry what came before…"
"You might ask Pieter for his advice—"
"You're brilliant," he declared softly, raising her hand to kiss it. "And I will ask him."
Much to her embarrassment she felt her color rise; no one had ever called her 'brilliant' before. "Pieter has always encouraged people to share their experiences, particularly if they might help steer others in the right direction."
He tiled his head to one side, eyeing her with frank interest. "Or throw them completely off course?"
She gazed back into his heated stare, realizing his intent to compare this with their previous discussion. Her heart began to race, for she saw the twinkling amusement in his eyes. Was he in fact glad that she had thrown him off course, enough so to marry her? Though she was tempted to get him to admit it, she chose to stay on subject, at least for the moment.
"This is entirely different, and you know it."
"Not entirely."
"It was just a suggestion…"
He released her hand and turned his chair toward the table, holding her eyes. "I have another suggestion," he said, nodding toward the table. "Let's eat."
Erik eased himself from her embrace, gently lifting her hand from his bare chest. She sighed softly as he slowly transferred it to her pillow, snuggling her face into its softness and sliding her arm beneath it. When she settled back into a deeper sleep he sat up slowly, leaning back on his hand to study her.
The bare curve of her shoulder looked soft and alluring where her shift had slipped down. The neckline gaped low, revealing the soft suggestion of her curves beneath, causing a hot stab of desire to knife through him at the sight. Quickly turning away, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, careful not to wake her. Moving very slowly and carefully, he turned and planted his feet upon the floor, jabbing his elbows onto his knees and dropping his head into his hands. His chest heaved silently as he attempted to cool his burning desire, once again wrestling against the tremendous urge to fall back into her embrace and lose himself in her comfort. After several long and tortuous minutes he straightened and rose to his feet, reached for his shirt on the way out of the room. All it would take would be one backward glance and he would be lost, falling victim to his selfish desire to put an end to their marriage of convenience. He knew that she would be the last one to uphold his decision, should he change his mind. In fact, it was what she was waiting for. At least she was honest about it.
He padded barefoot past the cleared table where the lantern burned low to stave off her fear of the dark. At the door he turned, staring at his homey glow as he pulled on his shirt. Though she might have once had good reason to fear, it had been a few years since the attack, yet her childlike insistence on this habit remained. As he gazed toward the dim outline of her sleeping form he realized how childlike she was in other ways. Afraid of the dark, teasing and playing games with him, insisting she wash the dishes because he had 'cooked'. There was an impish side of her he doubted few others saw, except perhaps for Ben. Surely Louise saw little of it, being the strict disciplinarian that she was. In fact, he wondered if anyone knew Meg in quite the same way that he did. The thought gave him a great deal of pleasure, and he smiled as he went to the window and looked out.
She had a particular fondness for throwing things, he had discovered, evidenced after he thought he had talked her into letting him dry the dishes to help her. She had agreed after a somewhat prolonged discussion, yet at the first turn of his back a dishtowel slapped the back of his neck and her laughter had only added to the insult. Retaliation had been necessary, so he'd turned and wound her shawl around her shoulders and head as she screamed and laughed, pulling at his arms. Now, eyeing the clear moonlit landscape, he chuckled as he remembered her verbally denouncing his lack of respect for such a well bred lady of her caliber. Duly chastised, he had helped her untangle herself and it seemed that all was well, but then she'd splashed him and wet the front of his shirt just to tease him. Her punishment had involved being trapped in his arms as he backed her up to the sink and held her prisoner, at which point she had abruptly ended all teasing with a fierce storm of passion, winding herself around him and kissing him passionately.
Grabbing the handle of the door he pulled it open and quickly exited the cabin, drawing deeply from the cool night air and hoping to cool his own passion. One kiss at the lake had changed everything, and he sensed there would be no turning back. He realized how completely he had underestimated the power of a kiss, never imagining how addictive and drugging its nature could be. Not even the few kisses he had shared with Christine could equal the barest touch of Meg's lips. He knew he should have kept his distance from her, offered her his name and protection until he could help the police arrest the Buquets. But she had crept under his skin and now burned her passion into his blood and he knew that her love and desire for him had irrevocably changed him.
Rubbing his sore neck, he sat down on the top step of the porch, slumping back against the post to gaze up at the sky. Its black canopy glittered with innumerable stars, mocking him with their calm joy. He sighed deeply and began whispering his own particular manner of what might be labeled prayer. He preferred to consider it as conversation, yet he knew he wasn't talking to himself. The silent peace which often accompanied it indicated he was no longer alone. And as he thought about his feelings for his little wife, he whispered through all his concerns until he felt purged from his worries.
"I haven't the strength," he concluded with a sigh, closing his eyes but still seeing the passion in hers. "I love her too much."
The quiet around him seemed to grow louder, as if a protest sounded all around him. Shivering at the slight breeze sweeping over the wildflowers and grasses, he pulled his shirt closer and began to fasten it. All the while he pictured her pulling it from the back of his trousers, forcing himself to consider the progression of events which had led to that unexpected conclusion only a few hours before.
With their empty plates still littering the table they had pulled out a Bible and engaged in an hour long reading and discussion during which he realized how sharp her mind was. She knew far more sections than he, and from many different books than those he had explored, thus placing him at a disadvantage. She did not pride herself on this, but explained that she had found new life in its pages earlier than he had. Questioning him carefully, she had gotten him to confess to having read through more than half its contents, something she was still attempting to do. During their conversation they had covered many topics, finding that their interests lay along the same subjects. He had wanted to continue but they had an early morning departure and he needed to bed down Prince for the night. Upon his return they cleared the dishes and somehow ended up wet and clinging to each other despite his plan to keep apart. She had proven amazingly strong, her boldness surprising and exciting him at the same time. He could still feel her hands upon him, her fingers pulling at the back of his pants and shoving beneath his shirt to caress his back. It had taken all his strength to resist doing the same thing to her, as well as grasping her hands in his to get her to stop. Somehow he had managed, but just barely.
With a groan of frustration he shook his head at the beautiful sky. How could he continue in this manner? Tomorrow they returned to face God only knew what, yet she had no desire but to explore the subject of intimacy by experimentation. He sensed she had made this a priority, and he was running out of arguments against her desire. What was he to do to fight her? Or should he give in and take what little promise of joy and pleasure she so willingly extended to him?
The answer had to be in the book that had so recently become his manual for life. His hunger for it surprised and concerned him, though Pieter insisted it was the norm for someone in his newfound position. He tried to remember what he had read recently about marriage, but it had unfortunately centered upon the Song of Solomon. Hanging his head in frustration, he decided against meditating upon what had proven to be a sensuous account of lovemaking. Squeezing his eyes shut, he confessed his weakness even while reading his Bible. Everywhere he turned he was trapped by the allure of wedded bliss. Even this cabin, which Meg told him Arlene had labeled 'the honeymoon cabin' had its own special allure.
The longer he sat, though, the more the soft sounds of night enveloped him, soothing him. The treetops stirred gently beyond the muted chirp of insects in the grass. He looked up, surprised by the tiny glints of light that danced throughout the surrounding meadow. Fireflies… like stars upon the earth. He studied their movements for a while, his eyelids lowering as he grew drowsy. His head touched the back of the wooden post and he sighed contentedly.
I made all of this, for you… Erik opened his eyes at the whisper, like a breath of a breeze. Straightening, he looked around but saw no one. Yet he was sure he had heard someone. Heart pounding, he gripped the edge of the stair, suddenly remembering the account of Samuel, the boy who had grown up in the tabernacle. The boy who had a relationship with an unseen Lord, and who had grown into one of Israel's greatest prophets. Could he be experiencing the same thing only on a much smaller scale? After a moment's consideration, he decided to test it in the same manner Samuel had, repeating the words the high priest Eli had instructed him to say.
"Speak, Lord," Erik whispered, "for your servant heareth."
I made all of this for you…
Stunned, he knew he was not dreaming, or having another vision. How could he be, when he was now wide awake and alert?
I made it to show you my nature…
Erik looked up at the stars, his thoughts shifting to the patriarch Abraham, who had also heard the voice…so shall thy seed be…
Abraham had been childless, but God had other plans.
"I don't understand," Erik whispered.
I desire godly offspring…
His throat clenching with emotion, he shook his head despite the hope which leapt deep within his heart.
I am the Lord your healer…
"Yes, you are, but—"
Do not be afraid to take unto you thy wife… "Erik?" a sleepy voice said behind him.
You promised before me, and before witnesses… She came up behind him, her hand touching his shoulder. He wiped the tear which had spilled from his eye as she sat down at his side. He saw her arm move to pull her shawl closer.
"Are you all right?" she whispered.
He turned his head toward and nodded. "I am now."
She yawned softly and rested her head on his shoulder. "Did the Lord wake you up?"
He looked away. "Not exactly…"
She reached for his hand. "But He spoke to you, didn't He?"
He swallowed. "Yes, he did…"
As the silence lengthened, she laughed softly. "Sometimes I think I need a pry bar to get anything out of that head of yours."
He lifted his arm and scooped her beneath it, holding her against his side. She braced her arms around his waist, leaning into him. Kissing the top of her head, he looked up at the spectacular view before them.
"He told me that He made all of this for me…for mankind, to be exact," he told her. "To show His nature."
She tightened her grip. "That's wonderful…"
"He's right."
"Look—there's a shooting star!" she breathed, pointing. He followed the direction she indicated but saw nothing. Suddenly an arc of light sped toward the horizon, vanishing in a moment.
"You can see showers of them with the telescope," she said, her voice colored with wonder.
"That is the first one I've seen."
They watched in anticipation, but saw nothing more.
"I still can't believe you climbed all those stairs on crutches," she said, tactfully changing the subject. "Just to keep your promise to meet me at the telescope."
He glanced down at her. "It nearly wore me out."
"I'm sorry—I don't' know how I could have forgotten about all those stairs."
He shifted, looking back out over the view. "People don't notice things like that until they become an obstacle."
"That's horrible!" she stated. "Being completely oblivious to the difficulties others have to face."
"I've lived my entire life with obstacles," he admitted.
"Which you've successfully overcome."
He looked back at her, shaking his head. "Your hope seems so boundless."
"No it does not," she said, looking up at him with a smirk. "I'm just not as jaded as you are."
"Granted," he agreed before he realized what she had said. "Are you referring to me as old?"
"No—of course not!" she said, sounding suspiciously like she was laughing.
He frowned. "I could have said 'childlike' hope—"
"I am not a child—"
"That's not what I meant," he tried to explain. "Your hope is powerful and weighty in value—
I only wish I had some of it myself."
"I don't think it is something one has, but rather acquires."
"By practice?"
"Yes—by practice."
"Perhaps you could be my teacher."
"I think not!" she laughed, taking a moment to study him. "Well, on second thought you do have a lot to learn…"
"Do I?" he snorted, looking out over the valley. "You might consider a tutor of your own, in that case."
"Tutoring! In what subject area? I think I am fairly well versed in life, not that you have noticed."
"A bit overconfident, aren't you?"
"Is there something wrong with that? Because if you have a problem—"
He playfully cupped her mouth with has hand though she tugged to pull it away. "Silence, woman," he said, pulling her against his side. "Let's both listen and learn."
Her protests sputtered off and quickly died. He leaned back against the post, taking her with him. She kept her arms around his waist while he tucked her shawl around them both. They stayed that way for some time, watching the sky. It wasn't long before pale brushstrokes of pink and gold appeared over the dark horizon.
"The sun is coming up," she yawned, dropping her head against his chest, "and you haven't even slept."
He sighed tiredly. "I can manage…" he whispered close to her ear.
She turned her face against his neck and kissed it gently. "This will not be our last day together," she vowed, closing her eyes.
He rubbed her back slowly, keeping his eyes on the horizon. But he could not bring himself to agree.
c. 2007 by Christine Levitt
