As midnight slowly turned into the small hours of morning the storm outside slowed, and the icy wind quieted to occasional rattling gusts. In the moments between Father Edward sat by Bella's side, sometimes praying quietly, sometimes listening to the poignant silence as she drifted somewhere between awake and asleep. Her skin had become pale, waxen, and her breathing was not the deep even breaths of sleep. Each breath was shallow, inaudible when the wind gusted and barely detectable otherwise. Though she still lived, her hand in Edward's grew cool and the pulse he felt in her wrist was a weak, thready sticcato. Further and further away she slipped as he waited, ever watchful for the next breath.

"Edward?" she breathed, so quietly he almost missed it.
"I'm here, Bella," he answered her. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Good. That's good." She smiled, the barest upward curve of pale lips, and fell silent again, drifting back into rest that was not sleep.

Her hands had grown so cold now. Father Edward wrapped both of his overly large hands around the tiny one he held, marveling at how it fit just between his own as he tried to bring some measure of warmth. Her fingers flexed weakly.

Softly, breathlessly, she began to hum. He leaned close, curious to decipher the tune, and then his velvety baritone lifted the familiar lyrics, quietly in the sleeping house.
"…The storm may roar without me, my heart may low be laid,
But God is round about me, and can I be dismayed?

Wherever He may guide me, no want shall turn me back.
My Shepherd is beside me, and nothing can I lack.
His wisdom ever waking, His sight is never dim.
He knows the way He's taking, and I will walk with Him

Green pastures are before me, which yet I have not seen.
Bright skies will soon be over me, where darkest clouds have been.
My hope I cannot measure, my path to life is free.
My Savior has my treasure, and He will walk with me."

She looked peaceful as the last note faded, almost serene. Her other hand came to wrap around his, as though she was reassuring him even as her life faded. She tugged, weakly but persistently, until she could lay the downy softness of her cheek against his knuckles. Bella's tired eyes opened and met his, hazy but fixed in resolution.
"Once," she whispered to herself. "Just once," and raised his hand to her lips. There she pressed the barest kiss, light as a landing butterfly, and yet that action seemed to claim the last of her energy. Her eyes fluttered closed and she relaxed back to the state that wasn't quite sleep, releasing her tenuous grip on his hand.

Edward sat, frozen with indecision. The Father was shocked, scrambling for an explanation of the lonely spinster's actions, seeking the affections of the only man available. A supportive presence, a non-threatening source. Edward the Father excused her actions quickly to her delirium, the last acts of a dying woman. Still, Edward the man felt the sliver within his heart open a chasm, through which liquid pain began to trickle. What had he done, to be here on this night? What had he done, to have this pain instead of the peace he usually felt ushering the dying to their final rest? What had he not seen, not done? His head spun with self-recrimination.

And yet, he did not pull away. He was imminently aware of the softness of her cheek against his hand, the slender lengths of her fingers draped across his own, the softest whisper of her breath. Each of these was catalogued, carefully, as something vital.

"Edward," she murmured, "stop worrying so. Pray."

He chuckled, darkly, a humorless sound of exasperation. Even caught between this life and the next she found breath to reassure him, to unhinge his frantic mental pacing. So he prayed, reciting words spoken over the dying by many generations before, and found reassurance in the familiar ritual. When the words ran out it was quiet again. The barest light began to creep through the darkness around the shutters, the black of night was bleeding into the grey of dawn.
Bella's fingers flexed with his own, feebly. She moved, as if to speak, but no sound came. Edward leaned close, listening.
"What is it?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"Edward," she breathed, the barest sound. "I love…." And she spoke no more. The last of her breath faded away, never to be replaced by another.

-Author's Note:-
The song referenced is a hymn called In Heavenly Love Abiding. Have a listen. It can be truly beautiful. watch?v=IQwexE7YxcI

Right, so, I'm not so good at touchy-feely stuff, and rather insecure in how that all turned out. Anyone? Feedback? Love it, hate it?

Hang in there, there should be one more chapter coming, possibly two. I'm trying to get this one finished up before the drive to write runs out.