Page 75 of The Quiet
That distinct, symbolic kiss had been a hallmark of the Rider's of Saint East, exchanged since before they had a name. It was a greeting and goodbye all together, imparted during the deepest tragedies and greatest celebrations. Cultural, religious, spiritual, romantic, it said: no matter what, the human soul exists.
Startled at her own behavior, she leaned away. "I'm sorry," she rushed the words as if they burned coming out of her mouth.
Jackson still looked shocked, a rare expression for someone so well acquainted with the twists and turns of the world.
"I'm sorry," she said again, embarrassed. She started to stand.
As if his body sensed her movement before his mind did, his hand rose up to her arm and pulled her down.
His other hand captured her face and he kissed her. Wrapping her in his arms, he pulled her close to his body and she buckled as he rolled her onto her back.
In that moment, the only safety in the world seemed to be what closeness she found with him. There was a breathless healing in their kiss, an unburdening as his hands brought her close to him.
His touch was reverent, and the minutes that passed drew on with the slow unfolding of her mind and body. Layers of fear and reserve were peeled loose like bandages, mirroring the release of her oil-soaked clothes that held fast to her skin like the sticky, pervasive bindings of guilt.
There was no determined objective, no rush, only the natural discourse of a physical language where one word poured easily into the next. She couldn’t have predicted how things would progress, only that it had felt normal in a sphere where time had become inconsequential.
When she was at last naked in his arms, she didn’t think of the hawk tearing through the flesh of its prey as she had so many times before. She no longer thought of the indignity of the slaves as she submitted to his touch and expressed the vulnerable evidence of her pleasure in her breath and voice. She no longer thought of Marnie’s humiliation as she opened her body to him. In the midst of the oil and the mud and the smoke, she gripped his hair and wept in the joy and grief of release, thinking only of the yellow daisies he’d touched with such hope, even with blood on his hands.
She recognized now, she’d longed to be touched like that, loved like that. She’d been a broken ghost in her yellow dress, and through the rhythms of his body, she was wrestled into the present to at last be a woman again.
She found hope in the midst of it all, and for several minutes afterward, believed that she would never see Lambspeak again.
It took time for other thoughts to creep back into place, thoughts of the oil and the mud that caked their hair and faces, marking smeared hand and fingerprints across them both. One fingerprint lined the bottom of Jackson’s eye, and he smiled as she tried to wipe it off and left only a darker smudge as they lay there in each other’s arms.
Watching him, the past and present now felt like impossible places, and she whispered to him as she coiled herself into his chest, “It feels like I could stay here forever.”
“Then do it,” he whispered back.
She laughed and eased up, searching for her shirt. He watched her struggle to put her clothes back on, laughing until he tried to do the same. Soaked in oil, it was like trying to put on a second skin.
“Let’s walk back to Paris. No more shortcuts,” Ella said as they both dressed, and he chuckled.
They put their gear back on, and she was amazed at how light she felt, hiding a smile as she glanced back at Jackson, who’d just finished returning his gear.
“You make it easy,” she said to him after finishing a quick braid of her hair. “To be here.”
“Here?” he asked, synching his belt in place. His smile already told her that he understood what she was suggesting, but she explained anyway.
“I think I can do this. I think I can avoid Lambspeak. I think I can maybe remember anything and be okay.”
He grinned and pulled her back toward him, kissing her again with a full smile, “You’re saying I just did all of that?” It was rare to see him gloat, and she discovered that she loved the expression of pride on his face.
“Absolutely,” she fed into it, and he only laughed.
“Don’t tempt me. It just took us thirty minutes to get dressed,” he whispered into her ear, exposing a playfulness she’d only seen the shyest glimpses of before.
She wrapped her hand in his as she laughed, and guided him back toward the exit of the valley. They waded through the fog until trees came into view. After a cocktail of adrenalin and the release of Jackson’s touch, she felt for the first time in a long time, that everything would be okay.
As they approached the woods, she heard a familiar and chilling click.
Ella froze where she stood, hoping that she had simply imagined the sound.
“Stay very still,” a familiar voice cut through the trees up ahead, one Ella recognized before the figure emerged.
His face was haggard, several bandages wrapped tightly around his forearms and head. She barely recognized him, but the voice was unmistakable.
Ella gasped in shock. “Crow?”
