Page 57 of The Woodsmoke Women's Book of Spells
It’s his back she sees first. He’s lying on his side in the grass, like a lump of abandoned sacking. She’s never liked that coat of his, how it blends into the landscape, how shabby and unkempt it appears. She’s had to stitch up tiny tears in the lining, patch up a hole that appeared on the left elbow. But Howard still wears it, still reaches for it, just as he did this morning. Kep races ahead, tail brushing to and fro, barking at the lump of him, nuzzling his still form.
“Howard?” she croaks, dread whipping up inside her, closing the space between them, ten paces, five, two—
She topples over to her knees, joints barking as she slams her palms on the ground. The soft mud and grass give beneath her, and she breathes heavily, trying to turn him from his side.
“Howard, you old fool, give over,turn, damn it,” she mutters at him, dragging his body over so his face is raised to the clouds. She drops her cheek to his chest, finds a fast rise and fall, like a rabbit caught in a snare. “Oh, Howard.”
He blinks, looking at her, as though trying to fix his gaze on her face. He’s sweating, and his breath is a stale muddle of toast and copper. Blood, she realizes. “Cora. Why are you here? I don’t know... I don’t know what happened...”
She drags the mobile phone from her pocket, squinting at the screen. It takes a few stabs of her index finger, but finally the phone slowly churns to life and the screen lights up. “I told you not to go too far. What did I tell you? You’re a fool, a damn fool,” she says, her voice filled with breathy tremors. She finds Carrie’s number in the address book, presses it firmly, waits for the tinny dial tone...
It rings out once, twice, while Cora holds her breath, holds everything inside herself, focused only on Carrie, on her hope—
“Damn thing. Damn bloody thing!” she says, wet tears threatening to rise up from her throat, from her chest. She sniffs, looking down at him, this man she’s traveled through the years with, this man who was always her sensible choice. She does love him. She knows that now. Maybe not in that fiery way shown in films and novels, but she truly does. “Howard, I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do.”
Her fingers are moving to another name, another number, before the thought is fully formed in her mind.
“Woodsmoke library. How can I help?”
“Jess. Jess, it’s Cora.”
“C—Cora?” There’s a static buzz, a brief whistle down the line. “Is everything okay?”
Cora looks down at Howard, fumbles for what to say. “The mountains... they always want something. I’m afraid, I’m afraid that maybe I asked too much over the years—”
“Cora, where are you?”
“With Howard,” she says, patting his cheek. “He needs help this time. We need help.”
“Stay where you are. Are you at home?”
“No, I followed Kep into the fields. He was just out for a walk, silly sod... just out walking.”
“Stay where you are, don’t try to move him. I’m going to hangup and call an ambulance, okay, Cora? Stay where you are, and try to keep him warm.”
The line cuts out. “Hello? Jess, dear?” Cora looks at the phone screen, sees it’s dead again. She rummages for a tissue, blows her nose, and swears quietly. When she looks down at Howard, she sees he’s smiling at her, just a little, his face softened by the kind of love she’s never sure she’s been able to return. “They’ll be along,” she tells him, taking his hand in hers, feeling the damp from the grass seep inside her clothes as she gets comfortable next to him. “They’ll be along soon.”
Howard says nothing as his fingers grasp hers and his gaze fixes on her features, on the aging folds where once there was only youth. But he can see what’s underneath. He can peel it all back, layer by layer, moment by moment, and see what was there all those years ago.
Radiance.
Cora Morgan, a precious jewel that never seemed to belong to him, not fully. His wife, this sharp-edged diamond, the woman he’s been chasing his whole life. He watches her, the bright sky above, and knows there’s nothing more he would have done. Nothing more he would have been than what he was. Everything is just as it should be, and at last he can see the love he’s craved shining from her. Love for him, love for the life they’ve shared. It’s enough. It’s everything.
He sighs, letting his mind buckle and drift, carried away on a wave of love for their life together, for the gentle, unhurried world they wove.
For her.
“Don’t worry, my love,” he manages to croak. “It’s not time yet. Not just yet.”
Chapter 43
Cora
Sixty Years Ago
“That Howard Price knows full well that pig belongs tous,” Cora says, the sharpness in her voice trailing down her whole body, drawing her forehead into a frown. “High time he just gives it back.”
“You going over there?” her mother calls from the kitchen as she steps to the doorway, glancing at her daughter before quickly hiding her smile. “Third time this week. You’d better take some cake this time to have with your tea.”
