Page 11 of The Splendor of Fire
Vexation crimped her foolish heart, and she picked up the paper, holding it by two fingers in the gusting wind. The edge of the paper curled into his face, blocking his likeness except for those eyes.
Let it go. Let him fly away on the breeze forever.The paper lifted, pulling away from her fingers, but she pinched the corner, unwilling to release him.
She lowered her hand, defeated. What was the matter with her? She was happy in the cottage with Father. Satisfied to spend her days here in the woods and mountains. She did not want a man. She did not need a man.
Yet…something inside her heart urged her to hold on. Her fingers rolled the cloth paper and she tucked him into her bag, pulling the strings tight, locking chains around her heart.
Gloaming stars hungin the sky when Moira pushed the door open to the cottage. Tucked at the edge of the harbor amongst the pines, the familiar cottage was all the home she’d ever needed as a bird that flitted from one place to the next.
Father raised a hand from his usual spot beside the hearth. “Evening, Birdy.”
She smiled and placed her bag upon the table, walking over to her wall. Among the ripped remnants of dyed net she wove today’s treasure. An oak cluster, six acorns tight against a slender, knotted twig. Steppingback, she admired the hundreds of treasures. God’s creations, here in their room.
Father lowered his Psalter and eyed her over the cover. “He asked after you again today.”
Her fingers stilled against the net. And she whistled low.No.
“Still?”
She repeated the low whistle.No.
Father got to his feet from his favorite chair and turned her toward him, cocking his head. “Now, Birdy.”
She narrowed her eyes and shook her head back and forth, furious he would not let the matter drop.
“Léo finally confessed today what he said to you when you visited him in March. I’ll admit, I almost punched him in the nose, priest or no’.”
Against her will, she gave a short burst of soundless laughter. She lifted an eyebrow and skewered him.See? He’s as horrible as his brothers.
“He also gave me a full apology and spent the rest of the afternoon begging for my forgiveness. The man is going mad in there.”
Moira’s shoulders dropped and she took a step back, looping her hands in the leather belt that secured the black tunic around her. It wouldn’t work. She wouldn’t feel sorry for Léo. She shook her head again.
“I cannae say his motive in begging forgiveness is entirely pure. He asked you for a favor.”
Throwing her hands up in the air, she bent forward, drawing her leg up, removing the soft leather boot from beneath her trews.Typical man.
“He wants you to sketch a likeness of his son from his description. He’s three years old. Gabriel.”
She bit her lip as she dropped the boot to the floor. Léo had a son. The child she’d done her best to try not to remember for months. Still a bairn. Alone without his father. Her heart pinched. One year younger than she’d been when she’d been separated from her own parents. How must the small boy feel, separated from his Da?
With a sigh, she closed her eyes and tried to remember those lost years, the one bit of her past that was never erased from her mind—afleeting memory of her natural Da’s dark, curly hair. The feeling of being lifted from a chair, asleep. The rhythmic thunk of stairs, invisible to her shut eyes as he carried her to bed, pretending she was asleep —the safety she felt in his arms. Her only memory. Her eyes opened and met Father’s and pity pricked her heart.
“I thought you might feel that way. I told him you’d come soon and bring your charcoals.”
Gabriel. The name tumbled over and over through her head as she began to prepare their supper.
Thoughts she tried hard not to think about the day she’d been lost flooded her mind.
She remembered words of begging.Please, can I come?
Then the sea breaking against the sailboat, a dolphin jumping in its wake. It swam closer as two voices argued.
Good morning, dolphin.The last words she would ever speak. Hand extended, she tried to touch its glossy gray back…and then…the shock of frigid water, a gulp of briny sea. Sinking into black waves. The undertow pulling her down, down, down. Her heart pounded.
An unseen force pulling her through the tide, shooting her through the roll and crash of waves. Bursting through the surface of the water. Gulping for air. A branch hitting her middle. Grasping to it for dear life. Floating. Midday sun burning the skin of her face. Cold chilling her in the dark as she stared at millions of stars in the heavens. A whale breaching beside her and looking at her with its brown curious eye as she screamed and screamed in alarm, hysterical with fear.
The rise and fall of sun and moon. Floating in and out of consciousness, alone and forgotten. Colliding with a boat. Father’s sweet face as he lifted her out of the surf and into his arms, holding her close as she gripped her flaming throat and whimpered. Sailing away from the family she could no longer remember.
