Page 15 of The Splendor of Fire
Slowly mouthing words she silently spoke.You have a son?
He smiled again, remembering his beloved boy. “Gabriel.”
How old?
“He just turned three on the twenty-fifth of March.”
Knowledge dawned across her face.That is why he is named Gabriel.
Bittersweet memories came to his mind. “Oui, the Feast of the Annunciation. …Labor began in the early morning hours. Quick and agonizing for my Théa. The midwife made it to our cottage just as Théa needed to push. Poor woman was still wearing her mantle from the journey when he was born. Théa cried out for me and I held her. After three pushes he was out. Our beautiful boy. Ten fingers and ten toes, a strong cry.”
He’d never spoken to anyone about that day, and he wasn’t sure why he was sharing it with her, but she was listening intently, interested in his words.
“I was overjoyed and we kissed. Gabriel was so perfect and strong. He had my chin and eyes just like his maman. The midwife lay him on Théa’s chest, and he snuggled right against her, knowing the beat of her heart and the sound of her voice. It was then I noticed how pale she was. How much blood she was losing. The a-alarm on the midwife’s face.” Unable to swallow his emotion at the memory of Théa’s pale face, he choked on the words.
Concern knit in Moira’s eyebrows and she scooted closer to him.
“The beauty of her face was masked with white and her arms trembled against the baby. I placed my own arms around her to try and steady her, to stop her from slipping away…” He choked again on a sob. “But she placed a weak kiss upon the baby’s brown hair. ‘Gabriel,’ she said. ‘Gabriel.’ Then she looked at me, life fading away. ‘Gabriel.’ …And she was gone.”
He sucked in a breath against the pain. “The midwife handed me the baby because he started to scream. I-I didn’t know what I was doing, and he didn’t want me. He wanted his maman. I had never held a baby before, or comforted one, so I smoothed my hand over his little head, and we cried together.”
Tears trickled down Moira’s cheeks and she brushed them away.
“I was lost. It seemed impossible. One minute alive with labor, the next gone. I didn’t understand what just happened. And then, Gabriel stopped crying. His sweet blue eyes opened and he looked bewildered by my tears. He had his maman’s eyes, so inquisitive, like he was trying to understand what I was upset about. And he smiled… I know it’s not possible, it must have been wind.” He laughed and choked. “But he did. He smiled. And I knew all would be well, because we had each other.” Longing for his son gripped his soul. “At least we did. I’ve been gone for over a year. I know I must be hurt—hurting him by staying away.” He couldn’t continue against the hopelessness in his soul.
Moira sniffed and mouthed words.You are a good father.
He blew out a breath and wiped his cheeks. “You don’t even know me. I could be a t-terrible man.”
She shook her head and mouthed words with slow intention.You aren’t. Or your brother would love you and you wouldn’t be here.
He gave a wet snort of laughter, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. When he finally gathered the courage to look over, she was watching him, compassion in her eyes. For some reason, he trusted her. “My whole life, I’ve been an outsider. But she was my one…the woman I wanted by my side forever. With her, I never felt alone. It’s so hard without her.”
Moira shook her head again with determined insistence, her slender hand covering his. For a few moments she seemed to be thinking, then formed words.You have Jesus with you.She touched a finger to his chest. His Spirit is in your heart. You’re never alone. Not for a moment.She shook her head.You must not give up hope.She curled her bicep.He is a powerful savior.She motioned chains breaking.He is working to free you from here.She bit her lip.And…you have…It was the most she’d ever said to him, and he waited, rapt with her words. He could see her heartbeat thrumming in her neck as she carefully formed her next words.You have me, Léo.
Sudden hope flooded his heart and he felt drawn to her, wanting to sweep her into his arms and hold onto her strength. Instead, he searched for words to thank her for her kindness—for listening to him, for encouraging him. He spooned more stew into his mouth, his heart lifting as though he had just found a gold lode. The unfamiliar emotion left him boggled and it took him a few moments to remember what it was—joy.
Moira turned away, searching in her basket, then took a wooden board out and sticks of charcoal, and paper. His heart leapt. Gabriel. Palming her knife she raked the charcoal stick into a point, then unfurled the paper across her lap. She adjusted her fingers to the end of the stick and then looked up at him, brushing the curl away from her face, gray smudging her temple.
She caught him staring and pinked again, then gestured to him and to the paper.
“Gabriel? You will sketch Gabriel?”
She nodded and patted the floor beside her and he shifted, sitting so he could see her work. “How do I begin?”
With her clean hand she traced the shape of his face. His eyes met hers. It had been so long since he had been touched he’d almost leaned into her hand. She traced the shape of his face with her fingers again and her eyebrows lifted and he realized she was asking a question.
“Gabriel’s face is round, but he has my chin.”
Her charcoal moved over the paper and her eyes concentrated on his chin. A tiny version of his chin took shape on the page and she filled out plump babylike cheeks. Her clean hand touched his hairline around his forehead.
“High forehead, and his hair parts the opposite way of mine.”
The charcoal glided lightly over the paper and a forehead and hairline began to take shape.
“A little higher here.” He pointed to the part in the hair and she deepened the line.
Her hand reached beside his face and touched his ear.
