Page 5 of His Wild Storm
“Hi, Eliza,” I murmur, trying not to be overly proud at myself for not jumping when she spoke. Still, the spark of it, of knowing I’m better than I was, has warmth filling my chest.
Eliza looks at me for a long moment, so long I almost start to squirm. “I have a feeling you’ll be leaving soon,” there’s a sad edge to her voice, but also something deeper, something like understanding.
I can’t help but ask, “Why do you think that?”
Eliza gives me a soft smile full of understanding. “I’ve seen a lot of women come through here, Haven. All of them are running from something and searching for peace. Not everyone has been able to move past their trauma. Not everyone has been able to leave their abuser for the last time. Not everyone stops living in onlythismoment and starts looking toward what happens next. With you, I’ve seen the way you’ve healed here, but I also know this isn’t your home. It’s not where you belong.”
“I’m still looking over my shoulder,” I whisper the words, almost afraid to say them too loudly.
She makes a humming sound and then stands up and offers me her hand. I slip mine into hers and allow her to pull me up with her. Something settles inside of me at knowing I’m not afraid of where she’s taking me. I trust her.
As she leads me through the kitchen and the large dining room, I see Wilde eating his breakfast. He looks so different than he did when we made a run for it. The weight of the world isn’t on his shoulders anymore. He smiles. He laughs.
“Kate,” Eliza calls out to one of the women who run the shelter, “I’m going to take Haven to the studio, can you keep an eye on Wilde?”
“Of course,” Kate agrees and looks at Wilde with a big grin. “We have a cartoon date, if I remember correctly.”
“Yes!” Wilde cheers and pumps his fist. “We gotta catch up on Bluey, Miss Kate.”
He barely looks my way, but I’m not bothered, and I can’t help but smile at my son. He knows he’s safe and reminds me how much he has been thriving since we ran. Even though there have been nightmares, for both of us, and moments when I second guessed the choice I made, I know it was the right move. Not just for me, but for both of us.
Wilde is now a boy who plays. He’s curious and doesn’t wonder if his questions will be met with scowling, yelling, and judgement. He’s free. And so am I.
Even though I haven’t spent a lot of time in Seneca Falls because being out feels like being on the edge of danger, even if Ryan has no idea where I am, there are things I’ve fallen in love with in this small town. People here care about each other. They show up when needed. Their hearts are open, and, considering how nosey some people are, so are their ears.
It only takes a few minutes to get to Eliza’s studio, which sits close to the center of town. It’s still early and there aren’t a lot of people milling around Seneca Falls except for some people grabbing coffee and delicious baked goods from Sweet Grinds. Maybe later we’ll stop in because Wilde goes absolutely feral for the cookies there.
There’s something peaceful about stepping into Eliza’s stained-glass studio. Beauty is hanging all around us and she’sset up a work area on one side of the room opposite all the pieces on display. For some reason, butterflies fill my stomach at the thought of making something.
When was the last time I had the ability to make something just for the sake of creating? It feels like the opposite of what I’ve spent so much time doing—surviving. Creating was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Not only because it would mean I wasn’t existing somewhere between fight and flight, but having something nice, something mine, felt dangerous.
Now it feels like something I’m afraid to have because then this is real. All of it. Freedom. Hope. A future not marred in pain.
“The thing I love about making stained glass is how you take pieces, some small and some large, and put them together to make something greater than the parts,” Eliza murmurs as she leads me to the table.
She studies me for a long moment before flashing me a wide, knowing smile. The next thing I know, she’s pulling out some trays of glass pieces. Each numbered section is filled with an assortment of colors of the same shape.
Eliza places a paper in front of me of a beautiful waterfall with land and sky surrounding it. Each part of the whole on the paper is numbered and matches one of the bins in front of me. A giddy feeling fills me with the idea of choosing the colors to make this image come alive.
“You can choose whatever colors you want to create the stained-glass image,” Eliza keeps her voice low, the gentle cadence wrapping around me and making me feel safe and comforted.
“Okay,” I whisper as I look at my options.
My hands move without me even thinking about it as I lay out the pieces on top of the paper with the pattern. As the waterfall takes shape in blues and whites, I fill in the stones in dark colors and then the sky with colors of sunsets and sunrises I’ve been lucky enough to experience in Seneca Falls.
When I sit back, all the pieces filled in, I glance at Eliza out of the corner of my eye.
“What do you think?” The question slips out without me realizing it.
Eliza’s mouth tips up into a soft smile. “What doyouthink?” She throws my question back at me and it has my eyes widening. She gently places her hand on mine and gives a squeeze. “What I think doesn’t matter,” she murmurs. “As long as it speaks to you, as long as you were able to choose the colors you want, that is all that matters.”
Something loosens in my chest, and I nod slowly as I look down at what I made.
The next half hour or so is spent with Eliza showing me how to solder the glass pieces together. Watching it materialize has pride filling me. This is something I’ve made with pieces I chose.
And it’s beautiful.
When it’s done, I look over at Eliza with a big smile on my face. When she wraps me up in a hug, I sink into the feeling.
