Page 38 of The Wondrous Life and Loves of Nella Carter
She paused, her lips parting and closing, as she thought of what to say.
“It has been challenging,” she said slowly. “And interesting. Certainly not the life I would have had without you.” The server poured hot tea into two cups—the china clattering in the woman’s hands, though she had no idea of the reason for her nerves. Death frowned at her, and she hurried away.
Death turned back to Nella with a smile. “Without me, you’d have no life at all.”
Nella grasped the cup, the tea inside sloshing as she steadied herself. “Very true ... and while I appreciate it, I did want to ask, Why have you taken so long?”
Death cocked his head. “You thinkthisis long?”
“Yes,” she said, the sound strangled. “Twelve years without a word. I had no idea when you would come.”
Human perception of time was fascinating.
“Well, I had to give you a chance,” Death explained, picking up his cup. “I doubted you would be ready after mere months. Only with experience will you truly know all the ill that man has in his heart.” He sipped delicately, the bitter liquid hot and thick with the taste of herbs. “I read the papers and found none of your evidence.”
“They would not take articles written by women or colored folk. I have the rejections to prove it. I tried a French male pen name. Let’s see how that works.”
“Fickle and feckless. These humans are caught up in the arbitrary, wouldn’t you say? Does it change how you feel about them now?”
She shook her head, the movement sharp. “I still believe as I did all those years ago.” Her voice wavered at first but then strengthened. This was it. Her moment to convince him.
Death leaned forward, ready for their debate to begin. “Even with all your struggles since? The men in the alley? You still feel that way?”
She sat back in shock. “The men ... you knew? Why did you not intervene?”
Death shrugged a delicate shoulder. “That is not my role.”
Her nostrils flared. “So, would you have let me die? Can I even die?”
“Would you like to?”
She snorted. “Of course not!”
He gave her a patient look. “You can feel pain, my dear Nella, but your death is ... paused, if you will.”
She silently digested this, swirling her tea with a spoon. “You left me with no guide. What else should I know?”
He remained quiet, sensing the things unsaid between them. He could see them in her eyes.
“Have you already forgotten the finer points of our agreement? You traded your legacy for immortality.”
“Ahh,” she said, comprehension dawning. “So, a child ...”
“Is legacy,” Death finished. “Only your words will be left. That was our deal.”
Nella pursed her lips.
Death nodded. “Could you watch your children grow, wither, and die? Our experiment would end too soon because of your devastation at this death or another. It’s truly for your benefit. I’d thought it wise.”
Nella said nothing, instead drawing out a parcel of papers, her hands shaking as she passed it over the table. She glanced at the window, her driver just visible in his seat.
Death knew he had been right. Given her feelings, a child would have only complicated things further.
He flicked through the pages eagerly, drinking in her words. He knew some of this, of course. He’d observed her from time to time. Hedidn’t check in often, though, only when his need to know grew too great. Just sensing she was there, at her task, had made his work less exacting. Her experience in the world, and their bet, had given him something else to think about.
Now, with her words, he had even more to experience—a completely different perspective. She’d recorded it all, the beauty she’d seen and the good people she’d come across. He read her accounts of human kindness—being saved in the wilderness by a trapper and his runaway love; her early days with Eulalie, building a business and aiding othermarchandes; the work of the Free Creole women’s groups to lift up their neighbors. He had seen these sorts of things all the time but had never considered the beauty in any of them. He found it curious to consider as he continued to read.
The most interesting passages were those of human creativity. A number of the stories revolved around a man named William and the care he took in his craft: forging objects from metal and bringing them into reality. Here, Death saw more of her. He quickly deduced what was written between those lines.
