She couldn't stop pretending, not yet. No matter how hard it was, she couldn't let go of the fairy tale. Reality would come soon enough, and it would hurt. Oh, God, how it would hurt .. .
All they had was make-believe, the fairy tale was more real than the truth that they had nothing. Words, dreams, touches-they were what Selena would take away from here, and she refused to stop dreaming simply because it hurt.
She nestled closer to him, trying to feel him against every inch of her body. For one bright, razor-sharp instant, she fell into the fantasy, saw the life they could have led, the love they could have shared, and though it hurt-sweet Lord, it hurt-it also soothed and warmed her. "Madelaine," she whispered.
He stroked her hair. "Madelaine, what?"
"That's what I would have wanted to name our daughter."
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He stilled. "She would have looked like you," he said softly. "I would have made her life a living hell."
Selena sat up, twisted to look down at him. Her wet hair snaked across his chest. She didn't understand what he meant, but the understanding wasn't the important part. What mattered was the moment, the memory they were making. She remembered what it had felt like at the Shaker village, how she'd wished she'd let him spin the dreams for her. Now she would let him talk forever, because she knew that his words were gifts that could be opened again and again when she got lonely. It was the words that would stay with her forever.
"What do you mean?"
Ian crossed his arms behind his head and stared up at her. "You don't know about courting. But if some man tried to steal a kiss from our daughter . . ."
"You would probably lock her in her room."
He brushed a strand of hair from her mouth and tried to smile. The wobbly failure made her want to cry. "Only for the dangerous years. Ten through twenty."
At his quietly spoken words, the fairy tale fell apart, left Selena with nothing to cling to, nothing to believe in. The words weren't enough, the memories too weak ...
She would never see him smile again, never feel the gentleness of his touch or sleep in the safety of his arms.
"Oh, Ian ... it hurts so much."
His forced smile faded as he gazed at her through pain-darkened eyes. "I know, baby."
A soft, gentle snow began to fall, pattering on Selena's hair, catching on her nose and eyelashes.
"Selena." He said her name so quietly mat for a moment, she thought it was the wind. "I haven't asked you this before.. .."
She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing what he would ask. It was the question that hung between them always, resting like granite on her heart. Could you stay?
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"Do not ask it, Ian," she said. "There is no point."
He stared up at her for a long time, saying nothing, then a soft, curving smile shaped his lips. "I'm proud of you, goddess. Now, let's talk about something else, for God's sake. We haven't much time. Tell me about your life-the real one, the one you're going back to. Every time I touch Elliot, I get these images of you in strange clothing, walking in lines with other women. I want to know what you do every minute of the day so I can imagine you-"
"No," she said too quickly. "I do not wish to spend our time speaking of a past that does not matter."
"If we don't talk about the past, what do we talk about? There is no future."
She leaned down, kissed him slowly, thoroughly. "We have what we have always had, my love. Dreams and memories."
"Ah, Selena . .." He took her face in his wet hands, held her with infinite gentleness. "It hurts to dream with you."
Tears stung her eyes. "I know," she said in a trembling voice. "But it's all we have."
The next morning Selena stood at the armoire, staring at herself in the mirror. What she saw made her feel queasy, unsteady on her feet.
The dark russet wool of the Shaker gown covered her from throat to foot. Already the tender flesh of her throat was chafed by the high collar. Slowly she buttoned the unadorned kerchief around her throat, straightened it so that the "indecent" outline of her breasts was completely hidden. Braiding her hair, she wound it into a tight bun at the base of her neck and pinned her white, starched cap in place. The ruffled edge framed her face and covered the flyway curls that grew along her forehead.
She made her bed, carefully tucking the heavy blankets in, smoothing the white sheet hem along the top.
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Her fingers lingered lovingly against the cotton, feeling the softness one last time.
One last time .. .
She waited for the hot sting of tears, but this time they didn't come.
Forcing her chin up, she straightened and headed for the door and went into the hallway.
The house was quiet, too quiet.
She descended the stairs slowly, her booted feet creaking on the worn wood. Everyone was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. Elliot stood by the door, hat in hand, as alone in a crowd as a man could be.
The minute she reached the bottom, the crowd surged around her, crying, talking softly all at once, saying their good-byes in harsh, throaty voices. She hugged each one in turn, clinging as long as she could, and then she drew back.
Ian turned to Elliot. "May I say good-bye in private?"
Elliot squeezed his eyes tightly shut and nodded.
Ian walked up to her, his every footstep a blow that seemed to strike her heart. Gently he took her hand in his and led her through the front door, out onto the silent porch.
In front of them, the wagon sat in readiness on the drive. Behind it, the world was still and white.
He took her in his arms and held her closely. She clung to him, melting into the strong, familiar warmth of his body, wondering if she'd ever be this warm again.
"Someday," he breathed, drawing back.
She gazed up at him, this man who was her rock, her lifeline, the other half of her soul, and she couldn't think of a single thing to say.
What was left? Every hello they'd ever said had really meant good-bye.
* * *
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Elliot stood awkwardly in the foyer, wondering if he'd given them enough time-if enough time existed for the kind of good-bye they were saying.
Maeve came up to him, put her thin, pale hand on his arm. "I will miss you, Elliot. I miss you already."
He looked down at Maeve and was wretchedly ashamed that he'd brought sadness and heartache into her home. Of all the people he had known in his life, this small, quiet woman had accepted him the most freely. "I'm sorry, Maeve."
Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. "I know you are. Take care of our Selena."
His throat felt too tight to speak. "I will."
She smiled. "And take care of yourself. Do that for me."
He nodded and reached for the door, opening it quickly. Ian and Agnes stood on the porch, locked in a tight, desperate embrace.
When he stepped onto the porch, they slowly drew apart. Agnes gave Ian a last, lingering half smile and came to Elliot, slipping her arm through his.
Together, silently, they walked down the sagging steps and across the soft layer of new snow. Still silent, they climbed aboard. Elliot took the cold, flat reins in his gloved hands and urged the horse forward.
The wheels whined in protest and slowly began to turn, crunching through the snow.
For a long time, Elliot couldn't bear to look at Agnes, and when he finally did, he wished he hadn't. She sat hunched and shaking, her chin tucked protectively into her chest. They hadn't gone more than fifty feet from the house and already she was beginning to wilt.
It broke his heart to see her pain.
She was the only real family he'd ever had, this wife who wasn't a wife, had never really been a wife. They weren't lovers, not in the physical sense of the word, and not even in the emotional.
It was amazing how the realization freed him. For the
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first time in years, maybe forever, he understood how he felt for Agnes. She was his family.
His friend. She had always been there for him; even after he brought her to the sterile world of the Believers, she'd always been there. A stolen look, a little wave, a tired smile. She'd always been his rock, comforting and anchoring him by her very presence.
But what had he been to her? Her protector, her savior. Not her husband, never truly her husband.
He loved her, certainly. But not the way she deserved to be loved. Not the way Ian loved her. Elliot had never felt honest sexual desire for her-or if he had, it was so long ago, he couldn't remember. He wanted her for the same reason she wanted him. So they wouldn't be so alone in the world.
Only she wasn't alone anymore.
The driveway forked up ahead. One road led to the huge, iron-scrolled gates, which now were silvered with frost. The other led back to the house.
Ian leaned against the porch stanchion, his arms crossed tightly on his chest, his mouth drawn in a taut line. Watching her leave him. Again.
The world was quiet, still, with only the low soughing of the wind to punctuate the clip-clop of the horse's hooves.
He stood stiff, straight, afraid that if he moved, if he even blinked, he'd run after her, fall to his knees beside the wagon and beg her to stay with him.
Marry me, Selena. Marry me because I'm selfish and unenlightened and need you so. ...
He squeezed his eyes shut, not ready to remember yet, wondering if he'd ever be ready to remember.
His life spiraled out before him, endless days and longer nights, and yawning, desperate loneliness. Children he wouldn't father, kisses he wouldn't feel.
"Jesus," he moaned, fisting his hands. He'd never
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known a man could feel this sharp a pain and keep breathing, keep living.
"They're coming back," Maeve said softly.
Ian's head snapped up. He opened his eyes.
The wagon had reached the curve in the driveway and turned left. Back toward the house.
Johann pulled away from the door, moved toward the steps. "Holy shit."
They stood there, Andrew, the queen, Lara, Maeve, Johann, and him, breathless and waiting, hoping. But no one said a word.
The wagon pulled up in front of the house again and stopped.
Ian pulled away from the post, took a step forward before he stopped. He looked up at Selena, sitting there, her back straight, her cheeks already pink from the cold, sparkling air, and thanked God that she was back. Even if it was only for a second.
Elliot set the reins down and climbed out of the wagon. Crossing behind it, he went to Selena and helped her down, then he led her back toward the house. The crowd parted wordlessly, leaving Ian alone at the top of the stairs.
Elliot led Selena up the steps and came to a stop in front of Ian.
Elliot drew in a deep breath, then, very slowly, he took Selena's cold hand and placed it in Ian's.
"Ian," he said in a soft, steady voice. "I give you my wife to be yours. All I ask ..." Tears filled his eyes, fell in streaks down his face. "All I ask is that you love her and make her happy. I cannot do it anymore."
Ian felt a rush of emotion so powerful, so intense, that his knees went weak. He squeezed her hand tightly, too tightly. He looked down at Selena. She was crying quietly, but she hadn't looked at him.
"Elliot-" Selena whispered, a stricken look on her face.
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Elliot gave her a heartbreakingly tender smile. "We are not truly husband and wife, Selena. We never were."
"But ..." Her voice broke. She looked at Ian, her eyes filled with a mixture of tears and love and awe.
Elliot leaned down, kissed her cheek. "Be happy, Selena."
He pulled his hand away from Selena's and left it in Ian's, then started down the stairs.
For a second, Ian was too stunned to react. Then he pulled her into his arms, crushed her in his embrace. She clung to him, whispering his name over and over again, as if she couldn't believe they were together.
Finally they drew apart, and he stared down at her. "I love you so much," he said in a cracked voice. Such little words, so small, to express the pounding, aching emotion in his chest.
Tears puddled in her eyes, slid down her pink cheeks. She gave him a trembling smile, then cast a sad look at the old man walking away from them. "It is not right," she whispered, and another tear fell.
Ian looked at Elliot, watched the man crunch through the new snow toward the wagon, his whole body hunched in defeat.
And suddenly Ian understood. All of it made sense. God had demanded the best from all of them-Selena, Elliot, Ian. Each of them had to dig deep in his or her soul and find the honor, the love, the truth.
In finding the goodness in themselves, they'd been redeemed.
"You're right," he said softly. Squeezing her hand, he led her down the steps and across the snowy yard. "Elliot!" he called.
The big man paused just before boarding the wagon and turned back. His eyes widened in surprise as Ian and Selena moved closer. He pulled the floppy hat from his head and crushed it to his chest. "What is it?"
It took Ian a moment to find the words. He wanted
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just the right ones, but in the end, he couldn't find them. So he simply said, "Stay."
Selena gasped, smiled up at Ian-so painfully beautiful, it took all his willpower not to crush her against him.
Back on the porch, Maeve let out a scream and came running down the steps.
Elliot looked from face to face in obvious confusion. "You're just being polite."
"No," Ian said.
Selena squeezed his hand, then let go, moving toward Elliot. "I told you once that you were my family, Elliot. I believe this is what families do. They grow. One person at a time, one day at a time, they grow and change and stay wondrously the same."
Elliot touched her face, a fleeting, emotional gesture. "There's no Agnes anymore," he said quietly. Tears filled his eyes again, and he seemed unashamed of them. His mouth curved in a tender smile. "You're offering me a family."
Family. Ian heard the reverence in the word, and it moved him. This big, scarred man had wanted what they all wanted, what they'd all found when only they'd opened their hearts.
Elliot could nod right now and it would be done. He could release Selena, release himself from their past. Together, they could all create the future.
It was so simple, so incredibly simple. Selena had been right from the very beginning. The world came down to choices, simple, straightforward choices.
"Elliot," she said in that soft, throaty voice, the one that always mesmerized Ian. "You belong here with us."
Maeve moved up beside Elliot, placed a small hand on his huge shoulder. "Stay, Elliot."
Elliot looked up. Above the women's heads, he stared at Ian, flashed him a last, silent question.
Very slowly, Ian nodded.
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A grin broke across Elliot's big face. "I'd like to stay."
A whooping holler rose from the crowd and they surged forward, shaking Elliot's hand, patting his back. Welcoming him.
Selena turned to Ian then, and he knew that if he lived to be a hundred, he'd never forget that moment. That look of shining, brilliant love in her eyes.
She moved into the circle of his arms. He held her, felt her melt against him, and knew that this time it was forever. He closed his eyes, heard the distant rumble of the sea, the ebb and flow of the horse's breath, the murmuring of voices in the background. Somewhere a gull cawed, and it sounded like the cry of a newborn babe. God's exquisite symphony.
Slowly he opened his eyes and gazed down at her, loving her so much, it hurt. "Ah, goddess," he said in a thick voice. "I can hear the music at last."
Epilogue
They say that the old mansion on the isolated coast of Maine still stands, waiting for a loving, restorative hand to bring it back to its former glory. Trees and underbrush have crept across the once-shorn lawn, winding slick, green tentacles around the peeling porch rails. A thousand white
wildflowers grow stubbornly amidst the weeds, their fragrance a sweet reminder of days gone by.
No one visits the old asylum anymore, no one has in years. The many children of Ian and Selena flew from the nest long ago, scattering like dust in the wind, raising their children and their grandchildren in other, more modern places.
But every now and then, the locals creep through the weeds to gaze at the old place, and even now, more than a century later, the house of the broken windows welcomes them. Over the years, more than one person has claimed to hear laughter. Some say it is the wind, others the restless spirits of the lunatics who once lived here.
The children know, though, and the grandchildren, too. This wild, lonely house by the sea is like no other, haunted not by demons or sorcerers or evil, but by the memory of a passionate, undeniable love.
For when the night is dark and the tide is low and the wildflowers glow like scattered diamonds across the
blackened yard, the sound of laughter lingers in the air. And the lovers hear it as they stand along the desolate shore, waiting for the moon.
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