by Sandra Hill
Harek just smiled.
“Mordr, thy anger is a cancer thou still must fight to control. First time one of thy children is threatened, I fear what thou wilt do.”
Mordr appeared angry just at being accused of anger.
“Cnut, surely you will not gorge yourself again? But then again, who knows?”
Cnut mouthed silently, “No way!”
“Sigurd, thou, too, must control thy sinful envy. One island is enough?”
Sigurd blushed at having been caught out.
“Ivak, what can I say about thy lustful nature? Best you castrate thyself if you want to survive.”
Ivak really, really cringed.
“In any case, the option of one more human life is open to all vangels, and I will explain the details to each and every one over the next two days. Decisions do not have to be made today, although, if Tranquility is thy choice, that can be accommodated forthwith. I would rather you give it great thought. In fact, I will give you one month to make a final decision. No, I will give you until Christmas, if you need that long.”
“If we decide to live out a human life, what will we do?” one vangel asked.
“Whatever you want. I will give each of you a small amount of money to start over, but thou wilt have to work to support thyselves, like any human does.”
Regina could see that this prospect troubled some of the vangels. Many of them hadn’t been trained for anything but fighting Lucipires. On the other hand, there were many occupational talents represented among them, as evidenced by all the electrical, plumbing, and architectural work that had been done on this castle renovation.
Regina looked at Zeb, and he looked at her, as the same thoughts occurred to them both.
Zeb was apparently not going to be singled out for some particular punishment. Michael surely would have mentioned it now. Well, that was good news. For Zeb, anyhow. For Regina, too, because, really, she didn’t want him punished any more than he’d already been under Jasper’s rule. Punishment by Michael, that was. Punishment by her would be okay.
The other thought was: Regina and Zeb weren’t going to be forced to marry. In fact, they might not even be considered lifemates anymore.
Regina sniffed the air.
No fresh rain scent.
Zeb sniffed, too.
Then frowned. Clearly, there was no cinnamon scent either.
Regina couldn’t decide if that was good news or bad news.
Michael dismissed them all then, reminding them that he would return at Christmastime for final decisions. Unless people wanted to go to Tranquility now; those vangels, or former vangels, should let him know by signing a sheet that had been set out on the hall table. Then, Michael hurried them on by asking that the next group of vangels be called forth.
“I have assigned a special team of archangels to help you all during this transition period.” Michael’s glance swept the room as he prepared a farewell statement. “I cannot say, Vikings, that it has been a pleasure working with you.” As always, he said the word “Vikings” as if it was distasteful. “But thou art not as bad as thou once were.” That was as close to a compliment as the Northmen would ever get.
Just like that, it was over. They were no longer vangels. Who will I be now that my self-identity has been taken away? Regina wondered. Others were apparently just as bewildered.
In the confusion and talking among themselves that ensued, Regina got separated from Zeb. That was just as well. She had much to think about.
Not only had she lost her vangelness in one blow, she’d also lost her fiancé. Should she be glad or sad about that?
Even angels need closure sometimes . . .
Zeb forced his way through the crowd until he got close to Michael. When he caught the archangel’s eye, he said, “I beg permission to speak.”
Michael nodded.
“Are you saying that I am free?”
“As free as any others here.”
“But . . . but . . . I was a Lucipire.”
“Was,” Michael emphasized. “Thou does not need to remind me of that unsavory fact.”
“I’ve been ‘imprisoned’ here awaiting your decision on my fate.”
Michael nodded. “Betimes Vikar oversteps himself.” Apparently, Michael had been aware of Zeb’s whereabouts. Zeb hadn’t needed to remind him of that. “For killing Jasper?”
“Yes.”
“What makes you think that Vikar’s sin of pride was any less for wanting to be the master executioner?”
Zeb hadn’t considered that. He frowned, not fully understanding. “The things Jasper told me at the end . . .”
“Pfff! Now you listen to a demon?”
It sounded ridiculous when Michael said it like that. But what Jasper had said couldn’t be discounted so easily. “He said my wife cursed me for abandoning my family.”
“Sarah forgave you long ago. Where she is now, there is no place for blame or resentment.”
“But . . .” Zeb made a motion with his hand to indicate what had just happened in this room. “I don’t deserve forgiveness.”
“When will people learn? It is for God to decide whom to forgive and whom not to forgive.”
“My guilt is huge.”
“Mayhap thou needest what modern folks call closure,” Michael advised in a rather tongue-in-cheek manner. But then he wagged his forefinger at Zeb. “Stop flailing thyself. Trust in the Lord.”
On those words of advice, Michael turned to speak with the next person waiting for his attention. As he was about to walk away, Zeb could swear he saw Michael wink at him.
In a sort of daze, Zeb made his way through the crowd, both incoming and exiting, many of them bunched up around the hall table signing the register for Tranquility. Zeb should have looked for Regina, but first he had some other things to do. Closure, that’s what Michael said he needed. In that instant, Zeb made a decision.
He was going home. For the first time in one thousand, nine hundred, and forty one years, he was going back to Israel.
Letting go . . .
Regina didn’t bother to wait for Zeb. She’d seen him go up to Michael, and she’d heard part of the conversation. It was about Zeb’s wife. Was Zeb being given a chance to live his human life over with Sarah and his two children?
Michael hadn’t quite said that with his announcement today, but he hadn’t discounted it either. Surely, that must be what Zeb was asking. When Michael had offered the option of living out a human life, had he meant here or in the past? Either/or?
Well, Regina, for one, had no interest in returning to the old Norselands and her life as a witch. But what did she want?
Regina decided that she would be the better person, if she was going to live a rocky human life. Despite the pain in her heart, she could only wish Zeb well. Being given a second chance to change the course of his family’s history . . . that was a blessing she couldn’t deny him. Sometimes, love really did mean letting go.
She made her way through the corridor and back through the kitchen where Lizzie was doing what she always did. Cooking. Regina gave her a little wave as she passed through, wondering what the old lady would decide in her own case. Would she stay or go?
When she got to the rental car that she’d parked in the back parking lot, she saw that Thor was sitting on the passenger seat, waiting for her.
“So, now you’re my best pal again, huh?”
Thor just meowed.
“Let’s go then,” she said. “I sure hope you like gumbo.”
You can’t go home again . . .
Zeb had only been in Israel for a day when he realized how foolish he’d been. He’d never considered himself naïve, but how could he have thought he’d find answers in a land which in no way resembled the place of his birth?
In fact, his old vineyard was now covered by a shopping mall. A shopping mall! It boggled his mind. All these years, when he’d been forbidden to return to his homeland, he’d been imagining it staying the same, or at least that ther
e would still be a vineyard there in the good earth. The only beverage coming out of that ground now was Coke coming out of the counter dispenser at McDonald’s.
Alas! Technology had taken over even that remote region, which of course was not so remote anymore with the advent of cars, planes, and other modes of transportation. Not wanting to make his trip a totally wasted effort, Zeb spent many hours in the museums . . . both regional and big city ones, like Tel Aviv.
At Masada, he found his answers. And his closure.
Masada was located on a plateau high atop a mountain in the Israeli desert, not easily accessed by foot. The first day, he traveled up to the top in a cable car, like all the other tourists. Who wouldn’t be touched by this tragic site where 967 zealots, including men, women, and children, held off more than ten thousand Roman soldiers for three years? In the end, they’d supposedly committed mass suicide.
Zeb knew differently, or at least he had viewed, personally, a different side of the final outcome there.
After his initial tour of the fortress, he spent his days in the Masada museum at the base of the mountain. Because he displayed an extraordinary ability to read the old documents in their original language, the historians allowed him access to the private rooms. There, Zeb saw a list of those “zealots” who’d lived under siege there, those that could be identified. When he came to the names Sarah bat Rivkah, Rachel bat Sarah, and Mikah ben Zebulan, he gasped and fought back tears. There was also information on his brother-in-law Benjamin ben David, identified as one of the ringleaders of the “freedom fighters.”
Writings on parchment attributed to Benjamin were kept in special glass cases. They were a sort of diary, not day-by-day, but occasional entries up until the end. It was the lines on the last page that struck Zeb. “Sarah weeps for her husband. Even yet, she believes he will come to rescue her.”
That didn’t sound like Jasper’s remark that Sarah had cursed him.
Of course, her lingering belief in him hurt just as much.
“Trust in God,” Michael had advised him. So, he spent many hours on his knees in a small chapel after that. Finally, he came to the realization: His life . . . his entire thirty human and one thousand, nine hundred and forty-one Lucipire years . . . had been wasted on regrets. What might have beens, what he should have dones. It was time to put regrets to rest. Time to move forward. This was the first day of the rest of his life.
Closure? he wondered. Is that what this is?
Yes!
Now, if it wasn’t too late!
Rainy days ahead . . .
A week after the Final Reckoning, Regina was working in the small garden of the cottage she’d rented in southern Louisiana. Tante Lulu had helped her find the property, which wasn’t anywhere near as nice as hers, but had promise.
It was one of those houses on stilts that were popular in the swampy regions of the bayou which often flooded. The overgrown garden, which was on a slightly elevated area, had been planted by the owner before going into a nursing home.
Regina had half expected Zeb to follow her to Louisiana, to beg her forgiveness, or something, even though she’d heard his conversation with Michael about his dead wife and family in Israel, but after the days went by, she had to face facts. And then, she’d talked to Ivak, who was over at Heaven’s End, undecided about whether to stay and fix up the place again or move somewhere else. Ivak had heard, secondhand, that Zeb had gone to Israel, just as she’d suspected.
So, Regina’s assumptions had been true. He was going to live his old life over again, with his family. She couldn’t blame him. It hurt like hell, but it was probably the right thing to do. Dammit!
“Are you sure about that?” Ivak had remarked. “I haven’t heard about anyone else being offered that opportunity.”
“Can you think of anyone else who would have wanted it?” she’d countered. Most vangels wanted to forget about their former sinful lives.
“You have a point there,” Ivak had concluded.
On her knees, weeding the garden, Regina uncovered still healthy tomato plants and root vegetables, along with lots of okra, which she hated. Apparently, you couldn’t kill off okra with dynamite, let alone a few measly weeds. Thor was having a field day sniffing catnip that the former owner must have planted.
She heard a car drive up and stood, dusting some dirt off her hands and knees. She was wearing farmer-style coveralls with a tank top underneath. Her hair was in pigtails. Walking toward the vehicle, her eyes about bugged out. It was a 1960s-era Chevy Impala convertible in a pale lavender color. A St. Jude bobblehead doll still wobbled on the dashboard, and a bumper sticker said “Not too close, I’m not that kind of girl.” Sitting behind the wheel, propped up on pillows, no doubt, was the inimitable Tante Lulu.
“Should a woman your age still be driving an automobile?” Regina asked.
“Huh? I ain’t that old. Besides, a gal is only as old as she feels, and I feel ’bout twenty-five.”
In your dreams! “I thought you were coming over with someone named Lillian,” Regina said, going up to the car.
“This is Lillian,” the old lady said, patting the steering wheel. “Ah brought ya a present, sweetie. It’s in the trunk.”
Regina opened the driver’s door and helped Tante Lulu step down. Today, she had a blond Farrah Fawcett wig on, with big sunglasses, which she removed and tucked into a pocketbook the size of Vermont. On top, she wore a pink T-shirt with the logo “I Got Game” tucked into white pedal pushers. She didn’t have any shoes on.
When Regina looked pointedly at her bare feet, Tante Lulu said, “Mah corns was botherin’ me.”
Regina took the keys that the old lady handed her and opened the trunk. Inside was a St. Jude statue. Surprise, surprise!
“Jist in case ya were feelin’ hopeless,” Tante Lulu said.
“Perfect,” Regina replied. “Thank you.”
“I also brought ya some St. Jude place mats and some St. Jude wind chimes and a St. Jude salt shaker. I even got a St. Jude medal fer Thor’s collar.”
Whoop-ee! “Thank you,” Regina said again.
Tante Lulu, for all her eccentric appearance and intrusive interference in everyone’s lives, was an accomplished folk healer, and her knowledge of medicinal herbs was astounding. She knew things that couldn’t be found in books. And, graciously, she’d been tutoring Regina the past few days on the possibility that this was an occupation Regina might want to pursue.
Regina wasn’t sure about that. First of all, could she make a living from it? Plus, she wondered if she shouldn’t go to school to learn, not just a trade, but everyday things. Regina had never been to school. Ever.
Tante Lulu left an hour later after also leaving her a tray of homemade cinnamon buns. Regina had commented, “I thought Cajuns were more into beignets and pralines and sweets like that.”
“We are, but I just had a yen fer cinnamon buns t’day. It was almost lak St. Jude was tellin’ me ta make ’em.”
Uh-huh!
“They give me heartburn.”
Me, too.
Just before she left, Tante Lulu looked up at the sky. “I think a storm mus’ be comin’. I smell rain.”
Yeah, Regina did, too. All the time.
Beau showed up then to help her fix the bed frame in the cottage’s single bedroom. While he was inside, and Regina was putting the cinnamon buns into a plastic container, she heard another car approach.
What was it today with all these visitors?
She went out on the porch that faced the bayou and noticed that this time it was a Jeep-type vehicle that had arrived.
And it was Zeb.
Her heart skipped a beat, then went into overdrive.
“Do you have any idea how much trouble I’ve had finding you?”
Not enough! Oh, Lord, I think I’m going to have a heart attack.
“There are no signs on this frickin’ one-lane bayou road.”
It’s the South, idiot. What did you expect? Be still, heart. Be
still.
“And I couldn’t ask anyone where you live because you never told me your last name. Do you have a last name?”
I do now. Regina Dorasdottir. Regina HeartRacingLikeaNASCAR. Regina Ithoughtyouwouldnevercome.
“Some crazy old lady . . . a Cajun yenta . . . in a purple convertible almost ran me off the road.”
Good!
“And I’m getting a sunburn.”
No more pretty vangel suntans!
“I thought you were back in Israel with your wife and children, running a vineyard.”
“Huh? There is no vineyard there anymore.” He tilted his head to the side, then seemed to understand. “You thought . . . no, that was never an option. I can explain—”
“Don’t bother.” Please do.
“Hi, Thor! What’s up? Met any Cajun kitties yet?”
Go ahead, Thor. Pee on his boot. No, no, I didn’t mean lick. Traitor!
“Doucet, what the hell are you doing here?”
Regina turned to see Beau standing in the doorway, grinning like a loon. He gave Zeb a little wave.
Another traitor.
“Ah bin jist fixin’ the bed,” Beau said.
“Get out!” Zeb yelled.
What? “The rope broke on the bed support. He was just helping me,” Regina explained, though why she felt Zeb needed an explanation was beyond her.
“Get out!” he told Beau again.
“Hey, you can’t order my visitor around,” Regina said.
“I can if I want to. What’s he doing sniffing around you?”
Sniffing? Zeb must be going loony tunes if he thought Beau was interested in her that way. But she liked it. “I’ll have you know, Beau is going to be a priest.”
“I was going to be a priest, too, but it didn’t stop me from wanting to screw you upside down and sideways.”
“Nice talk!” Picturing it here. Picturing it.
Then she noticed that Zeb was pulling his T-shirt over his head and unzipping his jeans. “What are you doing?”