Through the Ashes (The Light Book 2)

by Jacqueline Brown

  She saw herself as grown up now that she was four. Her birthday came a few days after New Year’s. And the truth was she was older than her age. She and I both lost a lot when we were three. The difference was, while I had been left alone to deal with it—or not—she was surrounded by love.

  Quinn continued to stay close to Nonie, to make sure she was okay, like she had in the days and weeks following Pops’s death. Most days Nonie was able to laugh and enjoy her time with all of us, but there were days when her grief surfaced and overwhelmed her. On those days Quinn sat on her lap and rubbed her arm, as if to say, “Stay with me a little longer,” though no words were ever spoken. On those days the rest of us tried to bring Nonie happiness, but only Quinn succeeded.

  We stepped into the bedroom that she and I would now share with Sara, East, and Nonie. As always, a warm fire glowed in the fireplace against the far wall.

  “I was about to look for you,” East said to Quinn. “Come on. You need to take a bath.” She reached out to take Quinn’s hand.

  “No, I don’t want to. The water is too cold,” Quinn said, her arms folded across her chest, her head shaking.

  East knelt down, looking her daughter in the eyes. “I promise it’s not. I used lots of rocks this time. It’s nice and warm.”

  “Promise?” Quinn asked.

  “Promise.” East rose from her knees and led Quinn from the room.

  She was a really good mom, though Quinn didn’t know it. I knew one day they would tell her and on that day she would hurt … more deeply than she ever had before. It always hurts when the truth is found out after years of lies. It’s why so many people prefer the lie. But goodness can only grow in truth. East understood this and so did her parents. Quinn would too, someday.

  Three

  Blaise held out her hands to the warmth of the fire, a robe wrapped around her. Sara stood, putting the finishing touches on my mother’s wedding gown. Charlotte, Quint, and my father had returned to my parents’ house to retrieve the dress and do what they could to repair the damage Mick had caused.

  Someday I would be strong enough to go back there. Maybe even live there. Someday, but not today.

  “How was hunting?” Sara asked, as I laid my mother’s sundress out on the bed.

  “It was fine. I shot a rabbit,” I said, taking off the clothes I wore.

  Sara nodded. She and I felt the same about hunting. We understood it was necessary, but wished there was another way.

  “What if he doesn’t show up?” Blaise mumbled from her place at the fire.

  I slipped the sundress over my head and made a face at Sara. We would have laughed if Blaise wasn’t so serious.

  I went to Blaise, and the heat of the fire took the chill from my body. “Why do you think he won’t show up?” I asked, rubbing her arm.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t think he wouldn’t show up. I said what if he didn’t. Do you think he won’t show up?” She stared at me, panic in her eyes and voice.

  “Blaise, honey, Bria didn’t say that,” Sara said. She laid the wedding dress across the bed and came to stand beside us.

  I looked at my friend, wondering if she was losing her mind. Josh was madly in love with her. Everyone knew that.

  “You do remember he lives here, right? And the only way out of here is to walk,” I said.

  “You think he’s only marrying me because he’s trapped and has no chance of escape!”

  The words had come almost too fast to comprehend.

  I used both of my hands to hold her right hand. I stared into her eyes and spoke slowly. “Blaise, Josh loves you. You know he loves you. He proposed over a year ago. You two were going to get married at the end of May anyway. Remember, we planned the wedding together. Your parents were excited. His parents were excited. We were all excited.”

  She bit her lip as her eyes filled with tears.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, Blaise, whatever I said to upset you, I didn’t mean to.” I played the words I’d just spoken over in my head, trying to understand what caused so much hurt.

  “My … parents,” she managed to get out between sobs.

  With those words a new wave of emotion entered the room. Sara’s eyes started to fill, and I felt like the worst friend in the world. We never discussed parents; it was too painful.

  Josh had said he knew his family was okay. They lived in a remote part of Nebraska, on a working farm. Their neighbors were family. The town was small and many of them relatives. He missed them and he longed to see them again, but wasn’t worried about their safety or survival. But Blaise and Sara … their families were different.

  Sara and Blaise embraced. Through her own tears, Sara said, “Your parents would want you to marry Josh. They love Josh and they love you.”

  Blaise nodded. “I miss them so much. It doesn’t seem right to get married without them. It doesn’t seem right to be here, safe and happy, when they are … when who knows where they are or if they are even alive,” she said, bursting into tears.

  Sara and I held her while she cried. At times I felt like we’d abandoned their families, left them out in the world to fend for themselves, but I knew there was nothing we could do.

  “Why aren’t you all dressed?” Quinn asked as she stepped into the room, wrapped in a pink ballerina towel. Her tone was unmistakable. She disapproved of our lack of progress.

  She came and stood beside us, her arms folded, a foot tapping with impatience. A soaking wet East walked in behind her and exhaled loudly.

  “I was about to get dressed,” Blaise said, sniffing and wiping her eyes.

  “We were waiting for you,” Sara said, blinking away the tears and looking down at the girl.

  “Oh, good,” Quinn said, twirling around in her towel.

  Blaise forced a smile and went to the bed where my mother’s gown lay. She wiped the last remaining tears from her face.

  The roundness of her cheeks held on to them, as if to remind all who looked at her of the pain of those that came before her. She knew nothing of her biological parents, and never would. But I knew her birth mother had cried a river of tears. If not when she left her daughter at the gates of the orphanage, then years later when the reality of her decision had sunk into the depths of her soul.

  Sara and I gently lifted the gown over Blaise’s head. As it slid down Blaise’s body it seemed to come alive and so did she. She embraced the beauty of the dress. Her eyes turned up and light emanated from her still damp cheeks. Sara fastened the sheer fabric that covered the base of her neck and shoulders. Blaise pulled the sheer sleeves down to her wrists. The dress fit her perfectly, with only minimal alterations.

  “It’s a beautiful dress,” East said as she wrestled a green velvet dress with long sleeves onto a squirming Quinn.

  “What do you think, Quinn?” Blaise asked.

  Quinn stood with her mouth open, staring at Blaise. “You look like a princess!” she said.

  We all laughed, but Quinn was right. Blaise did look like a princess.

  “Would you like me to braid your hair?” I asked.

  “Yes, please,” Blaise said, taking little steps backward so the skirt of the dress stayed where it was and there was less distance between us.

  From the corner of my eye I could see Quinn pull the white dress socks onto her feet. East bent and helped fasten the black patent leather shoes. I turned and watched Quinn twirl in what would’ve been her Christmas outfit, the bottom of her dress floating up as she did so.

  I finished braiding Blaise’s hair, and she turned and clapped as Quinn repeated her twirling again and again. I stepped back and looked at the loose braid. It needed something. I signaled for Quinn to come to me. East watched me kneel and whisper in Quinn’s ear.

  “I think Blaise could use some color. Could you pick some wildflowers for us to put in her hair?”

  Quinn beamed, pretended to zip her lips with her fingers, and nodded yes.

  “See if your sister will help you,” I whispered a
gain.

  Quinn walked over and grabbed East’s hand, pulling her out of the room.

  “What did you say to her?” Blaise asked, raising an eyebrow in my direction.

  “Oh, nothing,” I said, winking at Blaise.

  Sara slipped into her dress, immediately placing her hand to her chest.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I feel like I’m going to fall out of this,” she said, wrestling with the top of her dress and trying without success to create more coverage. “I can’t believe you let me out of the apartment looking like this.”

  “Let you out of the apartment?” Blaise said, amusement in her voice. “You remember that no one has ever controlled you, right?”

  Out of all of us, Sara had changed the most since Thanksgiving. She had a new calmness about her. The difference was unsettling and inspiring at the same time.

  “It’s not that bad and it’s the same stuff we all wore. Well, not Blaise, but you know … the rest of us,” I said, picking up Charlotte’s sweater and tossing it to her.

  “Thanks,” she said, catching it. She put it on and buttoned three or four of the buttons in the middle to pull it around her. “I guess there’s nothing I can do about this length?” she said, tugging at the skirt.

  I shook my head.

  “Not to be mean,” Blaise said, “but that was one of your more modest dresses.”

  Sara groaned and said, “I know.”

  I dug through Blaise’s makeup bag. “Come to the window so I can see better,” I said, finding her eyeliner.

  “Not too much, okay? I don’t want to look like …” Blaise stopped, looking up at me.

  “Like what?” Sara said, coming to stand beside us. She took the makeup bag from my hand.

  I readied the black eyeliner, my hands inches from Blaise’s face.

  “Like you two,” Blaise said in a quiet voice.

  “Hey!” Sara shouted.

  I stepped back, pretending to be hurt.

  “What was so bad about how we did our makeup?” I asked, arms folded across my chest, still holding the eyeliner.

  “It wasn’t bad, really. It was just a little …”

  “A little what,” Sara said.

  “Umm, dramatic. Yes, that’s the right word,” Blaise said.

  Sara and I exchanged a look.

  “Close your eyes and don’t move,” I said, stepping in closer to Blaise.

  Blaise bit her lip and closed her eyes.

  “Here,” I said, handing Blaise the hand mirror a few minutes later.

  Blaise took the mirror as Sara put Blaise’s bag down, grabbed her own, and handed it to me.

  “I look beautiful!” Blaise exclaimed in astonishment.

  “Of course you do,” Sara said. “Bria’s an artist.”

  “That’s basically your natural look, slightly enhanced,” I said as I began to work on Sara.

  “This brings back memories,” Sara said.

  Blaise handed her the mirror when I was done. Her green eyes were now even more striking than usual.

  “Nice,” she said, admiring herself.

  “It is fun to wear makeup, isn’t it?” Blaise said, with a reminiscent, sad tone as she handed me my makeup bag from the bed.

  Sara held the mirror for me while I layered the eyeshadows to make my eyes appear a darker, richer shade of blue. My blonde lashes slowly became visible with each pull of the mascara brush.

  The door swung open and JP ran in, followed by Quinn.

  “I told you to knock first,” she yelled at her brother.

  “Oh, sorry, I forgot,” he said, looking at the three of us.

  His white dress shirt was rolled up at the sleeves and tucked into gray slacks that ended at his ankles. The shirt was an old one of my father’s and far too big. He wore one of his father’s ties, and looked quite handsome with his hair combed—an extreme rarity.

  “It’s okay, JP,” Blaise said. “We are all dressed.”

  “Is it time?” Sara asked, going toward the children.

  “Dad said whenever you’re ready. Here, we got these for you,” he said, opening his hand.

  Quinn followed his lead. They both held little flowers of all shapes and colors.

  “I thought we could put them in your hair,” I said, looking at Blaise as I secured my hair away from my face with a few bobby pins.

  “They’re beautiful,” she said. She pulled her dress out from under her and knelt, becoming eye level with the kids.

  JP and Quinn each stood at the edge of the silk. They leaned toward her and methodically placed the flowers into her braid. When they were done, it looked as if spring herself had formed a braid of delicate wildflowers just for Blaise.

  “Now you’re even more beautiful than a princess,” Quinn said, stepping away and admiring her work.

  JP offered Blaise his hand as she stood. “Can I help you walk down the stairs?” he asked, his voice calm and mature.

  “Yes, that would be lovely,” she said, taking his hand.

  Sara grabbed an extra wildflower and placed it in her own hair. We gave each other one last look, adjusting a strand of hair here and there.

  Sara and I stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Blaise looked radiant with my mother’s gown cascading behind her. Sadness threatened to overwhelm me, knowing my mother had been just as radiant. I sniffed back the tears and shook my head, refusing to have black streaks running down my face on the first day of wearing mascara in almost four months.

  JP reached the bottom of the stairs and let go of Blaise’s hand. “I’ll tell everyone you’re ready,” he said.

  We watched the front door close quietly behind him.

  “He’s really growing up,” Blaise said, staring at the closed door.

  A moment later the door opened and Quint came in, dressed in a suit and tie. It was looser than it was meant to be; still, he looked very handsome. There was so much of Jonah in him, or rather, so much of him in Jonah. He was not as large as his son, but after so many months of hard labor the bit of roundness that had been there when we first met was gone and now he looked even more like him.

  East followed her father. She wore dark jeans and a flowing top. She carried three bouquets of wildflowers.

  “We made these for you. We wanted them to be a surprise,” she said as she handed each of us one, and gave the bouquet with the long flowing streams of ivy to Blaise.

  Blaise took the bouquet and pulled East into an embrace. “They’re exquisite!” Blaise said, releasing East.

  “I’m glad you like them. Mom and Nonie will be happy too. It was their idea. But Quinn and I helped, didn’t we?” she said, winking at her daughter.

  “Um-hmm.” Quinn nodded in great exaggeration.

  “Speaking of flowers, where’s your basket?” East said, looking at Quinn.

  Quinn’s eyes widened. “Oh,” she said, running out of the room.

  A moment later she returned, carrying a small wicker basket filled with flowers. “I almost forgot,” she said, holding the handle tight as if to ensure it didn’t escape again.

  “You wait until Dad tells you to go. See you in a minute,” East said, backing out of the front door and closing it behind her.

  We stood in silence. Excitement, joy, anxiety, and fear mixed together into a strange ball of feelings that I struggled to control. Behind me, Blaise inhaled and exhaled slowly and deeply.

  “Are you ready to get married?” Quint asked.

  “I am,” she whispered.

  Four

  Quinn took a step and released a handful of flowers back to the earth, took another step, and released more flowers.

  The silence of the moment was a sad reminder of who was not at the wedding. Pops, I was told, loved to sing and loved weddings. His death had been pointless, and though Eli spoke often of God’s unending mercy, I secretly hoped that for Mick there was none.

  Sara stepped from the doorway and made her way down the dirt aisle. She soon reached the two small benches wh
ere Nonie, JP, Charlotte, East, and my dad sat. Everyone wore their best clothes. My dad had brought a suit back from our house for the occasion, and though he’d gained several pounds since Christmas, it still hung from his body.

  I glanced behind me at Blaise. Her expression was a mixture of fear and excitement. I supposed that was how a person should look on their wedding day.

  I stepped forward, the heeled sandals I’d brought for our trip to Florida sinking into the soft earth. I lifted my head. I knew as I did so I would see Jonah. Not because I was looking for him, but because whenever I looked in his direction our eyes met. It never failed. Perhaps it was me always trying to connect with him, or perhaps there was some sort of invisible force pulling us together. I had stopped trying to understand it.

  Jonah’s mouth turned upward when our eyes met. I couldn’t help but return the smile and the gaze. I couldn’t help but wonder what he was scared of.

  Jonah always looked handsome, regardless of the clothes he wore or how long his hair was. Even when death seemed only a heartbeat away, he was still incredibly good-looking. But with his short hair and clean-shaven face, so different than he usually looked, it was difficult for me to look in his direction. It was, for me, like looking into the sun. Overpowering.

  I lowered my eyes and tried to focus on walking, or Eli, or Blaise, or my dad, or even missing Pops. But instead I thought of Jonah.

  ***

  During the first week after the attack and surgery, his body grew weak, so weak Quint said his heart was barely pumping. He gave me a medicine dropper and his watch. I placed broth into Jonah’s mouth every ten minutes, never missing even by a minute. If I gave him broth more frequently than that, he would cry out as if the broth caused him to choke.

  It was during these moments of watching the day pass in ten-minute intervals, with Jonah slipping in and out of consciousness, that I promised God over and over that Jonah was his. I would never stand in the way of Jonah’s calling to the priesthood. I would never tell him how deeply I loved him—if only he was allowed to live. Talking to God became comfortable and even seemed normal. There were times I questioned my sanity, praying to a deity I’d never seen or heard, but something inside made me continue, made me believe I wasn’t losing my mind. God never spoke back—I never expected him to—but occasionally there was peace, a silent calm that came over me. I wasn’t sure, but I thought this might have meant he was listening.