The Distant Shore (Stone Trilogy)

by Mariam Kobras

  It was the custom here, they had been informed by Solveigh, that the bridegroom walks to the church. And after the wedding he would lead his bride back to show her off.

  And, Sal noted with amusement, Jon’s step was neither halting or measured. He strode, waving to those who called out to him but never breaking his stride until he arrived at the gate to the church. Here he paused, took one deep breath, looked around at them, then nodded and entered, all without saying a single word.

  “Wow, he’s excited.” Art peered after him into the building. “He’s not even like this when he goes on stage. He really must mean it.”

  Sal, on the point of pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket, was pushed forward by Russ. “No time for that now, Sal, so don’t even think about it. If the bride shows up and we are not all in our places, Solveigh will give us all hell.”

  It was warm and light inside, the sun streaming in golden slants through the high windows, nearly drowning out the flickering candles. There were plenty of flowers, but not what Sal had expected. Despite all the wealth both families held, Naomi had picked white roses, and not the elegant long-stemmed ones but the small, wild clusters that you found wound around trellises, spreading their delicate scent through summer nights.

  A wave of sadness washed over Sal when Naomi walked in on the arm of her father. She looked like a fairy queen with her entourage of friends, all of them in white, flowing cotton dresses and flower-wreaths on their loose hair. Naomi was the loveliest of all, pale, her eyes huge, black, and very serious. It seemed to him as if there was a slight hesitation in her step, but when Jon moved forward, doubt vanished from her as if the sun had melted it away like mist from a dawn meadow.

  He watched her promise to be Jon’s wife forever and ever in a low, somber voice, and the golden light in the church seemed to dim.

  “Two heart throbs less to stir up trouble,” Russ mumbled when Naomi put the ring on Jon’s finger.

  Art replied acidly, “Or even worse. Now they’ll have a double following.”

  Sal stared at the cascade of locks tumbling down Naomi’s back. “I think for a while there will be peace while they’re busy with each other,” he said.

  From behind them, Harry threw in, “His fans might not like to see him as a domesticated beast.”

  “Oh no, they’ll love him even more!” Russ swiveled around in his seat with a wide grin. “They’ll be so pleased to see he can be tamed after all.”

  “Under the loving care of the missus, yes sir.” Mirth was bubbling up in Art’s tone.

  She was in his arms now, kissing him to seal their contract, and kissing him just a bit longer than necessary to the sound of soft amusement from the audience on the benches. Her face was sweetly flushed when they at last turned from the altar and faced their families and friends, her earlier reticence shed like a dull skin, her chin raised and her hand tightly in Jon’s. Strangely enough Sal found his melancholy reflected in more than one face. There was her uncle, the huge Canadian with white hair who had a distinctly regretful expression, her mother, who smiled with soft sadness, and her father, hiding an icy rigidity by making his way briskly out into the cool, fresh air.

  She walked past him without a glance, her eyes only on Jon, walking away to jubilant music and the applause of their friends, to the lawn outside for pictures to be taken and then forward into her new life on the arm of her husband, down the street and out of sight. Sal took his time following the bridal train back to the hotel and stood for a while on the steps to the churchyard, lost in his own bitter thoughts. The parson clucked at him for pulling out his cigarettes and lighting one, but he didn’t care.

  In a moment he would have to go and witness their joy, watch her dance with Jon, this time lawfully his for all time.

  And later, after the cake had been cut, they would vanish into the solitude of her apartment, and while all the others were still celebrating, she would give herself to her bridegroom. Here Sal’s mind went black with despair.

  He tossed the butt away and straightened his tie, squinting against the sinking sun, and slowly made his way to where, he was sure, he would witness his own darkest hour.

  Morosely he stood in a corner of the dining room while the champagne was passed and the first speeches were delivered, Kevin’s funny and full of love for his brother, Carl’s somber but with a tender twinkle at Naomi, and Olaf’s, brief, cool, polite. Her father pecked her cheek and shook Jon’s hand, but he did it without a smile and without looking at him.

  Jon pursed his lips in the way Sal knew so well. Olaf had just made a new foe, one he was drastically underestimating, made even worse by the fact that Jon had gone so far out of his way to befriend him.

  Naomi drifted past Sal once, just before they sat down to dinner, and embraced him swiftly, wordlessly, leaving behind the scent of roses, but the moment was over nearly before he realized it, and she was gone again before he could react. A small blue flower had dropped from her wreath directly before his feet. He bent down to pick it up and, after an instant of indecision, wrapped it in his handkerchief and tucked it away in his pocket. Abashed at doing such a sentimental thing, he was embarrassed when he caught Art’s raised eyebrow and ironic smirk, but he straightened his shoulders and stared back at him blankly.

  Olaf had the good grace to open the dancing with his daughter, leading her through a slow waltz while the others stood around them and cheered. He handed her over to Jon with a flourish when he came forward, bowing to Naomi with impeccable manners, but his heart clearly wasn’t in it.

  It was obvious that Lucia was less than pleased with his performance. When he led her out to the dance floor she whispered to him furiously, a deep frown on her face, which made him nod and relax somewhat.

  Sal noticed Russ and Solveigh in a tight embrace and Sue and Art, their heads close together, hands entwined, and felt the loneliness of his life inundate him. He turned away and stepped outside, once again alone in the cold evening breeze of the Norwegian fall night, a cigarette and a drink his only companions.

  This time, she did not follow him outside to ask why he was by himself.

  Sean gave them the perfect moment to flee.

  The cake had been brought out, cut, and served, and Naomi, from the threshold of the lobby, had tossed her bouquet into Sue’s straining hands, and at long last the musicians could no longer be contained.

  “Let’s go,” Jon said, and she came away with him without hesitation.

  Garlands of flowers greeted them in the apartment. The soft light of candles seemed to dance in celebration. There was a small replica of their wedding cake on the dining table, champagne was chilling in a cooler. Over the bed, a bower of leaves, and more flowers over the spread and pillows of lace and rose satin.

  “This is…” she began to say, and Jon finished the sentence for her, impressed at the beautiful setting: “The Secret Garden. They’ve built the Secret Garden for you.”

  “For us.”

  “Yes.” It was so different now that the moment was here; the hot urgency had dropped from him as soon as the door had shut behind them, replaced now by a kind of awe.

  Naomi was so beautiful in her white dress. It was nothing like what he had expected, no grand designer gown with layers of silk and chiffon, but a simple, straight cotton dress with a square neckline and lace on the short sleeves and the hem, some embroidery on the ankle-length skirt, and a broad satin ribbon as a belt.

  He reached up and removed the wreath from her hair. Some of the blossoms came undone and rained down around her, and she laughed when one fell into her cleavage.

  “We’re married.” Once said, the statement sounded stupid, but she smiled at him and repeated, “We are married. Now, my love, you belong only to me.”

  Jon took a step toward her, and the awkward moment was over.

  “Yeah, and you are mine, Baby, and remember what I promised you, how it would go as soon as we were alone?”

  She came willingly into his arms, her lips opene
d under his, her breath caught sweetly when his embrace nearly lifted her off the floor.

  “Mine,” Jon whispered, “My wife. My wife.” He it said as if trying it on like a new suit. “At long last, my wife. And nothing, nothing will ever take you away from me again. I swear, Naomi, I’ll make you so happy you’ll never want to leave me, never again.”

  “Then, Jon,” she said, her fingers on his belt, “stop talking and take me to bed. Make me happy right now.”

  In the light of a cool dawn, Jon got up against her drowsy protest, disentangling himself from her arms.

  “You want your wedding gift, don’t you?”

  This made her sit up. “I’m getting a wedding gift?”

  “Of course, silly girl. Not even I think a husband alone is enough for a woman on her bridal night.” He laughed at her surprised face.

  “You are enough for me.” Naomi wrapped the quilt around her and followed him down the stairs against his protest that he would return, and please could she not just stay in bed and keep it warm?

  “But I want coffee. I’ll make coffee.”

  It was cold in the apartment. The flowers had faded overnight, the candles had burned down in their bowls, and they had never even touched the champagne or the cake. It was raining, harsh gusts of wind hurling the drops against the panes in an unruly pattern, the water of the bay in turmoil in the evil weather.

  Jon, muttering about the temperature, pulled on some clothes. “Now you’re getting your gift with me in a sweater. How unromantic is that? I should have done this last night when I was still in my nice suit. Oh well.”

  The scent of coffee drifted through the room. Andrea had filled up the fridge with food for them; there was enough for three days, and looking at it Jon wondered if they were expected to stay in seclusion until they had eaten everything up. The thought was pleasing enough, but he doubted Naomi would have enough patience to remain hidden away for so long. It made him regret that he hadn’t taken her away on a honeymoon after all.

  “I have a gift for you too.”

  She was standing by the Steinway, a grey folder in her hand, a small smile on her face that faded when he came over to her, replaced by doubt. “When I had the idea I was very happy about it, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe we should have talked about it…”

  “Mine first.” He held out a blue velvet case to her, the name of the jeweler imprinted in golden letters on the top.

  Her shock was an immense satisfaction to him.

  These, he told her, he had found when he was out with Joshua in New York. They had gone into the shop because he had needed a new battery for his watch, no more than that, and there, in a showcase in the center of the store, with its own security guard, he had seen this and known it had to be hers.

  “And don’t yell at me, Baby, this had to be yours.”

  Big marbles of many-faceted diamonds had been set in filigree casings of platinum and strung like pearls into a chain that came to rest smoothly on her skin just below the hollow of her throat, sparkling tiny rainbows on her throat and breasts even in the muted light of a grey morning.

  “Yes, just like I thought they would look on you.” The result satisfied him immensely.

  Naomi took the necklace off again to hold it in her hands, let it glide through her fingers, and examined it closely. “This must have cost a fortune, Jon.”

  “Yes.” His heart soared at the expression in her face. “A fortune, and yet not nearly enough to say how much I love you.”

  “It’s so beautiful. I think I’ll never take it off again. Thank you!” She did not put it on again but just stood, touching each globe, tracing the lacy metal with the tips of her fingers, turning the stones to make them shoot their fire at her.

  “And now? You said you had something for me too?” Her reluctance to let go of the diamonds made him smile.

  She dithered, but then she picked up the folder again.

  “Jon, I have something to tell you. I’m nearly poor again; you will have to keep me from now on, I’m afraid. But the temptation was too great.”

  He could hardly believe his eyes. Slowly Jon sat down on the piano bench and stared at the papers, which stated in dry, legal words that they now owned another house, and one that had such a very special meaning to him.

  “You bought the Miller mansion. I didn’t know they wanted to sell.”

  “They didn’t.” She smirked at him over the rim of her coffee cup. “But I sent Sal.”

  That house. How often, as a young man, had he stood on the promenade, staring at the Manhattan skyline, dreaming of making his fame in that city. And then, turning around to go back home, he had faced the white building on the corner and imagined it was his own. He had dreamed of being rich and famous enough to walk up, knock on the door, and offer the owners so much money they would willingly hand it over to him. In his imagination he had set up that room on the second floor as his studio, the one with the big balcony over the porch. He had seen himself stepping out into the cool evening air after spending hours at the piano.

  They had sold it, Naomi told him, but she had paid nearly double its market value, and she was not sorry for it. At that price, she would not feel bad for talking them out of it.

  “And if we spend Christmas with your family, we can have a look around and begin renovating what we want changed. Then we’ll have two wonderful houses, one on each coast. What do you think?”

  He thought it was the most perfect gift ever.

  “But Baby, I imagined you would want to buy this hotel from your family maybe, and change it into our future home, right here. I expected us to live here…”

  “No.”

  “No? But this is your home…” Fear crept up in him again for an instant before his gaze went back to the deed in his hands and he realized it was unfounded.

  “Jon.” Naomi caught the quilt slipping from her shoulders and pulled her legs up on the couch. “I don’t need the hotel anymore. I’m done with this place.” Her hands crept out of her tight wrapping to wave at her surroundings. “This is full of sadness and long, long years with only the memories of you. I lived here without you. Now I want to live with you in a kinder place.”

  “But your friends, your life…”

  Her eyes were dark and serious when she looked up at him. “Jon, I was afraid of life. I didn’t want to step out into life, didn’t want to find happiness or someone else to love. I wanted only you, only a life with you. Nothing has changed.” And here, a smile broke on her face that lit it up and made him move toward her. “Well, that’s not completely true, of course. Everything has changed. I now have you, and my life with you. And I want summers in New York and winters in California, so I’ll never be cold again!”

  “Come back to bed,” Jon said. “I promise, you’ll not be cold.”

  Andrea was alone in the kitchen, reading an open cookbook on the counter and eating a piece of cheese when Naomi pushed open the door. She looked up in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “I live here. Forgotten already? Where is everybody?”

  There was fresh coffee in the percolator, and Naomi poured herself a cup, inhaling the scent with satisfaction.

  “Uhm,” Andrea said, “Sven left for home. Christi is in the office, and Solveigh…I don’t know where Solveigh is.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know where Solveigh is?” There was a small pinprick of unease. “And Russ?”

  Andrea stared at her wordlessly.

  The hotel seemed strangely empty after the last few days of celebration and partying. The tables had been set for dinner, the aroma of food wafted through the building, but there were almost no people.

  “Where are my parents and Joshua? And Jon’s family? The band?”

  “Well, obviously not waiting for you to crawl out of your love nest.” Andrea closed the book with a slam and pushed it away. “You’re getting on my nerves. Go and knock on some doors if you want to know.” She eyed Naomi suspiciously. “And anyway, go bac
k to your den and your husband. You have no business traipsing around up here.”

  “My husband…” Naomi paused, savoring the word, which earned her an ironic glance from Andrea. “He’s up in his studio, doing some of his show business stuff.”

  Andrea lifted a few pot covers and peered inside, stirring and tasting, adding a few herbs to one and some chilies to another. “Go away. Go get some fresh air. I’ll send the girls down to set your place right, and then I’ll have dinner brought down to you. No one wants to see your face today.”

  It was raining; the air smelled of wet earth and pines and the sea, with the tart, bitter tang of fall in it, heavy with the promise of the darkness and cold that would soon follow.

  Naomi pulled her sweater closer, shivering in the sudden gale that blew around the corner of the building, whipping loose strands of hair into her eyes and bringing tears to them. Leaves danced over the asphalt of the parking lot and street, torn from the trees and driven over the ground by the wind. It had turned cold overnight, as if the weather had held its breath just long enough for them to celebrate and now felt free to release its fouler moods, taking its first serious steps into winter.

  Before her stretched the vista of long weeks with Jon, here in Halmar.

  An alien, in a far away place…bound by love, giving up everything else he held dear. It reminded her of the old fairy tale about a young man who fell in love with a mermaid and followed her to her father’s palace deep down on the bottom of the sea, where he languished, far from the sunlight and the air, forever longing for the summer breezes in the trees. The merfolk were kind and friendly, and his pretty maid loved him truly, but in the silent hours of night he watched the waves far above roll toward the coast, and he longed for home. After some time the wish to step onto dry ground again grew so strong, he left his bride to return to his family…and here she paused, because she could not remember how the story ended. Did he live happily ever after with a new, human girl or did he go back to the sea, only to find his mermaid had died of sorrow? Or did he drown in a storm her father had conjured up in fury, seeing his daughter’s misery?