She was drawn to a narrow archway on the left side of the room and tried to find a light switch beyond it, but there didn't appear to be one. She swung the beam of the flashlight back and forth in growing amazement, scarcely daring to believe what she saw—a library, study and sitting room all in one. She had never seen this room before and yet her soul seemed to recognize it because she felt immediately at home. She saw a small stone fireplace, and on the left side of the room floor-to-ceiling shelves were already half filled with books Robert had left her. There were two windows on either side of the hearth, and a very comfortable looking green chair flanked by a round wooden table. On the other side of the room she made out a simple wooden desk beside which sat a modern computer stand.
"Oh Robert, this is beautiful! It's perfect!” She spoke out loud as though he was standing right behind her. To the left of the fireplace there was a neat stack of firewood as tall as she was, but the walls directly to the right and left of the archway were bare palettes. Already she could picture her loveseat in here, as well as a fold-out table she would buy right away so she could dine by firelight every night until Spring.
Sofia somehow tore herself away from this cozy alcove and made her way through the larger, echoing room. The kitchen was perfect for a person who enjoyed cooking. There was plenty of black Formica counter space, wooden cabinets with glass doors, and a black side-by-side refrigerator that looked brand-new. She was incredulous at the trouble Robert had apparently taken to make sure the house was made ready for her the minute he passed away. There seemed to be nothing he hadn't thought of, but that wasn't surprising; his sensitive attention to detail was one of the many things she had loved about him.
The bathroom was dominated by an old-fashioned tub with lion's paws completely surrounded by a glimmering blue shower curtain evocative of a waterfall against the large, clay-brown floor tiles. The counter and the sink were black marble beautifully contrasted by blonde wooden cabinets.
Two bedrooms opened up off the bathroom, and the largest one was absolutely empty. It must have been where Robert and his wife would have slept so long ago, and hers was to be the room never occupied by Rose, who was only four-years-old when she was killed with her mother on some cursed road. Sofia had brought blankets and pillows and an air bed to tide her over until the movers arrived in the morning, so she gasped with astonished pleasure when she saw that Robert had had other plans for her.
If it hadn't been for the modern ceiling fan and the four glass, tulip-shaped lights that bloomed to life when she flicked up the switch, she would have believed herself suddenly transported into another century. A massive bed dominated the smaller bedroom, flanked on both sides by two simple wooden nightstands. Yet no such bed could ever have existed in any actual past; it was a fairytale bed, a dream in itself. Sleeping Beauty of the Woods, she thought, designed to please a little girl's innocently passionate imagination. This was Aurora's bed, the one she lad flung herself across, weeping, when the three good fairies told her she could never again see the handsome young man she had met in the woods that afternoon. A simple rough-hewn wooden frame supported a mattress that looked impossibly delicious beneath a plush blue-green feather comforter decorated with a diamond pattern that was matched by two over-sized pillows, around which deep-blue velvet folds hung with heavy sensuality from an invisible frame.
"Oh my God!” she whispered. The unbelievably gorgeous bed would mysteriously comfort her when she cried herself to sleep at night, and inspire her to dream of a future where all her desires would be fulfilled by the man destined to be her prince...
There was something resting on one of the nightstands.
She quickly set the flashlight down and picked up an expensive vanilla-white sheet of paper folded neatly in half. Seating herself on the edge of the bed, she opened it slowly, unconsciously holding her breath...
My Dear Sofia,
The fact that you are reading this means I have moved on, but please do not grieve for me. I am happily sailing invisible waves of energy to another world and your tears will only drown me in a time and place I would have left long ago if it wasn't for you, my darling girl. As you must know, you were as beloved to me as the daughter I lost so long ago. I built this house for her. It has stood empty all these years because after Rose and her mother were killed I could not bear to set foot in it, yet I could not bear to sell it, either, and after I met you, I was very glad I had kept it. Almost from the moment we met, I knew this place was destined to be yours, Sofia. I suspected (I very much hoped) you would need it one day when you realized you had not yet met the man you deserve. I cannot imagine Steve burying himself in the country, but even if you're still together, the land and house will always belong only to you. I pray you will love it there. Never doubt that we'll laugh and talk together again, Sofia, but not for a long while, I hope. You are young and beautiful, in every sense, and I insist that you live a long and happy life. That's the last assignment I will give you, and I am confident you will do a beautiful job will all the years you have to work with. I love you, dear.
Until later,
Robert
Slowly, reverently, she set the paper back down on the nightstand, and then a storm of weeping overwhelmed her, there was no other way to describe it. For an indeterminate amount of time she sat on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands feeling as though she was sobbing the soul right out of her body. When it became hard to breathe she stared up the ceiling, her chest heaving and tears streaming down her face making her flushed cheeks even hotter as they trickled onto her tongue like drops of holy water. Her tears tasted bitter-sweet indeed as she felt mysteriously blessed by the love creating them, the pain in her heart wordlessly praying that one day she would see her beloved friend again. People like Steve believed that when you died you were gone forever, but she knew in her heart that was impossible.
She picked up the letter again and pressed it fervently against her heart with both hands. “I love you Robert!” she declared passionately, her voice hoarse from sobbing. “I love you!"
Chapter Two
H er soul fortified by the mysterious endorphins of love and grief, Sofia's body reminded her in no uncertain terms that it was hungrier than ever now. She had a lot of hard, engrossing work ahead of her setting up her new home, and she was very thankful for that. It was still too painful to think clearly with memories buffeting her from every side of her psyche—images of her life for the last fifteen years crashing in colorful waves behind her visual cortex, moments wrought with irresistible emotional currents, and the undertows of subconscious doubts and fears that for years pulled her under and made it impossible for her to escape a relationship that was going nowhere. The love she and Steve had once truly shared, before it gradually evaporated into thin air, was an empty shell echoing in her soul. She wondered how long she would be haunted by her past as she kept seeing Robert, sitting behind the inspired chaos of his desk, smiling up at her with his darkly sober eyes. She was beginning to understand what he had thought about her and her love-life. She suspected that his sadness had sprung not only from his personal losses but also from witnessing her unhappiness—which she stubbornly denied—as she wasted herself living with the wrong man.
She turned on the outside lights and the porch was revealed like an empty stage by four spotlights, two on either side of the house, angled away from each other to illuminate bare trees and shrubs, and just enough of the gravel drive to enable her to unpack her trunk without fumbling in the dark. She began with the cooler of food, followed by the two boxes of wine. Her suitcase, her bathroom bag, and three miscellaneous boxes came last. Mentally she thanked Robert for her splendid new refrigerator, which looked even bigger when she filled it with everything she had brought and barely dented all its pristine storage space. The day after tomorrow, she decided, she would drive into Zachary and do some serious shopping. It was something to look forward to because she loved to dine well every night if she could, and she was relishing the thought
of eating alone again. Steve hated vegetables and abhorred all seafood, whereas she was an avid omnivore. It was a small consolation for all she had lost that her culinary desires would no longer be restricted by the limited horizons of his palate.
She unpacked her two emergency wine glasses, rinsed out the smaller one, and filled it with her favorite California Chardonnay, still cold from the cooler. It dawned on her then with a sensation of pleasant satisfaction that she didn't really miss Steve at all. It was more the idea of how much time she had wasted with him that hurt so much. The reality of being by herself, away from everything she was consciously fully beginning to realize she had disliked about him, was actually quite pleasant, and invigorating.
It was cold in the house. She kept her jacket on as she searched for the central heat and air conditioning controls. It took her quite a while to program the little white box, but at last she heard a gas furnace kick in somewhere in the bowels of the house. She had lived in apartments all her life; it was going to be a challenge owning a home and shouldering all the responsibilities that came with it.
She paced contemplatively down the full length of the empty living room, her sneakers making no sound on the wooden floor and rug. She sipped her wine as she walked, looking proudly around her. The ceilings were incredibly high, making the house seem larger than it was. Two pairs of French doors—one on either side the room—led out onto the front porch. She would need to buy some comfortable patio furniture. Spring would be here soon and the porch would be a wonderful place to read and write and drink wine while watching the sun set between the trees. She pitied Steve, still stuck in their old apartment, but he hadn't wanted to leave, and he hadn't inherited a house in the country either.
Smiling smugly, she returned to the kitchen for some cheese. She cut herself a sinfully big chunk of creamy Havarti, topped off her wine glass, and headed for the small room where she already knew she would spend most of her time. Tomorrow—after she had weathered the storm of the movers—she would set up her computer and examine the books Robert had left her. She had brought a small lamp and a pack of light bulbs, and she toyed with the idea of plugging it in so she could light a fire, but she was tired and it seemed like too much work. I'll just wait until tomorrow night, she thought, and happily added this pleasure to her growing To Do list. It was important that she line up lots of little things to look forward to—stepping stones helping her cross a torrential river of loss as she didn't dare wonder yet what awaited her on the other side. It would be intensely cozy to light a fire her first night alone, but she didn't have the energy to open the flue and make absolutely sure the chimney wasn't clogged so she didn't foolishly risk burning the house down.
For an instant Sofia was overwhelmed by all the responsibilities suddenly placed in her inexperienced hands, but a hearty swallow of Chardonnay helped her feel relaxed and positive again. Challenges were good, they exercised her brain and kept her body occupied. Besides, she trusted Robert not to have left her any major problems to deal with. Next she flirted with the idea of relaxing in a hot bath, but filling the tub and unpacking towels and soap also felt like too much work.
She returned to the kitchen, very pleased with the black counters and glass-fronted cabinets in which she could display all the different colorful dishes and glasses she had collected. A narrow wooden door led into a small utility and storage room equipped with a washer and dryer that, like the refrigerator, were brand-new. The operating manuals and warranties for all three appliances sat on top of the dryer in their respective plastic bags, along with the receipt from Conn's. Robert must have left instructions in his Will that they be bought and installed immediately upon his death. His generosity and forethought made her feel miserable again, but she had exhausted herself crying; all she had the energy to do now was make herself a ham and cheese sandwich. She took it out into the living room along with another glass of wine, this one a Merlot, and sat cross-legged in the middle of the rug devouring her meager dinner. She had left the porch light on, and the silhouettes of bare trees surrounding her on three sides were slightly sinister yet also companionable simply because they were life forms more similar to hers in form than all the other species invisibly populating the cold winter night. Then, abruptly, the steady electric glow annoyed her. Determinedly chewing on her last bite of bread, she got up and impulsively turned off all the lights, inside and out.
For a few seconds she couldn't see anything, then the subtle glow of moonlight filtered into her pupils. The night wasn't completely black; the half moon was casting more than enough light to navigate by.
Cradling her wine glass in both hands like a sacred chalice, Sofia walked through the dark house into her new bedroom. The massive bed looked almost frightening by moonlight. After she finished crying she had discovered there were clean, cotton sheets covering a divinely soft feather mattress. She would sleep and dream in luxurious comfort tonight mysteriously cradled by Robert's generous spirit. Sleeping Beauty's bed waiting for her gave her the energy to stay awake and explore because part of her had been asleep for far too long while she was living with Steve, wanting so much to love and be loved. Robert had freed her by taking over the responsibility of giving her the affection and security she needed without demanding anything from her, except that she wake up completely to who she was without being afraid anymore.
One side of the room was dominated by the bed, the other by yet another pair of French doors, and she was thrilled to find a second porch opening up off the bedroom. It wasn't attached to the front porch; it was its own separate little platform into the woods. She unlocked the door, and then closed it behind her to keep the heat inside as she stepped into the night.
The stars looked even more fervently lovely now that she'd drunk some wine. All her life she had lived with the noise of distant (and not so distant) traffic. She stood listening for this steady technological hum, but all she heard was the subliminal moaning of the wind, barely audible behind the soft rustling of leaves. Yet once she became aware of it she could clearly distinguish this haunting sound that was like deep, dark water flowing beneath the rippling brightness of crickets singing, a vibrant yet soothing music that made her feel unaccountably happy; the high-pitched scraping of hundreds of insect wings somehow leaving the profound silence intact.
She stood looking around her in awe at the soft, diffused black of tree trunks stretching for as far as she could see, the whole world visibly washed in moonlight. She could really understand now how in centuries past people waited every month for the moon to come back—the brightest light their desires had the power to turn on even though it was beyond their control. She could almost literally feel it in her bones how in previous lives she had worshiped the moon, whereas in Baton Rouge she had had to make a concerted effort just to see it. Streetlights, buildings, light pollution, everything had separated her from the earth's one and only satellite. She had been mostly aware of it her during her period, when there was no doubt in her mind the moon pulled on her blood at night. It was part of her PMS seeming to feel the crescent moon scraping her womb and making her period come every month.
Sofia stood with her wine glass forgotten in her hand soaking up the delicate sounds weaving themselves into the underlying velvety stillness, absorbing how absolutely alone she was and strangely loving it. There was literally not another soul for miles. She owned twenty acres of land, twenty mostly forested acres with two open areas. She had seen the clearings on the aerial map the attorney showed her, casually suggesting she might like to put a big vegetable garden in one and a pool or guest house in the other. The back of her property—the direction she was facing now—was the narrowest, and she idly wondered who the land beside hers belonged to. She would have to meet her neighbors eventually, far away as they were. A woman living alone needed friends, people she could call in case of an emergency, but she didn't pursue this train of thought as it only made her anxious and she was determined to be optimistic about the future.
It was ear
ly, not even eight o'clock, but she was so exhausted by the last tumultuous week she was ready to go to bed and sleep for another seven days. She was turning to go back inside when she glimpsed a flicker of light out in the open field beyond her trees. The red spark swiftly grew larger as she watched. Something had caught fire. She glanced anxiously back into the house. She had brought a cordless phone with her, but she hadn't plugged it in yet. The attorney had assured her all the utilities had been turned on, and she wondered if she should dial 911 and have them call the fire department. She looked back out across the field. The fire was burning strongly and steadily now, yet it seemed contained, and she laughed inwardly at herself for being such an ignorant city slicker. Someone had lit a bonfire, that was all, they were probably burning their trash, or whatever.
Now that she was no longer worried about the conflagration, Sofia found herself staring at it gratefully. It seemed a symbol of something ... of her heart rising from the ashes of her old life. Whoever her neighbor was, he had given her a sign she deeply appreciated. She sensed (and it pleased her to imagine) that the person she couldn't see out there was a he.
She stood outside a while longer watching the distant fire, until the cold began getting to her and she turned to go back inside. Her body was stiff, but there was a soft smile on her lips.
Chapter Three
S ofia lay in bed reading by the soft light of the lamp she had brought with her. She was propped up against the luxuriously oversized feather pillows feeling she had found her own little corner of heaven. Once she slipped beneath the sheets she discovered that she was physically exhausted but not sleepy, so she reached down into her briefcase, which she had placed next to the bed, and pulled out the book she was writing a paper on.* She had only been in the country a few hours, yet already the centuries’ old poems resonated inside her much more intimately and significantly than they had in the city. She opened the dark-green hardback at random, and read quietly out loud to the attentively silent house around her:
The Fire in Starlight Page 2