It should have a beginning, middle, and an end.
It can be fact, fiction, or fantasy.
This is none of those things.
It doesn’t have a beginning. There is no middle. There is only an end.
An end I have dreamed about, fantasied about, researched about.
I’m still alive, and I’m grateful. I don’t want to rush time or seek death. But I do live in two worlds. A world where I stay with the living. The world we all know to be true. It’s governed by gravity and seasons and rules imposed by reality. But the other world? The one after this is a mystery. Is it all light and angels like some texts? Is it all red and flames like some warnings? Or is it just another place?
A place with its own rules and parameters…as real as the one we are born to. A place where we visit when we dream, a place we feel on lonely nights and touch in shadowy corners?
A place where our loved ones wait to find us.
In my world, that place is real.
So real, I dream about it.
I visit there so often, it’s as much home as the one I breathe and exist in.
The only thing is…there is no breath required in this other world. There are no limitations on bodies or fragility caused by sickness or strife. There is no sorrow or struggle.
Just a place of utmost satisfaction.
And that is where my story begins…or ends, as the case may be.
This is my prediction, my hope, my prayer for when my final day on earth occurs.
I will die, and I am not afraid.
I will pass over, and I am ready.
I will close my eyes on the family I love, but open them again to a husband I’ve missed for eternity.
I will never publish this tale as it’s purely for me. An exercise in creation. A tool to help me cope.
And when my dying day comes, I am no longer human but a ghost.
A phantom.
No longer belonging to bone and body but to wind and wishes.
I belong to magic.
I belong to love.
And I feel it…tugging me.
The world is still around me, but it’s different.
I recognise trees and flowers and sunshine, yet they feel so much more. More alive. More colourful. More knowing.
My feet are bare, yet I don’t feel the green, green grass between my toes.
My white dress is fabric, yet I am naked and free.
I feel alive even though I am dead.
I no longer have pain from long-ago injuries. I no longer feel the twist of ligaments or strength of sinew. I walk, but really, I skim the ground below me.
I am weightless with freedom and marvel at the exquisite wash of nothingness. The complete lack of sensation from taste or sound or touch. My mortal senses are no longer master here, and slowly, step by step, wing by wing, I embrace a new way of existing.
A way of all-knowing, all-feeling, all-encompassing.
I am no longer a woman.
I am a spirit tapped into the wonders of creation itself.
The shimmer and shine of this new existence fades somewhat as my feet descend to sink into spongy, dew-wet grass.
And this time, I feel it.
I feel breath in my lungs and blood in my heart.
Yet I know I am no longer human.
This is just the form I am most comfortable in…for now. The form this new world has given me until I’m ready to take on a new one. To fashion a different existence, to live in the elements and explore the galaxies.
But for now, I am limited by my imagination and tolerance.
And besides, I’m searching.
Searching for something I lost so long ago. Something I know is still waiting for me.
I keep walking, dazzled by trees rustling and sun shining and the sky glittering like every sapphire and turquoise gem has been used to create the heavens.
There’s no dirt or sullied imperfection. No rushing or stressing or worry.
Just me in an endless summer meadow, floating, walking, manifesting my way to what I’d lost.
I still remember my previous life. I remember the son I created and the family who adopted me. I remember more in this form than I ever could in my human shell. My thoughts are free. My mind is a universe of teachings and past lives, and I’ve been given the key to all of them.
Some ended young. Some ended badly. But almost all of them had a partner.
A boy.
A man.
Different faces, different hearts, but one soul.
The soul intrinsically entwined with mine.
It’s as if I summoned him.
A silver shadow appears on the horizon. A silhouette blinded by sterling light.
And I am home.
It takes a single thought to cross the distance. To sail from meadow to horizon and stop before him.
In this world, he could take any shape, be any power, exist in anything.
Yet I recognise him.
The sable bronze hair, the soft brown eyes, the jawline I’ve kissed and the body I’ve hugged.
His hand reaches for mine.
I place it into his touch.
Our connection lashes our fingers together with bolts of gilded gold. The sensation is tenfold. His skin is satin. His heat so comforting. His strength god-like as he pulls me into his embrace.
And there, we stand.
We stand in each other for heartbeats, but in the other world, it is years.
Time has no jurisdiction here, and as the seasons roll and people grow older in the place called earth, we just stand in serenity. Peace. Togetherness.
Saying hello.
Our heartbeats sync into one. Our fingers mesh and glide through each other’s. We are air and water and love and lust all at once.
The magic of touch slowly wraps us in skin once again, allowing voices to work and eyes to blink, granting the power of speech and conversation.
Soon, we will no longer need these forms. We will choose another to start a different life or we will stay here together. It’s up to us. All options are available. Reincarnate or remain. Watch or go.
No pressure to choose any.
Right now, I’m in heaven with the husband I lost so young.
His face transforms into a smile, and I fall for him all over again. But this time, my heart has no limits. It can tumble far, far deeper than before. It can splash into my soul because that is what keeps us tethered. Bound as one no matter where we go.
His hand cups my cheek, and he kisses my forehead. “You found me, Della Ribbon.”
His voice is the same but not. The rough timbre plaits with golden grace.
I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him.
This man who is more than just my husband but my soul-mate. The missing piece of my being. “I always do, don’t I?”
And I do.
In multiple lifetimes, we are drawn and delivered. No age, race, or circumstance can keep us apart. It’s impossible because when we came into being, we were one. We were whole, then split down the middle to become two. Our one task is to find each other in every lifetime to complete the circle and be happy.
“Tell me…what did I miss?” His lips meet mine, and we kiss for a month on earth. A month where the moon crests and wanes and waxes.
When we pull away, I smile. “You saw it all. I felt you watching me.”
“I did. I watched it all.”
“I’m glad.”
Locking me against him, he walks through the softest flowers with me by his side. “I saw our son fall in love and get married.”
“Yes, he chose well.”
“I saw John pass and find Patricia.”
“As it should be.”
Ren spins me in his arms, brushing aside my hair before kissing me again. “And I saw our grandchild. A girl.”
“She’s the perfect embodiment of hope and stubbornness.”
“She is.” He smiles, white and blinding. “Her name suits her perfectly, don’t you think?”
I nod. “Perfectly.”
His body shimmers, teasing with solid and figment. “Our son has made me proud, Della Ribbon. I’m so glad he’s no longer alone.”
“He’s found his Hope and his heart. But he still misses you. Deeply.”
“I know.”
Together, we turn and look through the veil of this world and the other. A rainbow shimmer, a curtain of protection where souls can guard over the living.
And there we watch Jacob and Hope riding over fields with their daughter trotting behind. A daughter who is the perfect blend of all of us.
A daughter named after a grandfather she wouldn’t meet in her lifetime but perhaps in another…someday.
“She’s a pretty thing,” Ren murmurs into my hair.
“Pretty and stubborn and bold.”
“A perfect child for a perfect name then.”
We kiss again, letting our son and his wife canter off with their daughter.
A daughter who will grow to experience her own trials and tribulations—to find her own soul-mate.
A daughter named Wren.
In a daze, I wrapped the manuscript inside its leather cover, placed it into the box, and closed the lid. When had Mom written such a thing?
It felt so real. As if she’d already visited such a place and returned to pen it for others.
How did she know we would have a daughter? How did she know I’d marry Hope and find a way to be happy?
What other stories and love notes would I find if I pressed forward with the renovation? Had she written any to me? To Hope? Had she done what Dad had and pre-empted her death with gifts of remembrance?
Goosebumps never faded as I turned my back on the writing room and strode warily through the house. I’d entered this place with new beginnings on my mind, yet the past had found me instead. A manuscript that Mom had written in privacy yet predicted a future that had come to pass.
Wren.
She called my daughter Wren.
After my father.
After love.
I needed to see Hope. I needed to feel the sunshine on my skin and her arms around my waist—to remind myself I was alive and not in the astral plane that my mother’s words had painted so well.
Striding out of the house, I braced my shoulders and strode across the meadow where Hope waited for me. She sat on the fence line with a bottle of water in her hand and a cowboy hat on her head.
She grinned, jumping from the railing and jogging to launch herself into my arms. “I missed you. I thought you said you’d only be a few minutes.”
“Yeah, sorry.” I hugged her hard before placing her on her feet. Her belly nudged me, pregnant and protecting our daughter.
Wren.
Her hand touched my cheek, dragging my attention from my mother’s manuscript. “What’s wrong?”
I forced myself to focus on her and not on the sudden, overwhelming need to tell Hope our unborn daughter already had a name, selected by ghosts and predicted by a storyteller.
“Nothing.” I kissed her gently. “Ready for a ride?”
“Yep.” She rubbed her belly. “I want to get in as many as I can before I can’t.”
“If I didn’t like that mare of yours so much, I wouldn’t let you ride in your current condition.”
She winked, moving toward Snowy and stroking the pretty mare’s mane. “We have a connection, me and her. She won’t hurt me.”
I went to my own horse, and my heart softened with affection as Forrest nudged my hand for a scratch. “I know the feeling.”
Hope still rode in a saddle and bridle, but she’d made me promise to teach her how I did it tackless after she’d given birth. She hoisted herself up with the aid of her stirrups while I backed up and ran at Forrest, vaulting up and into position.
“Show-off,” she muttered.
I laughed, but my eyes kept trailing to my parents’ house. The presence of both of them pressed on me. I swear I caught glimpses of them on the meadow and heard the echo of their voices in the air.
Hope guided Snowy forward, and Forrest followed. She twisted in her saddle to look at me. “Spit it out, Jacob Wild. What happened in there?”
I shook my head. “To be honest, I don’t really know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…I went inside with ideas to do a renovation. To ask if you would be okay moving into a bigger place now…now we have a little one on the way.”
Her smile split her beautiful face. “That sounds amazing.”
“Okay, great.” I grinned, doing my best not to mention anything else but knowing Hope would get it out of me anyway.
“And the rest…” She cocked her head. “The bit you’re trying to hide?”
“Can’t I have any secrets, woman?”
“Nope.” She laughed gently. “Spill.”
I sighed heavily. “Turns out my mother had been writing letters to my dad. I found them.”
Hope halted Snowy. I caught up with her. “Wow. That would’ve been hard to read.”
“Yeah.” I raked a hand through my hair. “Not as hard as reading a manuscript that she never intended to publish and is just gathering dust in a box.”
“Oh?”
I kicked Forrest ahead, needing some space. Should I tell her what it was about? Should I reveal the name? The most perfect name? The only name I could imagine calling our daughter now that I’d seen it?
Hope trotted Snowy to appear beside me. Her hand reached for mine, and her touch gave me courage. Bringing her hand to my lips, I kissed her knuckles. “I’ll show you the manuscript. You should read it.”
“What’s it about?”
“Death.” I smiled. “Death and reuniting and love.”
“Okay…” She licked her lips. “I’d be honoured to read it.”
I sucked in a breath, forcing myself to be brave. “There’s something else.”
“I thought there might be.” She sat serious and patient in her saddle. “Do you need time or—”
“Mom predicted we’d get married.”
“Wow, really?”
“She also wrote we’d have a daughter.”
“Whoa, that’s rather—”
“And we’d call her Wren.”
Hope fell silent.
The same goosebumps that infected me washed up her bare arms. She opened and closed her mouth, her eyes skating to the horizon. The horizon where ghosts apparently knew our tale before it even came to pass.
Our horses ambled forward, swaying us with their steps, taking us closer to the treeline.
For the longest minutes, we said nothing as we let the word settle between us, sink into us, become a part of us.
“Wren,” Hope breathed.
I stiffened. “We don’t have to—”
She stopped Snowy and turned to me. Tears glittered in her gaze, shock whitened her cheeks, and love glowed on her skin. “Wren Della Wild.”
A name in honour of my father and mother. For love, impossibilities, and miracles.
The force of such a name fractured my heart, and I slipped off Forrest. Going to my wife, I tugged her from the saddle and into my arms. “Are you sure?”
She kissed me, deep and true and long.
And I kissed her back.
I thanked the universe for making me worthy of loving her.
My heart belonged to her as surely as it belonged to the little girl we had yet to meet.
The little girl who already had a name.
A perfect name for a perfect life ahead of her.
The breeze that existed between this world and the next wrapped around us like a ribbon. A ribbon of air, dancing in our hair, kissing our cheeks, then soaring to rustle in the treetops.
And it was done.
Kissing my wife one last time, I pulled away and rested my forehead on hers.
Hope just smiled and whispered, “Our daughter is called Wren.”
I nodded. “Just as it should be.”
The End
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br /> If you haven’t read the epic love story of Ren and Della before Jacob existed, both books are out now!
Start with The Boy & His Ribbon and complete their journey in The Girl & Her Ren.
Reviews on The Ribbon Duet (Ren & Della’s tale)
5 Stars
Pepper Winters has penned the novel of the century with this masterpiece!
I’d even go so far as to say it’s her best work ever! There is no real way of describing this book! Other than it’s breathtaking, gut-wrenchingly beautiful, superbly poetic, and brutally raw! –Heather Pollock
5 Stars
This book has all the feels. Sadness, anger, gut wrenching heart ache, relief, hope and happiness, I felt it all. This book will forever be one of my all time favourite books, definitely one I’ll never forget and it’s left me desperate for more from Ren and Della. –Vickie Leaf
5 Stars
Pepper Winters I am sitting here with tears in my eyes and my heart utterly, irrevocably destroyed by your beautiful words and vision. You have written a masterpiece of unrequited love, a soul destroyer like no other. I don’t want to say too much, but this tale is not like anything I’ve read before. It will be one of my favourite stories for years to come.– Effie
UPCOMING BOOKS 2019
The Body Painter
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OTHER BOOKS AVAILABLE FROM PEPPER WINTERS
Ribbon Duet
The Boy & His Ribbon
The Girl & Her Ren
The Son & His Hope Page 55