In the Blackness of Space
Page 19
For years, I thought I would never have that moment, never look upon someone who would spark that kind of joy in me. Now, here she is.
Marsha slides the thin drawer back into place and pulls out another. “Look, Grant, he sent us azalea seeds, and rhododendrons, and,”—she laughs as she points—”three bags of giant redwoods.”
I shake my head slowly. I know Billy is committed to the mission, but I hadn’t expected this. I feel a shiver of God’s warmth. It flares hot for a second, and I think of Carmen talking about Señor Jesús’s whispers. Marsha is silent, hushed, as if she feels it, too. These seeds are totally impractical, yet somehow, it seems Jepler heard God’s purpose for them, a purpose both of us sense but do not understand.
Marsha slides the drawer closed and pulls out another. “Here are your seeds.” She points to wide plastic bags, crammed full of orange, peach, cherry, and apple seeds. The brown apple seeds gleam in the light like sleek brown suns.
I open the bag marked “Peach” and take out one of the dull brown seeds.
Mouser bursts into the room. Ginger waddles along behind. They bark and jump with an infectious joy. We stoop down and pet them. Marsha coos at Ginger softly, “It won’t be long for you, girl. When you have your puppies, you’ll be able to keep up with Mouser again.”
After we untangle from the poodles, we stand up beside the bench. The dogs settle down at our feet, Mouser licking Ginger gently.
The peach seed sits in my palm, calling to me. I look at it.
“I saw you open a peach pit once,” Marsha says. “When you did, I thought about the tree that would grow from that seed, and, year after year, all the peaches that would grow on that tree, and how each of those peaches held its own tree. You’re holding an orchard. Did you ever think of that?”
The warmth of God floods through me again as I look up at her. Her lively green eyes are dancing with light.
“Marsha,” I stumble over the words, “the hardest thing for me, when I thought I was alone on the Gal, was thinking I’d never see you again.”
She gives a shy smile.
I can’t stop the words. “You’re the most kind, interesting, attractive person I’ve ever met. If you would have me, I’ll give you my best.”
She laughs, “Are you proposing marriage in a potting shed?”
The sound of her laugh is flowing 122. They blossom into 1212 and 12144.
“I’m not,” I stammer, “proposing to the room. I’m proposing to the unique woman in it.”
She laughs and takes my hand. “Yes, Grant. Yes.”
Mouser and Ginger erupt with barking. Marsha’s touch is warm, soaking into me, and suddenly the Galileo is our home.
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