Ascension of Larks

by Rachel Linden

  Maggie lowered her camera. “So where do we start?” She looked to Daniel for direction.

  He cleared his throat. “First, we light the candles.” He drew a small box of matches from his pocket and handed it to Jonah and Luca, who looked impressed at the task assigned them. “Don’t play with those in the house,” Daniel instructed them quickly, seeing Ellen’s alarmed expression.

  It took them several tries, but Jonah lit the candles one by one while Luca held them, then handed them to Daniel, who placed the lit votive candles around the edge of the clearing, making a rough ring of light.

  “Okay,” Daniel said, coming back to the center and taking the matchbox from Luca, who was attempting to ignite a pinecone. He slipped it into his pocket and faced them, balancing on the balls of his feet. He was clearly nervous. “Okay,” he said again. The evening was beginning to chill as dusk crept across the horizon. Maggie shivered in the damp coolness under the trees. All was still except for the sleepy chirping of birds settling in for the night and the ever-present sounds of the sea below them. It felt as though the very air were holding its breath, waiting for something.

  “Now what do we do?” Luca asked, clearly in awe of this stranger who allowed him to light matches and who wore a real knife.

  “Now we do the beckoning ceremony,” Daniel said. Maggie glanced at him, curious. He knew about the old rituals of the island?

  “From the German settlers?” she asked.

  Daniel shrugged. “Partly.”

  “Humph,” Ellen interjected. “I’ve been Lutheran all my life, and I’d never heard of this before Maggie told me about it. Are you sure it’s a Lutheran ceremony?”

  “It’s a lot of things,” Daniel said.

  Ellen raised her eyebrows, skeptical.

  “Come on,” Gabby urged, pulling at Maggie’s shirt, her pink net fairy wings bouncing against her back. “We got to call to Mommy so she can find us.”

  Daniel picked up four pinecones and handed them to the children and Ellen, who took hers grudgingly. “Now put these at the four corners, north, south, east, and west.” He gave the perfume bottle to Maggie, instructing her to spritz the perfume at each compass point as well. She did. As the familiar scent of gardenias filled the air, Maggie felt a shiver brush across her skin. The scent evoked such a strong sensation of Lena’s presence, as though Lena were standing right behind her, close enough to touch.

  “Come back to us,” Maggie whispered softly, feeling a little self-conscious.

  Daniel placed Marco’s drafting pencils in the middle of the clearing, then took the crow feather and dipped it into the flame of a candle. It smoldered, adding the stench of burnt feather to the sweetness of the perfume. He stood in the center of the ring by the altar as the feather smoked and sputtered. He blew on it, coaxing the sparks to life. The children watched him, wide-eyed, hanging on his every move.

  Daniel raised the feather high above his head, waving it slightly, watching the smoke drift upward into the deepening dusk until it disappeared. He muttered a few sentences in a language Maggie didn’t recognize, then paused, looking around as though at a loss for how to proceed. Maggie suspected he was improvising, making things up as he went along. Ellen clearly thought so too. She waited until he was done, then picked up one of the candles and stepped into the ring of pebbles. Daniel made room for her, looking a little relieved at the interruption. Ellen cupped her hand around the flame, keeping it from any stray breeze.

  “Dear heavenly Father,” she intoned, “you who know all things. Please grant our lovely Lena life and health again. Wake her from her sleep and bring her back to us. And for Marco, who is gone now, please take him in your arms and grant him peace. And send us a sign that he is in your good and loving care, amen.”

  Maggie and Daniel exchanged a glance, impressed by Ellen’s sudden burst of eloquence. Ellen bowed her head for a moment, the graying gold in her hair illuminated in the small flame. She set the candle in the very center of the circle. “There,” she said, smoothing back her hair, looking a little self-conscious. “They can find their way home now.”

  They watched the candle flicker for a moment. Maggie was aware of something different in the air, in the hush of early night, a sense that they might indeed be standing on sacred ground. On impulse, she crossed herself, muttering a quick prayer, memorized as a child and long forgotten, a request for blessing and protection and the benefaction of grace. She hadn’t prayed in years, scorning such things as merely superstition and repetition and foolish belief. But now she found she was not praying as her mother had, with penance and candles and pleas that never seemed quite good enough to earn an answer. Instead, she echoed the words of Julian of Norwich, asking for all things to be turned to good. She said the words without faith—the future looked too impossible for that—but as she spoke she mustered the tiniest glimmer of hope.

  She did not feel foolish. She was too desperate for that. Here, faced with such sorrow, with the scent of gardenias still soft in the air, she would do anything if it would bring back what was lost, if it would grant them all a measure of peace in the face of Marco’s death, if it would save their home, if it would bring Lena back.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ARRIVING AT THE HOSPITAL THE NEXT MORNING, Maggie peered around the corner of Lena’s room, her heart fluttering in her throat with a tiny, absurd hope. Perhaps, perhaps . . . But there was no change. She set her camera bag at Lena’s bedside, trying to shake off her discouragement. The ceremony had not worked, not that she had expected it to. Still, in the slow passage of minutes and hours and days of waiting since Lena’s accident, Maggie was beginning to realize how easy it was to cling to anything—an omen, a premonition, a beckoning, a prayer, anything that gave hope.

  She sat down in the hard chair, resting her head against the wall. She was exhausted, and a headache was pounding across the back of her skull. She’d had trouble going to sleep after the ceremony and then been awakened at three in the morning by Gabby crawling into bed with her, trembling from another nightmare about drowning. Maggie had held her until her little body slackened into sleep again, but Maggie had lain awake until dawn, thinking about the future, trying not to give in to panic and despair.

  Lena lay unmoving. Maggie scooted her chair to the side of the bed, picking up Lena’s limp hand. It was cool and slim, with long fingers and prominent knuckles, a pianist’s hand. Maggie pictured Lena’s engagement ring, a beautiful princess-cut diamond in a delicate white gold filigree setting. Maggie had retrieved it from the hospital along with Lena’s other belongings after the accident, and now it was safely stored in Lena’s bureau at the house. Lena adored the ring. She never took it off. She had adored her family. There’d never been any question of that. She had always wanted a family, and she loved her husband and children more than anything.

  Maggie ran her fingers over Lena’s, feeling the strength in those hands. Lena was a talented pianist, but she had sacrificed a career to be a wife and mother. She possessed the technical skill to be successful, but she had none of Maggie’s and Marco’s drive for success. She had always been a puzzle to Maggie and Marco alike, who were stymied by her lack of ambition, her priorities so different from their own.

  Maggie smiled sadly, thinking of the last time she’d heard Lena perform. It had been the spring of their junior year of college. Lena and Marco had been dating for a few months already. Maggie and Marco decided to stay at Rhys and work through the summer months. Marco continued bartending and Maggie found employment doing freelance photography—family portraits and engagement photos, mostly. Lena was unsure of her summer plans, but she was auditioning for a summer European touring ensemble. It was a good opportunity with a prestigious group. Many who had joined before had gone on to successful careers in musical performance. Lena’s advisor had secured her an audition spot without telling her first, insisting that she at least consider the option. With both Marco’s and Maggie’s persuasion, she’d reluctantly agreed.

  T
he night of the auditions, Maggie and Marco filed into the small concert hall and took seats three rows back. The lights were dimmed, a single spotlight illuminating the Steinway grand piano in the center of the stage. The three judges who would decide the winning pianist were seated in the front row, their pens poised over their clipboards. A freckled girl from Louisiana went first. Her hands shook as she readied herself, and although she played with technical brilliance, she lacked passion. Next a dark-haired young man from Romania auditioned, playing with such zeal that it felt like watching a caricature of a pianist, sweat gleaming on his brow and fingers flying as he swayed dramatically with the music.

  “It’s like watching a young Liberace,” Maggie murmured to Marco, who gave her a sardonic smile. And then it was Lena’s turn—beautiful, serene Lena. In her black concert dress, hair pinned up and shining in the spotlight, she looked as poised and perfect as an ice sculpture. She took her place, waited a moment, and then plunged into her piece. She played remarkably well, transcending perfect form with a passion that surprised Maggie. Lena, usually so calm, displayed a depth of emotion in music that she rarely displayed elsewhere. She was the best performer by far. Maggie watched her, amazed. She was sure to win.

  And then, as her piece reached a crescendo, Lena looked up, straight at Marco, and hit a wrong note. It was jarring, ringing out clearly in the concert hall. And then she hit another and another. An entire measure of missteps, sharps and flats flying in all directions. One of the judges turned to the other, mouth pursed as though tasting something sour, and made a mark on his paper. Lena turned back to the music and played the remainder of the piece with cool precision, flawlessly, without a moment’s hesitation.

  “You did that on purpose,” Maggie accused Lena later when they were alone in their dorm room. Lena shrugged out of the black dress, letting it puddle to the floor. She didn’t deny Maggie’s claim.

  “I don’t understand. Why would you do that?” Maggie followed her into the bathroom as Lena unpinned her hair. “You had the competition in one hand. You could be touring in Europe all summer. Instead, that freckled girl won. She wasn’t half as good as you are.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to tour in Europe,” Lena suggested, wiping off her lipstick. Maggie stared, uncomprehending, as Lena slipped into her peach silk robe.

  “But you could have won!” she finally protested. “You know you could have. You’re talented. You could go far.”

  Lena shrugged. “Some things are more important than that to me.” She smoothed lemon-scented cream onto her face, rubbing it into her throat and across her wide cheekbones.

  “Like what?” Maggie challenged. “Isn’t that why we’re all here? So we can perfect what we have and hopefully make something of ourselves?”

  “You don’t have to be famous to make something of yourself,” Lena countered.

  Maggie stared again, mouth open, aghast. “Oh really? Well, what do you want, then? You want to bake the best banana bread in the PTA? Sew a straight seam? Is that what you want?”

  Lena whirled on her, nostrils flaring a little, indignant. “No, but what about being a good wife to someone? What about being a good mother? So I don’t want to be a performer and have a life on the road and see my name in bright lights. So what? I know I could, Maggie. I know I could. I’m good enough that I could make a career of it if I wanted to. But I don’t want it. I don’t want the pressure and the long nights in strange places and the loneliness . . . I don’t want it. I want a home and a family and a warm, safe place for my children. And yes, maybe I do want to make the best banana bread at the PTA. Is that so wrong?” She brushed past Maggie and went back into their room. Maggie followed, baffled, unable to comprehend Lena’s point of view.

  Lena turned to her. “I want different things than you and Marco do,” she said gently. “You both are so driven. And I’m just not like that. Maybe one day I’ll wake up and want to make a name for myself. But not today. I want other things more.” She took the hairpins from her updo and carefully placed them in a small silver box on her dresser, combing her fingers through her hair so that it fell around her shoulders in golden waves. She glanced at Maggie. “And maybe one day you’ll wake up and want other things too. Maybe one day being famous won’t seem like the greatest thing in the world.”

  Maggie could not have imagined such a thing at the time. She still wasn’t entirely sure she could. But Lena had made her choice, and she seemed happy with her life.

  “You gave up everything for love, for Marco, for all of us, didn’t you?” Maggie murmured, leaning over the hospital bed, remembering the shimmer of the stage lights on Lena’s hair, her slender hands flying over the keyboard, the moment when her fingers deliberately slipped from the keys in a cascade of discordant notes. She had wanted only one thing. And she had gotten it, the life she wanted—Marco, a home, children. Her whole world centered on family.

  “So what happened?” Maggie asked, thinking again of the letter to the lawyer. “Did something go wrong between you? If it did, why didn’t you tell me? I had no idea. I still have no idea. Maybe it’s just a mistake.” She sighed and laid Lena’s hand down at her side, then sat for a few moments, chewing over the conundrum, but she had no flash of inspiration.

  On impulse, she laid Lena’s hand over her heart, adjusting it so it made a cradle. She snapped off the head of a dark-pink rose shot through with pale streaks, part of an arrangement sent by the ladies’ society quilting group, and placed it in Lena’s palm. It bloomed over her chest, directly where her heart beat slow and steady. The streaks of white made the bloom look broken into a dozen pieces. Maggie pulled her camera from her bag, adjusted it, and took a shot, then another and another. It felt good to do something, even if it was just taking a few practice shots. She focused on Lena’s still face, so beautiful and serene, a real-life Sleeping Beauty.

  Maggie slipped into the rhythm of her work, taking shots from several different angles, catching the light and shadow in the hollows of Lena’s face. She broke off suddenly, feeling exposed by her own camera. She couldn’t treat Lena as though she were any other subject. It felt too close somehow, both to Lena and to herself. She felt as though she were opening up a corner of her own heart and placing her camera inside. In photographing Lena, Maggie was photographing her own life as well. She stowed the camera carefully away and sat down, taking Lena’s hand again.

  “We never appreciated you enough,” she admitted, thinking of all the years of Lena’s quiet sacrifice, devotion, and care since Maggie had known her. “Me included. You gave more than we saw, and I never realized it, not until now.”

  Lena had never complained, never demanded. She had just given of herself thoughtfully, gently, focusing on those she loved. And what had Maggie given Lena? Not enough. Never her whole friendship, her unreserved love. She had kept herself always a half step away from Lena. Marco was always between them.

  “I should have given you more,” Maggie whispered, feeling ashamed. “You deserve better.”

  She looked down at Lena’s face, pale and peaceful in the glare of the overhead lights, realizing with a pang of remorse that it might be too late. There might not be a chance for her to make it right.

  “The swelling has gone down,” Dr. Yamamoto told Maggie when he stopped in a short time later. He scanned Lena’s chart. “There’s no obvious reason for her not to wake up. It’s up to the brain to decide what to do next. It could be an hour. It could be a year.”

  “Can anything help her?” Maggie asked, although she knew the answer.

  “All we can do is wait,” he said. “And remain hopeful for the best.” The doctor hesitated, then added gently, “If there continues to be no change, we need to start considering moving Mrs. Firelli to a long-term care facility.” He gave Maggie a sympathetic look when he saw her stricken expression. “Not yet,” he assured her. “But if there is no change, then soon.”

  After his departure Maggie sat silently for a long time, trying to remain calm in the face o
f the doctor’s words. A long-term care facility? She glanced at Lena and shuddered. It was a horrible thought. And with the debt repayment looming closer every day, how would they cope with the expense of a long-term care facility? She had to force herself not to panic, not to take Lena by the shoulders and shake her, insist that she wake up. Maggie and Ellen were doing the best they could, but they couldn’t continue in this state of limbo forever. The clock was ticking. Maggie reached out and clasped Lena’s hand. It was cool, as though Lena were already halfway gone.

  “We’re doing all we can,” she whispered. “But it isn’t enough. Your children need their mother. We need you to come back to us.” She squeezed Lena’s hand. “We’re running out of time.”

  “Aunt Maggie, Luca found a starfish.” Gabby pranced on tiptoe, pointing to the shallows where Luca was crouching, peering under the edge of a half-submerged rock.

  “It’s purple,” Luca added.

  “Don’t fall in,” Maggie called from the dusty path that ran along the cliffs of Lime Kiln Point, above where the children were exploring the tide pools. She set the picnic basket on an empty picnic table, hung her camera by its strap around her neck, and began to navigate her way down to the children, carefully descending from rock to rock, avoiding colonies of mussels attached to the sides of rocks and slick spots covered in kelp. Sammy followed her happily, tail waving like a silky banner. She’d taken him off his leash, assured by the children that he liked to wade in the water and would not go far.

  “Jonah, are you finding anything?” she called. Jonah was farther out on a neighboring peninsula of rocks exposed during low tide.

  “Yeah, just some crabs,” he yelled back.

  It had been Maggie’s idea to spend the sunny Saturday at Lime Kiln Point State Park. After a long, full week, Ellen was looking frazzled and needed a break. She had gratefully taken Maggie up on the offer of a free day. “I’m going to start that new knitting pattern I got in Friday Harbor and call Ernie for a nice long chat. I do miss that man,” she said, sighing. “And then maybe if there’s time I’ll have a bath, a good long soak.”