East of the Sun, West of the Moon

by Carole Bellacera

  "Sigurd, I—"

  She held up her hand. “Please, Leigh, let me finish. You're not being disloyal to Knut by being in love with Erik. You loved Knut with everything you had, but that had nothing to do with your love for Erik. Knut is gone. You're here in Norway. Erik is here. And from everything you've told me, I believe it's very possible he still loves you. Why not see him? What could it hurt?"

  Leigh shook her head. “But what if he doesn't love me? What if Margit was telling the truth in the park that day? I don't know if I can bear seeing him and hearing him admit that to me."

  "One thing you're not, Leigh, is a coward. You've proved that during this ordeal with Knut. How can you go back to America without seeing Erik? Without knowing for sure how he feels?"

  Leigh stood up and grabbed the knapsack. “My train leaves in an hour. We should get going."

  Sigurd stared at her a moment, then shrugged. “As you wish."

  * * * *

  It was the second time a train had swept her through the fertile valleys of Setesdal, but this time, instead of a thick carpet of snow, the ground was covered with emerald grass and lush green forests in a kaleidoscope of changing scenery. Glass-like blue lakes and picturesque farms dotted the landscape along with grazing cows and flocks of sheep tended by white-blond shepherd boys. Through the train windows, she caught thrilling glimpses of sheer gray cliffs and deep, blue-green fjords fed by vertical waterfalls. It looked just as Erik had told her it would in summer.

  Why, really, was she going back to Byglandsfjord? What did she think she'd find there? Peace? An answer to her confused feelings? Balm for her grief at the loss of Knut?

  She didn't know. It was just like she'd tried to explain to Sigurd. Something was calling her back. And she knew she couldn't leave Norway without seeing the cabin one more time. Perhaps it was time to confront the past.

  Or more realistically, maybe it was time to say goodbye to it.

  * * * *

  Sigurd turned right onto Kjelsaveien. As she neared the tiny house where Knut had died, her foot automatically went to the brake pedal and her left hand to the blinker. With a start, she clenched the steering wheel and pressed on the accelerator. She wondered if she'd ever break the habit. Would she ever be able to go by this house again without thinking of him? She was a nurse. Over the years, she'd seen hundreds of patients die. She'd thought she'd been prepared for Knut's death, too, but that wasn't true. Perhaps it was a little naive to believe one could ever be prepared for the loss of a loved one.

  A yellow Volkswagon was parked in front of her house. She pulled into the driveway and turned off the ignition. A man stood up from the front porch step and came toward her. He was tall and blond.

  Sigurd knew exactly who he was.

  * * * *

  Leigh parked the rented Saab on the steep incline behind the cabin and pulled on the parking brake. She opened the door and stepped out. Except for the lack of pristine snow nestling around it, the cabin looked exactly as it had on that December evening almost two years ago. A cool mountain breeze rippled through her hair. She pulled her sweater more snugly around her, glad she'd decided to wear jeans, thick socks and hiking boots. There was a definite nip in the air. The silence of the mountain wrapped around her. She heard only the sound of the wind rustling through the pines and the tranquil song of birds in the trees.

  The late summer air was fragrant with the scent of pine needles that crunched under her feet as she climbed the hill overlooking the fjord. When she reached the top, a soft sigh escaped her as she took in the awesome sight. Far below, the deep, green waters of the Byglandsfjord glimmered in the afternoon sunlight. She remembered Erik's words, about how beautiful the fjord was in summer. At the time, she was sure she'd never be here to see it. Yet, here she was. But under such strange circumstances. If Knut hadn't been struck with cancer, if he had never walked into the art gallery, if she hadn't allowed herself to love him...

  She blinked quickly. No crying. She'd cried enough. She turned back to the cabin. The key would probably be under the doormat, just as it had been that night. As she walked around to the front door, she wondered why she was doing this to herself. Was she being a masochist? Opening up old wounds, and for what purpose? To purge herself of what? Guilt? Love?

  She stared down at the key. No one was around. They'd never know she'd trespassed. Her hand reached for the key. A moment later, she was inside, gazing at the familiar surroundings. Heart hammering, she gazed about the gloomy interior. There was the fireplace she'd sat in front of, drinking aquavit to relieve her hacking cough. And there, in the kitchen area was the water pump, the one that had frozen during the blizzard.

  Her gaze centered on the bed, still covered with the same homemade country quilt. On that bed, she'd waited alone for Erik to come to her, and when he hadn't, she'd gone to him. And on that bed, he'd taken her into his arms, to warm her during the chilling spells caused by the pneumonia. Slowly, she walked into the tiny bedroom.

  Ah, this bed held memories. She sat down on the edge of it, her hand moving softly across the embroidered linen. Yes, in this bed, she'd been brought to the heights of passion by an intense and angry Erik. And it was also in this bed that he'd tortured her with a cold sponge bath to bring down her raging fever. A sad smile came to her lips. It hadn't been easy for him. She could still see the agony in his eyes as he'd pressed the wet sponge to her naked skin.

  Suddenly, in that moment, she knew.

  Margit had lied. Erik would never have defiled what they'd had together with those ugly words. How could she have let her insecurity allow her to believe that for a moment?

  Still, it didn't matter anymore. It was all in the past. Leigh could believe that now. Finally. Obviously, Margit loved Erik a great deal, otherwise she wouldn't have felt so threatened. Leigh just hoped he was happy.

  She had a lot to thank him for. He'd awakened a dormant part of her, one Bob had never bothered to explore. He'd brought love into her life, an emotional crazy high that rivaled the best of roller coaster rides, and inadvertently, he'd brought another kind of love to her, the quiet and comforting love of Knut. If it hadn't been for her love of Erik, she would never have met Knut.

  There was, yet, another gift Erik had brought her. Independence. If not for Erik, how long would she have stayed married to Bob, existing in an unhappy relationship, too afraid to reach for a new life? And when she'd finally gathered the courage to do just that, she'd learned she could live without a man. That she could make it on her own. Because of Erik, she had no fear of the life ahead of her. She would go back to Washington, back to her Georgetown apartment and her job at the art gallery. Perhaps someday, she would own her own gallery. Or perhaps she would concentrate on her art. It wasn't impossible she might have a New York showing someday.

  She supposed she had returned to this isolated cabin in the mountains of Aust-Agder to say goodbye to Norway—and the past. She stood up and went to the door. Her eyes lingered on the tiny room as she lingered in the doorway.

  "Goodbye, Erik,” she whispered.

  Outside, she placed the key under the mat and stepped down from the porch. There was one other place she had to say goodbye to before the long drive back to Kristiansand.

  * * * *

  Erik's heart pounded as he maneuvered the rented Fiat up the winding mountain road. Only a few more minutes now. She had to be there. That woman, Sigurd Aabel, had been positive Kayleigh had gone to Byglandsfjord. Please, God, she had to be right.

  How long had it been since he'd last seen her? Almost two years. God, it seemed like forever. It seemed like yesterday. What would he say? How could he convince her of his love? Would he find the right words?

  His throat felt as if an iron claw had tightened around it. What if no words would come? And if they did, what would he do if she rejected him?

  He rounded the last curve and the cabin came into sight. Suddenly he found it difficult to breathe. There was no car parked there. But how else could she have com
e up the mountain? Dear God, could she have come and gone already? He didn't waste time pulling the car around the back, but parked at the side of the cabin and put on the brake. In four huge strides, he reached the porch and tried the door. Locked. An icicle of fear prickled down his back as he swept the mat away and stared down at the key, his eyes blurring with tears of disappointment.

  She wasn't here.

  Still, he had to make sure. His hands shook so badly he dropped the key as he tried to fit it into the lock. Cursing, he grabbed it and tried again. This time, his hand worked and the door creaked open. He walked in, knowing deep in his heart he would find the place empty. His eyes scanned the room. Nothing out of place. It was all just the way his mother had left it on their last holiday here. What had he expected?

  He walked into the small bedroom. Everything was immaculate. He sat down heavily on the bed. Now, what? He closed his eyes, and suddenly she was there, beside him. He felt her presence, smelled her scent. But when he opened his eyes, he was still alone.

  He wanted to scream out his pain, pummel the walls, kick and fight and plead for her to come back. But he did nothing. It wasn't over. He would go to America. Find her. Convince her they belonged together. He would swallow his disappointment. He'd so wanted to see her again, right now. To feel her in his arms, taste her lips. But that could wait. It would happen.

  Back out at the car, he hesitated, and then, on impulse, strode around the side of the cabin. He stopped, frozen in his tracks, and stared at the blue Saab.

  His heart began to race.

  * * * *

  The roar of the waterfall drowned out all other sound. Reiardsfossen. Leigh stood near the precipitous cliff and gazed at the breathtaking sight in front of her. The froth of white water surged from the top of the smooth gray rock, knifing down in a sheer drop for hundreds of feet into the narrow gorge below. She thought of the first time Erik had brought her here. They'd both been so full of pain then. She tried to remember the way she'd felt that day, but it seemed like a hundred years ago.

  Today, there was no pain; even the memories of Erik no longer hurt. There was only peace here now, and this was the way she'd remember Reiardsfossen. Not for the tragedy of Reiard and his lovely Anne who'd died here. Not for Erik and their impossible love for each other. But for the peace she felt now and the acceptance of events in her life she had no control over.

  She looked down at the sterling silver ring on her finger, at the initials of E and K entwined. The symbolic thing to do, of course, would be to throw it off into the gorge below. But she knew she wouldn't do it. Couldn't make herself do it.

  There was no sound or movement to alert her of another presence behind her, but she felt it all the same. Erik had taught her to move slowly so as not to startle the wildlife in the area. She thought of the fox that had crept up behind them last time. Almost imperceptibly, she turned her head and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the form of a man. A hunter, probably. She turned to call out a greeting.

  The breath left her body in one startled gasp. Erik's blue eyes drilled into her. His face wore a strange expression, a mixture of elation, fear and longing. He stood stiffly, unable to move. Leigh was frozen, too.

  Thoughts raced through her mind, one after the other. But only one of them mattered. I still love him. It can't work between us, but I can't stop loving him.

  Still, she could say nothing. A century went by before Erik finally moved. He walked toward her. It was the signal Leigh needed to unlock the muscles of her body. She took a step forward to meet him. His face changed. Became vulnerable. Tears sparkled in his eyes. Inches away, he stopped.

  When he spoke, his voice was husky, almost a croak. “Kayleigh..."

  She moved. And his arms closed around her.

  * * * *

  The late afternoon shadows lengthened inside the cabin, making it difficult for Erik to see Kayleigh clearly across the room. For hours, they'd talked. Poured everything out to each other. Her year with Knut, Margit's deception, their near meeting in France. They'd said everything except what was really important. Neither of them had broached the subject of their feelings for each other.

  It was as if they were suddenly shy teenagers. Strangers. Now that the moment was at hand, Erik found he was afraid to ask her if they could start again. For the first time in his life, he feared rejection. He didn't know if he could stand it if she refused him. So, he said nothing.

  A silence had finally fallen between them. Leigh glanced nervously around the room and then looked down at her wristwatch. “God! Look at the time. I don't want to have to drive down this mountain in the dark.” She stood.

  Erik's heart jumped. She couldn't leave! He stared at her. His mouth opened but nothing came out. She stood stiffly, making no move toward the door. Or toward him. Since that first embrace out by the waterfall, they hadn't touched. And every second she'd spent here in the cabin with him, he'd had to consciously force himself not to go near her. He was afraid of losing control, pushing things too fast and forever losing the chance to bring her back into his life. And now, she was leaving, and if he didn't do something or say something, he would lose her.

  Leigh cleared her throat. “I'm glad you were here today. I was always sorry we hadn't said goodbye before."

  Goodbye. She was saying goodbye. Why couldn't he move? Where was his voice? Jesus Christ, what was wrong with him? He was frozen, like a statue, like one of goddamn Vigeland's sculptures.

  "Well...” Something caught in Leigh's throat. She swallowed hard. He thought he saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes. “I have to go.” She turned and went to the door.

  Suddenly Erik's paralysis disappeared. In the second it took her to open the front door, he was there and with one hand, he slammed it closed. Her hazel eyes gazed up at him, wide and questioning. Erik stared down at her. Yes, there were tears there. His eyes devoured her, lingering softly on her parted lips, caressing her lovely breasts as they rose and fell with her taut breathing. They stared at each other, their eyes speaking what words could not. But Erik knew it wasn't enough to make her stay.

  "I love you,” he said.

  Her eyes flickered, but still, she didn't speak.

  "I've never stopped loving you,” he went on. “And I think, God, I hope you still love me. Because I'm following you back to America, and I'll haunt your every step. I'll never give up until I make you love me again, Kayleigh. I swear it. And please, I don't want to hear your objections about the age difference, or about how your children detest me.” His voice was low, urgent. “I don't give a damn about any of your objections. I just know I can't live without you, Kayleigh. And I won't any longer."

  "Erik...” She reached out to touch his jaw, her hand trembling. Her mouth lifted toward his.

  It was enough for Erik. He grabbed her shoulders and his mouth clamped down on hers, his tongue searching her familiar sweetness. Like a parched desert wanderer he drank in her goodness, the essence of her that had been missing from his life for so long. There was no longer any doubt in his mind. She still loved him.

  Reluctantly, he dragged his mouth away from hers and swept her into his arms. He gently placed her on the bed and then covered her body with his own, careful not to put his full weight upon her. In her glazed eyes, he saw the desire shimmering there, and he remembered she'd looked the same way that wintry day they'd first made love. But now, it was so different. They were both free, or would be very soon.

  "You'll stay tonight?” he whispered.

  Her tongue moistened her kiss-smudged lips. The memory of her dream returned to her—the ocean depths, Knut's warm blue eyes, his gentle push propelling her back to Erik's waiting arms. Slowly, she nodded. “I'll stay with you forever, Erik. Here. America. Anywhere in the world."

  His sigh of relief was audible. He slumped against her and then rolled over on his side, pulling her with him. His hands wrapped around her and gathered her close, stroking his face against her silky hair. He closed his eyes, inhaling her sweet fragr
ance. The desire to make love to her hadn't ebbed; his body called out for her, for this woman who'd changed his life, the only woman he'd ever loved. But the lovemaking could wait. They had many, many more afternoons of long slow loving. The rest of their lives. For now, it was enough to just hold her close.

  * * *

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