Frances looks at Declan, sizing him up and shoots me a glance that says: ‘Nicely done’. I sigh inwardly: Frances, Frances, Frances…
“Nice to meet you and it’s Ms. Stewart, Declan. I’ve never married. And no thanks, I can manage.”
She turns to me, “So is this where you were last night, Ellie? With Declan? You could have texted me.”
I feel the heat rising in my cheeks and it annoys me. I am a twenty-two year old woman.
“Baby listen, I know you’re an adult but you still live with me and so I worry. Just text me next time, okay? Just so I can sleep?”
I know she’s right. “Sure Mom.”
“Thank you.” She exhales, relieved. “So where are you two off to?”
Shit. I have to tell her the truth because she’ll find out anyway. “Um, well…I was taking Declan to Jack’s place.” Frances visibly tenses. I can see her holding her tongue and breath. “Declan sketches and paints. He’s been inspired lately.” I trail off with that last sentence and again, feeling uncomfortable. Declan is looking anywhere but at my mother.
“Has he now? I see. Well, Declan, I’m sure Jack will be able to help you out. Say hi to him for me.”
My eyes grow wide at the request. “Really? Are you sure, Mom?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Of course I am, Ellie. He’s a good man.”
And my mom just stands there. Her peace and her wisdom just stand there and I see it for the first time. I really see it. She loves everyone and even if she tried not to, she would love them anyway, fully and completely. She had the courage to let go when she knew it wasn’t working anymore. My mother’s bravery is just now obvious to me and I cannot help but feel a teeny bit ashamed.
It occurs to me that I never saw the relationship from her point of view and I feel childish. At least I’m seeing it now. I feel compassionate understanding taking the place of irrelevant teenage cynicism and it’s good. I have taken one more step down the corridor of adulthood.
I walk over to her and hug her tightly. I just squeeze her until she laughs. “I love you too, baby,” she whispers in my ear. “I love you too.”
CHAPTER 24
Ellie
The stairs to Jack’s are behind the shop and just past the Coke machine. As we climb up I briefly wonder if I should have called ahead. God knows what or who he could be doing.
Too late now.
I knock on the door and he answers almost immediately, as if he knew I was coming.
“Ellie! How are you?”
He’s wearing a blue bathrobe and, I suspect, nothing more. His thick gray hair sits high atop his head in a wave and his eyes are made small by his dark-rimmed, thick-lens glasses. He’s smoking a hash pipe.
“Jesus, Jack it’s ten in the morning!”
He waves off my comment, “I am not bound by time, Ellie. You know that. Come in! Who’s your friend?” He cocks his head to observe Declan.
We enter the apartment and it’s exactly how I remember it: sunlight streaming in through dingy windows, paint-spattered newspaper strewn over wooden floors, half-empty wine and water glasses hastily left in random places. It’s comforting to think that some things can be predictable.
“He is why I’m here, Jack. This is Declan. He paints too. He’s been feeling really inspired lately and I thought maybe he could buy some supplies off you.”
Jack looks Declan up and down with a dreamy smile on his face.
One thing I forgot to mention to Declan: Jack is bisexual. And forward. And very, very open.
“Well, yum-yum! You don’t have to pay, Declan. Just let me draw you.” His eyes are bloodshot, but wide now with excitement. He scratches himself beneath his robe and then darts off, presumably to grab a sketch pad and a pencil.
Declan looks confused. “What just happened?”
“He wants to draw you,” I say, collapsing on an old red velvet couch with a loud sigh.
“Should I let him?”
I have to laugh at that. “He’s harmless. It will take twenty minutes and then we can go. Ok?”
Declan nods, but he still looks nervous. Jack returns from wherever he was and it’s not a sketch pad in his hand, but a camera.
“Changed my mind,” he says quickly.
He asks Declan to sit in the windowsill and to look outside. I watch as he snaps photo after photo and it strikes me how quickly sadness can reign over Declan’s features. I begin to think that melancholy is his set point and that happiness and deep depression are each just a heartbeat away.
I observe Jack in action and it reminds me how brilliant he is, how open to inspiration. His face is lit and yet concentrated. I had nearly forgotten how handsome he is. His features are chiselled and decidedly masculine, his body strong.
“Perfect! I’m going to paint one of these. Your look is so…intense. I want to contrast it with the light coming from the sun. Thank you for indulging me.” Jack waltzes over to Declan to shake his hand and as he stands, the difference in height is almost cute. Jack is only an inch taller than I am. “You have very well-built hands.”
Declan’s voice is unsure, “Um, thanks.”
“You are stunning, Declan. You’ve got that whole ‘Black Irish’ thing going on.”
“Ok, Jack. We’ve got to go. Can you just pack up a few things for him?” I know Jack is truly kind and would not hurt a fly, but this could take forever. He loves and is fascinated by everyone.
“Yes, yes. A deal’s a deal.” I look over at Declan as Jack hurries off to pack some things and he just smiles back at me, amused. “Oh, Ellie? I meant to ask you, how is that beautiful creature you call Mom?” he calls from his bedroom.
“She’s fine, Jack. She’s teaching Yoga and Nia. And she still paints.”
He returns wearing an oversized grey t-shirt and jean cut-offs and hands the stuff to Declan. “Good to hear. I miss her.” The longing in his face is impossible to miss.
I nod and reach a consoling hand to his arm. “I know you do.”
And I do.
I walk away with a flash of a scene: a mother, tall, dressed in burlap with black hair streaming down her back wandering the hills of Northern Ireland a thousand years ago. She is screaming for her son who has gone missing. He never returns. Jack is the mother. Frances is the son.
My heart feels tight for a moment and then understanding dawns on me. He’s mourned her forever.
I breathe in and then out. I let it go.
Declan
I want to jump out of my own skin I’m so wound up! For the first time in years I want to draw. There is something itching within, a silent tug that won’t be ignored. I look at her and I must recreate her. There’s something the eye is missing that I need to bring out, to show. Looking over at her as we walk back to my hotel room, I notice she’s been watching me.
“What?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Nothing, I just like seeing you so excited.”
And all I can do is smile…smile before the darkness creeps back. It always feels like a race against the clock when I start to feel good. Sadness has speed, joy only brevity.
I unlock the door and grab her; kiss her. I take off her thick, woollen sweater leaving her only in a pale pink tank top and black tights. Pushing her gently onto the bed, the scene before me is a beautiful mess of sheets and she, Ellie.
I kneel above her on the bed and take out the sketchpad from Jack as well as a thick charcoal pencil. I start with her mouth, pouty and delicious and then something takes hold. It is no longer me drawing. My eyes go blurry. I don’t resist. I let it take over. My hand and pencil move furiously. The hair is long, but pulled back. The face is heart-shaped, eyes large and expressive. The image unfolds from something deep within. I don’t recognize it, and yet I do.
The face staring back at me is not Ellie’s.
“What the fuck?” I drop the sketchpad onto the bed, stunned.
“What? What is it, Declan? Did I move?”
I shake my head and motion for her
to pick up the pad. She grasps it tentatively, her hand shaking slightly.
“Shit,” she says succinctly. “Louisa.”
Ellie
I make tea for us both and ask Declan to come sit beside me on the couch. He’s quiet. Part of me wonders if he’s worried he’s gone nuts again.
“Your father told me a little bit about your time in the institution. You know that already,” I say and he nods. “Well, he also told me that there was a period of time where you drew…a lot. And your drawings were all very similar. It was almost obsessive. In fact, he said that at one point another patient found a drawing and he ripped it. You apparently attacked him because of it,” I said searching his eyes for any recollection.
“Ok. I believe him. I don’t remember much about this, though. I know that I drew while I was at the hospital and then I stopped,” he says warily.
“Right, so here’s the thing: the drawings were all depictions of the same person. They were all of me.” And even though my words are gentle, he draws in a breath sharply and pulls his hands from mine.
“What the hell are you talking about, Ellie?” he shouts. “That’s impossible! Wait, were you in the hospital too? Did I know you there and forget you? Was this Louisa chick there too?”
“No, Declan. It’s a little more complicated than that. I think…I’m not sure, but I think we’re like soul mates. There was a part of you that already knew you were going to meet me, that we would fall in love and help each other. There’s something else…” I start.
“What? Tell me. I don’t want any more secrets, Ellie! This already makes me feel like you and my dad have been treating me like a child.” His tone is chilled, defiant.
I swallow hard, preparing for the sudden weight of truth. “You know that I’ve had visions since I was a little girl. A friend of my mom’s told me they are memories of past lives.”
“Right, I know.”
“Ok, well, I used to get them as quick flashes. Sometimes the scene would be in a hut in Africa, then it would be in a temple or on a canoe in a lake…it always shifted. They were completely random and made very little sense at all. That is…until I met you. As soon as you came into my life the visions got stronger, clearer and were of one specific lifetime.” I pause looking at him, trying to assess his feelings. He takes a deep breath; I can tell he’s processing all I’m telling him. “What I see is like a movie and I’m a character, or at least my soul is. And you’re there too. I was the daughter of an English nobleman and you were a tradesman. We fall in love in Tobermory, Scotland in the late 18th century,” I tell him.
“We’ve been together before?”
“Yes. And that woman you just drew looks exactly how I looked in 1790…when I was Louisa De vale.”
He shakes his head violently as if he cannot believe what I’m telling him. I sigh. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to explain this. Taking a deep breath I start from the beginning. He listens intently, never taking his eyes off of mine. I tell him about all that I have seen so far, about how I think we’ve come together to heal and how important it is to me to see these visions through. Declan is overwhelmed.
“This is nuts. I don’t know if I can do this. It’s too much!” he shouts. “What if you see something from back then that makes you hate me? What if I totally screwed you over?”
I reach for him, but he pulls back and stands. “I don’t think that is where this is headed, Declan. I think we’re supposed to forgive what happened in the past, no matter what it was.”
He’s pacing and is not willing to look at me. “I’ve got to go Ellie. I’ve got to get out of here. I’m not saying I don’t believe, but it’s just, I can’t believe you kept this from me. I’ll call you later,” he says getting up to leave.
“Declan, wait! Why don’t you see for yourself? Meet me tomorrow at the health food store by the Town Pump at seven in the morning. Mrs. Dawes, the psychic who I mentioned, she’s the one who helps me to remember these things. We do what’s called a past-life regression. Can you do that for me?” I ask.
He looks at me and my heart breaks at what I see in his eyes: sadness, confusion and regret. He leaves without a word.
I collapse back into the chair with my head in my hands.
That did not go well.
The next morning I walk into Mrs. Dawes’ store with my heart on my sleeve. I tell about all that has happened. Relief washes over me as I look at her and see only love in her eyes, love unconditional and complete. She calls me to her and hugs me tightly. “What’s this world without a little forgiveness, eh love?”
Tears are stinging my eyes as I say “Thank goodness for you, Mrs. Dawes.”
“Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?” she asks
“Yes. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. I just know that I have to do it.”
She winks at me and leads me to the back room. I tell her that I asked Declan to join us, but that I saw no sign of him as I came into the store.
“Oh he’ll be here, Ellie. That I know for sure,” she says with a smile.
CHAPTER 25
William
William and Sir Thomas paced in the kitchen waiting for Mrs. Young, the midwife, to appear with news of Louisa. William felt helpless and it was clear that Louisa’s father felt the same way. His only child was in another room without even a proper doctor to tend to her. He had berated himself for bringing her here. He called himself thoughtless and selfish. She was a lady accustomed to the comforts of London, he had said. Nothing could prepare her for the wilds of a Scottish isle. William assured him that it was most likely just an ankle sprain, but it did not seem to ease his mind.
Just then, Mrs. Young appeared in the doorway. She was a short, stout woman of about fifty with the curliest brown hair William had ever seen. Her face was kind and full of humour.
“The ankle’s not broken, gentlemen, but she has a wee bump on her head. She’s sore alright, but she’ll be right as rain in no time. You can send for Dr. Maclay in Craignure if you like. I’d say she best stay in bed for a few days to heal and then I reckon she’ll be good as new,” she bellowed good-naturedly. “I’ll have to take me leave of you, gentlemen. Mrs. McCann is starting with her pains. She’ll be needing me, this being her first babe and all.”
“Yes, of course, Mrs. Young. We cannot thank you enough for coming so quickly,” said Sir Thomas with a bow. His face visibly relaxed and he was smiling once more.
“You can go in if you like. She was asking for you.” Mrs. Young was looking at William.
“For Mr. Mara? Are you certain?”
“If his name be William then aye, sir,” she said with a curtsey and quit the house.
Sir Thomas narrowed his eyes at the man before him. William could think of nothing to say and instead, coughed nervously.
“I think I shall go in first, lad. Even if she did ask for you by name, I am her father. I believe she needs me.”
William shifted uncomfortably, finding it difficult to look the older man in the eye. “Of course, sir,” he said with a bow. He was overcome with feelings of both guilt and joy. She had asked for him. The thought made his hopes soar, but he quickly reeled them in. He needed to remember himself, his place. “Please convey to her my wishes for a quick recovery. I think I shall take my leave. I shall find somewhere else to stay tonight,” he said finally mustering the courage to look Sir Thomas square in the eye.
The older gentleman breathed deeply, observed William for a moment and then said, “No, Mr. Mara you must stay. If my daughter has asked for you, you must stay. I do wish to see her first, however. Wait here, if you please.”
Louisa
Louisa greeted her father with a wide smile. She had been changed into a white nightdress and her long, red hair was loose at her shoulders. As much as she would prefer not to be fussed over, she heard Mother Mary say gently, Rest, listen and be honest. She would try her best.
“How are you my dear? What happened out there?” Her father asked, grasping her hands i
n his.
Louisa told her father about the storm, about her decision to run back to the house and even about the dog. She assured Sir Thomas that she was sore, but otherwise no worse for wear.
“Mrs. Young said that you asked for Mr. Mara. She said you called him William. What is going on, Louisa? Has he asked to court you? Has he…imposed upon you in any way?” His eyes were full of concern, but also trust.
“No indeed, father. I asked Mr. Mara to call me Louisa. He is a friend. He gave me leave to call him William. There is nothing more. He has not imposed upon me in any way. He has been a perfect gentleman,” she told him.
Sir Thomas smiled at his daughter. “I am pleased that you have a friend, my dear. He seems a very good sort of man. I enjoy talking with him myself.” He stood up, bent down and kissed her forehead. “Shall I send in Mr. Mara?” he asked.
Louisa nodded and reached up to embrace him. “I cannot tell you father, how happy it makes me to know that you trust me so. I carry that knowledge with me wherever I go and it gives me strength. It helps me to try things and indeed to say things I ought to not otherwise dream of. Your faith in me helps me to be who I am,” she declared.
“I am speechless. The change in you since leaving London has not been lost on me, you know. I have witnessed your emergence. Though it is not easy to let you go, I fear I have no choice.” He paused for a moment as if deciding whether or not to proceed. “Will he make you happy?”
Louisa smiled warmly and shook her head. “No. He will not. That, dear Father, is a task all my own.”
William
William looked out across the incredible scene before him. Never had he born witness to such wild beauty. He could now see why Louisa had been drawn to this spot, why she had been mesmerized by it. He walked closer to the edge and looked down at the staggering drop. Below were rocks: jagged, unforgiving. The sea foam tangled, only to be swept up by the next formidable wave.
The weather on the Isle of Mull was not what he expected. It was highly changeable. Many of the villagers had said that you can experience all four seasons in a single day. Today seemed to be such a day. The sun had felt so close a moment ago and now it was far away again. The sea spray was like ice-cold pin pricks, assaulting his face. The wind blew straight across, threatening to cut him where he stood.
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