Without Fear of Falling

by Danielle Boonstra

  Declan kneels over me, his palm flat on my stomach. “It feels as though I have waited forever to see you like this.”

  I swallow hard and shiver as he sheds his own clothes. I don’t know where to look so I stare bravely, eyes wide. I take him all in.

  He captures my mouth with a fervour I’ve never met with before and I forget where I am. My only thought, my only sense is that I want to melt into this man and be consumed by feeling. Shifting from my lips to my neck he starts a dizzying descent…down, down, down. His hands are anchored at my hips. Instinctively I run my fingers through his hair, grasping his head, guiding him.

  “How is it possible that your skin is this soft?” His words drip with honey, hands reaching up to my breasts. It’s been so long…

  “Ádhraím thú.” His voice is like gravel, gritty and deep.

  His mouth is at my navel. I writhe. He is making my mind spin with want. I am growing impatient, but he insists on going slow. Painfully slow.

  Moving his hands to my waist, he gently parts my legs with his elbows and his mouth is at my thigh tasting one and then the other.

  “Ellie…”

  Feeling his breath upon my skin, I succumb to a home I’ve never known, safe and warm. I let myself fade into it, falling slowly until beckoned back by delicious freedom, released. Gently, I tug at his hair, urging him up. I want him, all of him. He slowly crawls along my body, resting himself atop me, lips gracing my neck and biting gently at my ear. I raise my hips in question and in one swift move he answers.

  He stirs within me slowly at first until it seems he is finally as lost as I. Giving and taking in a delicious rhythm, he is bringing me to the brink…brings me as far as we can possibly go. All the while he whispers: “Ádhraím thú” over and over until we cry out in a language all can understand.

  I reach for him, pulling his forehead to mine. Breathless, we entwine our bodies. No words are spoken. We drift to sleep.

  CHAPTER 39

  Ellie

  The sunlight makes its presence known through the slats of my blinds. Declan is sleeping soundly as ribbons of light beams stream across his naked skin. I reluctantly decide to leave him be. The light is so bright that my skin glows pink and I can barely see around my room. I pull on my favourite grey Nordic sweater and a pair of yoga pants and quickly pin my hair into a messy bun. I am trying my best not to awaken him. He looks so serene, so untouched by worry.

  I hear Louisa whisper: That is who we really are.

  Finally finding clean socks, I tiptoe to his side and place a kiss on his warm forehead. He stirs slightly. I see his chest rise and fall and I think of what he would have looked like as a sleeping baby, how his mother must have loved to watch him slumber. I want to fade into a moment of beauty like that.

  Silently blessing him, I turn to go.

  Coming down the stairs I hear my mother singing in the kitchen. I stand down the hall a bit just to watch her for a moment. Dressed in a long white T-shirt, she moves with the song, slow and easy. Her blonde waves fly gracefully as she spins, spatula in hand. I’m her child again; I run to her.

  Laughing in surprise she says, “Ellie! I thought you were still asleep, baby. How are you? It seems so long since I’ve seen you.” She looks concerned but trusting and I want to burst out saying that I need her help, that I will always need her help. But I don’t.

  “I know,” I reply instead.

  She pours me a cup of coffee and we sit at the kitchen table. We share a comfortable silence while she rubs my back. I close my eyes briefly and see a flash of Janey in my mind’s eye. It washes over me. Of course…Frances was Janey.

  “Is Declan here? I saw men’s shoes by the door.”

  I nod and tell her he’s upstairs sleeping. I ask her why Jack’s not with her.

  “He’s busy with Declan’s portrait. It is stunning Ellie, truly stunning. You’ll have to go see it,” she says, bringing her bare legs up and crossing them beneath her.

  “I will,” I say. “Are you guys back together?”

  Her cheeks flush and she smiles slightly. “That’s not an easy question to answer…” I rush to tell her she doesn’t owe me an explanation.

  She shakes her head, “No it’s fine. I ran into him buying a bottle of wine yesterday and we got to talking. He’s…different. I mean, he’s the same, but I guess I’m different. I like who I am and no one can change that. I know that now. And I suppose it’s just become obvious to me that I want to spend time with people who make me laugh and lift me up.” She twists her mug round and round on the wooden table, studies it with a smile. “He does that.”

  “If you’re happy mom, then I’m happy.” And I mean it. For so long I thought Frances existed solely for me: to get me things, make me food, listen to me. I’m only now beginning to see the bigger picture of her life, her purpose. I see how we help one another, how we learn from each other.

  She has pride in her eyes as she looks at me. “Let’s talk about you! What did you and Mrs. Dawes uncover?”

  I tell her everything. Every word gently rushes out of me into her patient and open ears. I tell her about William and Louisa. I tell her about Declan and how he tried to take his life before we met. I tell her about the guilt that he has carried. All mom does is nod, brush her hair from her eyes and offer silent reassurance. I finish the whole story by relating my light experience in the kitchen. I have no wisdom or brilliant insight to offer, I simply give her what I know.

  “My goodness, Ellie, you had a spiritual experience.”

  I laugh out loud, “That’s definitely what it felt like!”

  Frances narrows her eyes at me. “Don’t pretend to fully comprehend what happened to you. You need help…divine help in order to understand all of this.”

  “I have Louisa,” I say, wondering if that’s divine enough.

  “Perfect! She’s your guide through all of this then.”

  “The visions were always this thing that made me different. I get it now though, or at least I think I’m getting it. It seems I’m supposed to help people remember things. I think I’m supposed to help them look at all their deep seated stuff…guilt, shame, grief…”

  Frances reaches over and gently parts a lock of hair from my face and I wonder if motherly love ever really stops. “I am so happy for you.”

  “I do feel leftover guilt from Louisa dying that night, and I can see how it’s possible that my soul has carried that all this time.” Frances is looking at me like she wants to say something. “What is it?” I ask.

  She bites her lip. “It’s just…I’m just happy we can talk about this now. For so long I felt like you were only comfortable with Mrs. Dawes and then for years you didn’t want to talk about it at all. This is nice.”

  “I think I’m meant to do something with these visions. I think I’m supposed to start helping others…like soon,” I confide.

  Frances reaches a hand to my chin. “As long as it’s helpful; why not, right?”

  If she’s right, if this is helping me and helping others, then I’m happy with that.

  I am happier.

  I let her words hang in the quiet morning lull.

  Leaving the kitchen, I decide to see if Declan is up. Just as I begin to round the staircase, there is a knock at the door.

  I see a mass of red curls through the slit of the curtain beside the door. It’s Mrs. Dawes.

  “This is a nice surprise,” I tell her as I take her purple coat and orange scarf.

  “Well, love, I just couldn’t wait to see you and ask you how the meditation went last night.” She bobs her shoulders up and down in excitement. I just love when she pretends like she doesn’t know exactly what happened. She’s not fooling this girl.

  “I’m sure you could tell the story just as well as I could!” I exclaim and she gives me a cryptic look.

  The wood floors above are creaking. Declan is awake.

  Calling his name I ask him to meet us in the kitchen as I lead Mrs. Dawes to the kitchen table. F
rances stands to hug her and it feels as if worlds are colliding for me. It’s been fourteen years since the two women have come together for me. It makes me nervous, as if I’m not worthy of all the fuss. The thought comes and goes. My doubts and fears don’t seem to have the weight they once did.

  We all sit down and wait for Declan. We don’t have to wait long.

  He’s gorgeously dishevelled and glowing. “Good morning, ladies.” He stretches his arms above his head with a yawn.

  Mrs. Dawes pipes up, “Ellie was just about to tell us about what happened last night.”

  Declan coughs nervously, waiting for her to clarify as he pours himself a coffee.

  “About what you saw with Louisa…” she’s smirking as she registers the relief on his face.

  I relate the whole story again adding the experience I had while making the tea and Mrs. Dawes gives a knowing nod. She tells us that it’s possible after a lengthy regression to be between two lives. She also says that Louisa’s voice was trying to slowly guide me back to the present moment.

  I’m confused. “But how can Louisa’s voice be guiding me back when I felt stuck between being me and Louisa?”

  Frances pipes up, “It’s all symbolic, Ellie. When you receive guidance from Louisa, it’s not her, the woman. It’s what she represents. All that matters is that it’s helpful for you.”

  “Your mother is right, love. Louisa had Mother Mary. Think about that. Her mother, Mary, died when she was twelve. It was the perfect symbol of divine love for her when, perhaps, thinking of her own mother may have been too upsetting. Speaking of which…”

  “What?” I panic for a moment, but don’t exactly know why.

  Mrs. Dawes looks from me to Frances and back to me again. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you this or not, but well…I was your mother in that lifetime.”

  My heart leaps to my throat and a thousand thoughts rush through my mind. In less than a few seconds I know that what she says is true, and yet I wonder why she never told me.

  “But…” I start.

  “I know, Ellie. You feel like I should have told you before. I’m sorry that I didn’t. All I can say is that it would not have been helpful for you to know.”

  I trust her even though I feel dismissed. Sometimes the hardest thing to know is that you just don’t know.

  Declan is fascinated. He leans closer as he asks, “Who else was back there with us?”

  Mrs. Dawes chuckles at him. “Well, let’s see. Tynan was there. He was Sir Thomas.”

  “Shut the fuck up!” I say without thinking. Frances looks at me sideways and I mouth an apology.

  “And Alistair…He was Edward. Oh and Janey…”

  “…Is Frances!” I declare proudly and look over at her. She’s beaming. It’s sinking in further now. I have been avoiding the pain of these past few days for so long and yet, it was not that bad. Of course, it all happened exactly as it should have, but my avoidance of it was so much worse and way more agonizing than the experience itself.

  “One more thing I wanted to share with you, Ellie, and you too, Declan…and sure, Frances…you too.” She laughs to herself. “Remember that I said time is an illusion. Even Einstein knew that for crying out loud! Technically you are living both these lives simultaneously as well as many others. My point is: the healing you do now helps that lifetime too. Suffering is lessened. Hearts are mended.”

  Declan wears a stunned expression. “Are you serious? Like, Ellie and I talking about all of this past life stuff and working through it…that helps us back then?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Her expression is that of a proud teacher amused at her bright student.

  “Holy shit,” shouts Declan as he stands from the table and rakes a hand through his hair. “That’s what I dreamt last night.”

  CHAPTER 40

  William

  William sat in front of the roaring fire clutching a bottle of whiskey. It was Christmas Day, one month exactly since she left, since she fell. The pain had not abated with time. The idea that it could seemed cruelly absurd.

  The wind outside the house carried a voice of vengeance high-pitched and bent on driving its witnesses mad. It was coming for him. He drove an angel to her death and he would have to pay the price in one way or another. Let it be the wind that would usher him to hell or the sea that would swallow him up. He would stay here until it happened.

  It would surely happen.

  Sir Thomas had left a week ago, taking Janey with him but Edward refused to abandon him. William was too tired to convince him otherwise. The past few weeks he felt as if he barely existed, as if the real version of him hovered above and watched the whole sad scene play out below.

  Louisa’s father had been achingly silent after her death. He did not seem angry with William, but he would barely say a word to him and this made everything worse somehow. When he did speak, it was only to convince himself that she had not committed suicide.

  “I know my daughter, Mr. Mara,” he had said with tear-swelled eyes. “She would not take her own life. She would not do it!”

  All William wanted was for Sir Thomas to shake him, punch him and then have him thrown into the ocean. But that was selfish was it not? He wanted physical pain to replace the spiritual pain he now felt, the pain that rocked his soul beyond reason. He wanted a bodily death to escape the torture of his mind. Alas, he deserved all of it.

  In the week since the departure of Sir Thomas and Janey, William thought of little else but Louisa. There was not an inch in this house, it seemed, that did not contain something of her. But he liked it that way. To him, she was this house and he could not leave it, not yet.

  When Janey had been packing up Louisa’s clothes, she had taken pity on him and left him one dress. It was the one she had worn that evening in Oban. It seemed a lifetime ago that he saw her there, coming toward him; the lightness of her preceding her actual presence. He hung the gown in the window and left it slightly ajar allowing the wind to blow through it, sending her scent everywhere. He let it overwhelm him until he dropped to his knees in a cry so maddened by grief he did not recognize it as his own.

  Edward had found him thus. That was one hour ago.

  Having sent the older man back to bed, William relaxed into his sullen solitude. He was drunk and so when an apparition of the most beautiful auburn-haired woman appeared before him, he had to blink and shake himself.

  “Louisa?”

  “Hello, William.” Her presence was bright, but real. She looked vibrant, flushed but cool. She was seated across from him in the chair she had taken so many times before.

  “It cannot be.” he whispered in shock sitting straight up, nearly dropping his bottle.

  “Shh…I am not here to haunt you, my love, or to frighten Edward. You need me and so I am here. It is that simple.”

  William dropped to his knees before her and she bent to meet him. “Louisa! It cannot be! I saw you fall…”

  She cocked her head to the side and drew him closer with the kindness in her eyes. “I know you have been drinking, but you still have sense. I am here to help you, not to stay. I cannot stay. You know that, my love.”

  Her words left him blurred and confused. Was it the drink that would make him see such things? Was he finally going insane? Tears were in his eyes, distorting his view of her. His breath held. He reached out a hand to touch her and held it an inch from her cheek, trembling.

  Her voice was like smoke floating thickly about his ears, “You may touch me. I do feel real. I feel just as I did before.”

  He touched her hair first and felt the shock of the strands silky and real beneath his fingers. Looking up she nodded her acquiescence for him to proceed. He ran his hands along her eyes and down the bridge of her nose. She drew in a breath and her cheeks coloured at his touch. William closed his eyes and swallowed hard bringing his fingertips to her lips. Two perfect pink crescents parting, breathing and waiting. His mouth closed the distance and he marvelled at her warmth, her sof
tness. He wanted to explore her body further but there was so much to ask her, tell her. He wanted so desperately to hear her voice again.

  William gently grasped her neck and rested his forehead on hers, closing his eyes in agony. “Why did you leave me?”

  Louisa stroked his hair and simply whispered “Shh…All is well.”

  His words were husky and loaded with hurt, “I deserve nothing like this.” And with an eagerness one could only call grief-stricken he picked her up and carried her to his room.

  It was dark, but by now he knew this cottage like the back of his hand. William clutched Louisa to him painfully. He would not lose her. If this were a dream, he would not wake up.

  Placing her on the bed he absorbed the sight of her. Her green eyes seemed larger, clearer than before. She seemed so full of health and peace. He wanted to drink in her essence, but he needed an answer first.

  Supporting himself as he lay over her he asked again, “Why, Louisa?”

  She kissed the palm of her hand and then brought it to his cheek. “It was written, my love. My choice was merely to let go with love, or to fall in fear.”

  “Louisa, please! I cannot take your philosophical musings right now. You know what I am asking.”

  She bowed her head. “Yes, I know,” she whispered. “The truth is that I could not bear to see you hating me and in that moment William, you hated me.” He started to protest but she stopped him. “People are quite capable of hate, my love. We build lives around it. Nevertheless, I saw it in you and I ran. I know now that what we see in others exists in us, that there was hate in my heart too. I panicked. My intention was not to jump, but the wind was strong and my mind was a mess. I was carried away…swept up and dropped. I felt nothing though, this you should know. My body felt no pain and my soul never stopped.”

  “I drove you to it then. I drove you to the cliff’s edge with my anger.”

  Louisa breathed slowly, an air of calm floating lightly about her and within her. “It was my choice to run. You did not drive me to anything. It is done. I am happy where I am and I am with you…always. I will not abandon you, my darling.”