by J. D. Robb
“He was playing with his brother,” his mother began but started to cry.
The boy’s father patted her awkwardly on the shoulder and took up the story. “They were supposed to be harvesting coconuts, but they grew tired of that and began to use the machete as a toy. Herreo cut his foot and I think he cut off his toes.”
The boy was in shock. As Esmé unwrapped the linen and exposed the wound, it was a relief to see that Herreo still had his toes, though they looked seriously damaged. What a relief that one of the shots they had agreed to had been against tetanus.
The healer began the process of cleaning the wound. Isabelle stayed in the corner of the room, observing. She bit her lip to keep quiet but when Esmé stopped running water over the injury after less than five minutes, Isabelle had to speak. “Healer, I will collect more water if you will wash it out for at least forty minutes.”
“Nonsense. Fresh water is too precious here. The wound is clean.”
“Esmé—” Isabelle began.
The healer cut her off with a look of pure hatred. “I have been cleaning wounds longer than you have been alive. Leave now. You are not welcome here.”
To argue would only upset everyone so Isabelle did as ordered, determined to visit the family later to see if she could convince them to let her treat the boy further. Really the wound should be treated in a sterile environment. In a hospital.
Back in her cottage Isabelle considered the paperwork that was part of any bureaucracy no matter how remote. Her funding hinged on filling out the forms, and she tackled the project even though she was distracted by her worry for the boy. Occasionally she found herself staring off into space with a sappy smile. The smile had nothing to do with her concern for Herreo.
Mother Superior had always insisted that God’s will was for each man and woman to be happy and fulfilled. Well, if that was true, then Isabelle knew she was on the right path, no matter what Esmé said. Her journey was not complete, but from where she sat, even surrounded by annoying forms, she was sure she was headed in the right direction.
After wrestling with the paperwork for most of the afternoon, Isabelle put it away, freshened up and walked to the edge of the village to see the boy. The family welcomed her. Fortunately, they were some of the early adapters you could find in every culture, the kind of natural leaders who were receptive to new ideas.
Herreo was in his bunk, a cup of juice at hand and the healer’s salve nearby. Isabelle raised the bed linen to look at the wound and felt physically ill. Esmé had stitched it closed, not the right course of action for a “dirty” cut.
“What do you think, Mistress Nurse?” Herreo’s mother asked.
“Please let me cut the stitches open. The wound should be cleaned. Please, Mistress Mother.”
Herreo’s mother looked at her husband.
“If you do not allow it,” Isabelle spoke quietly so Herreo would not hear, “the wound will become infected. Even now he should go to the hospital to have it treated properly.”
“If he goes to the main island, he will not come back,” his mother said.
“I think he will come back. He is young and he wants his mother and father more than he wants the pleasures of the main island.” Isabelle looked at Herreo’s father. “Would you rather have him die here or live there?”
“He can go if the master gives permission.” Esmé made her announcement from the door of the cottage. “Go ask him now.”
“Have you been watching me?” Isabelle did not care if her outrage showed.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I was coming to tell you that the master wants to speak with you and saw you walking here.”
“All right.” She calmed a little. “I’ll go ask him but let me cut the stitches open first.”
“No. Go to the master.”
It was the worst of medical protocol to argue in front of the patient’s parents, so Isabelle hurried to the castle wondering why Sebastian would send his message through Esmé when he usually used Cortez as a courier.
At the castillo, the servant was welcoming, but when she asked for Sebastian, the man shook his head. “He is busy now, mistress. You can sing, but he is busy.”
“I have to see him. Right now. This is an emergency.”
“An emergency?” the man said as though he did not know the word.
“Someone might die if I do not speak to him quickly.” That was a lie. It would be days before Herreo’s injury was life-threatening. She would ask forgiveness for her dishonesty later.
With a troubled nod, the servant let her in and, despite his urging that he would “bring the master down,” Isabelle ran to the steps and up to Sebastian’s quarters.
She knocked on the door of his study and waited. No one answered. She opened the door and called, “Sebastian. Where are you? This is important.”
He came then, from his bedroom, barefoot, his shirt open, his pants unbuttoned, as though he was about to undress. “What is so pressing that you have to interrupt me?”
He could have slapped her with less insult. For, as he asked, a woman came out of his bedroom. She was fully dressed but there was something proprietary about the way she put her hand on his arm. “What is it, Sebastian?”
Isabelle wanted to scream, yell and throw things. With the greatest of effort, she prayed for wisdom and focused on her errand. She could deal with this insult later. “Herreo is badly hurt and should go to a hospital. Esmé said if I got your permission, I could take him.”
He did not react at first, but then nodded. “You have my permission. Leave, and, Isabelle, I do not want you to come back.”
This verbal sucker punch caught her where it hurt the most. He spoke with such command that she knew he was serious. If she was not coming back, she would leave him with one last truth. “You know, Sebastian, you can have sex with a dozen women, but none of them will be me.”
“I thank God for that,” he shot back. “I do not want your heart and you cannot have mine. I do prefer variety. I thought I made that clear.”
Numbly, Isabelle left his room, unable to think of anything that might convince him. Her patient was her first priority, but as she reached the courtyard a hymn came to her, one that summed up all the longing she felt. On impulse, Isabelle Reynaud sang to Sebastian Dushayne one last time.
“Come back to me with all your heart. Don’t let fear keep us apart. Long have I waited for your coming home to me and living deeply our new life.”
Hosea’s song had always been one of her favorites. It was true on so many levels. From God to his lost children, from a couple who are estranged even though they were meant to be together, to a family longing for their prodigal son. For Sebastian Dushayne. She wanted him to be happy and fulfilled, but as she let go of her ego and her pride, Isabelle realized that his choices were not in her control.
Father Joubay had said that one person could change the fate of the world. Isabella had taken that to mean that one kindness would make change possible. But there was more to it than that. The one in pain had to accept the act, accept the love, and build on it. She had given all that she could, but Sebastian had rejected it.
Isabelle left the courtyard, wishing that she could see Sebastian again before she left for the hospital, just one last time.
Sebastian gave the woman a handful of coins and moved as far away from her as he could. “Take this and give Esmé her share.” He could feel anger building and did not care what story this woman took back with her. “I know she sent you here to discredit me with Isabelle. And I allowed it for my own reasons.” That there would be retribution he left unsaid.
The woman’s fright showed in her hurry to leave the room, and Sebastian realized he had never once seen fear on Isabelle’s face. For all his cruelty to her she had never been afraid and had almost always managed to mask her hurt. He did not know if that was weakness or virtue.
Forbidding her return was the most unselfish action he had ever taken. His love for her made her as fragile as an orchid. If sh
e came back, she would surely die, be taken from him as Angelique had been. Better to send her away than risk that.
Weariness stole his strength and he sank down on the sofa and wondered if Isabelle’s God would listen to him. Protect her, he prayed, feeling awkward and stupid. Please. “I am begging.” He shouted out loud and then whispered, “I love her.”
Isabella’s hymn reached him even as he heard a voice whisper, “Tell her.”
“Come back to me with all your heart. Don’t let fear keep us apart. Long have I waited for your coming home to me and living deeply our new life.”
Sebastian struggled into his boots, and ran from the castillo. A train of people followed him. The master never hurried anywhere unless it was very important.
“Who is dying?” one asked.
“Has he found something?” another wondered.
“He can’t run far,” a woman observed.
He found Esmé in her house with a bottle in her hand.
“She has already gone to Herreo’s house. She said she is leaving and told me that I have built my entire life around vengeance and for the curse to end, both you and I have to make the right choice. Isabelle insists that I have suffered as much as you.”
Esmé looked at the spirits in her mug. “She is right. I am a healer. Doing my best to see you in pain is destroying me too.”
She poured the bottle of spirits into the sand.
“Will she come back safely if I tell her I love her?”
“Am I seeing the master ask a question?”
“Yes, you poisonous woman. If you have found wisdom, stop needling me and give me an answer.”
“You stupid man. End the curse. Follow her. Your love for her and hers for you will see you to safety.”
He found Isabelle halfway across the strip of land that connected the castillo with the main island. Herreo’s father carried him and the mother walked quickly to keep up with them.
“Isabelle!” he called.
She turned and when she saw him, after a word with Herreo’s parents, ran back to him.
Isabelle leaped into his outstretched arms, and he spun her around and around. “I love you,” he shouted.
“And I love you.” She slid from him to stand as close as she could. “Could anything be more perfect? I promise I will come back as soon as they are settled in the hospital.”
“No one will bring you back, Isabelle. After what happened when you came, no one will take the risk. I will come with you. Esmé agrees with you that love is the key that will unlock the curse.”
“The healer? She told me that her mission in life is to see that you are cursed for eternity. How can you believe what she says?”
Sebastian took her hand and began to cross over to the big island. “Silly woman. You’re the one who taught me that you have to learn to trust.”
Epilogue
SOME YEARS IN THE FUTURE
ISLA PERDIDA
LESSER ANTILLES
“I swear this island never changes.” Sebastian stood at the entrance to the castillo, his back to the door, and watched as the villagers returned to work after their very enthusiastic welcome.
“It never changes because that’s the way you want it.”
Sebastian conceded the point with a half nod. “There has to be one place where I am still the master.”
“The only place,” Isabelle reminded him.
“Admit it, dear wife, you don’t want to have computers in every cottage and generators polluting the air here any more than I do.”
“No, so I guess this is our escape from reality.”
“Or our return to it.”
They walked into the castillo to find the courtyard a beehive of activity. The usual welcome-h ome celebration was planned for the evening, and benches and tables filled the space.
Everyone stopped to welcome them back, to ask where the children were and promise a party “even better than the last one.”
“Where are the boys?” Sebastian asked their mother.
“I wish I knew,” Isabelle countered and began to walk back toward the entrance.
“Mom! Dad! We can’t wait to go to the beach.”
With a glance at Sebastian, Isabelle answered, “All right, but take an adult with you.”
Herreo popped up behind them, his shy smile a welcome that was always one of their favorites. “Am I adult enough, mistress?”
He was tall and strong and one of their dearest friends.
“Yes, Herreo, and thank you. Will we see your parents tonight?”
“Of course. Mistress Healer is coming too. Her newest nurse will be with her.”
There were times when Esmé did not come and times when she could not stay away. Isabelle was glad they would have a chance to see her.
“We can’t wait, Herreo,” the boys shouted. “We can’t wait to go to the beach.” They pulled on Herreo’s hand and were out the side door before anyone could say good-bye.
Sebastian turned to his wife. His dimples had deepened with age, his hair showed just a little gray and the smile lines around his eyes were more pronounced than ever. He often told her he felt wonderful for a man more than two hundred years old, and she assured him he looked wonderful too.
“I can’t wait either,” she said, pulling on his hand like a little girl.
“To go to the beach?” he asked, teasing her.
“No,” she answered, laughing. “If you will come with me, master, I’ll remind you why this is our own corner of paradise.”
Author’s Note
My original intent in using singing as a key part of the story was to include words from hymns I sing in church regularly. I thought that would illustrate that the message of love in the hymns has a meaning beyond their spiritual context.
When it became clear that using most of the hymns I chose would not be possible, I wrote my own words with the exception of the use of one line of the hymn “Be Not Afraid,” with permission of OCP, and words from the hymn “Hosea,” which are from the Bible and therefore not subject to copyright.
If you will take a moment to read the words of the hymns you sing, I know you will see, as I did, that many of them are about love. While the composer certainly had a spiritual view in mind, the meaning of the songs can be expanded to include the kind of love we encounter in dealing with people we are closest too, people we meet by chance and friends.
At the heart of “Lost in Paradise” is my belief that love is why we are here, and accepting love can redeem even the most hardened of hearts. Isabelle convinces Sebastian to accept love and frees him from his curse. I hope that they will convince you.
Legacy
RUTH RYAN LANGAN
To those still searching for family.
And for Tom, the heart and soul of ours.
One
“Miss O’Mara?” The young man’s voice was thick with Irish brogue.
“Yes.” Aidan O’Mara watched him doff his cap.
“The car is waiting. Right this way. I’ll take your luggage.” His big hand clamped around the handle of her overnight bag, and he tucked it under his arm as though it were a toy. He shouldered his way through the crowd at Dublin Airport, slowing his pace whenever she fell behind.
“Here we are.” He helped her into the backseat of a vehicle the size of a small boat before stowing her bag.
As he started the car he glanced over his shoulder. “There’s a bottle of water if you’d like. We’ve a bit of a drive ahead of us.”
“Thank you.” Aidan watched the flow of traffic, the passing scenery, with the fascination of one who had never before been to Ireland. Not only was she out of her own country for the first time, but completely out of her element.
How was it possible that just a week ago she’d buried her mother and watched her whole world unravel? Yet here she was, an ocean away from all that was familiar, being transported in a vintage Rolls by a red-haired, freckled lad in a jaunty cap who looked like a model for a travel brochure, on her way t
o meet a perfect stranger who hinted of secrets from her family’s past.
She was so weary, both physically and emotionally. So much had happened to her in the past few days. Too much for her to take in. The steady flow of traffic, the moving river of humanity inching along the streets of Dublin became a blur.
Drained, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift back.
“Aidan. I’m sorry for your loss.” Father Davis handed the young woman a small wooden cross from her mother’s casket before turning away from the gravesite. He paused. “You know, of course, our church pantry can assist you with some meals until you’re back on your feet. If you need anything at all . . .”
“Thank you, Father. I’ll be fine.” She could feel the stares from those who were standing nearby, and could hear their whispered comments about her mother’s long illness and the drain on her finances.
She thanked the friends and neighbors who had come to offer their condolences, holding herself together by sheer force of will.
She experienced an odd sense of relief when she was finally alone. Dropping to her knees, she let out a long, deep sigh and looked at the headstones of her family members that surrounded her mother’s fresh grave. Thankfully her parents had bought the sites many years ago, in order to be buried near their own parents. If Aidan had been forced to buy a cemetery plot along with all the other funeral costs, she could never have afforded it.
These past months had been so hard. At first she’d been able to juggle her work at the bank and the care of her mother. As the illness progressed and things became more difficult, a neighbor suggested a private nursing facility. Aidan had looked into it, only to learn that the cost was more than she could manage. She spoke with her supervisor at work, hoping for a leave of absence, but that was denied. Ultimately forced to choose between quitting her job and putting her mother in a public facility, she’d stayed home and tended her mother to the end.