Kneeling beside
him, she gently touched his shoulder.
“Stani,” she said softly, testing the name.
“Stani, can you hear me?
I don't know how this happened to you, but
I'm sure everything possible is being done to find you.
I know someone out there must be moving
heaven and earth to find out where you've disappeared to.”
She waited for a sign that he had heard, but
there was no reaction.
“Oh, Stani,
please wake up, just for minute, just to let me know you can hear me!
Just to make me feel better.
I'll never be able to forgive myself if you
don't wake up!
You're so special, people
will think I should have done more to save you.”
She was babbling again, she knew.
But maybe the urgency of her voice and the
sound of his name would get through to him.
Now that she knew who he was, it seemed much more personal, more
terrifyingly important for him to survive.
She hadn't wanted to think of an anonymous man dying on her hearth, but
she knew she could never live here again if this brilliant musician breathed
his last in this room.
“Stani!” she
tried again.
“Open your eyes!”
Nothing.
She must have
knelt there for some time, watching him breathe and trying to imagine what he
would look like if he opened his eyes and smiled.
He seemed to be drifting farther and farther
away; now that she knew his identity, the gravity of their situation came into
sharper focus.
Now he was somehow
someone she had known, not a stranger anymore.
His life had already affected so many others, including her mother's.
His loss would be felt by a world of people
he had touched with his music.
And yet
here by the fire, he seemed to be just a gentle boy who had suffered a horrible
misadventure and now lay fighting for survival.
Emily reached
out to touch a curling strand of red hair that clung to his cheek.
“Stani, if you can hear me, please understand
that I've done everything I can to keep you safe.
I promise I won't leave you, not until
someone comes who can really help you.
But you have to promise me to hold on.
Please don't leave me, Stani.
Promise me?”
Eventually, she
made another circuit of the house, extinguishing many of the candles.
It was late, and the snow was still falling
steadily.
No one could possibly be
searching now.
She gave up trying to make
sense of whatever events had brought Stani Moss to her valley.
If he survived, perhaps she would eventually
learn the details.
More likely, she
would never know.
If only she could get
him to a hospital, to doctors who could make him whole again, she would be
satisfied.
Determined to
stay awake, to watch over Stani and keep the fire going, she curled in the
chair and began to talk.
She told him
how she had come home because she too was lost and how she had found herself
here.
She talked of her parents, how
they had raised her to love this place and all the things they treasured.
She told him the story of how they had met
and fallen in love; how they came to the valley to start their life together in
a new place and how much they had wanted a child to share in that life.
It was a story she had heard many times.
She told it to him now, careful of detail and
description.
She wanted him to know
about this place he had come to by whatever twists of fate, even if he never
remembered being here.
Her voice growing
hoarse and every muscle aching for rest, she went on talking; her favorite
books, the music she most loved.
The
places she had read about and dreamed of visiting someday.
The paintings and sculptures she imagined
she'd see, in her someday world travels.
In danger of
lulling herself to sleep, she paced the floor, repeatedly going to kneel beside
him, touching his now warm cheek, tucking the blankets ever closer around
him.
He never moved, never gave any sign
that he heard her voice or even sensed her presence.
After midnight, the snow slowed to a flurry
and the wind died completely.
The
silence was profound, as if the house were wrapped in cotton batting, insulated
from the world outside.
Inside, only the
crackle of the fire and the soft sound of his breathing broke the stillness.
Emily had given
up trying to stay awake.
Just a few
minutes and she would be refreshed, she told herself.
Curling in the chair, she closed her eyes.
As soon as her head dropped, she woke with a
start, her eyes immediately going to the figure on the floor.
How could she possibly consider sleeping? He
might wake and she would never know it.
He might need her and she would not be there to help him.
With her lids drooping, she began to talk
again.
This time she told him about
Jack, who would soon be there to rescue him.
Jack, who had been her father's lifelong friend, who was her godfather
and had been there in every crisis of her life.
Jack would see her lights and come to investigate.
She would have a lot of explaining to do, she
assured him; but in the end, Jack would take care of everything.
Her ramblings
were interrupted by a sudden soft noise.
A log had burnt through and fallen on the grate, scattering sparks.
She saw, or imagined she saw, Stani's lips part.
His eyelids fluttered open and he seemed to
gaze toward the fire for moment, before his eyes closed again.
On her knees in
an instant, she watched breathlessly for further movement.
Very slowly, as if coming to life, his right
hand moved under the layers of quilts.
Throwing back the cover, she stared, fascinated, as his fingers slid
across his chest in search of the source of his pain.
He was frowning, his jaw clenched.
Racing to the
kitchen, she grabbed the kettle and a clean dish towel.
By the time she returned, he had begun to
probe the injured shoulder, his face contorted with the effort.
Wetting a corner of the towel, she touched it
to his lips.
“Stani, you're all
right.
You've been in an accident, but
you're going to be all right.
Don't try
to move, but please open your eyes if you can hear me.”
She felt tears welling and knew she was going
to cry, no matter what he did next.
Touching the towel to his lips again, she watched his face twist as if
in surrender and relax.
“Stani, please stay
with me!”
Her plea was punctuated by a
sob she couldn't hold back.
Slowly, he
opened his eyes, surprisingly dark, brown eyes; she was momentarily stunned by
the depth of their pained focus.
For
just an instant they seemed to stare directly into hers.
Then again his lids drooped and he
frowned.
She touched his face and
realized he was very warm.
Fever?
Or just the warmth of sleep?
She laid her hand on his chest.
Warm, but not feverish, she decided.
Gently grasping
his hand to move it back to his side, she was surprised when he resisted.
As if intentionally, his long fingers wove
into hers.
It wasn't much, but it was
enough to convince her that he knew she was there.
She dissolved into tears, great sobs of
relief echoing in the cold silence.
She
had worked so hard, been so determined to get him to safety and keep him
alive.
Now the touch of his fingers on
hers brought every emotion crashing to the surface and her self-control was
shattered.
Dropping her head on his
chest, she cried as she had not done in years.
The hand she
still held in hers pulled free.
Slowly,
but very deliberately, it found its way to her hair, resting there while she
wept.
She was barely aware of the gentle
pressure as his fingers slid down to her neck and came at last to curve around
her cheek.
Ashamed of herself, and
struggling for breath, she raised her head.
His palm remained on her cheek for an instant, sliding away in what felt
very much like a caress.
His eyes were
closed, but there was a look of alertness, as if he were listening.
“Stani, you can
hear me, can't you?”
But after another
moment, he seemed to drift off to sleep.
His breathing was deeper now, his color a little more normal.
She told herself he needed time to recover
from hours of wandering in the cold; that maybe his injuries were not so
serious after all.
He had responded to
her voice, taken notice of his surroundings.
He had reacted to her ridiculous breakdown.
Embarrassed as she was, she had to admit she
felt much better able now to face the coming hours.
“Thank you, Stani.”
Tucking the covers back around him, she
touched his hair with the thought that he really did have the most beautiful
hair.
She stirred the
fire, adding fuel.
Turning the lamp low,
to conserve what oil remained, she curled on the couch.
Dawn was still hours away.
Who could say what morning might bring?
She would have to get some rest, so that she
could care for Stani tomorrow until help came.
Lying on her side, where she could see him clearly, she thought about those
few moments and realized that on some level they had entered into a
relationship of sorts.
No matter that
they would never meet again once he was taken from here to be cared for by his
own family, they would always share these hours.
Though she doubted he would remember much
about them, she would certainly never forget.
This would not
be a story to share, but something she would keep close.
She had been given the opportunity to save a
life, an extraordinary life.
She had
come home to find herself, and indeed had done just that.
But in comparison to the past few hours, that
somehow seemed trivial, even selfish.
It
was as if, by having this terrifying emergency thrust into the midst of her
joyous homecoming, she had been shown things about herself, things she would
never otherwise have seen.
There was
something to be learned from everything in life, she'd been taught, both the
bitter and the sweet.
This encounter
with Stani Moss, she suspected, might well contain a little of both.
Glancing over
at his face, she had to smile.
He seemed
to be sleeping so naturally now, she half expected to hear an occasional
snore.
Drifting to sleep to the rhythm
of his breathing, she could still see those dark eyes gazing up at her, and
feel the soft touch of his palm against her cheek.
It would be a very long time before that
image faded, she was sure.
Emily woke at
daybreak.
Clouds still hung in the sky,
but the snow had stopped falling.
Stani
had not moved.
He still slept, but a
little frown creased his face.
She knelt
beside him, carefully touching his cheek, and was relieved to feel that his
skin was still cool.
If he continued to
sleep, it would be better for him, she knew.
There would be no way to relieve the pain of that shoulder if he
woke.
She quietly tended the fire and
extinguished the lamp and the remaining candles.
Rummaging in
her duffel bag, she took out a flannel shirt and a heavy dark brown
sweater.
She couldn't go around all day
in her bathrobe, she told herself.
Today
Jack would come and she wanted to be prepared.
She dressed, brushed her hair and silently went to the kitchen for bread
and jam.
Sitting by the
fire as she ate, she found she couldn't take her eyes from his face, afraid to
miss the blink of an eye or even a grimace of pain.
She remembered the thought she'd had
yesterday, as she struggled to pull him across the yard.
He was hers now, to keep alive.
She did feel a kinship with him and a need to
protect him.
But she couldn't let that
feeling leave this room she told herself firmly.
Once they were found and he was taken to a
hospital, she would have to let go of him.
In the real world of their respective lives, there was no relationship.
She was a girl alone, just starting to make
her way to an uncertain future.
He had already
achieved fame and success in a world far removed from this valley
farmhouse.
Assuming he was able to
return to his career, she would have the gratification of knowing she had
played a part in making that possible.
But he need never know anything about her or what had brought her here
in the first place.