Dear August,
I can’t explain what happened at the monastery, but I have felt as if Heloise and Abelard have somehow guided us from the moment we met. I know that doesn’t even make sense, since we only met this summer, but from that first moment in your little greenhouse, I have lived and breathed as if you were my soul mate.
I feel like Heloise has been my guardian angel. She led me to the pages. And all along, she led me to you. Beneath her Book of Hours, I am positive those are the hidden words of Astrolabe, the child of a burning love story. Somehow, it seemed fitting to me, this child of a mother destroyed by love, to find you, to find love, because of Astrolabe.
We are supposed to leave letters pledging eternal love. I pledge that because I know that somehow we are different from our parents. We’re different even from Heloise and Abelard. We are like them, but we will never do what they did. We will never destroy each other.
Eternity is a long time. But no matter what happens, I will always have the dreams of Heloise. I will always have our adventure. The palimpsest. The whispered words of a secret manuscript. You will always be my first love. My true love. My A.
Love,
Calliope
I folded the pages neatly and put them inside the linen envelope. Then I went to shower and get ready. It felt right that finally, at the end of our adventure, we would see the lovers, side by side. Heloise and Abelard.
22
My cherished star. My true one.
—A.
H
arry, August, and I took a cab to the cemetery.
“Etienne had to do something at his shop, but he wants to meet us there,” Harry said.
I clutched the letter in my hand. I saw August and Harry had theirs.
We arrived at the cemetery. I stared in amazement. The place was crowded. Who knew so many people liked to visit graves? We got a brochure and a map to show precisely where the tomb is. We strolled in the summer heat.
“So what’s in your letter, Harry?” I teased.
“A pledge to Gabe. I miss him. Can you believe it? All these years later and I still miss him.” Harry shook his head. “True love. Figured I’d leave it here for him. Maybe Heloise and Abelard will watch over us the way they watched over the two of you.”
We found the tomb of Heloise and Abelard. It was beautiful, the pergola rising above it, the open arches, the two tombs with their faces carved on them.
I walked over to the wrought-iron railing surrounding it to leave my letter. There were dozens of other letters. I went to put it down and asked August, “Do you want to read it first?”
He shook his head. “I know what’s in your heart. But you read mine.” He handed me an envelope. “I don’t want to be here when you open it. I have something to do. I’ll be right back.”
I put down my letter, and Harry moved over to Abelard’s side of the tomb to place his and to give me some privacy. I picked up August’s letter.
Shaking like a branch in a summer storm, I slid my fingernail along the edge to open the envelope.
My darling, my love, my angel,
Calliope was the muse of epic poetry. You are my muse. You are the reason I wake up with a smile on my face, and the reason I go to sleep with a sense of belonging in this world.
All my life, I have felt I didn’t belong. I was the boy whose mother didn’t want him, whose father was sick. I never felt sorry for myself, but some days, I was just a ghost walking through my own life.
Until the day you showed up.
I can’t explain it. You’re beautiful, but beyond that your soul is so kind, so understanding, like the things you have been through mean you understand my strange world. For the first time, I actually believe I have someone who fits in my world, and I fit in hers.
I pledge my love to you. Forever, you know. It’s not crazy. I know it isn’t. We may be young, but we weren’t thrown together by just any circumstances. We were united by the quest for the origins of the greatest love story ever. We were united by spirits from a thousand years ago.
And now we’ll spend the rest of our lives writing our own love story.
I am forever yours, Calliope, my muse.
Your A.
August
I held the letter and saw a tear drop onto the paper. I didn’t even realize I was crying happy tears.
I looked around to show Harry, and to look for August so I could tell him how I felt. Then I saw him.
August. He was walking over a crest in the hill. And he was with Miriam . . . and Gabe.
23
One word. Forever.
—A.
H
arry flushed three shades of red. “How did you two manage to pull this off?”
I raised my hands. “Don’t look at me.”
August smiled. “I was in on it.”
Gabe smiled. “Miriam and I flew over together. Etienne helped.”
The five of us strode over the tomb. It was as if Heloise and Abelard had made sure it all worked out in the end. But one piece was missing.
And then we saw him.
Miriam grabbed onto the wrought-iron railing. I heard her breath catch as Etienne approached, and he suddenly ran toward her. She hugged him and whispered, “It’s been too long, my dear.”
He tilted her chin up and kissed her on the lips. “We will never be parted again. I should have chased you to New York. I have loved you all this time.”
She leaned against him for support. “To think, I never thought I would hear those words.”
I took August’s hand and walked over so I could see Heloise’s face carved on the tomb.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Then, my love by my side, we sealed our pledge with a kiss.
24
My past was over the moment I saw my beloved. I have only her.
—A.
C
hristmas . . . school break, and August and I were closer than ever. We burned bright and hot, but did not burn out. We made long distance work with visits, and I took early decision to NYU.
History major.
My father kept his promise to me. He tries harder now. Though I can’t say my majoring in history thrills him, he tells anyone who will listen about his daughter’s adventure and find.
The full story of the Book of Hours was the buzz and news of the rare-book and museum community. The entire story was told in a magazine, and the full translation of Astrolabe’s writing appeared. A documentary filmmaker even decided to tell the story, complete with interviewing handsome Uncle Harry on camera. The Book of Hours was returned to the monks, as rightfully so, a spoil of the Nazis now safe again.
Astrolabe’s story was finally told. It was sadder and more tragic in some ways, than I could have imagined. He did love someone. A beautiful woman named Elizabeth. He was frightened at first. He, like all the world, knew his parents’ story. He didn’t want to end up like his father, a hermit and bitter until Heloise rescued him from himself. Eventually, though, the pull of his beloved was too much. Despite his fears, he pledged his unending love to her.
Only Astrolabe didn’t get the happy ending he deserved. Instead, Elizabeth died when a fever swept through her entire family.
Astrolabe was bereft. But he turned to the only solace he knew. The same solace of his mother. The same solace as his father. He gave his life over to God, eventually becoming a venerable religious man in his own right before his death.
I often wondered, What if Heloise hadn’t come to me in my dream? What if the pages had stayed lost forever? Then the world would never know what had become of the child of their love story.
August and I huddled in the blanket in my favorite place. His garden. And we read Astrolabe’s words, the lost writings, as reproduced in the magazine.
I am a child born of indiscretion. Born of pain. Born of sorrow. Born of the thorns of the rose, not the bloom.
A child born, though, of a love that defied authority. Defied even God. Defied society. Defied the world.
What is to become of such a child? For two years of my existence, I was given the glorious gift of love. Not just love, but an everlasting passionate love. A rose and jewel. A bright bird and the wind.
My Elizabeth was brighter to me than the sun. She was my stars, my moon, my sun, my crown of light. When she was lost to me, my pain could not be measured in human terms.
To endure, I have given my life over to my heavenly father, to the life of my parents. Of one truth I am convinced.
God gives. He takes away. He reaps. He sows.
I was given Elizabeth so that I would know such a love as my parents’. The whole world does not know such a love. They slumber. A sleepwalking. I want to wake them. Alive! Awake!
Perhaps, though, only one of such a love affair can then bear the loss of such a love. With the great gift from my God was born the great loss. Such as Mary mourned her child, her Son.
I am aware of this.
The heavens may present a crown of stars, and may take that same crown, but the star-crossed lovers have the grandest passion of all.
acknowledgments
As always, to my agent, Jay Poynor, for believing in the story. To my friend Jon Van Zile, for reading the proposal and for the insights offered. To my editor, Jennifer Bonnell—I am truly appreciative of all the direction given to me as I molded a story across a thousand years.
To Alexa . . . who helped me understand my characters and shape their story, and who reminded me of what it means to fall in love.
To my family and the usual suspects—you know who you are.
And especially, to Alexa, Nicholas, Isabella, and Jack . . . in the hopes that you always, for all your lives, believe in love.