Authors: J. Jay Kamp
The emotion in his voice made Ravenna think of the death of the marquess, and she put her hand on his shoulder, looked down on his solemn eyes. “Who’s more important to you,” she asked, “Sarah, or people whose dogs you don’t play with, that you don’t even like?”
“But that’s not the question, rather which of my feelings are stronger, love or pride.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“What can I do? Wait for her to learn of my feelings from unkind ears? No, I’ll have to tell her, and pray she doesn’t find my lack of courage repulsive.”
Ravenna smiled to herself. “That’s not what’s going to happen.”
And just like that, as if she possessed some magic to raise him out of despondency, James glanced up with a quizzical expression. “What do you know?” When she smirked, he sat up quickly, took hold of her shoulders. “
What do you know?
If you’re privileged to her feelings, then let’s have it out!”
“She talks about you constantly. That’s all I’ll tell you.”
“Are you certain? There can be no mistake?”
“She opens her mouth and the name James comes out—yes, I’m certain. You must know by now she cares for you?”
But James had slipped off the bed, was heading for the door in nothing short of an all-out sprint.
“You can’t mean to wake her at this hour?”
He stopped, turned around; with the corner of his mouth tugged in a grin, he lifted a wary brow. “You’d better be right about this.”
Before she could assure him she was, he’d shut the door.
* * *
All too soon it was time to leave London. Everyone went to bed early that night. Paul went first. Along with Sarah, James was next; he and his workmen finished with hanging the portrait he’d sat to in Edinburgh, a painting by Raeburn which James had commissioned several months before. No sooner had it been hung in the dining room when James went to bed, near ten o’clock.
They were to leave in the morning for Falmouth Bay where
Discovery
had put in to wait for her consort. Ravenna was more than ready to go, but as one o’clock neared, she checked her baggage a final time. Books, warm clothes, and fur-lined boots were all in order. She hoped she’d not forgotten anything, but as she went over the mental check list, she heard the piano’s tone, mingling with the chimes as the clock struck the hour.
Paul was calling her.
She stopped what she was doing and listened. The song, although not Mozart, was still mournfully sweet as it wound its way up through the hallways to find her chamber’s door. It was Beethoven, the
Moonlight
Sonata, a song not yet even conceived of in 1791. The music filled Ravenna with longing, made her melancholy grow with the beginning of each new passage played a little louder than the last, a little stronger. With the inflection of sadness in the notes, she knew where Paul’s mind was. He
was
calling her. This was his way, much more personal than knocking at her door.
She arrived at his side suddenly, not remembering how she’d made her way down to the piano. All she recalled was music, grand, soul-filling music, and stepping closer to him, she dared to lay her hand on his firm, broad shoulder.
In the near darkness, Paul stopped with his playing. The bench creaked as he moved, stood up to set the cover down carefully on the piano’s top.
Then he turned to her. “Mary,” he whispered, and his hand slipped tenderly around her back. “My Mary of the river.”
Ravenna kept still beneath his touch. She waited for him to explain, and when he didn’t, when he seemed to sink into his own thoughts, she coaxed him softly.
“I’ve just had a dream,” he said, and as if to awaken himself, he shook his head the smallest bit. “An awful, horrible dream.”
Silence for a moment. She thought he’d fallen into it again, for where he stood beside her, Paul didn’t move. He stared at the piano, and only his fingers stirred where they curled around her hip.
“Was it about me, this dream?” she asked.
No response.
“Will you tell me about it? Why was I Mary of the river?”
“You were on the banks of a river, that’s why, in a forest, like in Alaska, with big trees and mountains an’ that, just like they show in the advertisements back home.”
“What’s so horrible about that?” she asked.
For the first time, he lifted his eyes. “You were searching that river. You were looking for a body, for blood, for whatever you might find, and it was me you were searchin’ for.
Me
. Like it had all gone terribly wrong, but I hadn’t yet figured it out as such, because…because I could still see you, y’know? I tried callin’ out to you, sort of cried out your name, but m’voice, it wouldn’t…wouldn’t make a sound, not a word. All I could do was lay there, watch you go on up the river without me. And I knew I’d never see you again.”
“I’m here.” Leaning against him, she tried to reassure him.
He shifted his jaw nervously.
“Listen,” she said, “you’re smarter than Killiney. You know what’s ahead of you; just because you had a dream you died—”
“But what if I do?” He gazed at her determinedly, and his eyes were filled with unconcealed pain. “You’ll be stuck here, won’t you? You’ll be Mary of the river forever in this place.”
“Paul, you’re not going to even see an Indian, if I have anything to say about it.”
“But if it should happen—,” and he stopped, for he’d pulled her closer still. It seemed then that his final remembrances of Fiona were laid to rest, having taken Ravenna so readily in his arms. Venturing to lift his gaze, he acknowledged it, let his hand slide around her hip a little tighter, a bit more intimately. “It’s not that I’m scared of dying,” he said. “It’s just that I’m scared for you, that’s all.”
“You’re saying that I’m in danger now?”
“I’m saying that since I’ve stopped broodin’ over myself, I’ve come to realize what’ll happen t’you if God decides He wants me someplace else. My death will only be the beginning for you. If my destiny’s written out, then you’ll be marrying Christian after I’m gone, and I don’t want to be responsible for that. I don’t like t’think of you being abused by him, being widowed and alone and raising a son in this place with no way t’get back. I mean, is Fiona worth it? Not for my life, but yours?”
“So now you’ve changed your mind? You want to stay here and wait for James to bring the potion?”
Paul looked sheepish when he answered. “I know you’ve asked me a dozen times, but I don’t mind so much anymore, waitin’ those four years.”
“And every day of those four years I’ll have to wonder if you think about her, if you still love her and wish you’d—”
“I don’t love her, I’ve told you. The only reason I was gonna go back was t’tell her as much.”
“So go on the voyage. Then sometime next year we’ll find the potion, we’ll drink it, and everyone will be happy.”
“No, I don’t think you understand. You see, death…death has a way of following me around. If history says I’m supposed to die, then I reckon God means business this time, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to—”
“You mean you’re scared?”
“Ravenna, you can’t know what it’s like to…to
lose
someone. You’ve never had that. And I certainly wouldn’t want you t’be having it now, on account of me.”
His hand fidgeted behind her back as she considered, as she remembered the days when he’d so violently protested the idea of spending even five minutes alone with her, let alone four years. Now all he wanted to do was stay?
Turning toward the window behind them, out of nervousness, out of fear to see that emotion in his eyes, she avoided his stare. “I can’t believe you. This is your dream making you say these things—”
With a firmness that startled her, he caught her up in his other hand, forced her to look at him. Pain flashed between them as they gazed at each other. He held her tightly, making her see his grim determination, and Ravenna thought he’d scold her then.
Instead, slowly, letting his hand relax at her arm, Paul’s eyes softened. “Get your coat,” he said. “We’re going for a walk.”
* * *
Flickering lamplight greeted them outside. The Strand was empty but for an occasional coach taking some gentleman home from his cards.
He took her hand. He tucked it deep in the pocket of his coat, asked, “Have you ever been in love before?”
Yes
, she wanted to say,
a thousand times yes, with you, when we were children at Disneyland
…but she didn’t. “You know the answer.”
“I do, but tell me anyway.” And despite that melancholy glint to his eye, he smiled a little; to ease her nerves, she thought. Could he feel her trembling with the turn this night had suddenly taken?
“I’ve loved other people,” she said, “but never the ones who’ve loved me back.”
“I reckon that’s the way of the world.”
She glanced at him. “It’s not as simple as just saying it, you know.”
“Saying what?”
“That you don’t want to go with Vancouver. Tonight you may be convinced you don’t love her anymore, that if you go on the voyage, you’ll die and leave me stranded here alone, but a year from now…You’ll be wishing you were on that boat, Paul, and I don’t want to be blamed because you stayed here for my sake. I don’t want to spend every minute knowing you resent me for what you gave up in protecting me.”
“But it’s my decision t’make, isn’t it? How could I blame you?”
“If you end up homesick in the next four years, believe me, you’ll find some way to blame me.”
“And if I don’t ever get homesick?” He gave her a measured stare. “If I don’t ever wake up someday and say t’myself ‘I might be shaggin’ the woman right now instead of yer girl’?” Paul shook his head. “It’s never gonna happen. So instead of having me to yourself free and clear for four years, and safe, I might add, you’d have me risk getting killed?”
“You won’t die. You do have free choice, you know. It’s not like everything is completely spelled out for you.”
Paul shot her an angry glance. “I’m sorry, but my faith is in God’s plans for me, not in any choices I’m likely t’make.”
“But this is
history
, not God’s plan. Human beings write history. They make mistakes just like everybody else, and maybe somebody got it wrong, like Columbus being the first to discover America. Maybe you don’t die at all, and no one’s bothered to really find out.”
“That’s a mighty tall maybe.” His eyes were uncomfortably sharp, and even when he didn’t look at her, he stared down the shop fronts and paving stones instead, his attitude worsening the further they walked.
“Don’t you have any faith in yourself?” she asked at last. “Or do you leave everything in your life up to God?”
“Look, right now this is all theoretical, what you’re saying, so it doesn’t seem like such a big deal t’you, but to me…” His voice trailed off as he slowed.
Ravenna leaned into him. “What is it?”
“It’s just that,” and he paused, gathering his words, “it won’t be such an easy thing if I really do die. You don’t understand, but I do. How will you survive? Who’s gonna look after you if I’m not here?”
“James will take care of me.”
“Is James going to talk you out of feelin’ responsible when you think of how you told me I wouldn’t be killed? Is James gonna be with you night and day, holdin’ back the darkness, keepin’ you from topping yourself? Can he take the place of me, make you feel like I make you feel?”
“You’re pretty sure of yourself.”
“Because I know how it feels, Sweetheart. I know you love me. And apart from him being my friend, I loved Aidan just as much, every bit as much, and look what messin’ about with me did for him?”
“He died, didn’t he?”
“He did. I persuaded him to go somewhere we shouldn’t have gone.
I
did that. And you talk about me dying as if it’s nothing, as if you think we’re here forever, but the last time I saw Aidan, I would’ve never, ever thought something could happen, and that it’d be my fault. And he did die. And it
was
my fault.”
She remembered his rueful face at the hotel. “This was just before we came here, wasn’t it?”
“I was sixteen when Aidan and I went to Belfast for the weekend.” Paul hesitated, and there was a choke to his voice when he finally went on. “Now you tell me, what business have a couple of sixteen-year-olds in the Republican Markets area of Belfast?”
“With the troubles, you mean?”
Paul didn’t answer. He didn’t even glance at her as they walked, so that when she looked up into his face, she was aware of how upset he really was. There was that dread again, that fathomless ache shining in his eyes. “Whatever happened to Aidan,” she said carefully, “you still have to go back to your wife. You said that’s what you wanted, that it was the right thing to do. How else are you going to make sure you couldn’t have worked it out? That you don’t still love her, or—”
Abruptly, Paul stopped. The smoldering glare he gave her then sent a shiver up her spine. “I think I’m old enough t’know who I’m in love with.” As his fingers moved around hers in his pocket, he lowered his eyes self-consciously before continuing on up the rain-slicked street.
Ahead of them she saw a domed building, a church spire rising high above the city. As they neared it, she realized it was St. Paul’s Cathedral. He led her up the steps to its tall wooden doors, and under the shelter of its portico, Ravenna removed her woolen hood, wiped the rain from under her eyes. “You have a thing for churches at night, don’t you?”
Paul said nothing, merely opened the door.
In an instant, she forgot his moodiness. The place was magical, bathed in candlelight. Above them, the ceilings rose so high that where the darkness took over and the light couldn’t reach there appeared to be no ceiling at all. Cold and breathless, the great stone building seemed to go on forever, but Paul knew where he was going. He led Ravenna to a staircase and soon they were climbing step after step, making hollow wooden echoes and stony returns with the sound of their shoes on the spiral risers. Worrying about the noise they made, Ravenna followed him as quietly as she could, higher and further up into the dome, through corridors and into more stairs that rose and zigzagged until finally, after a lot of panting and several minutes, they arrived at a humble, unremarkable door.