Heart of the Lonely Exile (28 page)

Nora caught her breath at the sight of a man and a woman among the children. Thomas! Thomas and Catherine! Clad in a simple farmer's garb, Thomas's long, kind face was no longer plain and sorrowful; instead, it shone with a wondrous joy, as did Catherine's.

Thomas opened his arms and dozens of children bobbed up and down—one of them his own Katie—begging to be held. Somehow he managed to scoop them all up and give them a kiss and a hug before setting them down among the flowers.

Nora sobbed and pitched herself forward, straining, yearning to have them see her and to be a part of their joy. Yet she knew it was not to be.

Reluctantly, she held back. As she stood at the edge of the field of glory, the singing gradually swelled from clear, childlike songs to a communal anthem of praise that swept across the valley like a great and mighty wind.

Unexpectedly, Nora felt the light leave her. Cold and bereft, she shuddered, aching to follow. But there was still a caution on her to remain where she was. She could watch, but not take part.

Such a coldness, a sorrow in her soul…

The light moved across the field, illuminating the flowers and the singers in a pure, crystal glow.

Breathless, Nora blinked. When she looked again she beheld the
light settling over the far end of the field—the horizon where the flowers seemed to end and yet, she knew, did not end at all.

Now every face turned to the light, and there began a veritable stampede of running feet, excited laughter, and rolling shouts of joy. Nora could see nothing but the light and the happy throngs racing toward it.

With relief, she felt the coldness in her spirit recede, sensed a sun-touched smile upon her face. A gentle hand seemed to brush away her tears as her loved ones were enfolded by the golden light.

Again Nora spread her arms and reached out, tried once more to step into the field. Again she felt the kind but firm admonition to remain where she was.

For now…

Suddenly, she felt herself being turned, then led away from the glory-lighted field of flowers. She cried out, flailed her hands—and touched the hard, unyielding bed beneath her.

It was only a dream
….

Only a dream…but she was afraid. Afraid of falling, falling into the darkness of the silent cave. Afraid of being alone again.

The pounding in her head returned, swelling to a deafening roar. Her heart tripped, then began to race like a fury.

The light and the flowers were fast flying away, the field growing smaller and smaller in the distance. Faster and faster she fell, spiraling, tumbling back into the unknown darkness, away from the blessed light and the happy children.

The singing stopped. The fragrance faded. The field disappeared. She was terrified. She opened her mouth to cry out, to awaken from the dream. She breathed the name of Christ and clung to its echo in her spirit.

Again came the whispering, the murmuring nearby.

The sound of singing was no more, but the words went on.

Praying…someone was praying.

Evan…

Nora felt the strength and the warmth of his love flowing over her as he prayed.
Evan…

“Evan!”

28

I sat with one I love last night,
She sang to me an olden strain;
Informer times it woke delight,
Last night—but pain.

GEORGE DARLEY (1795–1846)

M
ichael felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. His initial relief at seeing Nora return from what he'd feared to be the edge of death had been harshly replaced by an aching disappointment when she cried out for Evan Whittaker.

He had thought she was dying….

For long, agonizing moments she had seemed suspended between senselessness and a kind of terrifying nightmare world.

She had wept and cried aloud, thrashing wildly about on the bed as if caught in a trap. Groping and flailing, she would first reach out, then hug her arms to her body as if to warm herself.

Michael had truly thought she was in the final throes of the death dance as he looked on in mute helplessness. Once he had to turn away, unable to bear the all too familiar scene.

Whittaker had held her hand, his very presence soothing her at the peak of her struggle. And Whittaker's name was on her lips like a cry for help or a desperate prayer when she finally awakened.

But hadn't he known for a long time now how things were? Hadn't he at least suspected? The way her eyes softened whenever she spoke of
the Englishman, the bond he had sensed when he saw them together, especially that night at the Opera House?

Because he could not bolt from the room like a thwarted schoolboy, he clenched his fists and forced a grimace of a smile. He watched the Englishman fumble to hold Nora. God forgive him, Michael even found a certain grim satisfaction in Whittaker's one-armed clumsiness!

Then an enormous tide of self-disgust rose in his throat, choking off his breath. Somehow he managed to step away from the bed and make for the door without running.

Sara Farmington had risen from her chair and stood, hands clenched in front of her, watching him.

Why must the woman always be present to witness my humiliation?

For an instant, their eyes met and held. But when Michael saw what looked for all the world like pity in her gaze, he swallowed down his pain and squared his shoulders. “The nurse said they're to be notified if there's any change,” he managed to say. “I'll go.”

Brushing by her, he hurried out the door before she could reply.

Sara watched his stiff-backed exit with growing dismay. When she turned back to Evan and Nora, she saw that, at least for the moment, they were unaware of anyone else in the room.

She wanted to follow Michael, but hesitated at the memory of his taut, unyielding countenance. She had no doubt that he would resent—and rebuff—any attempt on her part to ease his feelings. Yet his implacable resolve to show no emotion whatsoever grieved her more than if he had gone flying out of the room in despair.

He was a proud man, Michael Burke. Proud and unbending, despite occasional hints of an unexpected vulnerability. Perhaps the wisest thing to do would be to ignore the hurt she had seen in his eyes, the searing pain of rejection. No doubt that would be what he would want her to do.

Concern for him warred with caution; concern won, and Sara hurried from the room in pursuit.

Evan had never known the conflict of emotions that now rioted within him. Relief—blessed, heart-filling relief—crested wave after wave of other feelings, each overwhelming in its intensity. Even as he held her, felt the dampness of her temple against his cheek, his heart soared with relief and sang a song of thanksgiving.

Oh, how he did love her!
And she was returned to him, returned from wherever she had gone during the awful hours of the long, agonizing night.

“Oh, Nora…I was so f-frightened! You've n-no idea how worried I've been—how worried
all
of us have b-been for you!”

“Was I really that ill, then, Evan?” Her voice was weak, her hand limp, but she was alive—alive!

He brought his face still closer to hers. “Yes, you were, and I was f-frightened half to d-death!”

Her eyes misted. “I had such a dream, Evan. Such a strange, wonderful dream.”

“A dream? What sort of a d-dream?”

She turned her eyes toward the ceiling, not answering right away.

When she looked at him again there was uncertainty in her eyes. “It—it may sound foolish if I tell it aloud. But to me…at the time…it seemed such a splendid thing….”

“T-Tell me, Nora. I won't think it's f-foolish. I p-promise I won't,” he said as he gently lowered her to the pillow and held her hand.

She wept as she spoke in whispers, pausing every few words to swallow painfully. The tears trailed down her cheeks as she told of seeing the family she had lost, the field of glory, the beauty and the splendor and the light.

“Oh, such a light it was!” she murmured, the wonder still in her soft voice when she had finished her telling of the dream. “Sure, and I'll never forget it! Somehow I feel it's still here, inside me.” She touched her heart. “It's almost as if I'd been touched by a star.”

She laid her other hand on his arm. “What do you suppose it all meant, Evan? What kind of a dream would this be?”

Evan's gaze went over her face, drinking in her wonder and making it his own. It was difficult to give voice to what he believed the dream to be. “Why…I think you m-might have had a d-dream of heaven, Nora.”

She stared at him. “Truly?”

Loving the way she was clinging to his arm, Evan echoed “Truly.”

After a moment, she nodded. “Evan…could it be, then, that it was a kind of gift—to dream of heaven, so?”

“A g-gift, Nora?”

“Aye,” she said, again nodding as she explained. “I was allowed to see my family—all of them, even the wee babes who died in their first hours—I was allowed to see them whole and happy and rejoicing together in that beautiful, glorious place! Sure, and what else could such a dream be, if not a gift?”

Seeing the light reflected in her eyes, the smile of wonder on her lips, Evan could only murmur, “What else, indeed?”

“How could such a thing happen?” she mused softly. “How?”

Perhaps because you were so close, my love…closer than any of us knew… closer than we dared to admit….

When he made no reply, Nora seemed to assume that he, like she, had no answer. After a moment her eyes swept the room with sudden awareness. “Michael? Didn't I see Michael and Sara here, in the room?”

Evan, too, turned to look, suddenly embarrassed at the emotion he had unthinkingly displayed ever since she'd awakened. With great relief, he saw that they were alone. “They m-must have gone for the nurse,” he said, turning back to her. “B-But, yes, they've b-been here all along.”

Her eyes went over his face. “You were praying for me, weren't you, Evan?”

“Why, of c-course, I was praying for you, Nora. Constantly.”

Nora shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut for an instant as if even so small an effort exhausted her. “No, I mean just before I awakened,” she explained, opening her eyes. “You were beside me, praying.”

He nodded slowly. “Why…yes. B-But not just me. We've all been praying…m-most of the night. M-Michael Burke and Miss Sara—and Pastor D-Dalton was here earlier….”

She smiled, again closing her eyes. “But it was
your
prayer I heard, Evan.”

Evan's throat tightened. He had not once prayed aloud. “And you were holding my hand,” she said softly, her eyes still closed.

“Yes,” he murmured, “I was.” Without thinking, he brought her hand to his lips and held it there. When he realized what he'd done, he was embarrassed. But Nora seemed not to mind. Her eyes were open as she lifted an unsteady hand to wipe away her tears. Then, touching her hair, she uttered a small sound of disgust. “How ugly I must look!”

Evan shook his head in protest. It didn't matter in the least that her face was puffy and peeling from the rash, that her eyes were red-rimmed and smudged with shadows of illness. She was awake, she had escaped from the clutches of the fever—indeed, from the clutches of death. She was
beautiful
!

“You wo-wouldn't know how to look ugly, Nora! D-Don't even think such a thing!”

A dubious smile touched her lips. “Ach, and would you listen to the man?”

After a moment her expression sobered. “Evan?” Her eyes searched his as if trying to read his thoughts. “Thank you.”

He stared at her. “For
what,
Nora?”

She blinked, and he saw that her eyes were again glazed with tears. “For caring enough about me to pray as you did, for…holding on to me. In your heart.”

“N-Nora!” he blurted out. “You are so dear to me! I could not b-bear to lose you!” Dismayed at his reckless admission, Evan quickly turned his face away.

The gentle touch of her hand on his bearded cheek took his breath away. “Why, Evan, you are dear to my heart, as well. But didn't you know?”

Evan was not at all sure he could express the words that had been in his heart for months. The hateful stammer hindered him. He felt foolish, inadequate—but desperate to finally say what was in his heart. What if he had lost her, without ever telling her what she meant to him?

“N-Nora…forgive me if you'd r-rather n-not hear me say this, b-but… oh, Nora, I d-do love you so!”

Incredibly, she smiled. She smiled directly into his eyes, a smile filled with tenderness and understanding…and something else. Something Evan had never until this moment beheld in a woman's eyes.

“And I love you, Evan, though sure, and you will think me a forward woman for saying so. In such a place as this, and looking as I do—” She gave a small, rueful shake of her head. “Aye, a forward woman, indeed.”

Evan stared at her, awed by what he saw in her face, what he heard on her lips. “You…you
love
me, Nora? Truly?”

Her fingertips brushed the corner of his mouth and traced along his beard. “Aye, Evan. Truly.”

Shaken, Evan buried his face in the warm dampness of her hair so
she would not see him fight back the tears. “I never d-dared to hope,” he choked out, “that you could
love
m-me. Never!”

“Foolish man,” she murmured against his temple. “And how could I
not
love you?” Now she was holding
him,
gathering him closer, pressing her cheek to his.

Nora whispered something else, something he took to be Gaelic. Not trusting himself to look at her or to speak again, he remained still, quietly cherishing the sweet wonder of her arms around him, her face close to his. This was his deepest hope, his secret dream. A dream shared only with the Lord.

More than one miracle had happened in this room tonight; more than one infinitely precious gift had been given. He dared not speak of these wondrous things until he had offered his thanksgiving to the Giver.

When he finally lifted his head, Nora had drifted off to sleep, her lips touched with a smile.