The Alleluia Files (38 page)

But still she wondered if she would ever see him again, and what she would say to him, and if he would remember what he had said to her.

But it was stupid to brood over an absent Edori lover. There was much to do here, and she threw herself into work with a desperate frenzy. Fortunately, this was the beginning of their busiest season, and all the innkeepers were preparing for the influx of summer visitors. Every room had to be cleaned from top to bottom, curtains washed and repaired, bed quilts changed from winter wools to summer cottons, every window washed, every floor waxed. The garden needed to be planted, the cellar needed to be cleaned of last year’s dried potatoes and jars of old fruit preserves. There was enough work that no one’s hands needed to be idle, and no one’s brain needed to be set in the same miserable, unproductive whirr.

During the middle of that third week, the inn began to fill up, and Lucinda became the most attentive hostess imaginable. She could not do enough to feed the guests, prepare them special meals, show them around the island, entertain them in the evening. She was perfectly willing to play cards, learn board games, sing, engage in charades or any other activity someone might dream up. And when the guests retired for the evening, she instantly returned to the kitchen to help Emmie finish the night’s dishes and organize for the morrow’s breakfast.

And still the days dragged by.

She tried to avoid gazing out toward the harbor more than twenty times a day, looking for familiar sails. Every day, driven by a restless energy, at some point she flung herself aloft and flew as far as she dared from the safety of the island. But inevitably, as she circled back, she made one pass over the open sea that stretched between Angel Rock and Yrsal, counting the ships she could see plowing through the dense lavender waves. There were more this time of year than any other time, and some
of the ships were Edori-built, but none of them was
The Way-ward
.

While she flew she sang, for she was practicing new music and did not particularly want Gretchen to hear it. She had spent a good portion of her free time scoring the prayer for thunderbolts from the god—note for note, in reverse of the proper order. She had selected it because it was the most complex of the prayers and she had figured it would be the most challenging, swallow up the biggest chunk of her time. She was surprised to find that, performed backward, it was an eerie, haunting piece, with its own distinct melody that lingered in her mind. She scored the reverse harmony for it as well, though she had no one to perform it with, and learned the descant once she had memorized the notes to the prayer itself.

But even singing could not take up whole days, even flying could not. She could take every prayer in the angels’ hymnal and write it backward, forward, medley and fugue, and still the days would idle by like lovers on their way home from a dance. There was no joy in the world anymore. And every day was a hundred years long.

But at the end of that third week she got a letter from Reuben. He sent it with an Edori sailor, who approached her one afternoon with a broad smile on his face.

“I’m an observant man, I am, and it looks to me like you’re the only angel living on this little island,” he greeted her, and the familiar, lilting Edori accent made her welcome him with a smile. “So it occurs to me your name must be Lucinda.”

“It is,” she said. “Can I help you?”

“I’ve all I need, thank you kindly,” was the prompt response. “But I’ve brought something for you that I’m hoping you’ll be glad to see. It was sent with many instructions to guard it carefully and make sure it was delivered safely, and I cannot help but think the sender was most anxious that it come to your hand as soon as might be possible.”

“Oh! Is it—did Reuben send it?” she stammered, feeling her face wash over with heat. “I mean—is it from another Edori?”

“Aye, Reuben sia Havita himself. He’ll be sorry to hear that you were not more pleased to be receiving news of him.”

“No, I
am
! Don’t you say that!” she exclaimed, before she realized he was teasing her. She felt her blush intensify.
Tentatively, she smiled at him. “Please, may I have the letter?”

So he handed it over, still laughing, and she hurried down to the edge of the harbor, where Aunt Gretchen was least likely to see her. Then she carefully snapped the seal, unfolded the single page, and devoured its contents.

It was relatively short, for, as he noted, he had learned just five minutes ago that
Horizon
was heading for Angel Rock and so he had little time to put pen to paper. “In the future I’ll be smarter! I’ll start my next letter the instant I hand this over to Marcus, and by the time I find a ship to take it to you, it will be a thousand pages long. At least that is how I feel—that if I wrote a few words every time you crossed my mind, I would fill about a hundred pages a day.

“I know I told you it could be as little as three weeks before I saw you again, but now I think it will be three weeks more than that, for we have set sail directly for Breven without a pause at Angel Rock. Yet we will not tarry on the mainland, and Maurice has already promised me that we will pause a day or so on your island, and so you see I will be able to keep my word to you. Maurice is nicely recovered, by the way, though he has made dreadful demands on our sympathy and hopes to receive more coddling from your kind aunt when we make our way back to the island. I tell him that he must reinjure himself if he hopes to get any special attention, for I was there four days and never got more than a reproving glance….

“I miss you more than I can put into words. Strange, is it not? For if you count the hours we spent together, they were not so many. But I remember each one. And I tell myself that I did not delude myself and that you remember them as well, each hour, each minute. Well, I shall find out soon enough. Look for us before another three weeks are out. Reuben.”

She read the letter five times before she even looked up. Then she closed her eyes, touched the letter to her heart, opened her eyes again, and read it a sixth time. Three weeks. She would see him again in three weeks. Such a short period of time, after all! The days would fly by!

As it happened, the days were filled with enough incident that they did hurry by—but they left Lucinda feeling uneasy and a little bewildered. And they left Aunt Gretchen in a most peculiar state of anxiety.

For they had a distinguished guest come to the island: Omar, the Archangel’s son.

He arrived a week after Reuben’s letter, and he made his way immediately to the Manor. Lucinda was on the front stoop sweeping away debris when he walked up, his baggage in his hand.

“Lucinda?” he called when he was still a few yards away, and she looked up inquiringly. When she recognized him, she dropped the broom and hurried forward, her hands outstretched.

“Omar! What brings you to Angel Rock?”

He set his suitcase hastily on the road so he could take both her hands in his, and he smiled down at her intently. “Part vacation, part investigation,” he said lightly. “It has been a hectic few weeks since you left, and since I have heard such restful things about your island, I thought I would give myself a little respite and check it out. And when my father heard where I was going, he told me that he has considered coming here for a week or two of relaxation, but he would await my report before making any plans. So you see I come as emissary for the Archangel, and you had best treat me well if you want the chance to entertain so august a personage.”

It was wonderful to see someone from Samaria, even someone she scarcely knew, and the light, teasing note in his voice chased away her ever-present melancholy. Lucinda felt herself grow giddy with pleasure. “Well, I like to think we would treat you kindly for your own sake, and not your father’s,” she said gaily. “But now you put us on our mettle.”

“I did not write ahead for a room,” he said. “And the sea captain told me these are busy days on the island. Is there room for me here? Or must I look elsewhere?”

“You’re in luck, because we have only one room open—and it’s my favorite,” she replied. “How long do you plan to stay? Do you know?”

“Not more than a week, I think,” he said, picking up his suitcase again. “But I am on no particular schedule.”

“So how is everyone in Samaria?” Lucinda asked over her shoulder as she led him into the inn. “Your father? Mariah? Mercy?”

“I haven’t been to Cedar Hills, but when I stopped at the Eyrie everyone there was well and expressly told me to give you their good wishes.”

They were inside now, and Lucinda began pointing to doors and stairways. “That’s the parlor. Many of the guests gather here in the evenings, and we sing or play games. There’s the dining room. We serve meals promptly at eight, noon, and six, but you can generally convince Emmie to feed you at any time of the day. That door leads to the back where the water rooms are. Up here,” she continued, starting up the stairwell, “are the guest rooms. Yours—should you find it satisfactory, sir—is the one at the very end of the hall. We have guests in all the other rooms, so I do hope you like this one!”

She flung open the door as soon as they reached it, and they both stepped inside the room. It was fairly small but nicely appointed, with a lovely view of the harbor through thick lace curtains. The four-poster bed was plush with a satin quilt; the desk, the armoire, and the chest of drawers were all constructed of a warm honey wood that glowed in the white morning light. On the walls were two paintings of Angel Rock done by some visitor more than a decade ago.

“But how charming!” Omar said, pivoting slowly to take in the furnishings, walking across the room to gaze out at the harbor. “I wonder that you don’t keep such a pretty room for yourself!”

Lucinda laughed. “My room is smaller, crammed with
things
, and has no view to speak of, but since I’m rarely in it, I don’t really mind. So you like it, then? You’d like to take it for the week?”

He turned back to smile at her. “At least a week.”

“There’s not much to divert you in Angel Rock,” she warned him. “A week is about as much as most people can stand.”

“And what are the entertainments?” he asked. “So I can work up my enthusiasm in advance.”

“Well, many of our male guests like to fish,” she said. “A few of the residents maintain fishing boats, and they’ll take you out very early in the morning and stay out with you as long as you want. Have you ever fished?”

“Not in the ocean. In lakes and rivers. I like it. Do you?”

Lucinda laughed and shook her head. “Not at all! I don’t mind eating fish, or even boning it and cooking it, but the idea of actually taking a live thing and sticking a hook through its mouth or its gill—awful. I can’t do it. Besides—” She flicked
her wings delicately. “I’m not much good on a small fishing craft. I don’t exactly fit.”

“You could trail your feathers in the water as bait,” he suggested.

She laughed again. “Yes, and have eel nibbling at my wings! I don’t think so! So I mostly stay away from the fishing expeditions.”

“What else is there?” he asked.

“Well, in the summer months, some people go swimming off the north beach, but it’s really too cold for that now,” she replied. “There are a few pretty walks around the island—but it’s not a very
big
island, and the walks don’t take very long.”

“And for entertainment in the evenings?”

She felt the laughter bubbling up again. Strange, she didn’t usually find it this amusing to describe the charms of the island—but she knew where Omar came from, she knew how sophisticated his pleasures usually were, and Angel Rock could in no way match them.

“Well, lately the Jomarsons—who have been with us for six days—and Mrs. Temple, who has been here for three weeks— have been writing a play which they hope to perform in a few days for whoever can fit in our parlor one night,” she said. “I’m sure they’d be delighted to have you contribute your wit to the composition of the play, or your acting skills to the performance. I’ve also learned how to play some pretty complex board games, which I could teach you if you don’t already know them. And sometimes Hammet and Celia invite us over to the Gablefront Inn for an evening with their guests. Generally then people take turns singing, or reciting poetry, or telling funny stories. Usually it’s quite enjoyable.”

“Yes, it all sounds delightful. Why are you laughing at me, you silly child? Do you think I’m too jaded to enjoy simple pleasures?”

“Well—yes! After the Eyrie, and Luminaux, and Semorrah—”

“The Eyrie and Luminaux and Semorrah are the very reasons I have come to Angel Rock,” he said firmly. “I find their pace too taxing. I must have quiet! Or I shall go mad!”

This last was said very dramatically, in obvious jest, and Lucinda laughed again. “Well, you shall have it here,” she
observed. “Come along downstairs. We’ll tell Aunt Gretchen you’ve come to stay awhile.”

They returned to the ground floor to look for Gretchen, whom they finally discovered in the orchard that grew some distance behind the house. She was frowning up at the riotously blossoming apple trees.

“Aunt Gretchen! Goodness, why are you looking so fierce?” Lucinda exclaimed. “I think the trees look gorgeous.”

“Dory said she saw insects boring into her peach trees this morning, and I was just wondering if I would need to spray,” Gretchen replied. “I don’t see any evidence of trouble—but then, better too much prevention than a season ruined. What a bother! Well, I’d best go tell Jackson the glad news. You know how he hates spraying for bugs.”

“Aunt Gretchen, we have a new visitor from the mainland,” Lucinda said, since it seemed possible that Gretchen could stalk right by them, intent on ruining Jackson’s day. “Do you remember Omar? Bael’s son? You met him at the Gloria.”

Gretchen did a strange, abrupt halt, spin, and stare, so that she seemed to be jerked from one plane of existence to a wholly different and less pleasant one. She dragged her eyes once from Omar’s face to glance at her niece, and then she returned her attention to the Archangel’s son.

“Yes. Of course I remember you,” she said in a completely uninflected voice. “I just did not expect—what brings you to Angel Rock?”