Between (12 page)

He stood smiling at me lustily, still breathing hard, then stretched his shoulders and adjusted his sporran with a cough. “Right. I’ll, er… go make a fire, then.” He moved into the living room and I smiled, enjoying the rekindled heat between us. He hadn’t kissed me like that since our fight back at the château and I was glad to see his feelings hadn’t changed.

I moved to the edge of the kitchen and put a CD in the stereo. The sweet sounds of piano music floated through the room. After I mixed together the eggs, potatoes and sausage, I sprinkled them with grated cheddar cheese and some diced green onions, then set the table and called him to join me. The fire was crackling in the living room, and he appeared in the doorway, smiling and content, looking very much at home.

“
This looks delightful, my love. Thank you.” He sat down next to me, said a quick word of thanks to God and put a forkful in his mouth. A look of rapture crossed his face.

“
My family calls this ‘taties and eggs,’” I said. “It’s a cabin staple and one of my favorite meals of all time. It’s not good for you like parritch, but I’d eat it every day if I could.”

“
Well, I suppose you can, if that’s what you’d like. I certainly will not mind if you want to make this for breakfast every morn.” I flushed at his praise and we fell silent, listening to the classical music and eating our meal. Violins joined the piano as the next song began to play and it reminded me of the orchestra at Versailles.

“
Hey, whatever happened with Marie Hélène de Saint-Simon? Did you ever see her again after that night at the palace?” Aiden choked on his orange juice at my question. I hastened to explain my random thought. “Sorry, it’s just that the music reminded me of that night all of a sudden and I realized I’d never asked you.”

He shook his head, composed once again. “Don’t fret, you just surprised me. Aye, I did see her again once. She and the Duke came to the château to visit Uncle Alex later that summer. The king was planning to give some horses to the ambassador of Spain as a gift and they came to choose which ones would be sent.” He took another bite and sat back in his chair, like that was all there was to the story.

“
And?” I prompted.

He narrowed his eyes in confusion. “And what?”

“
And… what happened?” I sighed in exasperation. “Did she say anything to you? Did you kiss again? Tell me!”

He furrowed his brow like he wasn’t sure I was well in the head. “Nothing happened. We were never alone again, praise be. She was even skinnier and more bird-like in the daylight than I’d remembered her. I never found her at all attractive.”

“
Did she at least recognize you? Did she mention anything about the night at the palace?”

“
She did,” he conceded, non-plussed. “She kept smiling at me while we looked over the horses, trying to get my attention.” He shuddered with the memory and I giggled, watching him. “No, lassie. You’ve nothing to worry about with that one. Besides, the king died that fall and then the Earl of Mar declared James Stuart King of Scots, and all bloody hell broke loose. I left Versailles and returned to Scotland after the Battle of Sherrifmuir that November and never returned.” His face clouded over at the memory and I quickly changed the subject.

“
Would you like to go for a boat ride on the lake?” I asked and he agreed. We walked hand in hand down to the beach, where our rowboat floated on the water, gently tapping the dock. He stepped into the boat, then held out a hand to help me in. He untied the boat from the dock and picked up the oars, expertly pushing off. He skimmed them through the water until we were out in the open, his strong chest and arm muscles working with each stroke.

The sun reflected off the surface of the lake, the sounds of his rowing and birds chirping magnified by the total solitude. Normally this place would be humming with speedboats and jet skis, the sounds of people out on their docks, laughing and playing in the water or having a barbeque. But today it was quiet and serene, and I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be. Closing my eyes, I turned my face up to the sun, thankful for the moment and wishing it could last forever.

“
You look very happy.” Aiden’s voice broke the silence and I opened my eyes, blinking as they adjusted to the brightness.

“
Aye, that I am,” I said in my best Scottish accent and he laughed. The sound of his laughter echoed off the water, joyful and infectious.

“
I was just thanking God for this incredible place. And for you,” I said. My heart fluttered when he smiled and tipped his head to me in acknowledgment, his bright blue eyes sparkling like the water. “I can’t imagine that heaven could be any better than this,” I swept my arm out across the water and smiled at him, continuing on softly with a catch in my throat, “since I’ve never been happier than I am right now.”

He dropped one of the oars in its cradle and took my hand. “I know just what you mean.” He kissed the pulse at my wrist and I felt that my heart would burst, so full of love and longing. “I don’t know what heaven is like, since I’ve only been to the gate, never inside. But you’re right, I can’t imagine anything more wonderful than this.”

“
What was it like, being a transporter all that time? What kinds of people did you meet? Did you see a lot of gruesome death scenes? What happened when you took them to the gate?” I was suddenly full of questions, realizing I didn’t know anything about that part of his past. He chuckled softly, waiting for me to finish peppering him with questions, then picked up the oars and resumed rowing.

“
Well, where do I start? I have met all sorts of different people, young children, old women, men who died in battle, all colors and ages and sizes.”

“
What if they spoke a foreign language?” I asked. “Were you still able to communicate with them?”

“
Aye, I always spoke to them in English and they responded the same, though I could tell when it was not their native tongue. Sometimes I’d transport someone who spoke French or Gaelic, and I would use those languages, but mostly it was English.” I sat back, considering this, and he continued.

“
Let’s see, what else did you ask? Ah, what it was like at the gate, that’s right. Well, every now and then I would spend a wee bit of time with a person but other times, they’d want to get to heaven straight away. So I’d cast the entrance for them like the angel taught me all those years ago and St. Peter would be standing there at the gate, smiling and waiting. I call it a gate, but it isn’t really, not like a gate on a fence. It’s more like…” he struggled to try and find words to describe the scene, “more like a glow, bright and shining a rich golden yellow color, swirling and moving like a swarm of bees, but soft and welcoming like a mother’s arms.”

He shook his head, agitated at his inability to put it into words. “I don’t know how to explain it, since I’ve never seen anything like it on earth. It is beautiful and inviting, though I tried not to look at it, since I could not go in. Instead, I watched the people’s faces as they saw it for the first time, which was always very lovely. They’d walk towards it in a trance like a force was pulling them forward.” He stopped and chuckled to himself, shrugging. “Aye, I guess it was, God’s force, eh?”

I smiled at him in encouragement and he rowed absently, caught up in the memory. “But then they would stop, surprised, and just stare at St. Peter. I always wondered why they did that until finally one day, I was taking a wee child to meet him and I was holding her hand as she walked toward the gate. Then she stopped and looked at him like they always do, her eyes wide with surprise. But then she turned to me and whispered, ‘He just said my name and I heard it in my head. His lips didn’t even move!’ and I laughed, thankful to finally understand the mystery.”

He reached out to brush my cheek with his hand. “I’ll never forget the look in your eyes when I spoke to you with my mind the first time. You looked at me like I was St. Peter himself and my chest was afire with joy and relief, I was so thankful to have finally found you.”

I wanted to fling myself into his arms and hold on tight, but knew that if I did, I’d rock the boat and dump us into the lake. So instead, I wound my fingertips in his and caressed him with my eyes. Worry chewed at my insides, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment, so I pushed it away. The warm summer breeze wrapped around us like a blanket and the rustling sound of the wind in the trees filled me with peace. We stayed that way for a long time, swept up in each other’s faces, holding hands and floating slowly through the water. The sun was creeping down the horizon when he finally turned the boat back toward the dock.

“
You asked if I’d seen grisly death scenes and aye, I have. Though I didn’t always meet people at their deaths. Sometimes I would come to them afterward, in a beautiful place that they’d cast right after, like the meadow where I met you.”

I shook my head in confusion. “What do you mean? I didn’t cast that meadow. I didn’t even know what casting was until you took me to the château.”

“
No, lassie. That meadow came from inside you. I’d never seen it before we met.”

I tried to puzzle out how that could be since I’d never been someplace like that. A photo came to mind, one from a National Geographic I’d been skimming through at the dentist’s office two weeks before the accident. “It was a picture from a magazine. I remember now, thinking it looked so peaceful and inviting.”

“
Aye, it was. I’ve seen many landscapes over the years as people cast what makes them the happiest. Sometimes it’s in the countryside or on a mountain, but there is usually water of some sort.” I looked out over the lake and could easily understand why that would be, since the water had such a naturally soothing nature. Still, I felt like he was forgetting something, so I thought back through the questions I’d asked him. The vision of a man dying in battle sprang to mind and I narrowed my eyes at him curiously.

“
You said that you sometimes arrive at the scenes where the people have died and take them from there. Do you…” The words caught in my throat as a terrifying thought froze the air in my lungs. He looked at me quizzically, not sure what I was getting at. I coughed, trying to think of the most delicate way to put it, the question burning in my head. I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud, so I asked the question in my mind, unable to look him in the eye.

Did you take people to hell, too?

He growled as his face registered understanding and didn’t say anything more, but picked up the oars and continued to row in silence. I held my breath and searched his eyes, waiting for the answer. Finally, he shook his head and responded quietly, his face unreadable.

“
No, I didn’t, though I have seen one who does.” My eyes grew wide with fear and morbid curiosity, but I sat silently, waiting for him to go on. “It was a long time ago, though I remember it like it was yesterday. There was a terrible accident with a long metal tube that looked like a caterpillar, but with people inside.”

“
Do you mean a train? Like the one we saw over our heads in Seattle?”

He nodded grimly, “Aye, a train. That’s what I heard someone call it. It was longer than the one we saw and on the ground, but this one was broken to pieces, with bodies scattered everywhere and people crying.” He shuddered at the memory and seemed to gain strength from the act of rowing, his strokes becoming deeper as he recounted the story.

“
I was there to bring a young mother to heaven. I could see other transporters around the train, talking to the dead and disappearing with them as they cast a new scene. The young woman was having a hard time letting go, since her child was not coming with us, so we didn’t leave the place right away. A swirling black mass appeared at the opposite side of the train, with a screeching sound like ravens fighting over a carcass. It had the horrific stench of a body that’s been rotting in the sun for several days and I nearly retched at the smell of it.

“
When it touched the ground, it formed into this…” he struggled to find the words to describe it, his lips pulled down in a sneer, “… thing. I don’t even know what to call it. It was small and thin like a woman, but hunched over like a wolf, with sharp claws at the tips of its fingers. It had black snarly hair and dry, crackling skin. Its tongue stuck out over its fangs with a wicked grin of violent, lusty excitement. I met its eyes for just a second and they flashed blood red at me, then I took the girl’s hand and cast us out of there immediately.”

He gripped the oars with white knuckles and his chest shook with the memory. My flesh crawled at the description of this hell transporter and I immediately regretted having asked. The rowboat bumped against the dock, making me jump, and he reached out a hand to steady me. He leapt onto the dock and tied up the boat, then helped pull me out.

“
I’m sorry, love,” he said. “I probably shouldn’t have told you about it and now I’ve gotten myself all het up. I think I’ll chop some wood to replenish the pile and try to burn that vision out of my mind.” I nodded mutely, unable to offer him any comfort and he strode off up the dirt path to the cabin.

The sun dipped into the lake in a liquid orange pool and I stood alone on the dock for a moment, drinking it in and chastising myself for having upset him. I walked up to the cabin, kicking pinecones along the way. The fire had died out in the cabin, so I built it back up, then put a new CD in the stereo. I changed it to some more up-tempo dance music, the kind I liked to listen to whenever I cleaned.

Bobbing my head to the beat of the music, I wandered into the kitchen and loaded the sink with soapy water, scrubbing off our breakfast dishes and setting them to dry on the counter. I could have done a new cast to avoid washing them, but I welcomed the mindless activity. Rinsing out the cast iron skillet, I sang into the long-handled scrub brush like it was a microphone.