Immortal Mine (16 page)

She sits on the couch and eats half the
sandwich Stacy’s made for her. When she’s finished, Stacy shoots me
a look over her head, letting me know it’s time.

Stacy takes Niahm’s hand, and I take the
other. She grasps both ours tightly, as if holding onto a
lifeline—a complete turnaround from the limp hands we’ve been
holding for four days now. In those contacts, the only thing I had
been able to read was darkness, hiding from the truth that lurked
beneath the haze.

“Vee,” Stacy begins, a slight hitch in her
voice. Niahm turns her way, more response than we’ve had, but
disinterested and vague anyway. “Sweetie, we need to make some…
arrangements. Today,” she adds firmly.

The only indication that she’s even heard is
in the slight tightening of her hand in mine, and I can feel her
terror begin to rise. I squeeze her hand back and she turns to me,
panic in the back of her unusual eyes.

“Niahm, it’s going to be okay. I promise.” I
try to send her the sincerity in my words and she seems to believe
me, giving a tiny nod before turning to Stacy again.

“Vee, your parents’ bod—” she cuts herself
off, dropping her eyes. I can feel that Niahm knows inside what
she’d been about to say, but refuses to consciously acknowledge it.
Stacy takes a deep breath, and begins again, “I mean, your parents
are going to be here in two days.”

Niahm’s hand tightens on mine once again,
and she turns my way, confusion darkening her eyes. I slide down to
the floor, moving to sit in front of her near Stacy.

“But…” she trails off and I can feel the
hope begin to rise in her mind. “But I thought that they were.…”
When the hope becomes more visible, hope that she’s somehow
misunderstood what she’s been told about them, I know I have to
stop her now.

“Niahm.” Her eyes come to mine, and I feel
her surge of feeling for me, practically knocking me back in
surprise. It nearly stays my words, only I know that not speaking
them won’t change the truth. “Your parents are going to need a
proper burial.” She jerks at the words, the darkness beginning to
pervade her mind again.

“No!” I command, giving her hand a tug.
She’s shaking her head, tears gathering, but I can’t let her go
back to that place. “Niahm, you need to stay with me. You’re their
daughter. You need to do this for them.”

As she processes my words, the darkness
recedes and I feel the strength of will pushing through.

“Vee, I know how hard this is,” Stacy
reclaims her attention. “We have to do this—for them. And we
will—all three of us. Okay?”

A shudder ripples through Niahm’s body,
tears spilling silently down her cheeks, but she nods.

“We need to go see Mr. Thompson,” Niahm
says, shocking both of us with her words.

“Yes, that’s right,” Stacy confirms, trying
not to look as surprised as I know she is. “We can go today.”

“Now.”

Stacy’s mouth drops open at Niahm’s abrupt
announcement. Lucky that Niahm is looking my way. I’d seen her
determination rising, and had been a little more prepared than
Stacy.

“Okay,” I confirm, my relief palpable at the
tiny smile that turns up one side of her mouth.

“Okay,” Stacy reiterates, “I guess we’ll go
now.” She seems to understand Niahm’s strength better than even I
do while cheating, because she stands, pulling Niahm up with her,
Niahm’s hand slipping from my own as she does. Stacy pulls Niahm
into a quick hug, which Niahm returns fully, releasing her before
Niahm can fall apart again at the gesture.

Stacy leads her to the door, putting Niahm’s
coat on her as if she were a child, Niahm not complaining at the
gesture. Stacy puts her own coat on and, as she’s leading Niahm
through the door, turns back and says, “You coming?” Without
waiting for a reply, she drags Niahm from the house, leaving me to
hurry after them with a smile. I can see now why the two get along
so well.



Over the next couple of days, Niahm becomes
a cleaning, cooking, baking flurry of activity, in spite of my
protests. Finally Stacy pulls me aside.

“Let her go, Sam. This is how she copes.
It’s keeping her sane while we wait.”

And she’s right. Niahm is calm as long as
she keeps busy. The animals had been cared for by neighbors while
she lived in her fog, but now she’s up and has the chores finished
before they can get over. There’s food enough to feed the three of
us, as well as several of the neighbors. Stacy finally calls and
informs Mrs. Harris to immediately tell everyone who had been asked
to stop their own preparations for the post-funeral luncheon and
instead to bring their groceries to Niahm’s. This begins a steady
flow of groceries being brought until there’s nowhere else to put
them, and a new stream begins to take the food to their own homes
for storage.

On the day of the funeral, Niahm is up even
earlier than usual. She’s sleeping in her own bed again, Stacy next
to her, while I huddle on the too-short couch. I hear the back door
closing behind her, and follow her out into the cold morning air.
Without words, I take a pitchfork next to her to begin tossing
hay.

She glances at me, pale in the morning’s
dimness, face gaunt and troubled. She turns back to her work,
shoulders tense. Silently, together, we complete the chores. When
we finish, we head back inside and I sit at the table as she
prepares a breakfast that would feed a dozen hungry men. I don’t
speak still, sensing that words will be her undoing.

Stacy wanders in, glancing at me
questioningly. I shake my head and she comes to sit next to me.

“Good morning,” she murmurs, though her
words sound booming in the quiet.

“‘Morning,” I answer.

“Sleep well?”

“Fine. You?”

“Fine, thanks.”

Silence reigns again, and in that same
silence Niahm serves us, sitting to push her own food around on her
plate, not taking a single bite. For the first time, Stacy doesn’t
comment on her lack of appetite, allowing her to keep up the
pretense.

When we finish, Niahm rises to gather the
plates, but Stacy catches her by the hand.

“Vee, it’s time to shower and get ready,”
she tells Niahm firmly.

Niahm glances at me, and I give her a small
smile. She nods at Stacy, and allows herself to be led from the
room. I clean up breakfast, then put on the suit that Shane brought
over for me the night before.

Stacy and Niahm descend the stairs as I let
Shane into the house, who has arrived in a hired limousine. It’s
the only limo in town, driven by Thom James, who also drives the
single school bus in town. I look up at Niahm, beautiful even in
her tragic state, and wish I could tell her so.

We walk outside, Niahm not commenting on the
car as she slides into the surprisingly luxurious interior. Stacy
and I bookend her once again, each of us taking one of her hands,
me pushing away the images that try to invade my mind. This day I
feel she deserves absolute privacy with her thoughts.

The church is packed; it seems everyone in
town has come to say goodbye. The two ornate caskets beneath the
pew wrench my heart. Though their loss doesn’t mean nearly as much
to me as to Niahm, I will nonetheless miss the new friendship I had
begun with the eccentric Jonas and Beth, his devoted wife.

Stacy and I had gone with Niahm to the
mortuary when her parents’ bodies had arrived. She had been
counseled strongly to not view them as there had been fire and much
bodily damage. I was grateful when she followed the counsel. I have
seen horrors in my lifetime that I wish I could erase from memory,
but which always remain. I don’t want Niahm to have those images of
her parents.

Rather than an organized service, Niahm has
elected to open it up to allow anyone who wants to stand and
recount their memories of Jonas and Beth. I don’t think she knew
that that would include nearly everyone. Many of the stories are
humorous, all of them touching, and my heart swells with pride at
the strength Niahm shows, standing to hug each person silently
after their speech.

Four hours later we climb back into the car
for the short drive to the cemetery outside of town. A prayer is
given, dedicating the grave, and then Niahm—who’s kept her eyes
locked on the two coffins—is given a hug and words of love and
support from those who are in attendance. Throughout all of this,
she keeps Stacy and me by her side, holding onto one or the other
of us the entire time.

The luncheon is attended by all, and Niahm
manages to smile and laugh with her lifelong friends, though I can
see the stress lines around her eyes. It’s dark before the final
person exits, leaving Niahm alone with Stacy and me once again.
Niahm looks momentarily confused as she glances around. The house
is spotless, having been cleaned up and re-organized by many of the
women who had been in attendance.

Niahm stands, hands wringing, and Stacy and
I both take a step toward her at the same time. Niahm jumps
involuntarily, and moves toward the back door.

“I’m going out to see Sheila.” She quickly
exits the house, and Stacy shrugs in my direction.

“Guess I’ll go shower, then,” is her only
response as she walks up the stairs, leaving me staring after
Niahm. There is no hesitation in my decision to follow her.

She stands in the barn, forehead pressed to
her mares. She doesn’t look my way as I enter, but continues to
stroke the side of Sheila’s neck. I stop next to her, desperately
wanting to take her hand. As if hearing my thoughts, she suddenly
reaches a hand toward me, not changing position other than this. I
hesitate for a nano-second, my conscience warring. I take her hand,
but close my mind to hers.

“I want you to kiss me now.”

Her words are spoken low, quietly,
tremulously.

“Niahm,” I say, giving her hand a tug. She
turns my way, releasing the mare, stepping into my space, her face
a mask of anguish. I take a breath, knowing I’m treading on thin,
emotional ground here. “I won’t let your first kiss be tied up with
the memory of this day.”

Rejection shades her face, but she covers it
quickly.

“It won’t, Sam. It will
replace
the
memory of this day.” She pauses, turns pleading eyes on me,
“
Please
.”

“Ni—” before I finish her name, she pushes
up against me, reaching up with both arms to pull my face to hers,
awkward, urgent.

I move my head to the side, fighting the
overwhelming urge to give her what she asks for. I wrap my arms
around her, pulling her close to me, leaning down so her head is
level with mine, cheek to cheek.

“There isn’t
anything
,” I say into
her ear, “that will erase the memories of this day.”

She remains still against me, and finally I
lean back to peer into her face. She refuses to look at me, and
even in the dim light I can see the high color in her cheeks.

“I’m a fool,” she whispers,
self-recrimination in her voice.

“No, you’re not,” my voice is urgent. I sit
on a nearby hay bale and urge her down next to me. Not letting her
escape my gaze, I cup her face and force her to look at me. “You’re
grieving. You’ve just lost the two most important people in the
world to you. You’re desperate for some kind of relief from that.
You certainly would not be the first person to want to use physical
contact in that manner.”

Tears shimmer in her eyes, and she gives her
head a small shake.

“How did you survive it, Sam?” she
whispers.

I’m well aware that she believes the loss of
my parents is recent, has no idea that it’s been over 400 years
since they died. She also doesn’t know that I remember full well
the sharp pain that came as I stood watch over them during the
wake: first my mother, only a short three months later, my father,
and then buried them in the ground in crude wooden boxes. At the
time of their deaths, they believed me to be their grandson, son of
myself.

“You just do.” Not a good answer, but I can
hardly tell her what I really did after their deaths. “Life goes
on, even when you think it shouldn’t.” Memories of the first Niahm
slam into my mind, and I quickly push them away, wincing with the
effort. “In the morning, the sun will come up, no matter how hard
you wish for it to stay down. Bessie will need to be milked, your
chickens will need feed, and everyone else in the world will get up
and go about their days as if nothing has changed. You will
probably be angry at everyone for going on, and that’s normal.” One
tear slides down her cheek, and I wipe it away with my thumb. I
lean down, holding her eyes with mine. “I promise, Niahm, that
every day it will get easier. You won’t think it is, won’t notice
it, but one day you’ll realize that though you still ache for them,
they are a happy memory instead of a painful one.”

Niahm nods, taking a deep breath and blowing
it out. “Okay.”

Her acceptance of my words surprises me. I
expected more tears, arguing.

“Niahm.” She looks up at me, and I give her
a wry smile. “You have no idea how much I want to kiss you.”

She smiles tremulously, her slight
hiccupping laugh leading to a gasp as the tears begin again. I pull
her against me, holding her tight, wishing I could convey to her
how very true the words are.