THE CAVERN OF DEEP HARMONY

PART SIXTEEN:

She  must have dozed because some change in the "feel" of things caused her to open her eyes with a start. What was it? She was aware Marshall's arm was still under her head. It was his heartbeat. That was it. No longer the steady, slow rhythm of rest, it was beating fast, really, really fast. Fully awake, she now saw that he had a deep crease on his forehead and his tongue flicked out just a bit, touching his lower lip. He must be dreaming, she decided, but whatever it was was obviously disturbing. Then it hit her. He was lying on his back, his right arm pinned beneath her head, his left bound in the sling. In his sleep, it must have triggered the memory of the gully. It flooded over her, how unimaginably awful it must have been for him to be so entirely, immovably trapped and to be choking on mud, all in a black and soundless world.

She sat so his arm would be free, and leaned close, whispering, "Marshall, you're not in the gully. You're here, in the meadow, with me."

He jerked awake. "Jeff?"

"No, it's me, Eden."

Wadsworth, who seemed to think a good face licking would fix just about anything, began busily setting about the task. "Mmpft!" Marshall spluttered, pushing at the dog with his right hand.  When Wadsworth backed off, he reached out toward her with the hand and she took it in both hers and pressed it to her cheek. "Eden," he said, letting out a long breath.

"I think you were back in the gully."

He nodded.  It was taking a moment for his heart to slow to normal. He could still taste the mud on his tongue, feel its slow slide down the back of his throat.

"Want to talk about it?"

Still breathing deeply in and out, in his mind he heard again the sound of Jeffrey's voice. "Never tuck anything away, Marshy. Never hide anything from yourself, not even for a minute. You've got to bring what's gotten to you out in the open and deal with it. Especially you."

With Jeff around, he'd never even had the chance to sit on a fear and let it fester, so he'd grown up very honest and open with his feelings. "Yes," he said, blowing out a last, heavy breath, "I was there." He shook his head. "Damn!"  He didn't like it that the dream had been so vivid. It meant he was still dealing with what had happened.  A sudden ache of missing Jeffrey blew through him. He must've let it show slightly on his face, as her grip on his hand tightened, and he smiled at her. That was another reaction Jeff had taught him. A smile is a natural response to seeing someone else smile. As soon as young Jeffrey had realized that fact, he'd say, "I'm smiling at you, Marshy. Smile back.  Listen for the sound of a smile in my voice, in my touch, and smile back at me."  He'd done that so often that it had become natural for Marshall, who didn't have to think about it any more.  It was just there in his responses, part of who he was.

"Jeffrey always got me to talk about things," he explained. "I'd fall out of a tree, or get brushed by a truck, or lose my balance on the top of a wall...things like that...and he'd be there, making sure I didn't carry away any fear from it."

"Good Lord," she gasped softly.

"What?"

"The things he got you to do...."

Marshall chuckled. "Well, truth be told, a lot of them were my own idea. But this last thing was different."  He tipped his chin up a bit. "I think it was the almost total sensory deprivation of it."

"The mud had blocked your hearing?"

He nodded. "I couldn't move. Even scent was gone because of the mud.  I was just...there...in some place I'd never  quite experienced  before and all there  was was pain and this deep, penetrating coldness. Nothing but that. And then I couldn't breathe."  He turned his face toward her again.  "I think that must be when you came."

"I almost went to the gardens," she said, her voice very low, "or down toward the lake.  I...I can't imagine what...."

"But you didn't,"  he replied.  "You went for the leaves."

"There was this single maple leaf that changed my mind," she remembered.  "It just rolled across the sidewalk and I suddenly knew it was toward the leaves I needed to go."

"I think there's a poem there somewhere," he smiled.  It was how his mind worked.  "One of those little moments of life we don't really know are important as they happen, yet they turn

out to have been...beginnings."

She smiled, looking at his face, then wondered if she'd ever get past the wanting of him to be

able to see her smile. Maybe because it all was so new for her, maybe, given time, the wanting would fade?  But there she was, presuming there would be time. They were just now taking

their first tentative steps toward one another and she was, well, projecting.  It was a thing

she'd not done in almost forever.

"So you're alive because of a maple leaf, are you?" she said, shoving her thoughts back into some semblance of order.

"It's as basic as that, yes," he agreed. "And in the end, you were there."

"But it wasn't the end."

His lips curved. "No, it wasn't the end."  He knew he'd started to let go, knew he'd begun to drift away, and in that very moment she'd come, bringing with her all her beginnings.

"I came here, you know, because...," she was silent for a long moment.  "...Because of endings. 

I think I've walked around for years with an ending in my arms, not knowing what to do with

it, how to put it down.  It's just always there, between me and...everything, like some big, foggy cloud I can feel but can't grab."

He lifted his hand, holding it flat in the air until she understood that he wanted her to put her palm against his. He said nothing, just waited silently, his flesh warm against hers.  She stared

at it, awareness of what he meant coming to her slowly. 

"No cloud," she murmured barely audibly. Between his hand and hers there was no cloud. 

Then he curved his fingers, lacing them through hers.

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