THE CAVERN OF DEEP HARMONY

PART TWENTY-THREE:

"It's November now, you know," Eden mentioned as they went back upstairs to change before breakfast.

"And I've not written a further word on my book," Marshall sighed.

"You've been...busy," she said with a soft chuckle.

"Very," he agreed. She had walked a bit down the hall toward her room and he extended his arm in her general direction. She returned quickly, taking his hand.

"What?" she asked.

"Just...this," he smiled, tracing his hand up her arm, then higher, where he slipped it around behind her neck, pulling her gently close enough to kiss her lips.

When they parted again, she went to her door but, rather than going in, simply stood there a moment in the hallway watching him.  He had his right hand on the frame of his doorway, but was also standing silently, not going in. Wadsworth stood next to him, waiting for the door to open. Marshall's face was toward her and she wondered what he was thinking. Then his hand moved, his palm wiping slowly back and forth two or three times across his mouth and chin. His hand dropped and he held it levelly in front of himself, flexing his fingers, then quietly turned and he and his dog went into his room. She stayed a moment longer, looking at his door, then touched her own fingertips lightly to her mouth before leaving the hall.

Eden was already seated at the breakfast table when he came down the stairs, Wadsworth in harness. New guests had arrived at the inn and she noticed too late that they had left luggage in the entrance hall Marshall had to cross.

"Mar...," she started to call in warning, but Wadsworth smoothly and neatly led Marshall around the bags and into the breakfast room and up to an empty chair.

She shook her head. Wadsworth must do that constantly. No big deal. She decided not to comment on it but instead said, "He's in harness?"

"I was hoping we could go into town for a while this morning...if you'd like. We haven't done that, you know. You and me, just strolling down the street, maybe looking for an antique shop

or something. Would you like that?"

"I would," she smiled, aware how much she liked to smile at him even though he didn't see. "But weren't you thinking about the book?"

"I was," he admitted, taking his seat, "but there's this afternoon. I thought this morning it would be nice just to walk with you."

She smiled again and he smiled back. "I can't get over how you do that," she said.

"What?"

"Smile back at me. I know you said Jeffrey worked on that with you, but it still delights me every time."

"Jeff thought it was really important. He said that when people talked to a blind person, they still smiled even though they knew it wouldn't be seen. It's just a natural thing for a sighted person to do that without even thinking about it. But for me, I'm aware every time I smile."
He unfolded the large cloth napkin, placing it in his lap. "Smiling, you see, is...well, it's responsive. Someone smiles at you and you see it, so you smile back. Jeff said it was easy to do that when you could see. But I have to listen for it in a voice, be aware of it in non-visual ways, hope that I've judged correctly, and smile back. I might not even be smiling in quite the right direction, though. Or if I smile first, I don't know if the other person has received it or replied with their own smile." He smiled then, a bit wryly. "But I like to smile, and I've gotten so that

I can tell fairly well from vocal inflections if I'm being smiled at."  He shrugged slightly.

"I'm glad you like to smile," she said softly, laying her hand atop his on the table.

Just then the new arrivals came in, followed by Martha, who introduced them as Walter and Melissa Capstan from Buffalo. Marshall had stood up at the beginning of the introductions and then held his hand out across the table. Walter's eyes went from the hand to the guide dog lying near Marshall's chair and he nodded toward Wadsworth so his wife would notice, then took Marshall's hand. "Nice to meet you," he said, his voice genuinely friendly. "Fine-looking dog you've got there."

"This is Wadsworth," Marshall grinned. "Guide dog extraordinaire."

Walter and Melissa took their seats, explained how they were just there for the weekend then would be traveling on to Philadelphia to see their daughter's new baby. The four of them had an amiable breakfast, then Marshall and Eden left in her car for the drive into town. They'd just turned onto the road when Marshall said, "Bellefonte."

"Hmmm?"

"Bellefonte. Have you been there?"

"Um, I don't think so. Where is it?"

"About 10 miles from State College. Shouldn't take too long to get there from here."

"What's at Bellefonte?"

"Us...for lunch."

She laughed. "We just had breakfast and you've got lunch planned?"

"There's a tavern there I'd like to take you to, Eden.  When Jeffrey was at Penn State, we used to drive up to Bellefonte and eat there. It's...special."

"I'd like that," she said, "but won't it take more out of your day?"

"You're my day," he replied. "You're what matters the most."

"But your book...."

"It'll wait. But you're here and I'm here and this is something I'd really like to share with you."

So they by-passed the little near-by village and continued on to Bellefonte. The road wound through huge tracts of forestland that had really started looking wintry now that the first snow had fallen. Her eyes flicked from time to time to her right, glancing at his profile. For a couple

of seconds on a straight stretch of road, she closed her eyes, trying to get in touch with what it was like for him to be sitting there, not seeing the thick growth of trees on either side of their passage.

"Marshall?"

"Umm hmm."

"What's it like? Riding like this in a car. What's it like for you?"

His lips curved in a smile. He loved that she wanted to understand. Not everybody did. "Whatever's out there, and I'm presuming it's a whole lot of trees, isn't making a sound as the car passes through it. Jeff tried to describe it to me, how the hills and the houses moved past, how the scene was constantly changing. But that's not real for me. I feel the car, though, the vibration of the engine in the floorboards, the way it makes my body tip as we go around a curve, or go forward when you suddenly slow down, backward into my seat as you speed up. Sighted people look out the window and know they're moving because the world around them keeps changing and they're constantly in a different position in relationship to it. For me, the sense of movement comes in my relationship to the car, the sounds and the feel of it, not

anything outside the windows."

She licked her lips, trying hard...again...not to mourn his blindness. That would not be what he wanted. But it was hard, sometimes it was really hard not to. It was all so new for her, this

world of his, new and very different.

"Tell me more about Bellefonte," she ventured. "Why do you like the place?"

"Beautiful fountain. That's what the name means, you know. Beautiful fountain. There actually was one there, but now it's covered. But what I want you to see, besides the tavern, of course,

are the houses. Very Victorian. It's a little gem of a town. Only about 7,000 people, but really
special in how it looks. Lots of the big old homes have been turned into bed and breakfasts. My mother really loved them. We'd drive up here and walk the hilly streets, and she'd describe all the houses to me."

She moved her right hand to rest on his leg. "Thank you," she murmured.

"For...?"

"For wanting to share it with me."

He found that, yes, it was very important for him to share things with her, happy things, places that had some meaning for him. This deep sense of contentment had been steadily growing in him since, well, since...her.  She was the first person he'd ever wanted to come to Bellefonte

with since they'd stopped their little side trip to it after Jeff's graduation from college.

As they entered the small town, Marshall directed her to look for the octagonal cupola of the Centre County Courthouse. She parked on a side street and stood looking a moment at the building. There was a weather vane atop the cupola, but it was turning and she couldn't make out what it was. "It doesn't look at all like a rooster," she commented as Marshall and Wadsworth came around to join her.

"What? The weathervane?" He chuckled. "It's a trout."

"A trout?"

"Umm hmm. Fly fishing is big around here."

He knew how many blocks they needed to go before turning a corner, where to walk to find the best of the old homes. "I know this is a bit awkward," he said, as they paused at a corner. "Wadsworth in harness, I mean. It may be good that we go a little slower since I'm having
to use my right hand on the harness and neither of us are used to it. Generally we rather zoom up the street. Not very good for companionship, I'm afraid."

He was actually holding Wadsworth back somewhat so Eden could maintain a comfortable pace on his left side. "It also takes considerable concentration from both of us to do what we have to do, and talking with someone is generally distracting from that. But I figure since you're with me, your eyes will make up for any lack in my concentration. And you can read the street signs if I forget how many blocks we've come. Right now I'm looking for Linden Street."

"Half a block ahead," she announced.

"Thought so," he grinned.

"Right or left?" she asked.

"We need to go both ways, so you pick."

She turned west for no particular reason and after a bit he said, "We should be by the Garret Bed and Breakfast right about now, I think."

"Is that the white building with the Norman roof?"

"That'd be it."  They stood on the sidewalk so she could see the 3-story home, white for the two lower floors, with the 3rd floor windows set in the curved-down, black roof. It had a porch all round, lots of trees, and just a comfortable, charming air about it. She commented on several
other homes as they crossed the street and headed east again, coming to a very different sort of B&B. This one had lots of steps going up to its stone porch, was painted yellow with narrow blue trimmings, a perfectly round tower on its left side and an oddly cut-off right corner up which
rose a huge brick chimney that seemed to disappear behind some sort of high dormer thing before reappearing and dividing into three parts. It had a glorious amount of gables and angles and sat there, bright and colorful despite a few wandering snowflakes.

"Wow!" she said.

"That's The Queen," he explained. "Nothing else quite like it. I've always wanted to stay there some day, find out what it's like inside."

"I like B&B's," Eden commented.

"Good," he chuckled. "Maybe some day...?"

"Maybe some day. Yes."

The walked further, turned corners, and came up outside the Reynold's Mansion, a really huge stone home set back away from the street on a rise. It had a roundish tower on its right, a central square tower, a large gable on its left and was at least half covered in brilliant red-leafed vining.

"Maybe too big," Eden said, "but I bet it has great rooms."

"So we'll stay at The Queen, then, someday?" he responded, the corner of his mouth twitching a bit.

"The Queen, yes," she agreed, her heart beating faster at what he was indicating about making future plans that involved her. "But maybe a night at the Garret, too."

They stopped by an antique store where she watched him run his hand over several pieces. "You like antiques?"

"Umm hmm," he said, his brow knit as his fingers traced the deep carving on an old sideboard. "Especially pieces like this with texture to them."

She closed her eyes, letting her fingers follow after his. Yes, she could understand why that would appeal to him.

"You hungry yet?" he suddenly asked.

She hadn't thought about it, so interested she had been in all they'd looked at, but now she stopped and did think about it, found she was. "I do believe I am!" she said, her voice a bit surprised.

He laughed. "Time for the Mill then."

"The Mill?"

"The Gamble Mill Tavern. It's where I want to take you for lunch. It's an old mill, built in 1786 on the bank of Spring Creek. They turned it into a restaurant in 1986, exactly 200 years later. Let's go back to the car and I'll tell you where to look for it."

She found it easily, parked, and just sat looking through the windshield at the place for a moment. It was red brick with a center tower in the angle made by two wings that had to be at least 6 stories tall. A series of very Dutch-like steps made of brick flanked the top of the tower. The entrance was a series of red doors in a large brick arch, to the right of which climbed a huge expanse of vines. "What a marvelous old place," she said.

"It's even better inside," Marshall added.

He was right. She found herself walking to their table across a shiny hardwood floor toward a small wooden table with four ladder-back chairs. The big room had huge square beams everywhere that came down to the floor, dividing the room into sections. Each of the beams had long, slender bare branches bound around it and curving up and into the branches were woven tiny amber lights. The entire room had a golden glow to it that delighted her eyes.

"You like it?" he asked.

"It's...it's...glorious!" she sighed happily.

She saw him let go of the harness briefly, reaching out to run his hand down some of the branches, his fingers barely touching some of the lights. "Still the same," he commented gratefully. "This is what I wanted you to see."

She looked at him, his face eager and happy that she was seeing all this beauty he was not, but obviously not minding it for himself in the least. Her eyes sparked with sudden tears, which she blinked rapidly away. His mother or Jeffrey must have described the room in detail for him.
Still.

At their table, the amber glow reflected on his face. He seldom wore his dark glasses any more, at least not when he was with her, and the glow made his skin very warm and rich in color. How was this possible, she mused. How had she come to love this man so much so soon?

"You're thinking...what?" he asked softly, aware of her silence.

"You want to know?"

"I do."

"I'm thinking how infinitely dear you are to me, Marshall Sinclair. And I'm wondering how I managed to exist until I came to the Morning Glory Inn."

He smiled a close-lipped, warm smile. "Sometimes our story finds us when we're not even looking."

He'd said that to her before. "Are you...will you be...my story?" she whispered.

"I'm planning on it."

Then their waiter came.

After lunch, they drove to the Plaza Center Antique Co-op, which was, for the most part, more like a huge garage sale. They walked through it for a while, laughing over some of the odd items, pausing to check out some of the more interesting. Then she saw something on the top shelf
of a cluttered area that caught her eye. "Oh, look!" she cried, without thinking.

"What is it?"

"It's an old wooden dollhouse," she said, going up to it. "It's got gingerbread on top and a bay window. I could fix it up, add more gingerbread."

He'd already found the salesperson and was asking her how much. He had it paid for before she even realized what he was doing.

"Oh, Marshall...."

"Souvenir of Bellefonte and its Victorian houses," he smiled. "Can't think of a more perfect one."

She looked at him as he stuffed his wallet back in his pocket. He was standing there surrounded by mostly junk and was to her the most wonderful thing in the world. "I can't think of a more perfect one, either," she agreed, not at all thinking about the dollhouse.

ON TO PART 24

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