THE CAVERN OF DEEP HARMONY

PART FIFTY-EIGHT:

"They're not coming, are they?" Connie cast a look from Eden to Edith.

"No, they're not," Eden replied. "But you knew that already."

Edith made a little sound with her tongue. Cerise just didn't know how to come through for Eden 

when she should. But, then, hadn't it always been that way?

Cerise was three years younger than Edith, had been born with Maureen O'Hara hair that she 

now kept dyed. The names of the two sisters said it all. Edith...solid, dependable, probably a bit 

old-fashioned in her values and outlooks. And Cerise. Where had they come up with that for a 

name anyway? And she'd always been about as easy to tie down, as available to latch onto as a 

bit of summer sky. Cerise cared about Cerise. She found it convenient to let Edith take care of 

Eden along with Connie. It left her freer to come and go as she pleased. And she pleased a lot. 

Edith didn't mind for her own sake. She'd have loved to have had five or six kids of her own, but 

Connie was her only child. It was for Eden's sake that she minded. A kid knew when its mother 
wasn't interested.

Then Cerise had gone and had a second child, Mason, four years younger than Eden. Edith had 

never figured that out. Mason had grown up independent, a bit wild, but had joined the Navy 

several years ago, surprising everybody. Now he was stationed in the Philippines. Eden had 

called him first, already almost certain he couldn't get leave to come for the wedding. He couldn't.

She didn't blame him for that. Military life was like that. Vacations in Aruba were another matter,

a matter of choice. But she had come to expect almost nothing when it came to what her mother 

would choose, not if it involved any inconvenience to her own plans. And her father? He walked, 

always, in Cerise's shadow, more interested in keeping the peace, keeping her happy, than in 

what might be going on with any one else in the family. And that was what Eden had come to 

expect from him. He was a pleasant man, naturally quiet, and not  a boat rocker, not even really 

an oar manner. He left that to Cerise. She determined where their little boat went, always had, 

always would.

Marshall was leaning against the doorframe of Edith's room, where Eden had called her parents.

It seemed unimaginable to him that one's parents could be alive and not interested in coming to 

their own child's wedding. His parents would have made it up to the inn for New Year's Eve 
if they'd had to walk on their knees. How very strange...and sad...it was.

"It's snowy," Eden shrugged. "You know Mom and the snow."

Indeed Edith did. Even as a kid Cerise had never liked to play in the snow. It was wet and, worse,

cold. Cerise loathed cold. Edith was amazed she'd actually lived in Pittsburgh as long as she had. 

Of course, she left it for long periods of time. She left it as often as she could. Eden had not even 

bothered to tell her mother about the accident with the sleigh.  All she would have gotten in 

response was a lecture on the dangers of traveling in snow and a suggestion she consider 

marrying someone who didn't die. Cerise was blunt that way. Eden hadn't wanted to have to 

deal with what to say to her mother in reply to such things, not with Marshall standing right 

there.

She turned and looked at him, his left shoulder pressed against the frame, a rather displeased 

look on his face. "It'll be all right, darling," she said, getting up and walking to stand in front 

of him. "It's what I expected."

"Still...," he replied, standing straight.

"I've got Edith and Connie. They're the ones I really need anyway." She turned her head, 

smiling at her aunt and cousin, then back to Marshall. "And you. Always you."

He slid his arms around her. "I love you," he whispered. Edith's eyes filled with tears.

"Well, what's next?" Connie said. "When do you want to go into Bellefonte and look for a dress?"

"Maybe tomorrow, Con," Eden said softly. "I think I'd just like to stay here today."  The truth 

was, that though she felt somewhat recovered from the trauma of Marshall's death, she knew 

she was not completely over it. The thought of leaving him even for a trip to Bellefonte for the 

dress just did not appeal to her. All she wanted was to be with him, as close as she could get.

"But if they don't have something you like, then...," Connie began, thinking of what a short time 

remained to come up with what was needed.

"I could come, too," Marshall volunteered, realizing why Eden wanted to remain at the inn.

"But the groom can't see the dress before...."  Connie turned red and clapped her hand over 

her mouth. Stupid, stupid, stupid!!

But Marshall laughed. "We don't have that problem, now do we?"  He kissed Eden's hair. "In 

fact, I have a particular request I'd like to make concerning that. Since I'll be standing there 

by the fireplace when you come into the parlor, darling, I won't be able to have the experience 

of that first sight the groom has of his bride. You'd walk in and I wouldn't know, wouldn't know 

at all, what you were wearing."

"I...I hadn't thought of that," Eden said. "What do we do?"

"I'd like to know the dress before we get to that part of things. I'd like to gaze at it, if I might, 

preferably with you in it."

"Gaze at...?"  Connie had no idea what he meant.

Eden, though, knew he wanted to touch the dress, touch it all over so he knew the shape and form

of it, the material, the fold and the drape. But all she could think was his hands exploring over 

the dress and she stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. "I might not make it into the parlor, you 

know. I might have to...."

He smiled widely and Connie, getting the idea of it, just shook her head fondly. "You two might 

have to get a room so he can, um, gaze at the dress."

"We have a room," Marshall grinned. "I could gaze at it there."

"You can gaze, darling, but the whole room thing is going to have to wait until after the 

ceremony or there won't be a ceremony."

Martha came up then behind Marshall. "Speaking of ceremonies, I've just talked with Reverend 

Powers. He does this sort of thing for folks around here, folks that don't have a regular church 

in the area but would like someone other than a magistrate to marry them. He says he'd be 

delighted to come to the inn. You'll like him. Really nice man."

"Oh, Martha, thank you!" Eden smiled. "I had no idea who we'd get on such short notice."

"Short notice is my specialty," Martha laughed. "And Joan asked if she could make your cake. 

She's mighty good at it. Just give her an idea of what you'd like, and she'll whip it up for you."

"Chocolate?" Marshall said hopefully.

"With raspberry jam between the layers?" Eden added.

"You like raspberry jam on cake?" he asked.

"Is that ok," she responded, worriedly.

"Ok? It's what my mother always used to do. I didn't know if anybody else did that, too, or not."

Edith laughed, listening to them. "She grew up with my raspberry jam on cakes, Marshall."

Marshall smiled in the direction of Edith's voice. "Edith, you are absolutely the best," he grinned.

"It needs white icing, though," Connie interjected. "Wedding cakes need white icing."

"Fine by me," Marshall said, "just so long as it's chocolate and raspberry underneath."

"I'll let her know," Martha nodded. "Did I hear someone mention Bellefonte? Are you going 

dress shopping today?"

"Tomorrow," Eden said softly. "I'd rather go tomorrow."

"That will be all right, darling." Edith lay her hand briefly on Eden's arm. "I'm sure we'll find 

what you want. You do what you need to today."  Her eyes flashed toward Connie, warning her 

daughter not to push further on the matter. 

Marshall kissed the top of Eden's head. "I'll wait for you back in our room. Just come whenever 

you're finished here."

He actually wanted a quiet moment just to think. He and Wadsworth slipped quickly down the 

hall and into their room. Inside the door, he paused, then reached out and flipped the light 

switch on, off, then on again. What was it like, a room brightly lit? What was...lit? It had been 

there ever since Christmas night, that desire to understand. Usually he managed to sit on it 

effectively enough that it didn't haunt him, but not since the sleigh ride. Sitting on the side of 

the bed, he touched his lids with his fingertips, sighed, then lay back on the pillows. 

Concentrating so hard on what he was thinking, he didn't hear Eden open the door and come in. 

She stood there silently a long moment, watching him. He was lying on the bed, his knees bent, 

his right hand cupped over both eyes, his left hand cupped over that. She'd never seen him do 

something quite like that. As she watched, he probed a bit at his eyelids with his fingertips then 

let his left arm fall straight out from his body on the bed, while keeping his right over his eyes. 

She walked softly around the bed, leaned over, and slid her palm into his where it lay atop the 

covers.

He jerked slightly, startled that he'd been unaware of her coming, then moved his right hand 

from his face as his lips curved in a smile of greeting. Sitting on the bed, she bent enough to kiss 

the fingers of the hand she was holding. "You were thinking about your eyes?"

He nodded. "So much I thought I'd dealt with seems to have gotten stirred up."

"Tell me," she urged. "What sorts of things?"

"All my life I've tried to understand, tried to grasp as best I could what people meant when they 

said they were seeing something. Jeff used to talk and talk with me about it, about what it was 

like to see." He touched his lids again with his right hand. "I just can't quite...imagine...what it 

is these things are supposed to do, you know. How it is they gather the information they do 

without touching or hearing or smelling. It's like science fiction to me, that there's this other 

way, this way that provides so much knowledge of what's out there. But it's always been so 

utterly foreign to me, so not a part of how I live, how I make my way, how I do what I do. All I 

know is that almost everybody else has this, this whateveritis, that gets them through the world, 

that lets them drive cars, that lets them dance in crowded rooms, that lets them know when 

Uncle George has come into the room before he speaks."

He rubbed his hand back and forth across both eyes. "Helen Keller said, 'Death is no more than 

passing from one room into another. But there's a difference for me, you know. Because in that 

room I shall be able to see.'" His left hand was still in hers, but he moved to rest his right 

forearm across his eyes. "I always wondered what that meant to her, what the thought of being 

able to see meant to her, what sort of concept she'd come to about it, especially since she had to 

imagine what hearing was like, too."

His tongue came out a bit, wetting his lips. "I've tried ever since I can remember not to let it be 

hard, that knowing that nearly everybody else had some way of knowing things I didn't have. 

And I was so comfortable moving around and living in the world as I know it, that it truly didn't 

matter all that much. I've always been curious about it, though, just what it is, what it might be 

like, but there's never been any real way for me to know. Then," he paused, blowing out a breath,

"there was the sleigh ride and something...different...was there, there in my familiar, comfortable

space."

He sat up, turning to sit cross-legged on the bed, facing her, holding out his right hand, too, so 

that both her hands were in both of his. "I can't even begin to describe what it was like in any 

way that makes sense. It was a bit as though I were hearing words, only I'd never heard anything 

before and I couldn't understand what was being said, only that I knew somehow they were 

words. I just couldn't attach any meaning to them, so the sound of them simply flowed over and 

around me but didn't get in me."  Shaking his head, he continued. "That's not really even close, 

though. It was more than that. Something, some...things... were there and I knew they were there
but I didn't know how I knew. I had no way of relating to how I knew. It's just so hard to explain.

But if it was seeing, even some little part of seeing, I want to understand it. I couldn't tell what 

anything was. I mean, I thought I understood about pine trees, but if that's what was there in the 

space with me, then it wasn't like anything I've ever thought about pines."

"The circumstances were really, um, different, darling," Eden said, wanting desperately to enter 

into what he was feeling, was trying to express. "If it was sight, then it was during a time when 

nothing would have been the same for you in any way. People, live people, don't just rise up 

through the pine boughs like that. If it had been me, I'm not sure even I would have understood 

what was going on. And for you...."

"I always thought sight was more than that," he said seriously. "It just didn't seem, whatever it 

was, quite good enough to be sight."

She smiled fondly at him. "From what you said, it sounded like you had a face full of pine 

branches. That's not much, especially in the middle of the night, for anybody to see. Now if you'd 

been in a brightly-lit hospital room, it might have been a different story. But not you. Nope. You 

have to go and die in forests at night."

He chuckled a bit. "I'd say I'd try to do better next time, but you'd probably...."

"I would," she interrupted. "I'd scream. I really would."

"I thought so."

"You have an abominable track record, I hope you know, Dr. Sinclair. It's something I've been 

wanting to talk to you about."

"In what way?"

"About being here at the inn. Don't get me wrong, I love the inn. I'm crazy about Martha and 

Harold and their family and all, but I'm really wondering if maybe we shouldn't go back to 

Pittsburgh before too much longer. I just don't think I can handle any more of the sorts of things 

that seem to happen to you in this quiet, peaceful spot."

"It is a bit ridiculous, isn't it?"

"More than a bit, darling. A lot more than a bit."

"Would you like to go home, really?"

"Home?"

"To Mount Lebanon. To our home."

"Our home," she repeated. "Your house?"

"No," he said firmly. "Not my house. Our home."

"Not to your house? You don't want to live in your family's house after we're married?"

He shook his head, laughing. "I do want to live there. With you. Our home."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, feeling obtuse. "Oh, yes! I'd love that! I want so much to see where you 

grew up and to...live...there."  She blinked a bit. "I can't imagine how wonderful it would be to 

live there."

"With me."

"Oh, God, yes...with you." She leaned further forward so that her face was against his chest. 

"But no sleighs."

"No sleighs," he promised. "Not even a skateboard."

"You didn't...!"

"No, I didn't," he smiled. "Just roller skates."

"Oh, God," she moaned. "Do you have bubblewrap?"

"Kiss me," he said, "and forget the bubblewrap."

"Yes, Sir," she replied obediently as he lay back again, pulling her with him. And she did forget 

about it. Completely. Bubblewrap was not on her mind at all as his tongue, warm and moist, 

pressed into hers. 

ON TO PART 59

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