THE CAVERN OF DEEP HARMONY

PART NINE:

Eden woke with the morning sun on her face. She'd fallen into bed and forgotten to close the curtains. Stretching, she lay there, letting her eyes run absently along the ruffle of the canopy. Why had she practically fled the scene last night at dinner?  She was usually much more collected than that. It was Marshall. She knew it was. He...disturbed...her in ways she had no name for.  She found his person almost magnetically attractive yet at the same time felt

awkward and unsure because of his blindness.  It was the push-pull of the whole thing that was keeping her off-balance. Not since reading Helen Keller's biography for that 5th grade report had she thought about what it meant to be born blind, and she hadn't really thought about it all that much back then. Florence Nightingale had been taken by Marsha and Queen Elizabeth the first by Joyce. It was either Helen Keller or Betsy Ross. That was about her level of interest in it.  Her hand had been reaching for the shelf when Pam snatched away Betsy. So she read about water pumps instead of flags. It didn't really matter. It was a report and had to be gotten out

of the way. Helen was an alien being who lived in an alien world. She got a B+, put the book

back on the shelf, and went out to roller skate.  Except for a movie or two where a character

was blind, loss of sight had not crossed her path again, not until yesterday. And Marshall,

he'd not lost it. He'd never had it. He must live in a world almost as alien as Helen Keller's.

Yet he'd sat there eating his apple pie, drinking his coffee, having conversation with her in a

way that seemed entirely...normal. She just could not get the two separate concepts to mesh.

She closed her eyes, trying to put herself into his world. It was impossible. Even with her lids down, she knew the wallpaper was pale pink, knew what the clouds looked like out the window, knew the canopy was white with scattered pink cabbage roses, that there was a discolored place on the hardwood floor where an old leak had stained it.  If he were lying there, he would not know those things. How could life possibly...be...if you didn't know these things?

She knew she'd become suddenly fascinated with it all, fascinated because it simply was his world. They'd sat together at table, yet his perception of it had to be entirely different than hers. The thought that he was so near, doing the same things she was, and yet so totally in his own sphere of awarenesses gripped her imagination. She hadn't been so caught up in anything in years...in four years, to be exact.

And Miles, would he mind?  She'd carried him with her invisibly for so long, she felt like she was doing him some disservice to be so interested in something that he'd never had any part of, something that didn't involve him in any way.  She'd settled into a familiar pattern of taking him with her, wherever she went, whatever she thought.  It was how, in the beginning, she'd been able to get through still being alive when he was not, but it had become habit over time, had become a padding between herself and the stream of life.

Almost absent-mindedly she dressed in Navy blue slacks and a cowl-necked lighter blue sweater then went downstairs. A large coffee urn sat on a sideboard and she poured herself a mug, turning when Harold entered the room.

"Mornin'," he said with a dip of his head, heading toward his desk in the adjoining parlor. Harold was a tall, weathered man, who walked with just a slight stoop of his lean body as though the years were beginning to weigh on him a bit.

She followed him part-way. "Have...have you seen Marshall this morning?" she asked.

"On the dock last I saw."

Martha came in with a platter of hot blueberry muffins. "He was up early, Eden. Said he'd slept too much yesterday. Here, why don't you take him one of these muffins?"  She popped two muffins into a large napkin and handed them to Eden, her face entirely innocent.

Eden took the napkin and her mug and wandered toward the front door. Yes, there he was down at the edge of the lake where the old wooden dock jutted about 20 feet over the water. Martha came up behind her, lifting Eden's coat off the rack and settling it over her shoulders, then without a word turned, and humming softly went toward the kitchen.

She went out on the porch, standing at the top of the stairs, looking at Marshall. His back was to her and he was outlined by the morning sun.  His legs were apart and Wadsworth sat, leaning slightly against his right calf. He was wearing a rust-colored leather jacket and even from the back she could tell that though his right arm was in the sleeve, it was just draped over his left shoulder.

The night had, indeed, been rather difficult. It had taken him a while to fall asleep despite a lingering sense of exhaustion, and then if he turned to the left, his shoulder woke him or if he turned to the right, his hip did.  He'd risen before dawn and sat for a long time on the front porch even though it was quite chilly. When Martha found him there, she brought out a plaid afghan and put it over his legs then returned with a steaming cup of coffee. Martha had raised five children, all of whom now lived in distant states, but the mothering instinct still waxed strong in her breast. She had decided Marshall needed mothering and busily attended to it.

He allowed it with good grace, as his own mother had been quite like that.

As he sat there his thoughts wandered from day before yesterday to Eden and on to his book. 

If she were truly willing, perhaps he might actually get something accomplished on that while his shoulder healed. He leaned forward, resting his right elbow on his knee, his mind going over

the chapter he was working on. Later, he went back inside, got another cup of coffee and headed down to the dock, a rather awkward maneuver because his right hand needed to hold the harness, so he'd tucked the mug in his left and tried valiantly not to slosh it as it was pressed close to his abdomen.

Once at the end of the dock, he dropped the harness and transferred the mug to his right hand.  The sun was on his face, though not really very warm, and he stood there quietly, listening to the little lapping sound the lake water made against the pilings of the dock. There weren't any boats out yet today, but a flight of Canada geese had settled on the lake to his right and were honking at one another.  A fish surfaced and splashed, making him recall days when his Dad and brother, Jeffrey, had gone fishing with him.

 
He heard footsteps on the wooden dock behind him and judging by their lightness, thought it was a woman, most likely Eden. He smiled slightly to himself, rather glad for her company.  "Good morning," he said pleasantly as she came up on his left side, standing about two feet away.

"Hello, Marshall," she replied. "Sorry I left the table so abruptly last night."

He turned his head toward her, his dark glasses in place. "It's all right. You had every reason to be tired."

His face was positively golden in the morning light, and the sun reflected in his glasses. Again she was struck by his presence, by some gravitas of bearing, some innate dignity.  She was silent a moment, trying to imagine him a boy climbing trees.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, surprising her.

After a little pause, "I was trying to picture you climbing a tree," she admitted.

"Now?" he grinned.

"When you were a boy. You said you liked to do that."

He turned his face back into the sun.  "We had this big crabapple in the front yard. It had twisty branches low to the ground and I found it extremely easy to get fairly high up in it. I had a favorite seat up there."  He smiled. "It's a good memory."

"Was that the only tree?"

"There were others, a maple down the street, a younger oak not far into the woods. The crabapple was my favorite, though."

She studied his profile, nice straight nose, good chin. He seemed aware of her study and though he didn't turn his head, asked, "Is there...something..., Eden?"

"It's just that...that...I've never met anyone before in quite so, um, dramatic circumstances. And here we are now, standing in this peaceful morning. It makes me wonder if it was all real, the gully, I mean."

"Quite real," he said, moving his sling slightly, causing a bit of a grimace to pass quickly over his face. "But it is nice here now, isn't it?"

She shivered. "Bit chilly, though."

"You're cold. Would you like to go back up to the house, Eden? I imagine Martha's got a huge breakfast ready by now."

"Oh! I forgot! She sent you a pre-breakfast muffin."  Eden unwrapped the two rather cooled muffins and started to hand one to him, but he had the coffee mug in his one good hand. "Here," she said quickly, "let me take your cup."  Awkwardly, she tried juggling her own mug of coffee and the two muffins while taking his cup from him, succeeding in dropping both muffins on the dock.  She expected Wadsworth to lunge for them, but he sat where he was, simply watching them roll past the toes of Marshall's shoes.

"He didn't grab them," she commented, astonished. Any other dog she'd ever met would have gobbled them right down. "They're right there in front of him and he's just looking at them."

"He's trained to do that, Eden. A guide dog can't be distracted by food."  He bent to his right, patting Wadsworth. "Good boy," he affirmed.

Eden stooped and picked them up. The geese had come up onto the bank not far away and she tossed the muffins toward them. "Waddy, you are one heckuva dog."  His tail thumped in acknowledgement as he regarded her with large brown eyes. "Yes, let's do go in now. My fingers are getting frozen. There's a heavy frost this morning, you know."  Or did he know?  Being with him brought up questions she'd never dealt with before. Constantly.

After the muffins had fallen, she'd tucked the napkin in her coat pocket and was holding both mugs by their handles in her left hand. Marshall took up the harness in his right hand and turned toward the house. "Forward," he said quietly and Wadsworth set off at a brisk pace.

She had to hurry to keep up.  "Do guide dogs always walk that fast?"

"As a rule, yes," he replied. "Takes a while to get used to it."

They came to the end of the dock and headed up the brick walkway to the house.  Wadsworth stopped at the bottom step so Marshall would know where they were. Marshall mounted them confidently, seeming to know just how many steps there were.  She had no idea and found herself counting them as she went up. Details. Details she'd never paid any attention to before.

 
Marshall had been right. Martha had, indeed, made a huge breakfast. She hovered around Marshall a bit at the table, making sure he was aware of everything she'd cooked.  Eden watched him, noting the fond grace with which he handled the motherly woman.  She found
something in herself settling contentedly down on the cushioned dining room chair. He was like a fireplace, giving off some deep peace and warmth and comfort, that made one want to pull one's chair close and just...be.  How strange. How could he be like that?  He had been utterly helpless when she'd first come across him, yet here he was radiating this sense of...what was it?...what did she feel around him? Safety?  No, that couldn't be it. For Pete's sake, the man was blind. Yet...there he sat like some sturdy bluff between her and...what? That was the question. Between her and what?  What was in the wind she suddenly felt his presence could block from her? And why was she even thinking things like this? It made no sense. Was she not the one who had saved him...right there at the brink of death...had she not saved him? Did that not make her the sheltering bluff?  Why wouldn't her mind be still and let her just eat breakfast?

Too late she realized he had asked her something. "Sorry. I guess I was thinking."

"You know about my tree climbing. I was just wondering what similar things young Eden might have done."

With a mental broom, she swept all her straying thoughts into a pile in the corner. "Um, well, let's see. I wasn't much of a tree climber myself, I'm afraid. Liked to roller skate a lot, though. Had the skinned knees to prove it."

"Ah," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Roller skating is a lot of fun."

"You...skated?"

"In rinks a few times, yes. My older brother Jeffrey was determined I had to do everything he did. I guess I was pretty much determined that way myself."

"How?" she asked without thinking how that might sound.

"The skating? Jeffrey held my hand and off we went." He tipped his head down, smiling at recollections. "Where my mother was over-protective, Jeff was entirely the opposite. No sitting at home for me while he went off with his friends. No, they all pitched in and took me everywhere." He chuckled. "They even had me driving a car in the cemetery one night. My mother never knew about that one."

"He sounds marvelous. How much older is he?"

His chin tipped up toward the ceiling.  "Three years. He was three years older, almost three and a half."

She caught the 'was.'  "Is...is...?"

"Iraq. About two years ago. Marine corps."

Oh, God. So he knew about great loss, too. "Oh, Marshall."  She couldn't think of what to say.

"He was still three when I was born. Always seemed to have this uncanny understanding that I couldn't see. When he was four and I was one, he figured out this way to teach me to walk.  Got a cardboard box and held onto one edge while I held onto the other, then he'd walk backwards. Led me all around the house and yard like that. He was always coming up with something similar, something to help me go fearlessly into his sighted world."

"He seems to have done a good job."

"So much of what I've become as a man is due to him. He was simply the best.  The very best."  He inhaled deeply. "But the rest of my life I owe to you, Eden. I wouldn't be having it if it weren't for you."

His right hand lay on the table top just to the side of his plate. More than anything in the world at that moment she wanted to rest hers atop it. But she didn't, of course. She just looked at it and...wanted to.

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