MY HEART IN STONE
PART 26:
Cort's leg was doing much better, but after their return to Kamen he was rather tired
and lay quietly on the bed a long time, his eyes closed, thinking. Rachel had gone down-
stairs to talk with Henri, to make more phone calls, both local and long-distance. Later
in the afternoon Henri would drive them down into Hromada so Rachel could show Cort
some of the village and they could scout possible wedding sites.
But for now, his body resting, his mind was occupied with the morning's events, the sound
of Father Pavel's words still running through his memory, clear and fresh as though he
were hearing them just spoken. He lifted one hand to his hair, still slightly damp. Pavel.
He so carried God with him everywhere, every moment, that somehow he had made the
stream into holy water with his touch.
Cort let a long breath slowly escape his lips. He was aware of something new, something
different. He seemed to have more...space...inside himself. That was the only way he could
find to express the feeling in his chest. Something that had taken up room year after year,
was no longer there. He spread both hands wide over his ribcage, one corner of his
mouth lifting in a small smile. Then he slept.
Instead of venturing back into the main keep to use the phone, a prospect Rachel did not
relish, Henri led Rachel to a small office that felt more an antechamber to the underground facilities than a part of the tower and its buildings. Henri explained it had served as a communications room at one point, but as Mikol had expanded his underground facility
was practically abandoned. The phone worked however and the room was kept in a sparse
state with only a table, chair, phone, and phone book. There was pale evidence of pictures
on the wall and some other kinds of furniture, but the room itself, with one small window
looking out into the courtyard, was devoid of warmth or humanity.
Still it was enough for Rachel to work with, and she contacted the Mini-Hotel once more
at the behest of Terry to arrange for a room again, her previous one booked once Henri withdrew her belongings to Kamen. She and Volos talked for a bit, and she could tell he
wanted to ask her about events since the coal, but she was glad he didn’t bring the subject
up. It felt as something more for face to face. Then, she called the Town Hall for procedures
on notarizing their paperwork; and more phone calls home for updates on travel for her
family and friends. Deidre made her laugh with a description of Sid’s attempt to get Terry
to say why they were leaving, an attempt that solidified Terry’s well-known ‘wall’ to the
point of Sid storming out of the office in silent rage. It was a mention of shopping for the
right clothes to wear that brought the enormity of their plans into sharp focus for Rachel.
She had to lean forward in her chair and put her head between her knees to make the
dizziness go away.
“I’m getting married, I’m getting married!” She stammered to Deidre, who was no help at
all in laughing, albeit affectionately at her now.
“I don’t have shoes, I don’t have a dress!” Rachel moaned, a whole rush of new tasks
to fulfill crowding her thoughts. “This is so important, and here I am throwing things
together like it's just some last minute kegger!”
“Don’t you worry, dear heart,” Deidre told her. “You could show up in grape leaves and
twigs and Cort would think you were the Queen. He might have to bail you out of jail
for indecent exposure in order to take you home, but it wouldn’t matter and you know
it.”
Her father was both eager and anxious, even though his earlier reluctance had been
assuaged by the inclusion of Rachel’s older sister, Lisa, along with Lisa’s five year old
son. Stacia, his second wife, would remain at home.
When she finally looked up from the tablet where she had doodled dates, numbers,
drawings of dresses and written “Mrs. Cortland Wells” several times in varying degrees
of curly-cues and script, it was waxing into an afternoon that would prove very short
indeed if she didn’t go upstairs and check on Cort to see if he were ready for the second
outing of the day. As if reading her thoughts, Henri stepped into the room and greeted
her with a gentle smile.
“I’m through here,” Rachel said. “I think my jaw muscles are tired! I haven’t done this
much talking on the phone since I was a teenager.”
Henri had come back to check on Rachel and see if she were ready to go into the village.
"I know you have been making arrangements for the wedding," he said as she put the
phone back on its cradle, "and that there are time constraints in getting everything in
order." He studied his hands seriously a moment. "I have been here in this area for many
years now and...," he paused, his eyes glancing up at the ceiling as if he were not sure how
to say what he wished. Then he looked at Rachel almost shyly, his head tipped down, his
eyes looking up.
"I have...," he began, his voice as hesitant as his look, "never had...much...to spend my
earnings on." He lifted his head now, a smile starting to curve his lips, a hope, an
expectation in his eyes. "There is a shop in Hromada, tucked into a back street, rather
hard to find if one does not know where to look. They sell dresses...antique dresses and I
was, ah...well...I wanted to ask you if you would let me, permit me, my dear, to provide
you with your wedding dress...as....as a gift to you?" He, looking as he did so paternally
at Cort, began to see Rachel as his daughter-in-law. He wanted their wedding to be lovely
for them, still not able to believe that they were getting married in Hromada, that he
would actually be able to attend. "Is this...possible...you think?"
Rachel’s hands flew to her mouth in her amazement at Henri’s proposal (and sheer glee
over the prospect of a vintage item, a weakness she never dreamed she would ever be able
to indulge,) and had to take a couple of deep breaths before regaining an ability to voice
her acceptance.
Words didn’t come though, so Rachel stood up and hugged Henri, nodding her head ‘yes’
as she did so.
“I’d be very honored,” was what finally came out. “But it feels like it would be so much,
after all you have done for Cort and me. You’ve given so much,” she repeated, a tear
rolling down her cheek. “Thank you,” she concluded. All the other words in her mind
weren’t near as appropriate as that heartfelt statement.
He was entirely pleased. The buying of the wedding gown was a very 'family' sort of
activity. He had not been at all sure that his offer was appropriate nor that it would be
accepted.
He hugged her in return, very gently. It had been a long time since he had hugged anyone.
"As for giving, the two of you have given more to me than you know." He stepped away
from her, looking at the stone wall as though it required careful inspection. "Cort...he...
he touched my heart." He looked back at her, not noticing the elevator doors had opened
and Cort was standing just down the hall, leaning on his cane.
"He...I...it's hard to put into words, my dear. There was no...kindness. Nowhere in
Kamen. And the other men Mikol brought through, none of them survived, none of them
lived to need kindness." He wiped a hand over his eyes. "Until Cort." He smiled at
Rachel. "He made me see...for the first time in so many years...he made me see I had
kindness to give. You have no idea what a treasure that was to me, Rachel. And, then,
he gave it back, you know. Despite all that had happened to him, all that he had lost, he
gave it back...and more. It just came so...easy...to him. I wanted to be like that, you know.
Have it come easy like that. Be natural like it was for him. You know how he is."
She nodded, smiling in return. She did.
"And it got too hard, you know. Too hard knowing what Mikol had planned for him. I
couldn't be a part of it. Not with...him. And he suffered so. Rachel, you can't imagine
the depths of what I saw him suffer." He caught her eyes with his, stopped. "Or maybe
you can. I see it in your eyes that you can." He shuddered. "And I wanted to protect
him from that." He looked at her, his eyes quiet and level. "He asked me to pray for
him." Shaking his head, he continued. "No one ever asked me that. And I just began to...care...for him, you know, almost like he was the son I never had."
He waved a hand slightly. "I know that's foolishness. He's got a perfectly good father
back in America somewhere, back in The Quick and the Dead's backstory, I imagine.
It's just how I started to feel. I wanted to watch over him, make sure he was all right...
like that. I don't think he even knows...."
"I do know," Cort said. He'd come silently down the hall behind Henri. Rachel saw,
but didn't say anything to Henri, wanting Cort to hear the doctor's words.
"Oh, God...," Henri gasped, turning red. "I didn't mean...."
Cort rested his hand on the older man's shoulder. "I want you to mean it, Henri." He
smiled at the doctor. "You have watched over me from the beginning, saved my life more
than once, and it is only because of you that both Rachel and I are all right." He looked
at Rachel and then back at Henri. "My father died when I was a small child, Henri.
The nearest thing I ever had to a father was John Herod." He frowned. "Not exactly
a 'watching over' sort of fellow, eh? But for a time he was the only family I had." Smiling
quite largely now, he held Henri's eyes. "So there's something I want to ask you, some-
thing you can do for me."
"Name it," Henri breathed.
"Stand up with me, Henri. On my wedding day, stand up with me."
"St...stand...?" The doctor was speechless. "You...you mean...?"
Cort nodded. "You are the best man I know, Henri. Will you do that for me?"
"Will I...?" Tears welled fast and quick.
"Yes," Cort laughed, "will you?"
And for the second time in a matter of minutes, Henri found himself hugging someone.
She tried to help them load her suitcase and sundry items, but Vaclav was insistent that
he carry all but her hand bag down to Henri’s car. She caught one or two reproachful
looks at Henri, a rebellious look that the doctor explained as Vaclav’s disagreement
that he should move both of them out of castle so soon. What Vaclav really wanted was
to keep their company for a bit longer, and Henri’s decision to give the couple more
mobility went against that desire. It wasn’t until Cort extended an invitation to their
wedding plans that Vaclav brightened.
Getting Cort to sit still was another matter. Rachel knew he was trying not to show
any eagerness to put the castle behind him, but she could tell by the way his eyes flashed
he was ready to end the chapter of imprisonment in Neviditelny. And she really couldn’t
blame him.
Her own eyes wandered as she sat waiting on a nearby stump. Henri was giving
final instructions to Vaclav to follow before he returned for the evening and Cort stood
staring up at the tower, lost in some moment of reflection. She saw the beginnings of a
path in the trees to her left – the trail that must lead through the forest and down to the
road, the one Gerta had said she always took.
The one that nearly led to her own disaster, Rachel remembered. The one that led to
the pile of bones.
She shivered slightly, recalling Henri’s deflective replies when they asked about finding
Mikol. Did Henri know that she had been down there? Henri did not specify in what
state he found Mikol, but Rachel found it easy to conjure up her own images and it was
not pleasant.
Still, seeing the trailhead brought a certain pang of nostalgia. She missed Gerta, missed
hearing about her girlhood in Prague.
She heard footsteps on the grass behind her and turned to see Cort smiling at her.
"One day, I don't remember just which one, I was on the parapet and saw someone. It
had to be down this trail. The sunlight, it reflected off something. Was it you? What were
you doing down there?" He took a step toward the trail as though intending to check it
out despite his cane.
Her heart took a flop as she remembered *that* part of her sojourn into the little gorge
of death. She grabbed Cort's hand, the longing she had felt as she had looked up through
the tree limbs flaring up in her; pulled it to her waist as Cort took a step towards the
trail.
"No!" she snapped, and then regretted the sharpness of her tone. "No, don't go that
way," she added more gently. "I'm sorry. Yes. That was me. I was trying...trying to
find a way in. That was before I met Gerta. She saw me on the trail...came to my room
and told me not to go down that way again...but it was too late..." She drifted off, not
sure she wanted to go on. She saw Cort looking down at her, concerned. With a tiny
smile, she reached up to her hair, which was unbound for now, thinking of what he must
have seen flashing. "You saw something flash? I think it must have been the brooch. I
was wearing it at the time." She gave a short laugh, realizing something. "That wasn't
real smart of me," she said ruefully. "No wonder Gerta wanted to warn me. I was
sending out signals ninety to nothing that day, probably."
"The brooch? The star brooch? Oh, Rachel, if I had only known then! You so near and
me...," he paused, looking stricken, then reached out to cup her cheek with his palm. "I
wouldn't have known, would I...who you were." Dropping his hand, he stared down the
trail again. "Some day I'll have to try to tell you about Mikol's warp." A strange look
crossed his face, then he straightened his shoulders and made himself smile. It took
mere seconds of seeing her face, though, before the smile changed into one from his
heart. "I love you, my Rachel. I love you...so very much."
"I love you, too...so much," she whispered in reply. They both stood for several silent
minutes, foreheads touching. "I can tell we have a lot to talk about still," she added as
they turned to respond to Henri's call that he was ready to start to town. "But I want to
get this place behind us before we do that.”
"I had no idea there was a town so close to the castle," Cort commented, surprised,
when the drive took such a short time.
"Mikol wanted it that way," Henri explained. "Perhaps he thought it would be too
much temptation if you knew."
As they drove across the bridge near the spillway, Cort called out, "Stop!"
Henri pulled the car over just past the bridge and turned to look back at Cort, who
was clutching Rachel's hand excitedly.
"What is it?"
"Water!" Cort beamed. "Look at all the water!" He was a child of the desert and
the abundance of water still delighted him. "Can we get out here? Can we walk now?"
Both Henri and Rachel laughed fondly. "Be my guest," Henri chuckled, coming around
to open Cort's door and help him out. "Just don't push it, my friend, all right. Every
step away from the hotel is a step that must be taken again on the way back."
"I won't forget!" Cort grinned, dragging Rachel with him onto the bridge to stare at the
wide, dark waters shattering into whiteness as they flowed over the smooth brink of
the spillway. "Oh, Rachel...look at THAT!"
Slowly they made their way across the bridge, pausing every few feet so he could get his
fill of looking. He didn't care that he was headed away from the hotel into the other
section of town on the western side of the meander. He was turning his head, looking at
the buildings, the bright colors they were painted, the curious narrowness of the streets.
The very age of the place appealed to him much more than the modern city where the
retrieval units were headquartered. That it was older here, much older than his own
time in the 1880's, made him feel somehow comfortable. He wanted to pick Rachel up
and swing her around in his happiness but knew that would have to wait a bit.
Once across the bridge, they wandered hand in hand down a street, around a corner,
and found themselves at the edge of a park. "Have you been here before?" he asked
Rachel.
“I believe so. I wandered around here my first couple of days,” she said. “It wasn’t as
nice as it is now, though,” she added, squeezing his hand meaningfully.
They passed a gazebo in a large, flat area of grass and he saw a particular tree that caught
his eye. "I don't think I've ever seen a tree like that before," he said, making a direct
line toward it. "Do you know what kind it is?"
“I’m not sure,” Rachel said. “I don’t know much about plants, but I think I heard someone
say it's a lime tree.”
"Lime, eh? I've never met a lime, much less a lime tree." Maybe it was the heady sense of freedom now that he was out of Kamen; he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he felt almost
like a boy today. "Do you suppose that on the way back to the hotel, if we pass a market,
we could find a lime? I'd like to see a lime."
“If not there, we’ll request one at the restaurant,” Rachel replied, laughing. She had not
seen him this buoyant in spirits in a long time and it was contagious.
Despite his leg, he was moving fast, and soon the two of them had ducked under the widely-spreading branches of the huge tree. His mouth dropped open. "Look, Rachel," he
said, guiding her close to the trunk. "It's been struck by lightning."
Indeed, the whole bottom section of the trunk was split widely open, revealing a rather
shattered interior. He lay his cane across the top of a small picnic table to one side of the
tree and approached the trunk almost reverently, slowly reaching out to touch the left-
hand edge of the split.
"Look at you, old fellow," he said, his eyes exploring the old wound. "How are you still
alive, I wonder, with such a terrible scar?" He walked entirely around the tree, keeping
his hands on it, looking up through its canopy. "Yet how handsome you are.” He turned
to Rachel, smiling. "It's so full of life, Rachel, despite all it's been through, it's still full of
life."
One of his hands fell into view as they both leaned against the tree, faces tilted upwards
to stare into the vast spread of branches above. Rachel’s eyes focused on the pale outline
of the scar on his wrist, a vestigial remnant of Redemption that was invisible to all but
the most knowing. Impulse had her lay her cheek upon the wrist, then kiss it, her own
arm outstretched to embrace his shoulder.
“It’s a survivor, like you,” she said, turning to him. “It’s strong and has stood the test
of time, despite pain, despite all reason to give up. Like we have. Like we will.”
He blinked several times and touched the tree again. Together they sat on a bench,
looking at the tree. "It's like a room under here," he said, noting how the branches
draped nearly to the ground around them. "You wouldn't even think you were in a
town at all. It's very...private." And with that he leaned toward her, kissing her
sweetly, slowly, then sat back, smiling. "I feel happy here, Rachel. Really happy. I
hope we can come here again."
A breeze made its way through the top of the tree, making the leaves whisper, as if
replying its own happiness in their visitation. Seeing the dappled green light on his
face suddenly made the thought of standing in a musty old cathedral seem alien and
restrictive. Despite his fond memories of Father Michael’s stories and a wistful wish
to see the things he had talked about, Cort belonged where the air and flow of life
was unfettered, uncontained by arches and marbled floors. Suddenly, being under
the tree was something she wanted to remember for the rest of her life.
“What would you…?” she began, hesitating, because it meant a whole different plan
than what was assumed by any couple getting married. Cort turned eyes now as green
as the lime leaves on her, making her forget momentarily the remainder of her thoughts.
Is this what she wanted, too?
Yes. It didn’t matter where they said their vows. She just wanted to say them.
“How about we have the wedding here, under this tree?” She blurted.
He looked at her with such love, such appreciation shining in his eyes. "Oh, Rachel, I
think that's...perfect." He reached out then, touching the tree. "How about you, old
fellow? Do you like the idea of a wedding under your branches?" He cocked his ear,
listening intently, then grinned at her. "He says 'yes'."
Another thought struck him. "Father Pavel," he smiled. "He'll love it!"
Reluctantly, he finally stood to leave. "We'll be back," he promised the tree. "Don't go anywhere!" He laughed again, his heart light.
As they passed the branches and entered the full sunlight of the park again, they noticed
a pole with a metal plaque that gave information about the lime. It said how the lime was
the family tree planted in Bileò's Courtyard at the turn of the 11th century. Over the long
years there had been many weddings, baptisms, and funerals under the tree. People had gathered there before they left for distant parts of the world, had met there when they
arrived from other countries. Lightning had stuck it in 1951 and it had seemed to die,
then surprised everybody by leafing out again.
Cort looked back at the tree. "So, this will not be your first wedding, then," he smiled.
He took Rachel's hand and lifted it to his lips. "But it will be the one most filled with
love."
The main path of the park led away from the lime tree and headed straight for the bank
of the Chlad River, meandered along its edge, shaded by large trees. Cort refused to
admit it, but Rachel could see that his stamina was beginning to wane and he was leaning
harder on his cane. She was about to suggest another rest at a nearby table when the
tree-line opened up to frame the picturesque structure of the cathedral on the opposite
bank, its singular front spire rising up above the lower houses like a lighthouse.
“I’ve been inside,” she said, as Cort stopped to stare. The white façade gleamed brilliant
against the pure blue sky, making her think of the moment Peregrin Took first saw the
white citadel of Minas Tirith. “I thought so much of you. It’s not the grand cathedral
Father Michael told you about, but its almost as old as some of them, and you can just
feel the history sitting there in the pews. I’d like to go again before we leave,” she added.
"It's beautiful," Cort said, "the biggest I've ever seen. Yes, I'd very much like to see
the inside of it while we're here. I'd...," he stumbled slightly on a protruding cobblestone
and Rachel wheedled him into a brief respite on a boulder by the river, plying him with
an apple and some cheese she had brought along. She kissed him for his patience in
letting her fuss for pushing himself too much, but she was beginning to worry that he
was going to give out before they got to the Mini.
“The Hotel isn’t far, sweetheart, but its still a bit of walk, especially for you. Don’t use
up all your energy on the streets,” she murmured, cupping his face in her hands. “Save
some for me, please? Hromada will be here tomorrow.”
The streets were in deep shadow by the time they rounded the corner of the lane leading
to the Mini-hotel. Now it was Rachel who had a hard time slowing down, mostly because
of the thought of falling onto soft pillows again and the various fragrances of cooking
food making its way through the air caused her stomach to growl. She saw Henri standing
with Volos in the front of the pink building and waved to them.
Henri sized up the approaching Cort, noting the tired lines around his eyes and mouth
despite the smile on his face. He was not surprised. Cort was free...and enjoying it no
matter the physical cost. He walked forward a bit, taking Cort's elbow. "Are you ready
for a bit of rest now, my friend?" he said, his fingers taking in the slight vibration of over-
worked muscles.
Cort blew out a puff of breath. "We found it, Doc, found our wedding site." He shared a
look with Rachel. "It's so perfect. It's a tree, Doc, a tree!"
"A tree?"
"The big ol' lime tree in the park," Cort explained, punctuating his words with tired puffs
of breath. "You know the one?"
"I do, indeed," Henri replied. "A lovely, ancient thing it is."
"Well, it's gonna be where...," he was sagging noticeably, blinking hard. "...where Rachel
and I...."
"Very good, son, very good," Henri interrupted. "But come now and meet someone and
then let's get you up to your room, all right?"
Volos stood at the side, watching Henri and smiling at Cort. Rachel stopped in front of
him, unable to keep from beaming. Volos inclined his head in greeting.
“He shines like a diamond when he looks at you,” the old gentleman said.
“He’s as precious as one,” Rachel replied. “Volos, this is Cortland Wells. My fiancé,”
she announced. “Cort, I’d like you to meet Volos. He’s the owner of the hotel we're
staying in.”
Cort, tipping now slightly to the right as he tried to take most of his weight off his left leg,
smiled one of his close-lipped smiles at the man. "Glad to meet you, Mr. Volos," he said,
briefly removing his right arm from Rachel's grip so he could extend it in a handshake.
"Rachel tells me you have been kind to her and I'd like to be sure you know, sir, how
much I appreciate that. Means a lot."
He was making those little puffing breaths again and Henri was firm. "Now, Cort. Inside
with you."
“I’ll send up some delectables,” Volos called out, as the three of them made their way
into the lobby and the white-plastered asymmetrical arches of the hallway. “Use the
service elevator in the back. It will take you to your room.”
Cort was only too happy to oblige and when they arrived at their room, he flopped heavily
on the bed. "Thank God," he moaned.
Henri presumed he meant that he was now lying down, but Cort continued with a sloppy
grin, "thank God the room's not...round."
Henri laughed and slid off Cort's boots while Rachel arranged the pillows under his head.
"Can I trust you to stay where you are for a while?"
Cort had already closed his eyes and his breathing was becoming slow and regular.
Henri smiled at Rachel. "I think he will." Stopping to tuck the covers around Cort's
shoulders affectionately, he then turned to Rachel. "In the morning, would you like to
look at some gowns, my dear?"
“Yes, I’d love that,” she nodded enthusiastically. She walked Henri to the door and gave
him another hug. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Never fear,” Henri said and stepped out of the room. “"I'll leave now so the both of you
can rest."
Cort was deep in the sleep of fatigue by the time the meal arrived and Rachel was midway between setting herself a plate when a sudden thought occurred to her. She sat at the little dinette in the corner of the room, thinking. Then, with one longing look at the steaming
plate of food, she covered it up and decided to wait. Mealtimes for them had been so
haphazard for them the last few days, governed by the whim of the day, and not always
at the same time; but this day, after all that had happened since the morning, this day, she wanted the simple meal to be different.
She left the lights off in the room until the only illumination was the amber glow of lights
in the street outside. She sat on the floor between the bed and the window, not trusting
to lie down beside him for the restlessness that possessed her. She sat with a small radio
in her lap, fiddling with stations until she found familiar music. The Andrews Sisters
crooned their own lyrics to “Swing Swing Swing” and she had difficulty keeping the volume
to a level that wouldn’t wake him. Nor could she stop from singing along and giving a
little whoop of delight when the announcer spoke in English to declare a marathon of
forties songs with more of the female group.
Bei mir bist du schön, please let me explain
Bei mir bist du schön means you're grand
Bei mir bist du schön, again I'll explain
It means you're the fairest in the land
She was so caught up in singing and tapping her foot, she didn’t notice movement on the
bed, until Cort lowered his head next to hers.
"Resorting to sitting in the dark, singing...strange...songs, are we?" he chuckled.
“AAAGH!” Rachel yelped, and then laughed. “You scared me!”
"Think about me," he continued, laughing and nibbling at her ear. "There I was, sound
asleep, and suddenly 'bei mir bist' comes into my dream. What's a poor man to think?
I had to wake up just to see what in the world you were doing."
“Trying to keep from bouncing around the room. I love this music. My sister, Lisa, and
I used to make up our own dances to them,” Rachel giggled, turning to kiss him and then
getting up to sit next to him as turned his legs out of the bed. “This music is from the 1940s.
We didn’t get to cover much history of the world wars when we were back in Emerald City,
did we?”
"No," he agreed. "We spent more time on ancient history. Needed to. I still can't quite
grasp the concept of the whole world at war." He looked serious for a moment, then smiled
at her. "But I'm glad if there is music from that time that you like. I've never heard this
sort before. I want to know all about everything that makes you happy.”
Rising, he walked to the window, pulling the curtains back with one hand to look out
toward the street. "So close to Kamen," he said softly. "I wish I'd known." He slid his
arm around her waist, just standing quietly for a time, looking out. "You really like the
lime, Rachel? You really do feel all right about having the wedding there? If you don't,
I...."
Rachel turned the radio off and joined him at the window. A small group of people
passed below, laughing and talking. The light highlighted his features, softened into
an expression that told her that he was processing the day still. She stepped closer into
his embrace and reached up to caress the back of his head.
“I love the lime,” she replied, smiling. “I don’t care where we are. As long as I get to say
‘I do’ and hear Father Pavel pronounce us man and wife. The lime is as big as a cathedral
and as beautiful.”
"There's something about it that really touches me somehow," he said, "makes me feel, I
don't know, that it knows all about the passing of years...its years...my years...our years.
I like that it was growing there in the 1880's." He looked out the window again. "It
makes me feel...connected, that this time and my time are not so far apart since it has
known them both. Does any of that make sense?"
Her heart squeezed at the wistfulness in his voice. “Oh, Cort,” she sighed, laying her cheek
on his shoulder and holding him tight. “I’m so sorry. You must still feel so out of sorts
after all that’s happened. What you say makes perfect sense. I like the lime tree because
it’s endured so much and is more glorious than ever. When we’re old and gray and
confusing our grandkids about the music we used to listen to, I want that tree to be a part
of our memories. I want us to be like that tree.”
"Thank you," he said softly, leaning a bit to kiss her brow, "thank you for being you.
Twice now I've known what life is like without you. I never want to know that again.
Ever." He pulled her close, wrapping his arms about her. "Ever."
“Twice now I’ve nearly lost you,” Rachel said, thinking back to Cort’s first warp. “You
were…dead on that table and even if they had let me near you, I don’t know what I could
have done…except cry and…” Her fists balled up in his shirt and she took a deep breath
to steady herself. “When I came here, I wasn’t going to stop until I could do something to
help you. And Deidre helped me get it straight in my mind…I was so shaken by what had happened…I didn’t find out until later, until I talked with Henri, just how close I had
come to losing you again…for good…”
He led her to the bed so they could sit side by side, and when they were seated, he took
both her hands in his, pulling them onto his lap, holding them there.
"Mikol's warp, Rachel, it's not like Sid's. It operates on some whole different principle.
I don't begin to understand it, I just know what it feels like." He paused, taking in a
deep breath. "Even when Sid didn't give me the pill for when we warped into Gladiator,
even as bad as that was, it was nothing compared to Mikol's." He closed his eyes, tipping
his head way up. "It was like being scraped raw, like all my flesh was ripped off my
bones. But that wasn't even the worst part. I...I...don't even know how to describe it so
it makes any sense." His fingers were twisting around hers as though he couldn't keep
them still. "My mind, Rachel, it was my mind...like it had exploded from the inside out
and was in little scraps blown across the sky. I...I...was in so many places all at once and...
and...I had this horror of never being put back together. It was....terrible, so unimaginably terrible...being scattered like that. And these clingy blue things came and stuck on all the
scraps of me. I wanted to scrape it off...I...." He dropped her hands and began rubbing at
his own arms. "It was like ants...crawling all over me and....oh, God, Rachel...," he covered
his face with his hands, "when they put me back together...you were gone!"
It was upsetting to see that he was reliving the trauma. She shivered at his description
of Mikol’s warp, tried to draw up memories of the first time she had gone through
NanoCorps’ version and how distressing the lights and colors and disorientation were
without the benefit of the pill. None of it came close to what Cort described. The
reminder of Sid’s deceit only made the wound in her heart flame more angrily. When
Cort’s hand’s stilled, she wrapped her arms around him and wept quietly.
He breathed quietly in and out for a while, regathering himself. "Its all right, my
love, " he said when he was able to speak again. "That's over and done, behind us. No
more warping. I'm fine now. We're together." He smiled at her, using his fingertips
to curve her lips into a smile, too. "And you know what?" He made a funny face. "I'm
about to starve to death. So if you really want to meet me under the lime tree, you'd
better feed me something...fast!"
She uncovered the meals she'd saved for when he woke and he moved to join her at
the small white table. "Smells wonderful," he smiled, "even if I have no idea what it
is."
So she told him – potato pancakes with meat and cheese, bratwurst, grilled vegetables,
bread, culminating in a dessert of rolled pancakes to be topped with fruit and cream.
But she’d had plans for it, despite the protests of her own stomach and she sat across
table from him, wanting him to understand that...that....
One look at her quiet eyes and he knew instantly that something was needed, that
another touch would take so much of what had happened to them and set it all in
its proper place. He reached out, taking both her hands in his so that together they
framed the table, framed the dinner. That, too, seemed right.
Bowing his head, he began, "Father, we thank You not only for this food You have
provided for us, but for Your constant watch over us, carrying us through all the trials
that have come our way. Thank you for the friends we have made, the companionships
both old and new. We ask a special blessing on Gerta, who gave her life so that we
might live. Bless dear Henri, who could not be more one of Your angels for us than
if he had wings. Grant safe passage to those crossing the sea, coming so far to be part
of our wedding day. I ask that You bless that day itself, bless the union between the two
of us, gracing us with Your presence, keeping us always abiding in Your love."
He looked across the small table, his eyes tender, and gently squeezed her hands.
"Amen."
ON TO PART 27
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