Six of One
Page 24
Life with him here in the Cotswolds is everything I had hoped it would be. I know with absolute certainty that I made the right decision in marrying him. Wally is happy, too. He says he is as contented as the village cattle are, now that cows are no longer mad and sheep may safely graze due to his much-admired research work. Wally has developed an interest in archeology since we moved here to the Cotswolds and is now doing groundbreaking work on the local burial mounds. He says that his working in the field of history is just one more thing that brings us together.
As for me, I am working on a new treatise, working title “Henry VIII: Man of Constant Sorrow.” I am confining myself to primary-source documents to bolster my argument so as not to break rule number one, but it takes constant vigilance.
When I am not working on that, I am enjoying the fantastic sex with Wally in our cottage bedroom or the good conversation with him in our peaceful cottage garden.
We planted some Shakespeare flowers in the garden, and on the anniversary of our first fateful night in a Shakespeare Garden all those years ago, we reenacted the scene this year. With an afternoon nap and a pregame Red Bull, Wally actually made it through to the end game this time, so we plan to make it an annual event. And speaking of annual events, there was a sighting of Pu-tai, the fiancé formerly known as Harry, at a recent Tibetan New Year celebration, and he was looking—well—fat and happy.
Certain as I am that my decision was the right one, I am troubled sometimes by the absence of the message my spirit-world friends promised me. Have they forgotten me? Or am I living in a fool’s paradise, with everything maybe not as perfect as I think? Or could it be that my Tudor gal pals were really just a figment of my imagination?
Chapter Forty-Four
Before, a Joy Proposed; Behind, a Dream
“Wally, I’m home!”
“Perfect timing, Dolly! Dinner is in the oven and will be ready in about fifteen minutes. That will give you just enough time to open the package that came for you today.”
“What kind of package?”
“Light, oblong…and mysterious.”
“Why ‘mysterious’?”
“No return address. None at all.”
“That is odd. Where did you put it?”
“It’s in our room, dear, on the bed. We can open it before dinner. I’m curious myself what it could possibly be.”
“Well, the handwriting on the label looks a lot like Auntie Reine-Marie’s,” I said, as I examined the package.
“Damned old-fashioned handwriting she’s got, then.”
“Well, Wally, you know what a character she is. This must be from her, though,” I said, once I unwrapped the package. “It’s a needlework piece. Looks like a quilt, but it’s too small to cover the bed.”
Wally held up the other item in the package, a wooden cylinder. “Would this mysterious object assist in the identification? It looks like a dowel of some kind.”
“It’s a quilt hanger, Wally! Auntie Reine Marie has sent us a quilted wall hanging. Her handiwork is incredible; look how beautiful the piece is. The play of color and pattern and the intricate trapunto work are remarkable.”
“Well, Dolly, it’s geometric; I’ll say that for it.”
“Wally, you’re holding it upside down! It goes this way, silly; see, the rod pocket is at the top.”
“What’s that about pocket rods?”
“Be serious for a minute, Wally. The dowel goes in the rod pocket, and you hang it up on the wall, like so,” I said, holding the piece up to show Wally.
“It just looks like a bunch of triangles to me, Dolly. Here, let me hold it up against the wall, and you stand back, take a good look, and see what you think. Maybe you can see something in it that I am missing. I know all these quilt patterns have fanciful names. What is this one called, ‘Bermuda Triangles’?”
“No,” I said, showing off my needlework knowledge. “This pattern is called ‘Flying Geese.’”
Wally squinted at the textile for a moment and then smiled. “I see! The triangles represent the geese in a flock, and they are all lined up and flying heavenward.”
Just then, a beam of sun shone through the window and onto the little quilt. “You’re right, Wally,” I said. “That is exactly what those silly geese are doing. They’re flying to heaven—each and every one of them.”
“Well, it’s an uplifting and aspirational choice of pattern on your auntie’s part, I’m sure, but you seem to be disproportionately emotional about it. There’s some arcane, female message in this thing, isn’t there?”
“There is, but it’s way too arcane to explain. Just kiss me, darling.”
“Right here, in front of all these silly geese?”
“Yes, right here. I want to make sure they all can see.”
The End