She heard a voice she recognized as Rick’s, and took comfort from his presence as well. Then she was away, swept back into the sea of sleep. But this time there was a difference.
The flowing up and out and away was stronger this time, carrying her farther and farther from the bed and the sickbay and the voices. Farther still, a current so powerful she was helpless to resist, sweeping her back in calm and fluid power.
Toward home.
Part II
Path Finder
Chapter One
Consuela did not have much time.
The realization struck her as soon as she stepped into her living room. She could not say how she knew, but the certainty was there, and it sped her actions. Not to mention attaching wings to her heart.
The entire time she tried to talk through her mother’s alcoholic fog, part of her mind remained fastened upon the thought that she would soon be back with Wander. The surging thrill lifted her beyond her mother’s muddled bewilderment, beyond her own pain of loss and departure. For this time there was a sense of belonging elsewhere, tied to this new mysterious place by her love for a man. A sensitive, openhearted, gifted young man. One who truly cared for her.
The last thing she remembered, she and Wander had been counting down their ship’s approach along the lightwave. A pirate ship had been hovering just down the shadowlane, powered up and ready to pounce. Then the first ball of deadly blue energy had been flung across the space dividing them, and her world had exploded into a billion painfully shimmering bits.
There had come a scattering of glimpses through the pain of her recovery, a few words spoken with Wander. Then a sense of being pulled away.
Then she had woken up in her own bed, at home in Baltimore.
“Mama, are you listening to me?”
“Of course I am. Don’t ask silly questions.” Her mother’s words were slurred, and her eyes remained glued to the television.
The bland voices of soap-opera stars mouthed lines that made no sense whatsoever to Consuela. She resisted the urge to walk over and turn off the set, knowing from experience that it would only start an argument. “I’m going away for a while. I have to. There’s something important I need to do.”
“She goes off and leaves me, doesn’t say a word,” her mother mumbled, drink and self-pity oiling her voice.
“That’s why I came back, Mama, to tell you.” Consuela spoke to her mother as to a little child. She knew this was required. Part of her mind felt the unexplained pressing need to hurry, to finish here and move on, to get the message through her mother’s self-imposed fog. Another part registered the fact that it was earlier in the day than usual for Consuela’s mother to be this far along, and that her complexion was pastier than normal. Consuela felt a stab of guilt. Maybe this was her mother’s way of dealing with Consuela’s absence, by drinking even more than usual.
She grasped hold of her mother’s arm, said softly, “I had to come back, Mama. I had to tell you how much I love you.”
A bleary gaze turned her way. The glass was shifted to her lap, and a hand patted her own. “You always were my good little girl.”
“I’ve tried hard to do right, Mama,” Consuela said. “That’s why I need to be going.”
“Go and leave me all alone.” Her mother’s self-pitying tone returned as she fumbled for her glass. “Doesn’t matter what happens to her own mother.”
“It does so matter, Mama. It matters a lot.” But Consuela was forced to watch as her mother subsided into disjointed mutterings, her rheumy eyes glued to the television screen. Consuela remained kneeling beside her mother’s chair until her legs ached, talking softly from time to time. But her mother did not respond.
Finally Consuela rose to her feet and walked into the kitchen. To her surprise, the card she was looking for was not there. She had no idea why she had let Daniel’s card stay where he had pinned it. The little gold cross had drawn her attention every time she had glanced its way. But it was no longer there, nor the card for Pastor Daniel Mitchum. Consuela poked her head back through the doorway and called, “Mama, did you take down Daniel’s card?”
As expected, there was no answer. Consuela picked up the telephone directory and looked up the number for the First Community Church. After she asked for the youth pastor, she stood there wondering why she felt it was so important to speak with him.
But when his voice came on the line, she felt an overwhelming sense of affirmation in the man’s calm strength. “Daniel Mitchum.”
“This is Consuela Ortez. I don’t know if you’ll remember me, but—”
“Consuela!” Relief and joy sounded across the wires. “How are you? No, wait, where are you?”
“Back home,” Consuela said, finding enormous comfort in not being alone. Why a man who was little more than a stranger would leave her feeling that way, she could not explain. Nor at that moment did she care. “I just came back.”
“This is great,” Daniel gushed. “I’ve been praying for you. And for Rick.”
The information jolted through her. “How do you know about Rick?”
“When he couldn’t find you, he called me. He said he found my card over at your house. Didn’t he tell you?”
“No.” Consuela let the news sink in. Rick had been here. Rick knew where she lived. She should have been mortified to hear this. Devastated that her carefully constructed myth had been demolished. Yet somehow it did not matter. And not just because she was returning to that other place. No. Something had happened. She was changing, and her attitude towards the outside world and other people’s perception of her, all this was changing too. “We haven’t really had much of a chance to talk.”
“But he’s okay?”
“Rick is fine.” Consuela took a breath. “The reason I’m calling is, I have to go back.”
There was a long pause on the other end, then Daniel spoke, more subdued now. “Where exactly is ‘back’?”
“I’m not sure. But it doesn’t seem to matter that much. Not now. There’s so much happening. Our ship got hit by pirates, and that was awful. It felt as if my mind were going to explode. And I need to make sure Wander is okay.”
There was a long pause, then, “Can we take that all from the top?”
“It wouldn’t make any difference,” Consuela replied. “Believe me.”
“No, I suppose not,” he said, speaking slowly. “So you think you should go back?”
“I have to.”
“What do you want me to do?”
The simple question flooded her with relief. Here was someone she could trust. “I’m worried about Mom,” Consuela said, and hastily described her mother’s state. “Could you stop by and check on her?”
“Consider it done,” Daniel replied.
“Thanks. Thanks a lot.” Thunder rumbled through the kitchen window. For some reason Consuela felt the tingling pressure to move. “I’ve got to go.”
“What’s the rush?”
“I’m not sure, but I feel as though I’ve got to hurry.”
“Then you probably do,” Daniel said. “Think you can spare a moment for prayer?”
Consuela bowed her head, listened to Daniel intone the words, and felt an answering call within her heart. One that echoed the same sense of awe and silent longing she had experienced during transition. A silent voice spoke to her heart with something far beyond mere words. An invitation so gentle she could have ignored it if she wished, and yet granted with such power that her entire being resonated.
When Daniel stopped speaking, Consuela remained silent and still, feeling the comforting need without understanding what it was. Then the thunder rumbled once more, and the tingling sense of pressure brought her back.
“I have to go,” she said quietly.
“We will be praying for you,” Daniel said solemnly. “Each and every day.”
****
Consuela had never been in a house that big before.
Under other circumstances, she would have love
d to walk around and gawk. But there was no time for sightseeing, and the treatment she was receiving was bringing her to a slow boil.
To begin with, the maid had left her standing alone in the front hall until Rick’s mother had appeared and looked her up and down and asked her how she happened to know Rick. The news that Rick had dated her before his disappearance was greeted with a disdainful sniff.
“I know all of my son’s little friends,” Rick’s mother replied. “I am positive I have never heard him mention you before.”
Consuela tried to hold her rising temper. “I assure you, Mrs. Reynolds, I had a date with Rick.”
“Be that as it may,” the woman replied, “Rick did not disappear over the weekend as you say. It was on a weeknight, a Monday to be precise.”
“Of course,” Consuela said. “He told me he went back to the carnival after I didn’t show up at school.”
The woman’s glacial gaze sharpened. “How did you know about the carnival? Have you spoken to the police?”
“I told you, I was there.”
The woman gave her another up-and-down inspection, then spun on her heel and started up the curving stairway. “Wait there.”
Consuela stood and listened to the woman go from room to room, calling for someone named Henry. She stared up at the glistening chandelier, then inspected the life-size family portrait with its oh-so-proper dress and smiles and postures, and decided maybe Rick didn’t have it all so perfect after all.
When the woman returned, she was accompanied by a tall, heavyset replica of Rick. Consuela watched them descend the double-bannistered stairway as though on parade. “This is the young woman I was telling you about.”
The man’s tone was rich and resonant and very condescending. “What’s this about you and Rick and that carnival?”
The thunder boomed again, echoing through the vast hall with its lofty ceilings and marble flooring and sterile unloving atmosphere. Consuela felt as though the approaching storm was calling to her, urging her to finish her work and leave. “I just came by to tell you that I’ve seen Rick and he’s fine.”
“Now look here.” The man stepped forward close enough to tower over her and bear down. “If you know anything about my son’s whereabouts, I want you to tell me, and tell me now.”
“Perhaps we should call the police,” the woman suggested.
“Plenty of time for that.” Her husband was growing increasingly red in the face. “First I intend to get to the bottom of this myself.”
Consuela stood her ground. “I can’t tell you where he is because I don’t know. Not exactly. But I can tell you he’s doing fine.”
“Then why doesn’t he come home?” the woman demanded. “Has he been kidnapped?”
Consuela inspected Rick’s mother. There was far more irritation than concern in her features. “Rick is fine. He is just caught up in an adventure. He’ll be home as soon as it’s over.”
“Nonsense,” the man snapped. “He has made an absolute shambles of his responsibilities around here. How could our son embarrass us this way? How could he let down the family name? Doesn’t he have a shred of decency?”
Thunder boomed outside, and the sense of urgency grew so strong Consuela felt as though she no longer had any choice.
“Rick is fine,” she said, turning and making for the door. “That’s all I can tell you. He doesn’t want you to worry. He’ll be home as soon as he can.”
Consuela fled out the great entrance, their cries of protest tossed skyward by the growing wind. She raced across the road and through a broad park. Overhead the trees waved their branches, urging her to ever greater speed.
At the park’s other side was a wide intersection, and beside it a bus stop and telephone booth. The instant she spotted the booth, Consuela realized there was one last bit of unfinished business she needed to resolve. She bounded inside, closing the door against the dust and wind and rumbling thunderclaps. Lightning sparked across the cloud-swept horizon as she looked up the school’s number, deposited the coins, and dialed with fingers made clumsy with haste.
When the school secretary answered, Consuela deepened her voice and pretended to be her mother, as she had been forced to do on many other occasions. She assured the school secretary that everything was all right, that her daughter was fine now; yes, she had indeed been ill, but she was doing much better, and they had decided that she should take a trip to stay with friends for a while to recover fully. How long? Consuela hedged and promised that as soon as the girl was back to full health she would be returning to school. Yes, of course, she understood that a letter and doctor’s report should have been sent, but she had been so very busy with work and tending to her sick daughter that the letter had slipped her mind. Yes, of course, she would give her daughter everyone’s best wishes for her speedy recovery.
Consuela set down the phone just as lightning blasted down so close that the light and the sound struck her almost at the same moment. Urged on by pressures she neither understood nor questioned, Consuela flung open the door and raced back into the park. Another bolt of lightning blasted close behind her, urging her on.
At the park’s center clearing, a blast of wind struck her with such force that she had no choice but to stop. She squinted through the swirling cloud of dust and leaves and saw that the clouds seemed to be encircling her, looming bigger and closer and darker, their gray-black surface illuminated by great internal sparks. Thunderbolts roared on all sides, splitting the air with such force that little answering flickers of static electricity began glimmering from her arms and legs and clothes. The lightning seemed to stalk her, moving ever closer, and yet the closer it came, the dimmer the sound became, as though the light and the concentrated force were pushing her away, farther and farther away until even as the lightning bolt crashed down right where she thought she had been standing, she was no longer there.
Chapter Two
Consuela awoke with a gasp. Her first thread of awareness grew into a shocking world of white and stringent smells. She shut her eyes, took a shaky breath, felt the alien odors biting at her nostrils. Opening her eyes once more, she forced the room into focus and saw herself surrounded by instruments and dials and softly beeping noises.
A hospital. Although nothing she saw looked familiar, still there was no mistaking the overly clean environment, the soft erasing of all outside noise, the absence of any personal touches to the room. Consuela struggled up on one elbow, looked about the windowless chamber, felt panic rising with her wakefulness.
She was back, and she was alone.
“Wander?”
The room swept up her voice along with all other sounds, replying only with a soft sibilant sigh. Consuela struggled upright. She ignored the faint pinging from a machine on her headboard when she stripped off the band of wires attached to her wrist. She swung her feet to the floor, found a pair of disposable slippers there waiting for her.
“Wander?” Slowly she rose to her feet, grasping the bed’s side rail with both hands. Her legs seemed barely able to support her weight. “Can anybody hear me?”
She felt a faint draft, reached behind herself with one hand, and groaned with frustration. There she was on the back of beyond, and they still had not come up with anything better than a hospital shift that left her backside exposed. Consuela forced her faltering legs to carry her over to the narrow closet, where to her vast relief she found a terry-cloth robe.
She had barely slipped it around her when the door slid back to admit a bright-eyed young woman who could not have been much older than Consuela. “It is not permitted for the young lady to arise,” she said, her voice carrying a lilting accent.
“Where is Wander?” Consuela demanded, her strength too meager to permit small talk. “For that matter, where am I?”
“You are on Avanti,” the white-clad nurse replied. “Welcome to my home. As for this Wander, I am sure if you kindly wait in bed for the doctor, he—”
“Was there a young man brought in wit
h me?”
“There were several brought off the ship.” Her eyes glimmered with admiration. “All Avanti knows of your battle with the pirates. You are heroes.”
Consuela started for the door, but her legs chose that moment to falter. She would have collapsed if the nurse had not been there to catch her. “Please, you must return to bed,” the nurse urged her. “You must show a kindness to your body. You have been unconscious for six days.”
So long? Consuela allowed her fears to surface. “A man my age, a scout. Slender—”
“Tall and fair with most handsome features,” the nurse gaily agreed, gently guiding her back toward the bed. “Of course I know this Wander. He and you are the only two who have not fully recovered.”
Consuela used the last remaining fragments of her strength to halt her progress toward the bed, grip the nurse’s arm, and plead, “Take me to him.”
The nurse inspected her with excited eyes. “He is your special man?”
“Very special,” Consuela agreed.
Clearly the idea of furthering a hospital romance met with the nurse’s approval. “You will please sit. I will find a coaster and return.”
Confused by the unfamiliar words, but relieved by her evident agreement, Consuela permitted the nurse to guide her down. She watched the nurse then turn and leave, too tired to even protest at being left alone.
Soon enough the nurse returned, pushing in front of her what appeared to be a wheelchair without wheels. “Here, you are to please sit,” she said, drawing the floating apparatus up alongside the bed. With an expert efficiency of motion, she eased Consuela off the bed and onto the chair.
“Oooh, wonderful,” Consuela sighed. Not only did the chair take her weight, but it actually took weight from her. She felt light as a feather, barely heavy enough to remain in the chair and not float away.
The Dream Voyagers Page 14
