Ascension of Larks

by Rachel Linden

  “Maggie.” He said her name softly, just the one word.

  Her heart was thrumming in her ears. She dropped her own gaze, concentrating instead on Griffin as he faced them and spread his arms, waiting for a moment to begin. Lena stood to one side, resolute, still holding the bouquet from Daniel, the silver urn at her feet.

  “I saw my son,” Daniel whispered, leaning in toward Maggie. She could smell him, cedar shavings and a hint of roasted coffee beans. She glanced at him, noting the small smile playing about his mouth, an expression she was unused to seeing him wear.

  “And?” she asked.

  “I’ll get to see him more. Kate agreed to that.”

  “Your wife,” Maggie murmured, feeling instantly nervous.

  Daniel shrugged ruefully. “Ex-wife. She’s engaged to her chiropractor now. They seem very happy. I think he’ll be a good stepfather for Eli.”

  Maggie exhaled in relief, not realizing until that second that she’d been holding her breath. “And what about you?” she asked boldly, keeping her voice low.

  “Happy to be here,” he said. She glanced up at him, and he held her eyes for a few seconds. She broke the gaze, elated and a little embarrassed.

  “I got the envelope,” she said at last, keeping her voice low. She saw Ellen glance over at them with a curious expression. Lena was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, and Griffin paused for a moment to give Lena time to regain her composure.

  Daniel raised an eyebrow. “And?”

  “Lena can keep the house, thanks to you.” Maggie gave him a brief, searching look. “Where did you get that kind of money?”

  He shrugged. “Part of the divorce settlement. Kate got the brownstone, and attorneys make more than poets, even famous ones.” He grinned ruefully, and she smiled in return. Griffin cleared his throat, and Maggie quickly turned her attention to the priest as he began the memorial service.

  “We’re gathered here today to celebrate the life of Marco Firelli, a man who was many things to many people. To Lena, he was a husband of more than nine years. For Jonah, Luca, and Gabby, he was a loving father. For Maggie and Ellen, family. For me, Marco was a man I didn’t get to know as well as I would have liked. I think we might have been friends. For Daniel”—he inclined his head in Daniel’s direction and Daniel stiffened—“Marco was a man who gave a great gift, a sacrifice to save another’s life. And for many others, Marco remains the artist behind works of great beauty that celebrate the human spirit. Marco Firelli was a complex and many-faceted man, a man with an amazing gift for architecture and with a passion for life, a man who will be greatly missed, most of all by those gathered here.”

  Griffin made a gesture of invitation to Lena, who handed the bouquet to Ellen and picked up the urn. She stood a few feet from the edge of the cliff and took off the lid. For a moment she clutched it to her chest, the urn rising and falling with her breathing. Tears made silver tracks down her face. Maggie brought her hand to her own cheek, finding it wet. It felt surreal to be here, with the sun sparkling on the sea, all of them gathered around the urn containing the earthly remains of the man she had loved and yearned for all these years. Beside Luca and Jonah, standing stoic in their identical suits, Ellen was crying into a handkerchief. Griffin spread his arms in benediction.

  “So, Marco Firelli,” he intoned, “today we commit your spirit to our gracious Lord. We say good-bye to your earthly form and trust that we will be reunited with you in the life to come. We call upon the grace and mercy of God, and ask that he take you into his arms and carry you into eternity with him, amen.”

  Lena glanced at Griffin. He nodded. She set the urn on the ground and hesitated for a moment, then scooped up a handful of ashes. Fine dust sifted through her fingers, swirling away on the breeze. She turned to the sea, tossing her handful of ashes to the wind. They blew out over the cliff, dissipating on the surface of the water. Next it was Jonah’s turn, then Luca’s and Gabby’s. The boys were solemn and stoic, though Luca’s lip trembled as he released his handful of ashes. Gabby was crying as Ellen helped her scoop up the ashes in her little hand. Then it was Maggie’s turn.

  Griffin motioned to her. Maggie felt a hand on her back. Daniel, urging her forward. She stopped at the urn and bent down, letting the ashes sift through her fingers. How strange that this would be the last time she would touch Marco. With a brief flash of his face, the rasp of his beard, the taste of him—rich red wine and olives—she felt her cheeks flush. How long ago that was. So many years in between that memory and now, years when she had denied herself the making of new memories, holding on to a desire that had been doomed from the start.

  She glanced back at Daniel. He was watching her, his dark eyes warm and intent. She was drawn to him in a way she couldn’t describe, drawn to the soul she caught glimpses of in his poems, drawn by the fact that he was open to her in a way Marco had never been. He was flesh and blood standing before her, and with him the possibility of things to come. Maggie straightened, her handful of ashes already slipping through her fingers.

  “Good-bye, Marco,” she murmured softly. The wind carried away the words as she said them. She flung the ashes out into the wide blue where sky and water met. “I will always love you, but today I’m letting go.”

  As she made her way back to her place in the circle, she was dimly aware of the others. Ellen sniffling. Griffin beside Lena with his arm around her, comforting her, his auburn head bent over her fair one. Luca scuffing the toe of his shoe in the dirt. All she could feel was an incredible lightness, a sense of limitless possibility. Her heart was rising like a helium balloon in her chest, filled with elation at the budding realization that what had seemed like the end might in fact be just the beginning.

  On impulse, Maggie reached out and grabbed Daniel’s hand. He glanced at her, surprised, but did not pull away. She faced forward, looking out at the horizon. After a moment he laced his fingers through hers, his own warm and strong, hers a little gritty from the ashes. She closed her eyes.

  “Look,” Gabby shrieked, pointing out toward the water. A single porpoise was arcing through the waves. It came gradually closer as they watched, a dark and solitary shape.

  “Hey, I think it’s the one from the beach,” Luca shouted.

  The three children ran to the edge of the rocks, Ellen in close pursuit, catching at their collars to stop them a safe distance away from the cliff.

  “Is it him?” Gabby asked as they waited side by side for the porpoise to crest again. It did, nearer the shore. Even from where Maggie was standing she could see the vivid white wheal of the scar above his flipper. He came as close as he could to the shoreline and then veered away from the jagged line of half-submerged rocks.

  “Yeah,” Jonah said, his expression amazed. “It’s him. It worked.”

  Maggie shivered as she watched the porpoise. She stared at the animal, at the long white scar on his left side, struck by a vivid memory—Marco unbuttoning the top two buttons of his dress shirt in the cafeteria at Rhys, showing her the long white knife scar that roped across his left collarbone. It had to be coincidence, and yet . . .

  “It worked,” Luca repeated in awe. Gabby shrieked with glee, clutching her hands together in excitement, watching every move the animal made. Ellen stood behind them, still clutching tightly to the two younger ones in case one of them made a mad dash forward over the cliff edge. Lena and Griffin stared out at the water, their expressions puzzled.

  “Yeah.” Jonah nodded, not taking his eyes from the back of the porpoise as it headed to open water. “It’s the sign. Dad’s telling us he’s okay.”

  Maggie squinted against the glare on the open water. The porpoise was now just a dark blur against the distant swells, swimming out into the Strait, away from them. Gazing out at the sea, she thought once more of the quote Griffin had spoken that day in Lena’s hospital room when all the world had seemed so dark, the words of the mystic Julian of Norwich, “All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing sha
ll be well.”

  Griffin had been right after all, she reflected, tilting her face up to the warmth of the sun. She squeezed Daniel’s fingers, reveling in the fact that he had returned, that he stood beside her, flesh and blood. She was open to whatever came next. “I’m ready,” she whispered, her heart swelling with an unexpected thrill of hope.

  Somewhere in the open space of sky behind them, a lark began to warble. Another joined it, dipping and swooping in the morning light, their voices ascending through the air in a sweet and trilling song of benediction and farewell.

  Discussion Questions

  How does Maggie’s definition of home change over the course of the story? How would you define home?

  How does the recurring quote by Julian of Norwich, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well,” play out in the novel? Do you agree with this quote? Why or why not?

  What role do San Juan Island and the natural world play in the story?

  How do the supernatural/transcendent aspects of the story interact with the natural world? How do the beckoning ceremony, the larks, and the porpoise contribute to transformation or breakthrough for the characters?

  What are the central motivations of the main characters? Compare and contrast the motivations of Maggie, Lena, Daniel, and Marco. How do they change over the course of the story?

  Are Maggie’s decisions selfish or selfless throughout the story? How do her decisions impact her life and the lives of those around her?

  How are the characters in the story bound by their pasts and unable to move forward? What helps them finally break free?

  What character do you most identify with and why?

  Maggie is said to have a gift for revealing “hidden and forgotten things.” How do you see this gift playing out in the story? How does it play out in her own life?

  What are the strong themes you see woven throughout the story?

  What are the central underlying messages of the novel? Do you agree with them? Why or why not?

  Acknowledgments

  BOOKS ARE VERY MUCH LIKE BABIES. YOU MAY birth a baby yourself, but it takes a village to raise it well! There are a number of wonderful people who acted as the village for this novel. I want to thank all of them. A great big thank-you to . . .

  My very capable, reassuring, and enthusiastic editor Karli Jackson, who helped guide me through this publication process with such clarity, warmth, and positivity. Karli, I’m so glad it’s you! Also Kimberly Carlton and the rest of the excellent Thomas Nelson team, who consistently exhibited such professionalism, dedication, and above all kindness as I navigated the path of publishing my first novel.

  My super agent Chip MacGregor, whose steady demeanor, wise counsel, and unflappable belief in this story instilled me with confidence and hope. He politely let me ambush him at a writing conference many years ago and then gave me a chance as a new author. Chip, thanks so much for taking me on. Our coffee shop meetings and Skype calls—whether from a seaside manor in Ireland or the darkened kitchen of a café in Paris in the middle of the night—are always educational and entertaining. I’m so glad you’re in my corner.

  My wonderfully honest and wise test readers—Sarah Smith, Adelle Tinon, Elisa Gonzalez, Adrianne Oglesby, and Carmelita Clarke. Their constructive criticism and clever insights made this story stronger.

  Davide Neri, for Marco’s Italian translations and for all the delicious treats he brings us from Bologna. Chad and Amy Strobach, for their photography smarts and engagement with the arts and humanitarian causes worldwide. Any technical errors in the novel are entirely mine. Pam Rempt, for sharing her love of San Juan Island and her extensive island knowledge with me. Jonathan and Su Jin Wilkinson, for providing transport and their internet at four in the morning in Busan, South Korea, so I could connect with the Thomas Nelson team for a crucial meeting. Now that’s hospitality!

  Last and most importantly, my wonderful family. My husband, Yohanan, who is my strongest supporter, an insightful editor, and a thoroughly good man. Yohanan, I love you and am so thankful for you. Thanks for your keen insights, for your patient interest in my stories, and for giving me the space to do what I love. Thanks also for giving me the gift of San Juan Island and the Pacific Northwest. You are my favorite. And for Ash and Bea. You make the world a better place.

  About the Author

  RACHEL LINDEN IS A NOVELIST AND INTERNATIONAL aid worker whose adventures living and traveling in fifty countries around the world provide excellent grist for her stories. She holds an MA in Intercultural Studies from Wheaton College and a BA in Literature from Huntington University, and she studied creative writing at Oxford University during college. Currently, Rachel splits her time between Seattle, Washington, and Budapest, Hungary, where she lives with her husband and son. Rachel enjoys creating stories about hope and courage with a hint of romance and a touch of whimsy.