by BJ Hoff
Her eyes went over his face with an unspoken question.
Resting his head against the padded chair, Jess met her gaze. “She’s very ill, Kerry. Very ill.”
Kerry’s reply was to bury her face against his shoulder.
Neither of them spoke for the next few moments, but simply sat rocking slowly back and forth, thinking their own thoughts and taking comfort from each other. Finally, Jess stirred. Reluctantly, he set Kerry on her feet and got up. “If I sit here any longer, I’ll fall asleep.”
She nodded, measuring his appearance with a worried frown. “All right, then. But could we pray together before you go, Jess? I haven’t finished praying for Nora this night.”
In Evan Whittaker’s cottage, Daniel woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed.
The sudden movement brought a fierce stab of pain to his head, then a wave of dizziness. Propping himself up on his elbows, he waited, listening.
For what?
His mother was in danger.
A cold touch of fear traced the back of his neck and traveled the length of his spine. He looked round the room. The candle had burned low, indeed was almost gone. In a rocking chair near the door Ginger sat, dozing. The fire barely glowed in the small fireplace across the room. Daniel felt chilled clear through.
Mother. Where was she? What had happened?
Then he remembered. They had taken her to the hospital.
A wave of dread for his mother swelled inside him. Not wanting to wake Ginger, dreading the weakness that seized him every time his feet touched the floor, Daniel quietly got to his knees in the middle of Evan’s big bed. He squeezed his eyes shut and began to pray.
Nora knew this was a dream. She understood that she was more spectator than participant, more asleep than awake.
And yet she was moving. No…’twas only that the bed seemed to move. She felt bound to it, one with it. When it first tilted and began to drift, she found she could not separate herself from it. It was as if she had no power of her own, no freedom of movement.
All was darkness and shadow. And silence. Not the silence of a quiet place, but the foreboding stillness of the unknown. And she was alone. Alone as she had never been before.
At first it was terrifying. She felt herself to be entirely at the mercy of the blackness around her, yet somehow knew it held…nothing. The darkness engulfing her was damp and cold, the air itself heavy and deadly still.
After what seemed an interminable time, she gradually became aware of a faint splashing sound, like water lapping against a rocky seawall.
She must be in a cave.
The bed suddenly tilted. Terrified of falling off into the vast darkness, Nora dug the fingers of both hands into the mattress.
She felt lightheaded, then sick. Again the bed rocked, plunging her even deeper into the cave. A fierce pounding started up inside her head, a relentless volley of crashing blows, one after another. The blood in her veins pulsed with the same furious rhythm, and her heart slammed madly against her chest.
Voices…somewhere around her, there were voices. Whisperings and murmurings. Or was it only the water splashing against the cavern walls?
Suddenly, in the distance, the wall of the cave seemed to open.
Slowly, ever so slowly, a small circle of light appeared. As Nora watched, the light rose and expanded, growing larger and brighter until finally it did seem to be a spray of stars.
Wondrous sight…
She tried to sit up, but instead found herself frozen in place. Still, the light spread, filling the far wall of the cave. It began to move toward her, and as it approached it swallowed the darkness.
Again Nora strained to move, this time reaching, groping toward the light, which was coming steadily closer. It seemed to beckon, to greet her.
The murmuring around her grew louder, then ebbed and faded until it was gone. Now there came a new sound, the slow, gentle rising of soft voices singing in the distance. An entire chorus of voices, each different, yet flowing and blending as one glorious instrument. The music swelled, the rhythm thundered, a thousand voices welcoming the light with a glory that filled the cave and filled Nora’s mind and her heart as if to prepare her.
Prepare her for the approaching light…
Now there was no darkness. There was only the light and its warmth and the sound of singing.
Oh, beautiful, beautiful sounds of joy!
Nora could feel the warmth, the sweet glow of the light, knew it would enfold her any moment. Anxious for its embrace, she reached out her hands, straining to welcome it—and suddenly realized it was not the light that was moving, but she herself.
At the center of the dream, she walked, then ran, toward the light. The light was everything now, it was existence itself. There was nothing behind her, nothing around her, only the light. She was inside it. She lifted her face to let it spray on her, opened her arms to let it bathe her and gather her inside its glory—
Suddenly, there was a pause in the wonder.
The sound of singing waned. The light did not recede or fade, but seemed to take a soft breath. Without actually touching her, it somehow urged her forward.
She was led through the narrowest of valleys until it widened more, still more, opening onto a brilliant, sun-washed field.
Nora stood, breathless. The field filled up her vision, indeed, seemed to fill the entire universe. There were no mountains, no rivers—there was not even a sky overhead! Only the field, mile after mile of verdant grass and boundless rows of flowers. Eire in all its high summer splendor had never been so lovely!
Flowers everywhere. Wild flowers of lace and delicate filigree. Exotic flowers, lush and rich blooms, heavy with fragrance. Tall garden flowers, waving, and small flowers, smiling and peeping through individual blades of grass.
And everywhere, all among the riot of colors frolicking in the field, children and grown-ups worked and played and danced among the flowers! Some were planting new seeds, others gathering bouquets. From the lips of the children spilled laughter and sparkling songs and happy sighs. Mature faces—mature, and yet fresh and young and sweetly innocent—smiled and offered a cherishing word or a touch of affection to one another as they worked and sang.
Nora was led closer, closer still. Her eyes widened with glad amazement. Owen? Was it truly Owen, her husband?
He stooped to gather flowers, then straightened and passed them, a blossom at a time, to a small group of laughing children.
Her children—hers and Owen’s!
Nora cupped her mouth with both hands, staring at the children. Oh, wasn’t it Tahg himself? Her own firstborn! But see him now, Lord—just see him now! Tall and straight and strong again—strong as he had never been in his brief, fragile lifetime! With the bloom of youth on his cheeks and a harvest of flowers in his arms, which he was scattering in the path of a small black-haired girl—
Ellie!
Ellie, her baby girl! Tears spilled from Nora’s eyes as she breathed the name of her youngest child, the sound of it like a caress on her lips. Sweet Ellie, with her thick, glossy black curls, her face round and shining as she bounced and danced among the flowers strewn at her feet by her father.
Nora cried out with yearning, lunged to run to them. But the light restrained her, gently cautioned her to wait.
Wait…
And so she waited, aching and longing to join Owen and the children, yet unable to disobey the constraining touch on her arm.
Then a man appeared, a straight, tall man with clean overalls and a lustrous white beard. Old Dan! The grandfather, the old dear himself! He came striding across the field, strong and vigorous, healthy, as if he were in his very prime again! On one broad shoulder he carried an infant, and in the crook of his arm another babe.
The tears flowed freely as Nora cried aloud. These were her babies, then. The poor wee things who had died during their birthing. Now plump and cheerful, they cooed and sighed like new baby doves in the old man’s arms.
Old Dan
turned, and for a moment Nora thought he had seen her! But, no, it was as if she did not exist for any one of them; even Owen seemed oblivious to her presence.
Oh, Lord…Lord! I want them to see me! I want to go to them, to be with them.
As Nora wept, her heart straining toward her loved ones, her arms aching to hold them, others came rushing through the flowers. Leaping and laughing, they sprayed color and fragrance all about the field.
Some she did not recognize, others she did. Many she had last seen lying dead in Killala’s ditches, dead of the Hunger and the fever. Now they laughed and danced in a great field of star-flowers!
Nora caught her breath at the sight of a man and a woman among the children. Thomas! Thomas and Catherine! Clad in a simple farmer’s garb, Thomas’s long, kind face was no longer plain and sorrowful; instead, it shone with a wondrous joy, as did Catherine’s.
Thomas opened his arms and dozens of children bobbed up and down—one of them his own Katie—begging to be held. Somehow he managed to scoop them all up and give them a kiss and a hug before setting them down among the flowers.
Nora sobbed and pitched herself forward, straining, yearning to have them see her and to be a part of their joy. Yet she knew it was not to be.
Reluctantly, she held back. As she stood at the edge of the field of glory, the singing gradually swelled from clear, childlike songs to a communal anthem of praise that swept across the valley like a great and mighty wind.
Unexpectedly, Nora felt the light leave her. Cold and bereft, she shuddered, aching to follow. But there was still a caution on her to remain where she was. She could watch, but not take part.
Such a coldness, a sorrow in her soul…
The light moved across the field, illuminating the flowers and the singers in a pure, crystal glow.
Breathless, Nora blinked. When she looked again she beheld the light settling over the far end of the field—the horizon where the flowers seemed to end and yet, she knew, did not end at all.
Now every face turned to the light, and there began a veritable stampede of running feet, excited laughter, and rolling shouts of joy. Nora could see nothing but the light and the happy throngs racing toward it.
With relief, she felt the coldness in her spirit recede, sensed a sun-touched smile upon her face. A gentle hand seemed to brush away her tears as her loved ones were enfolded by the golden light.
Again Nora spread her arms and reached out, tried once more to step into the field. Again she felt the kind but firm admonition to remain where she was.
For now…
Suddenly, she felt herself being turned, then led away from the glory-lighted field of flowers. She cried out, flailed her hands—and touched the hard, unyielding bed beneath her.
It was only a dream….
Only a dream…but she was afraid. Afraid of falling, falling into the darkness of the silent cave. Afraid of being alone again.
The pounding in her head returned, swelling to a deafening roar. Her heart tripped, then began to race like a fury.
The light and the flowers were fast flying away, the field growing smaller and smaller in the distance. Faster and faster she fell, spiraling, tumbling back into the unknown darkness, away from the blessed light and the happy children.
The singing stopped. The fragrance faded. The field disappeared. She was terrified. She opened her mouth to cry out, to awaken from the dream. She breathed the name of Christ and clung to its echo in her spirit.
Again came the whispering, the murmuring nearby.
The sound of singing was no more, but the words went on.
Praying…someone was praying.
Evan…
Nora felt the strength and the warmth of his love flowing over her as he prayed. Evan…
“Evan!”
28
Love Found, Love Lost
I sat with one I love last night,
She sang to me an olden strain;
Informer times it woke delight,
Last night—but pain.
GEORGE DARLEY (1795–1846)
Michael felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. His initial relief at seeing Nora return from what he’d feared to be the edge of death had been harshly replaced by an aching disappointment when she cried out for Evan Whittaker.
He had thought she was dying….
For long, agonizing moments she had seemed suspended between senselessness and a kind of terrifying nightmare world.
She had wept and cried aloud, thrashing wildly about on the bed as if caught in a trap. Groping and flailing, she would first reach out, then hug her arms to her body as if to warm herself.
Michael had truly thought she was in the final throes of the death dance as he looked on in mute helplessness. Once he had to turn away, unable to bear the all too familiar scene.
Whittaker had held her hand, his very presence soothing her at the peak of her struggle. And Whittaker’s name was on her lips like a cry for help or a desperate prayer when she finally awakened.
But hadn’t he known for a long time now how things were? Hadn’t he at least suspected? The way her eyes softened whenever she spoke of the Englishman, the bond he had sensed when he saw them together, especially that night at the Opera House?
Because he could not bolt from the room like a thwarted schoolboy, he clenched his fists and forced a grimace of a smile. He watched the Englishman fumble to hold Nora. God forgive him, Michael even found a certain grim satisfaction in Whittaker’s one-armed clumsiness!
Then an enormous tide of self-disgust rose in his throat, choking off his breath. Somehow he managed to step away from the bed and make for the door without running.
Sara Farmington had risen from her chair and stood, hands clenched in front of her, watching him.
Why must the woman always be present to witness my humiliation?
For an instant, their eyes met and held. But when Michael saw what looked for all the world like pity in her gaze, he swallowed down his pain and squared his shoulders. “The nurse said they’re to be notified if there’s any change,” he managed to say. “I’ll go.”
Brushing by her, he hurried out the door before she could reply.
Sara watched his stiff-backed exit with growing dismay. When she turned back to Evan and Nora, she saw that, at least for the moment, they were unaware of anyone else in the room.
She wanted to follow Michael, but hesitated at the memory of his taut, unyielding countenance. She had no doubt that he would resent—and rebuff—any attempt on her part to ease his feelings. Yet his implacable resolve to show no emotion whatsoever grieved her more than if he had gone flying out of the room in despair.
He was a proud man, Michael Burke. Proud and unbending, despite occasional hints of an unexpected vulnerability. Perhaps the wisest thing to do would be to ignore the hurt she had seen in his eyes, the searing pain of rejection. No doubt that would be what he would want her to do.
Concern for him warred with caution; concern won, and Sara hurried from the room in pursuit.
Evan had never known the conflict of emotions that now rioted within him. Relief—blessed, heart-filling relief—crested wave after wave of other feelings, each overwhelming in its intensity. Even as he held her, felt the dampness of her temple against his cheek, his heart soared with relief and sang a song of thanksgiving.
Oh, how he did love her! And she was returned to him, returned from wherever she had gone during the awful hours of the long, agonizing night.
“Oh, Nora…I was so f-frightened! You’ve n-no idea how worried I’ve been—how worried all of us have b-been for you!”
“Was I really that ill, then, Evan?” Her voice was weak, her hand limp, but she was alive—alive!
He brought his face still closer to hers. “Yes, you were, and I was f-frightened half to d-death!”
Her eyes misted. “I had such a dream, Evan. Such a strange, wonderful dream.”
“A dream? What sort of a d-dream?”
She tur
ned her eyes toward the ceiling, not answering right away.
When she looked at him again there was uncertainty in her eyes. “It—it may sound foolish if I tell it aloud. But to me…at the time…it seemed such a splendid thing….”
“T-Tell me, Nora. I won’t think it’s f-foolish. I p-promise I won’t,” he said as he gently lowered her to the pillow and held her hand.
She wept as she spoke in whispers, pausing every few words to swallow painfully. The tears trailed down her cheeks as she told of seeing the family she had lost, the field of glory, the beauty and the splendor and the light.
“Oh, such a light it was!” she murmured, the wonder still in her soft voice when she had finished her telling of the dream. “Sure, and I’ll never forget it! Somehow I feel it’s still here, inside me.” She touched her heart. “It’s almost as if I’d been touched by a star.”
She laid her other hand on his arm. “What do you suppose it all meant, Evan? What kind of a dream would this be?”
Evan’s gaze went over her face, drinking in her wonder and making it his own. It was difficult to give voice to what he believed the dream to be. “Why…I think you m-might have had a d-dream of heaven, Nora.”
She stared at him. “Truly?”
Loving the way she was clinging to his arm, Evan echoed “Truly.”
After a moment, she nodded. “Evan…could it be, then, that it was a kind of gift—to dream of heaven, so?”
“A g-gift, Nora?”
“Aye,” she said, again nodding as she explained. “I was allowed to see my family—all of them, even the wee babes who died in their first hours—I was allowed to see them whole and happy and rejoicing together in that beautiful, glorious place! Sure, and what else could such a dream be, if not a gift?”
Seeing the light reflected in her eyes, the smile of wonder on her lips, Evan could only murmur, “What else, indeed?”
“How could such a thing happen?” she mused softly. “How?”
Perhaps because you were so close, my love…closer than any of us knew… closer than we dared to admit….
When he made no reply, Nora seemed to assume that he, like she, had no answer. After a moment her eyes swept the room with sudden awareness. “Michael? Didn’t I see Michael and Sara here, in the room?”
