Diving for Pearls: The Complete Collection (The Pearl Makers)

by Melissa Storm

  That evening, we sealed our union, and I swear I saw Heaven looming before me, all brilliant whites and golds and pearl.

  We were happy together—as happy as two people could be, given the hardships that surrounded us in our rural New England town, given how hard we had to labor to make a life. But we could do anything just as long as we were together. Our joined hands made for light work, and life was good.

  I thought I only needed the two of us, that united we could conquer any challenge, secure the most perfect life. That is, until she became thick with child, and my bliss reached unprecedented heights.

  What sphere exists above Heaven? For I found it in that moment when she pressed my palm to her belly and asked if I could feel our baby kick. Somehow I knew he would be a boy and that he’d be strong like me, handsome and gentle like his mother.

  And, oh, what a doting father I was! I worked long hours in the fields to ensure that Mary wouldn’t have to strain herself. After all, she had the most important job in the entire world. It was only fair that I picked up an extra few hours each night to make sure things kept running smoothly.

  And each night she’d greet me with a fine cooked meal and a tall glass of milk and regale me with beautiful stories of how she imagined our tot’s life would shape up.

  “He’ll be tall, of course. Very tall. And also exceptionally smart. I think he may become a merchant in the big city. Wouldn’t that be perfect? I picture him there selling fine goods from China and India, having the most refined wears that people travel miles to see. Can’t you see it, Peter?”

  I loved hearing her stories, and I made up my mind to travel to the city myself— just as soon as I could to find a book of letters and some ink so to teach her to record all her wonderful tales and save them for such a time as our son could enjoy them.

  I had planned to go the following week, only I never got the chance. One day I came in from the fields to find Mary upon the floor, clutching her abdomen in pain. She rocked back and forth and held tears back behind squinted eyes.

  “Mary!” I cried and raced to her side. “What’s wrong?”

  “Something… doesn’t… feel right,” she managed between jagged breaths, and her eyes opened wide to catch mine, a look of desperation in them.

  “Please tell me our baby will be okay,” she whispered under her breath.

  “Yes, of course, he will be!” I said in an instant. “We’ll make sure of it.” Although I hated to leave her, I needed to go out long enough to ask the neighbor to fetch the doctor. Our nearest was a good ten minutes walking swift, but somehow I managed to make it in hardly more than five.

  The doctor came and delivered his decree. “The pregnancy will be a struggle, but all should be well. Keep her off her feet and in bed from sunup to sundown. The less she moves the better for both her and the child.” Then turning to Mary, “Chin up, love. It will be all right in the end.”

  After a few more minutes of speaking with us both, he pulled me outside and said, “It’s worse than I let on. You could lose them both. Prayers should help, I’d think, but there are no guarantees.”

  That had settled it. While I didn’t want Mary to be afraid, I also didn’t want to spend even a moment apart from her. So I hired a neighbor to mind the fields for a large portion of our crops, and we went from poor to poorer, but we were together and that was the most important thing.

  Winter came, and it was a cold one. We had little to eat, but we got by. Snow came early and heavy, stacking up outside the windowpanes and howling at the doors. My Mary and I huddled close together by the dying embers of the fire as we did all we could to keep warm.

  Then the pain returned to her belly. Her face grew waxen, and she struggled for breath. I looked at her rotund form and the frantic twitching from within and knew our child was well on his way—and in such a storm at that!

  Now, of course, I didn’t want to leave her, no, but the doctor had made it very clear that he would need to be present for the birth. Even still I debated ignoring his advice and tending to Mary’s labor on my own. But as the hours passed, she became paler and paler, her cries of pain began to weaken, and I knew that I must risk leaving her in order to save her—to save them both.

  So I bundled Mary by the fire and left her with a fresh basin of water and all the dry linens we had in the cabin, then set off to bring the deliverer. I rushed to the nearest neighbor yet again—realizing at this point that I owed him all I had, which wasn’t much, but would have to be enough—and I borrowed his mare to ride to town and find the doctor.

  Ice slickened the path and we had to take the journey slower than either of us had liked, but my steed and I made it to the doctor’s home… and found that he was not within it.

  Imagine my consternation then! My family, our future, our lives depended on finding this man, yet he had gone off wandering in a blizzard.

  I kicked at a nearby embankment of snow and yelled curses into the white wind. That was when a small boy—no more than ten, I’d wager—ran out of his warm house and into the cold with me.

  “Are you looking for the doctor?” his surprisingly shrill voice asked.

  “Yes,” I said and watched as the single syllable floated out on a puff of warm breath.

  “He ain’t here, Mister. But…” He leaned in close to me as if to share a secret. “I saw him go off toward the hills. Old man Smith’s wife’s is mad as a hatter, and folks say she needs a special kind of emergency brain treatment so as not to go around hurting her children and husband. Do you reckon that’s true, Sir?”

  “Thank you,” I said, not bothering to answer his question. I’d heard the rumors about Florence Smith, but I didn’t have the time to worry as to whether they were true. I needed to get to the doctor, even if that meant prying him from the clutches of a lunatic.

  The horse and I took the winding trail up the hill, having to stride into the biting wind. We were not but halfway up when we found the doctor stranded in the snow. His horse lay in a deepening drift, obviously too injured to go on, though several miles lay between them going up or down the large hillock.

  “Peter?” the doctor recognized me at once and scampered to his feet clumsily. His nose and cheeks were blue, making me wonder just how long he’d been secluded in the storm.

  “Yes, it’s me. Mary and the baby are in trouble. You have to go to them!” I shouted, though the two of us stood close together.

  “These roads are too icy, the snow too thick for me to make it on foot, and my horse is injured.”

  I didn't have to think twice. “The horse can’t carry us both, not in this storm. It’s too difficult already. So you take him, go to Mary. He belongs to the Browns, but can keep warm in our barn while you tend to her.”

  “But what will become of you? Of my horse?”

  “Come back for me when you’re done. I’ll try to make it into town on foot. I’ll see if I can help get your horse there, too.”

  “God be with you,” he said, then I helped him onto the horse’s back and he rode back down the hill at a slow, shaky trot. I watched until both rider and horse disappeared on the horizon, and with all the snow descending from the heavens, it didn’t take long.

  The horse and I leaned against each other as we did our best to push through the enormous drifts, following a zigzag path with the most gradual incline. Every few steps we’d have to take a moment to recuperate before we could carry on. All the while I wondered about Mary, about my son. Was he in this world yet? Was she out of danger? Was the doctor cutting the cord? Was the baby taking his first drink of life? Was Mary relieved, scared, joyful, something else altogether?

  Night fell, though I couldn’t tell you how much time had passed in this never-ending day. The horse, to his credit, kept going as best he could, but he had much more meat on him than I did, a much thicker coat to keep him warm.

  I lost the feeling in my toes first, then the tips of my fingers, my nose, my cheeks, my ears. The cold started at the outer perimeter of my body and
worked its way inward. Still, I kept going, toward my wife, my son, our future.

  It was going to be fine. It was going to be fine. I just needed to lie down for a moment and rest.

  When I opened my eyes again, I was home, Mary and our son were there, too. The doctor had saved them then returned to save me, just as he’d promised. I was so very grateful in that moment, felt so very complete.

  “He’s beautiful, Mary,” I whispered, then ran a hand over the child’s dark tuft of hair.

  Mary continued to watch our son lovingly, and our son fixed his eyes on me… then burst into a wail.

  “It’s all right, dear. It’s all right, little one,” Mary cooed and held him into her breast.

  “Let me take him, Mary,” I said.

  But Mary ignored my request and continued to soothe the fussy infant.

  “Mary, I can help. Give him here,” I repeated.

  “Hush, love. Hush. Papa will be home soon.”

  “Mary, I’m right here!” I shouted, unable to believe my ears. And in that moment my eyes also betrayed me, because the whiteness of the blizzard returned, creeping from the corners of my eyes until it filled the entire space. But it wasn't the snow, nor was it cold. I had come to a big, blank space without the faintest idea as to how I’d arrived there.

  “Welcome to Heaven, Peter,” a man’s voice said from behind the expanse of white.

  “Heaven? Have I…?”

  “Died? Yes, Peter, you have.”

  “There must be a mistake. I need to get back to Mary, to our child.”

  “And so you shall. Your sacrifice has joined you more than matrimony ever could. Come, let me tell you about your new life as a protector.”

  Angels in Our Lives

  I don’t have a name. At least, I’ve never needed one before. I am simply Emily’s protector, Emily’s angel. I joined up with Emily the moment she was born. My favorite memory will always be seeing her squished, red face as she emerged from her mother’s womb.

  Oh, how I loved her immediately.

  People seem to have a difficult time understanding love—giving love. People were designed with a strong self-preservation instinct, and when it comes right down to it, most will put their own interests first, regardless of how much they “love” someone else.

  Angels, though, were designed differently. We have no sense of self, no need to preserve, and only love for the human race. We especially love our people.

  Emily is my person, and I love her more than even the most enlightened human is capable of understanding.

  That is why watching her right now is so difficult.

  A paramedic pulls her limp body from the back seat of the car. Shards of glass from the rear windshield cover the street—a deadly dusting of snow.

  Emily’s mother stands to the side of the road sobbing into her hands. “I don’t know what happened. I just lost control.”

  The officer standing beside her nods his head in sympathy.

  I know what happened. I saw it all coming, and I wanted so desperately to stop it. But that was not the plan. Sometimes, bad things—horrible things—must happen to people to help them grow, to help them become Pearls.

  I so badly want for Emily to become a Pearl. Because when she becomes one, I will too—and we will run and jump and play together on endless streets of gold. Although she’s never met me, she will know me, and we will be perfect friends for eternity.

  But that will come much later.

  Emily doesn’t know it yet, but she won’t be able to run or jump or play—not with me or anyone else. The accident damaged her spine, which will make things tricky.

  The air is frigid on this icy December night. I hover near Emily, doing my best to keep her temperature up.

  One eye blinks open, then the other.

  “She’s awake!” shouts the paramedic taking her pulse. Soon a crowd has gathered around her stretcher.

  Emily smiles weakly. She is such a brave little girl.

  Her mother tiptoes closer. I wish I could tell her not to feel guilty, but that’s something Mother’s angel must work out with her. I am here for Emily. She is my only priority.

  “Mama,” Emily sputters, reaching forward. Her face twists in confusion when she can’t sit up. She jerks and tries again—fails again. A scream rips through her, sending her mother to a heap on the ground.

  “What’s wrong?” she shrieks. “What did I do to my baby?”

  “We won’t know for sure until we get her to the hospital. Would you like to sit in back with her?” the same paramedic asks.

  Mother nods, and we are off.

  * * *

  At the hospital, the doctor says what I already knew, what I knew even before it happened. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Bloom, but chances are Emily won’t be able to walk again.” He pauses and fixes his eyes on Mother, a mask of sympathy plastered to his otherwise haggard face.

  The seconds tick by. Everyone looks at the floor rather than at each other.

  When Emily’s parents fail to say anything, the doctor clears his throat and continues. “She’s very lucky that the damage is contained to the spinal region. She, otherwise, suffered no—“

  “Lucky?” Mother demands. “Lucky would have been not having the accident. Lucky would have been this happening to me instead of my innocent little girl.”

  Emily’s father, who met up with us at the hospital, strokes Mother’s arm, but little can be done to soothe her.

  The doctor bows his head and exits without saying anything further.

  The room is still, but noisy nonetheless. A cacophony of beeps, ticks, and mechanical whirs swirl in the air above Emily’s bed.

  Her soft voice rises, struggling to be heard amidst the off-canter song of the healing implements. “I feel…” She trails off, then starts again. “Mama, why can’t I…?”

  It’s just as well that Emily doesn’t know how to ask this question, because her mother doesn’t know how to answer.

  The hum and buzz fades into the background. All anyone can hear is the lingering question, the one no one is willing to voice an answer to.

  I wrap my invisible wings around my little girl and stroke her cheek until she falls into a deep slumber.

  * * *

  Emily drops her arms to the side and grips the wheels until her clenched fists turn white. She grunts, strains, and rocks her body from side to side. “It’s no use,” she groans.

  “You can do this. Just try your best, and it will happen.” Emily’s mother has finally found her voice, but she has also found the misfortune of never saying the right thing at the right time.

  “I am trying my best, and I still can’t do it!” Emily slumps back into the chair, her face already drenched with tears.

  “C’mon, we still have ten more minutes of physical therapy before we can take a rest.” Mother places a hand on Emily’s shoulder, but Emily shrinks away in disgust.

  “No. Just leave me alone.”

  I linger until she stops crying. I’ve never been able to leave Emily by herself when there are tears. Eventually, she angles her chair toward the nightstand and grabs Fiona, her favorite dolly, from its surface. She uses a miniature brush to stroke the doll’s golden hair, working herself into a trance. When she’s brushing Fiona’s hair, the rest of the world fades away. She’s just an ordinary little girl with ordinary dreams and ordinary struggles. In this special world, she doesn’t need a wheelchair to get around. She is just like everybody else.

  I hate to do it, but I have to leave her now.

  She needs me in a different way this time, and the very reason for my existence is to help her through life—especially times like these.

  * * *

  The walls are tight around me, an unwelcome change from my usual freedom. I stand and do a couple small laps around my enclosure before falling down, exhausted. If all goes according to plan, it shouldn’t be too much longer now. My eyelids droop, and I allow myself a quick nap.

  Mother’s voice rouses me. “
Ooh, look, Emmie. This one is so fluffy!”

  Emily presses a hand to the glass and glances at me while stifling a yawn. It’s strange feeling her vision fall on me—this is the first time it’s ever happened.

  My tail thumps a merry beat, and my tongue lolls from the side of my mouth. “Emily,” I say, but it comes out as “Ruff!” Our eyes connect, and for the briefest of moments, I feel as if she’s recognized me.

  A small smile works its way out from the corners of her pinched mouth. “I like this one,” she declares.

  The store clerk lifts me from my display box and places me on Emily’s lap. “She’s a golden retriever. Just came in this morning. You’re very lucky, because the goldens never last long around here.”

  Father asks a series of questions about how to best care for me and follows the clerk around with a shopping cart, adding toys I might like, the healthiest brand of food, a soft, pink bed.

  I snuggle into Emily’s warmth as she combs her fingers through my yellow fur. It feels so nice to be close to her like this. I could lose myself forever in this perfect, blissful moment.

  “Are you sure this is the one you want?” Mother asks with a knowing smile.

  “Yes, Lulu is my new best friend already.”

  A name. I finally have a name.

  * * *

  Life is different as Lulu, mostly for the better. Now, Emily can hug me back. She can talk to me, smile at me, love me the way I have always loved her.

  And I am her best friend. I see it in the way she cares for me, in the way she whispers her deepest secrets into my oversized ears.

  Although it’s a challenge for her, Emily insists on being the one to feed me my breakfast and dinner. Twice a day she rolls over to the large pantry in the kitchen and reaches into the big bag her mother has positioned at just the right height. Using a small shovel, she measures out my meals, and often sneaks in extra when no one else is looking. She keeps constant watch over my water dish, and when the water level sinks too low, she grabs a big cup, fills it up at the bathroom sink, and pours a fresh supply into my bowl.