Page 122 of Angel's Flight
Soon enough, Christine found herself stumbling along the street alone again, hesitant to knock on Oona’s door.She didn’t necessarily want to meet a midwife and have a stilted conversation about why she was childless, but she also needed more than what she could forage around her overgrown garden.
“Come in then.Don’t stand around.”Christine looked up to see an older woman standing at the door, smiling at her as if she’d been waiting.“I was wondering when I’d meet you.”
“You are Oona?”
“And you’re the new Lady of the manor,” Oona replied.“Come on, get inside.Rain is coming.”
Christine looked over her shoulder into the clear sky as Oona ushered her in.“Thank you.I am sorry if my English is not well.I am—”
“French, I heard,” Oona chuckled.“We’ll get by, love, don’t worry your pretty head.”
Christine smiled.Something was welcoming about the elder woman, as if she’d known her a long time.The house was welcoming too – full of herbs in jars and drying in the rafters.
“I need...”Christine held out her hands to show the raw blisters that had developed on her palms from days of work at the manor.“Une baume?”
“A salve – balm we also call it,” Oona translated.Quick as a whip, she was rummaging through one of a dozen shelves and produced a small pot that she opened to show Christine.“Honey, tallow, and herbs,” Oona explained.“It will help.”
“Thank you,” Christine said, fishing in her pocket for money.
“Take it as a gift,” Oona said, pressing the jar into Christine’s hands.“I know you will earn it.”
“What?I can’t...”Christine protested, but the old woman only smiled.
“You will come back and talk to me of France and what sort of adventures you have had,” Oona said, confidently.“Talking is healing you now and it’s the kind you need, I can tell.But not today.Today I must rest and you must get home before the rain.”
“Of course,” was all Christine could say, before she was once again outside, looking up at the sky.Clouds were gathering in the east.
The rain began just as Christine came inside the manor, stepping over the lumber and tools that now littered the front hall.Erik assured her they would be used very soon, and she wanted to trust that he wouldn’t be distracted before that.
She knew exactly where to find him inside, for she could hear him singing.
“If my true love will not come, I can surely find another, who’ll pluck wild mountain thyme all among the purple heather.” His voice rang out from the library, more beautiful than an angel’s.Because he was mortal and unburdened, for now.Because he was happy.
“Will ye go, lassie, go?And we’ll all go together,” he sang on as Christine quietly entered the library to watch him at work.He was bent over the disassembled piano, sleeves rolled up...mask off.
“To pluck wild mountain thyme all around the purple heather,” Christine sang with him, and her heart swelled when he looked up at her and smiled.In a breath he was beside her, taking her into his arms and sweeping her into a dance.
“I will build my love a shelter, by yon crystal flowing stream,” he sang to her, twirling her in the derelict library of the house that they could finally call home.
She sang back to him, with all her heart, “And my love shall be the fairest that the summer sun has seen.”
He grinned at her with such love in his golden eyes that Christine couldn’t help but kiss him.She sank into his embrace as the rain pattered against the windows, music and adoration filling her soul.Christine kissed her husband, happy and content, ready to sing with him through all the day.
