Page 48 of Once an Angel
He leaned down and brushed her lips with his own, leaving his indelible taste. Then he jammed his hands into his pockets and started down the hill, his shoulders braced against the wind.
Emily stared blindly out to sea, far out, where the hazy curve of the horizon met the waves. The rough-hewn cross slowly filled her vision. No marble angels for her father. No elaborate script carved in granite—David Scarborough, Beloved Father. Only a simple cross on a windy hill overlooking the sea. A cross, she knew somehow, lovingly carved by Justin's hands.
Tears dimmed her vision as she ran her palm over the sparse grass blanketing her father's grave.
"Oh, Daddy," she whispered. "What am I to do?"
Emily returned to the hut much later. She pushed open the door, expecting to find it deserted in the deepening gloom.
But orange and yellow tongues of flame licked at a handful of brush inside the stove. A pot simmered
on top of it, fragrant with cumin and cloves. Penfeld met her at the door with a towel to dry her hair. Touching his finger to his lips in a plea for silence, he cocked his head toward the table.
As Emily saw Justin, she shivered, realizing how chilled she had been. He sat with his long legs sprawled before him, his head inclined toward the table. As she watched, he drew a fresh sheet of paper to him
and continued making furious marks, his hand flying across the page. His hair gleamed in the lantern
light like damp silk. Emily wanted to wind her fingers through it, to bring it to her lips and dry it with a whisper of her breath.
The towel fell from her fingers as she drifted toward him, remembering his earlier explosion. He pulled
off his spectacles to rub his eyes, then glanced up, slanting her a smile that made the fire in the stove
cool by comparison.
She dared to peek over his shoulder. His arm curled to shield his work, then relaxed in surrender to her curiosity. His casual posture did not deceive her. Her heart did an unbidden flip at his trust.
She hummed a few shy notes under her breath. "Something new?"
"Very." He shuffled the papers so she could start at the beginning.
Her hair brushed his cheek as she leaned over his shoulder. The wordless melody warbled from her throat, growing in confidence with each enchanting bar. As the notes tapered to an end, a lilting echo
hung in the air.
She lifted her head to find Justin's eyes narrowed in a lazy appraisal that could not quite hide their hungry glitter. Emily leaned forward, lured by the irresistible curve of his parted lips.
Penfeld's applause broke the spell. "Bravo, master! One of your finest, I do believe."
"Thank you, Penfeld," Justin replied. Wariness tensed his jaw as he tore his gaze away from hers and began to roll the papers. "What did you think?"
Somehow to Emily it didn't seem enough to murmur "Wonderful" or some other benign praise. She struggled to find words to express her brimming heart. "It began like a gentle rain, all soothing and safe. But then something dangerous happened, something free and joyous like a burst of thunder and lightning. Because of it, nothing will ever be the same again."
Justin's hands stilled.
"Do you have a name for it?" she asked.
A ghost of a smile played around his lips. He swiveled on the barrel to face her and she heard once again the joyous strains of his song. "I call it 'Emily.' "
* * *
A new melody began that day, weaving its shy strains through the sunny days and lush tropical nights
that followed. It whistled through Emily's head as she splashed in the waves with the children. It danced with elfin feet across her heart as she trailed Justin through the fields, catching his hat in her hands when
a gust of wind blew it astray. It haunted her serenity each night as she sipped her rich coffee and beneath her lashes watched him scribble his symphonies in a pool of lantern light.
She found herself standing alone in the hut one morning, Justin's letters to Claire Scarborough clasped in her trembling hands. She'd never had any qualms about reading anyone else's mail, so why was she so reluctant to read her own? She held a letter up to the window. Sunlight filtered through the worn envelope, illuminating the bold strokes of handwriting within. Emily quickly lowered it. The morning was simply too bright to be dimmed by old memories and fears, she thought, tucking the packet tenderly back into its hiding place. For now it was enough to know that Justin had remembered her.
