Page 212 of Once an Angel
Justin groaned. "Oh, no. You didn't. Not Trini too."
Giving him an innocent shrug, Emily ducked back into the clam pit. Justin's snort of mirth choked him. He dropped his basket and was forced to watch all of his hard-picked kiwi fruit roll gently into the sea.
* * *
Emily failed to return to the hut for dinner that night. Justin left Penfeld snoring and went in search of
her. Several of the Maori had chosen to camp along the beach rather than return to their fortified pa. He drifted from fire to fire, smiling, calling out greetings, and pretending not to be as lost as he felt. From the tangled bracken came the forlorn cry of a foraging kiwi. Justin pitied the bird—it was clumsy, shy, and despite its noblest efforts to fly, forever bound to the earth.
A melody stirred the air, mingling with the lap of the waves against the shore. Justin's melancholy vanished. He quickened his steps toward the sound, crunching the powdery sand between his toes.
At the edge of the shore a crackling fire shot sparks into the crushed velvet of the night sky. Justin squatted in the shadows just outside the circle of light.
Emily had gathered the children around the fire like a snub-nosed angel directing a choir of naked cherubs. Their pure, sweet voices rose in the air, ringing with a clarity that would have been the envy of any St. Paul's boys' choir. A grin touched his lips as he imagined the shocked reaction of a staid London congregation to this ensemble of chubby, nude moppets. Especially since they were lending their lilting tones to a jolly rendition of "Naughty Maud, the Shrewsbury Bawd, by Gawd!"
He dropped his head down^ laughing under his breath. He had dreamed his whole life of studying music with the masters in Vienna, but seemed destined to learn of its subtleties on his knees at the feet of a brash young girl.
As he lifted his head he met Emily's gaze over the swaying heads of the children. His breath caught in
his throat. The children's song faded, making way for a brighter melody, poignant with longing. A shy invitation sparkled in her eyes. At that moment she was neither angel nor child, but a woman rife with tender promise. Justin's resolve swayed. Did he truly enjoy martyrdom as Penfeld had accused? Would
it be so selfish to allow himself some small measure of happiness in Emily's arms? To awaken each morning with her curled against his side? To sleep each night with her taste burning on his lips?
To lose his heart and soul to this fallen angel and perish in the scorching flame of his own desires?
Justin stood abruptly. Penfeld was wrong. He didn't crave martyrdom. He craved solitude. He'd tucked himself in this corner of the world for seven years just to keep anyone from looking at him the way
Emily was looking at him then. Steeling his heart against her fading smile, he gave her a cool nod and melted back into the darkness, still haunted by the lonely cry of the kiwi.
* * *
The night of the feast fell in a warm explosion of wind and stars. Emily and Justin stood with Trini's
tribe and watched as a shimmering line of torches wound its way down the shore.
Justin gently rested his hands on her shoulders. Emily drew in a shuddering breath, afraid to speak for fear of destroying the tender emotion unfolding its wings in her soul. It had been so long absent, she almost didn't recognize it.
Happiness. A chord of joy striking her treacherous
heart like the echo of chimes on the wind, once heard and never forgotten.
A song rose into the night, a melody so pure and harmonious, it seemed to quiver on the air, casting its own light across the somber dark. Justin swayed, pulling her with him in a timeless dance. She leaped
the back of her head against his shoulder, feeling at one with the music, with the night, and with him. Their guests filed down the beach, accepting their hosts' song of welcome in reverent silence.
As the last plaintive note died on the air, Justin whispered, "Don't applaud. It could start a war."
Just as he'd predicted, a moment of respectful silence passed before the celebration broke into full
flower around them.
No nobles of the English court could have afforded such hospitality as the Maori offered their friends.
If Witi Ahamera was their king and his white-haired tohunga their royal physician, then Justin was their cherished crown prince, greeting the other tribe with respectful familiarity. Emily tried to shrink into the crowd, but Justin caught her beneath his wing and shielded her with the umbrella of his popularity. Basking in his reflected glow made Emily feel rather like a princess herself.
A short while later she tucked a juicy piece of ham between her lips, entranced by the swirl of motion
and color along the beach. Children grasped hands and ducked beneath the arms and legs of the dancers, mocking their motions with clumsy exuberance. Emily's own toes twitched in rhythm with their song.
