Page 64 of The Wondrous Life and Loves of Nella Carter
Death appeared then, quietly, reflective, understanding a bit of what the loss meant to her. Nella had written of Rohan, of his light, his intellect, of how he’d helped people despite the risk to his own health and safety. Rohan’s death and the loss of that impossible child wereamong the heaviest burdens she’d borne. Even Death, somehow, felt this despite all the reaping he had done.
He hadn’t meant to let this happen. Their bet was meant to erase Nella’s ability to have a legacy beyond her words for him. But ithadhappened. He had been occupied. And while part of the world had been tearing itself apart, her will and love only grew stronger than ever.
“You knew this was coming,” she said, her eyes fixed on the marker. Her voice was a dead thing.
“The end always comes. For everyone. Nothing you could have done would have prevented it. And you know as well as I do, this shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”
Nella was silent for a long time, her thoughts clearly at war. This was the closest she’d ever been to giving in. He could sense it. He supposed he should feel victorious that she’d come closer to his way of thinking, and that this work would end soon.
“You mean, it’ll come for everyone except me.”
“For as long as you keep this up—yes.”
She turned to face Death now, her eyes burning in the dark like the candle she held. “Then why did it happen? Why allow me a taste of this feeling, only to rip it away? Did you think it would help you win? That you’d break me?”
The sharpness in her voice wasn’t of pain, but rather anger forged by the fires of loss and anguish.
“I wasn’t—” he started to say, but she reached into her pocket, pulled out a copy of her diary, and shoved it into his chest: no elaborate stories, pleas, or evidence.
“Read.”
Death stared at the book. “You still believe, then?” Strangely, he was not deflated at the news. He even felt the tiniest ping of satisfaction that their work would continue.
“Rohan was beautiful, and our child would’ve been too,” Nella said, eyes still on the grave. “Our time was beautiful. He’d hate it if I’d forgotten that.”
Death placed a hand on her shoulder, and she allowed it. They stayed like that for a bit as the wind whistled around them and the skies started to light up with German bombs. He would keep her safe here. Nothing would touch her.
When dawn came, he left without a word, for what was there to say? He watched her from a distance, wanting to be sure she’d return to the house without incident. He needed to collect the night’s dead eventually, but they would wait their turn.
Nella stayed at the grave well into the morning, looking as if she wished there were room for her too.
Her last words before leaving were whispered so softly that even he could barely hear, with her hand on the cold, hard stone. “‘The reality about the chord of love that binds you and me, dear, is known to my heart alone; and my heart ever abides with you.’”
Present Day
Savannah, June
Twenty-One
So much loss,” Sebastian says, shaking his head.
We’re still on the couch, leaning into each other, his left arm wrapped around my shoulders, my feet tucked under me. His touch is comforting, but the past weighs on me.When will I learn?
“I understand your time with Rohan was short,” he said, “but I mean, the impact. Did you blame Death? Did you ever think he took them both to force your hand? To win the bet?”
This idea had gone round and round in my mind over the years—the bits I’d gathered from my conversations with Death, my studies in religion, philosophy, and the occult, and my general understanding of the cycle of life—all to make sense of my life and my experience.
I start slowly: “Everybody seems to have a time, preordained from the moment they draw their first breath. There’s no use hiding from it, as it’s the one guarantee in life. Someday, you will face death. The task left is for the living, to figure out how they will go on and continue to have hope and to dream, despite this.” Death had never said this explicitly, but I’d pieced it together. It seemed he could only collect souls at their allotted times and would do so for eternity. This was his fate. His one possible escape was the only other power he possessed: the destruction of all.
“So, how did you go on?”
“You know, you should give interviews a try. You’re good at them. I bet you could get a few published.”
“I am certain now that a compliment from you is hard earned.” He flashes a wry smile. “When you’re ready.”
I clear my throat. The steady light of the recorder shines like a sentinel, capturing my words. I pull the embroidered gloves from the trunk, stroking them lightly, turning my thoughts to Adam.
Part V: New York
