A Tale of Two, Excerpt 4

Caroline Smith

152 Country Lane

Alpena, Michigan, America

August 25, 1892

Beloved Caroline,

Thank you for your letters. Thank you for remembering me. I am preparing to cross the great Atlantic Ocean so I may join you and your family in Michigan. There is no need for your father to travel such a distance to New York to retrieve me. I have more than enough for the full journey.

Mother passed shortly after you left for America, and Father passed earlier this month. Mildred was wed yesterday; it was in Father’s will for her to marry, to celebrate his death by taking vows he took years ago rather than mourn him and put it off forever. William and Mildred are wonderful together, and so happy. Looking at them makes me yearn to be near you again.

There is nothing I want here, so I have given the physical assets of my inheritance to Mildred and William as a wedding gift. Mildred wants to live in London and raise her children as we were raised in the same house, so the estate will stay in the family for some time. William would be foolish to go against her on this.

I kept the rest of my inheritance for the journey to America and to start a comfortable life there. Perhaps I will start my own business as my father did here. Mildred insists I stay a while longer; I must comply, in large part because my boat to America doesn’t depart for a week. Granted, by the time you receive this, I will be on my way.

Be sure to tell John to shape up or I’ll have to crack down on him. Tell Marie I’ll give her a story twice a day when I arrive, and thank your parents for their thoughtfulness. As for you, Caroline, I love you. I have since the day I saw you in the market. Now I’m following my heart, for it’s gone to America. I ask a favor of you: don’t promise yourself to anyone as of yet.

If I could, I would appreciate staying with your family until I have my own home. Please also tell your father that I will gladly take the farmhand job, if it’s still available, until I know what I’ll do longer-term for income. Father taught me never to fear hard work.

Oh, Meagan married in May, before Mother’s death, to a British gentleman. And she is with child, a fact of which she is very proud. She wishes Mildred to hurry and join her in expecting a child so their children can grow up together. There is never a dull moment here it seems, nor in America from the sound of your writing.

I shall hope to see you again soon. Until then, I send my love to you.

Josef Calloway

1325 Queens Avenue

London, England

A Tale of Two, Excerpt 3

Josef Calloway

1325 Queens Avenue

London, England

July 20, 1892

My dearest Josef,

I realize it has been a long while since last I have written. I am dearly sorry. It has not been easy. John has been difficult, but Father has promised him a more canvas and some paints if he helps with the chores. We own 500 acres of land. It was more expensive than rumor, but we are living on some of the most fertile land available. Father hopes to purchase another 500 acres in the next year.

Our new home was finished last week. Father recruited some men from the nearby town to help. He initially sought John’s help, but then conceded for most of the construction. John was pleased and spent time drawing the lake animals he sees. The folk in town have warned us winter is fierce this far north. Mother started working as a seamstress so she could afford fabrics for winter clothing. Father has found work in odd jobs and as a farmhand to our neighbor in the east. It is too late in the season for summer crops and too early for winter crops, so these jobs shall support us. I am aiding with the income, working as a maid to a wealthier couple in town. Mother insists I stop, but their wages combined are not near enough to cover the price of food and clothing, John and Marie are growing out of everything they own. Father makes one dollar and fifty cents (the American currency) a day, plus whatever he is paid for odd jobs; Mother makes seventy-five cents a day. Both work every day.

Marie has taken to playing by the lake with John. You should see them. Both have skin as tan as the Indians. Mother says it is a sign of good health and youth. She wishes she could stay in the sun all day instead of work in the musty shop of Madame Coutier. She is French, but one of the best seamstresses I have ever seen. She works quickly and accurately. Mother struggles to keep up.

Father still wishes you join us. He says there is room for another at Mr. McGreggor’s farm, should you be interested; I know it is different work than to which you’re accustomed. John says he is too creative and young to work right now, but Father encourages him to take up an apprenticeship in the spring.

John ignores Father when he tries to show him skills and trades. He would rather be a boy the rest of his life than do any work. Mother is too exasperated with him to begin to point out what we have been through and what he must do to help. I have tried many times and failed. John only wants to paint and write and play. Father is worried he will amount to nothing, never marry, and live at home forever under the protection of Mother and him. He fears most for when he and Mother pass to the heavens and John is still acting like a boy. I know from the way his brow furrows at supper this troubles him greatly, and from the way he glances at me, that I am his hope for John. That if they should leave the earth I should take care of him, but he is too polite to impose. Marie also knows he is worried about John, but John refuses to think anything of it. He is convinced Father hates him. I fear this shall become true if he does not come out of his conceited dream. He is not aware of it, but he is destroying us in this new land.

Marie is learning to sew. Most nights, Mother is too exhausted to show her, so I teach her as I was taught. I am tired when night falls, but her energy and eagerness to learn is enough to keep me up for hours teaching her on scrap cloth. Mother is impressed, I can tell by the way she beams in the candlelight the next morning looking over Marie’s work. I am pleased as well. Neither of us knew how quickly Marie would learn; she will best me before long.

My work is hard, but I am paid well. Fifty cents a day, in fact. I work from sunup to sundown, nearly twelve hours a day. And when the lady, Mrs. Johnson, has her child, I will have to stay nights to tend to it. The child is due next month. Her midwife predicts a girl. The Johnsons will be joyous when the child joins their family.

Most of the time, Mrs. Johnson is by herself while her husband does business in New York and other cities along the coast. She sits mostly in her room because she is with child. I tend to her needs while the other maid cleans and prepares the child’s room. They also have a chef who cooks every meal as well as shops in the markets each morning. Sometimes, Mrs. Johnson invites me to dinner. This is only when her husband is away and she craves company. They have sumptuous food. I’ve had dishes I never knew existed. Mrs. Johnson inquires frequently of my past. She knows there is someone special to me back home. She says she can tell by the glow in my eyes when I speak of home.

Mother is pleased with my earnings. She believes I only make three dollars a week. I have not told anyone but you that I make three dollars and fifty cents a week. I hide the extra fifty cents in the jewelry box you gifted me. Yes, I still have it with me. I’ve saved five dollars; I am saving for something special.

I hope this update does not bore you. There are many young men here, but none know me as you do. You are the only one to whom I can entrust my true feelings. It is difficult here, but easier than in England. We can survive month to month without worrying from where the money is coming to pay for our needs. I miss you terribly.

I pray you come to America. If you decide to come, inform us. Father will use some of what remains of our savings to meet you at the port and bring you to Michigan. There is plenty of room for another.

Please write back. I miss you too much.

Always with love,

Caroline Smith

152 Country Lane

Alpena, Michigan, America

A Tale of Two, Excerpt 2

Josef Calloway

1325 Queens Avenue

London, England

May 10, 1892

Dearest Josef,

We found land the day after my last letter to you. Yesterday we left Ellis Island. For every kind person we encountered there, we met several more who were weary and unpleasant. Thankfully we hadn’t needed to stay long, Mother had all our paperwork in order, and the medical tests were short, given we all are in good health. The literacy tests were quite simple for us, though I know others from our ship struggled. Marie had some difficulty, but she is only a child of six. It was expected. For her age, though, she did extremely well. And John informed me he found the test unbearably dull. He thinks they should tell fascinating stories of old instead of political accounts.

Father is purchasing a ticket to Michigan. The gossips were correct; there is no land available near where we arrived. All of the land is in the west. Because of the Gold Rush and Transcontinental Railroad, it has opened for settlement. There is lots of land for little money, or so we are told. The trick is having enough to get there. We are not taking the Transcontinental for it begins in a place called Omaha and goes to California, a place where the streets are rumored to be paved in gold. We will travel on a different locomotive. (We are lucky it has not left yet.) But Father says a ticket that far is too expensive. One day when I am wed, he says, he will pay for two tickets so that my spouse and I may live by the ocean in wealth and happiness. He does not understand that I love the country. It is all I know. As I sit here in this crowded place writing you, I feel at a loss. There are so many people; the streets are filthy and reek with the smell of waste. People dash from one place to another and dress strangely. Why would I want to live in a place such as this?

Father will purchase land by the lakes in Michigan and build Mother a new home. John is dreading this, often questioning why we cannot live in town. They fight more everyday, Father and John. I begin to think Father is ashamed of him. I do not understand why, though, when John is so talented in other careers. But it is not my place to wonder.

Mother wishes you well, and Father bids you join us. He has offered to pay your ticket to Michigan if you can find a way to America. And he will aid in building you a house, as well as give you some of the land he intends to buy.

Everyday Marie begs to hear a story. She misses your fanciful tales of knights and dragons. I am not good at that sort of thing. And John misses you dearly. You were a role model to him, following your heart as you do. But he misses how you drew Father’s attention away from him. Forgive my brother for such selfishness, but he does not like it when Father nags him.

We are preparing to leave. Father is dreadfully confused. The language is similar, yet so different. I am mailing this from New York, and promise to write from Michigan. By then, we shall own land, a home, and maybe an address so you can write.

I am dreadfully sorry this takes so long. It is not an easy journey. I shall explain more in my next letter.

Loving you always,

Caroline Smith

New York City, New York, America

A Tale of Two, Part 7: Caroline, Josef

September 13, 1891

Soon it shall no longer be the thirteenth, but it shall be the fourteenth. That is the wonder of city parties. They go on for hours, never seeming to end. If Josef were still with me, he might remark that I am glowing. The dress he provided me with is perhaps the best I shall ever wear. Oh how I wish the night had never ended. Granted Father will probably have me married to Paul Brown before the new year has settled, I cannot help but long for Josef. My dowry is meager, so the chances of such a match are likewise.

September 14, 1891

The night could not have been more splendid if it tried with all of God’s will behind it! Caroline was a vision of beauty, grace, humor, intelligence…the list goes on! What she was not was everything a jealous woman might be.

…

A Tale of Two, Part 6: Josef

September 12, 1891

It is absolute perfection! The dress she will wear, her smile, her hair, everything about her!

She said yes!

I dreaded meeting her today, dreading rejection. Her mother directed me to the meadow with the yellowish green grass and wilting flowers. Caroline was in the same place I found her last time. Another book, something more worn this time, curled up on a branch of the changing oak. For the longest time I watched her sitting there read.

She is gorgeous. The sun seemed to rest only on her; the wind combed through her hair. A smile played across her face every once and a while as she read.

I stood there, unmoving, afraid I would find it all a dream.

“Josef?” she asked.

At first, I didn’t hear. She repeated my name, her soft voice cutting through the crisp air.

“Yes?” I finally found my voice.

Caroline smiled brightly, as if she had been awaiting this moment. She hid her book as I advanced on the tree.

“I was wondering when you would come,” she said, slipping from the branch into my arms. She let me hold her in my arms briefly, but then moved away as if something were wrong.

“I’m here now,” I said as she slowly walked around the trunk of the oak.

“Yes; you are.”

“Is something the matter?”

“Yes…I mean no…I mean…”

My heart pounded in my chest.  Something was wrong; she was losing confidence. Losing her easy nature.

I followed her around the tree, trying not to let on to my insecurity.

“Nothing is the matter. It’s just…”

“Do I intimidate you?”

“You asked me that last time.”

“Has your answer changed?”

When she finally responded, she said, “I don’t know.”

“Why is that?” I asked more calmly than I felt. Hundreds of emotions bombarded me at once and I barely dared to hope this meant she felt the same.

“I don’t know.”

“Does your heart race when I’m near?” I asked, my hand touching hers.

Caroline jumped away from me, walking off a ways and clutching her hand to her chest. “No,” she said quickly. “Not at all.”

Some part of me longed to tell her how she made me feel, though I knew she would become uncomfortable. More so than she was already. The rest of me wanted to leave it be. To have her answer and be on with life.

I stayed near the tree, though I yearned to hold her again in my arms. “I meant no offense. I was curious to know if it happened to you as well.”

“What do you mean?” Caroline turned to me but kept her distance.

“It seems I suffer from a desiring heart. Anytime I am near you, or think of you, my heart soars and my mind struggles to sound intelligible.”

“Why do you tell me this?” she asked softly, as though each word was an admission.

“Because I want you to know. I want…I want you, and all the joys you bring me. It is…you delight me so, and I want to feel that way always.”

Caroline twisted where she stood, as though thinking and rethinking to run from me. She stopped, facing neither me nor the direction of the homestead. “I don’t know what to say; I never do around you. I feel lost.” Her hands were white from squeezing each other. “No one has ever made me feel this confused; joyous and worried, grateful and untrusting…there are so many emotions and thoughts…I don’t know what to do.” Tears brimmed her cinnamon eyes.

I started toward her, unable to bear the sight of her distressed, but was surprised when she ran to me and cried into my shoulder. She apologized repeatedly. My arms held her close to me; I comforted her, whispering everything was all right.

“I am sorry. I am so sorry. It is all my fault,” she whispered.

“No…it is all mine.” I could not believe I had made her cry! This had not been my intention.

“You must think me ridiculous,” Caroline said, wiping away her tears and stepping out of my arms. “Mother would be disappointed in me…crying in front of a guest. And a gentleman, no less.”

“Then she shall not know. It’s my fault, after all.”

“It isn’t, really, though I suppose there’s no point in arguing.” She laughed, fanning her face with her hands. “I really am sorry. I’ve no idea what came over me.”

“I don’t mind; I quite liked your nearness.”

For a moment, all she did was smile at me. “I quite liked your nearness, as well. Though I must be mad; from tears to joy in moments. I can’t say what will be next.”

“Then we must both be mad.”

She returned my smile, the color evening across her face again.

“I have thought about your proposal.” Her arms crossed under her bosom and her gaze cast downward.

“You have decided it’s too much trouble then.” My eyes turned to my shoes as I kicked a small rock. It had been too much to hope.

“To the contrary;” she stepped towards me, dropping her arms and lifting her wide eyes to my face. “If the offer still stands, I should like to attend with you.”

It is difficult for me to describe the emotions that cascaded through me at her words. All of this joy swelled in my chest; my heart felt as though it had flown to the moon. My stomach all but disappeared somewhere below the earth. If it had not been attached, my head would surely have flown into the air screaming with exultance.

“The offer stands; I would never dream of going with another.”

And that, journal, is how Caroline agreed to be my companion for Father’s ball, making me, officially, the luckiest man in England.

A Tale of Two, Part 5: Josef

September 11, 1891

I must restrain myself from stealing away to her again. Truly, the only reason I went yesterday was because I longed to be near her. Mother still is unwell so no one but you knows my secret. Father may know soon if he does not dismiss it as a charity. With as preoccupied as he has been lately, I would not be surprised if he does. He has been preparing a ball with his business partner and it, in addition to my mother’s illness, has him stressed. He hardly noticed my absence yesterday.

Oh, it is taking all of my strength to keep from going to her. I wish she would come to me, but that is not possible given her responsibilities.

I hope she decides to attend the ball with me. If not, Father will force me to go with Abigail Jones. Not that she is unpleasant and well bred. It is that she gossips incessantly. She is so absorbed in her own world that nothing outside of it affects her. Heaven forbid if it should.

Caroline is so…different. There’s an easiness about her. She could make Father relax if ever they meet. It is her nature to be calming. I am certain she has many suitors, many in her social class no doubt. I hope it is not too late for me.

A Tale of Two, Part 4: Caroline

September 10, 1891

Mr. Calloway visited our farm today. I had not been aware he was coming, nor that he had arrived until midday when Father came in from the fields with our guest. I was preparing lunch for Mother, John, Marie, and myself when he unexpectedly returned. Father normally worked the fields from sunrise to sunset, when he could see what he was doing no longer.

“Margaret, Marie, John, Caroline! We have a guest,” he called, shutting the front door with a heavy thud.

I started toward the living room, but shied into the shadows when I saw our guest. Marie bounced before him; John stood there, hands shoved so far in his pockets he might have punched holes in them, and said, “We met him a fair few days ago, Papa. At the market when Caroline took us shopping with her. He lives in town.”

“Yup,” Marie agreed as Mother joined them. “He was really nice to Caroline. He said he hoped to see her again. He kept on smiling at her and made her cheeks turn red. I thought it was funny.”

I listened to them from back in the kitchen, slowly preparing the rest of lunch, adding more to accommodate Father and Mr. Calloway.

“So you have all met?”

“Yes, sir,” John replied as Marie said, “Yup.”

“It is a delight to meet you again, Marie and John.”

I could imagine Marie beaming and John sulking.

“This is my wife, Mrs. Smith.”

“Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Tis a pleasure to have you with us,” Mother said. “It is not often we have young men come to call.”

“It is not often they visit the countryside,” Mr. Calloway mused.

Mother and Father laughed. I didn’t know what to do. My heart was pounding rapidly in my chest again and my stomach felt as if it were flying and sinking into my feet simultaneously.

Mother excused herself and came into the kitchen. “Is everything ready?”

“The bread and cheese are in the basket, and the soup is just about finished.”

“Very good, Caroline.”

“Will you finish the soup? I have some chores to finish.”

“We have company, dear.”

“I shan’t be long. I promise.” I slipped off my apron and hurried outside the back way before she could object or grant permission. I had completed my chores at dawn, as Father demanded, but a part of me wanted to be away for a while. Away from Mr. Calloway.

Part of our fields Father kept as pasture for our few heads of livestock. Flowers were long gone from sight, but the pasture grass was still green. I made my way to the tree on the other side. I sang to myself as I climbed into the lower branches and pulled my book from an unused hollow. I am not sure how long read; to me, it seemed they would only have begun lunch, but my sense of time was almost as good as my haggling technique.

“How does one find themselves in a tree with a book? Particularly a lady?”

I nearly fell from my perch. My hand flew to the locket at my throat so as to stop my heart from bursting forth.

He laughed goodheartedly. “I am dreadfully sorry. I did not mean to startle you.”

“Well, you did, Mr. Calloway, very much so. And I do not understand your humor,” I said rather sourly.

“Do not be mad, dear Caroline.”

I was utterly confused. Why would he refer to me in such a way? Gentlemen did not show such favor to a farmer’s daughter.

“What would you like?” I asked, very much glad I was in the tree.

“Three things if you do not mind my asking.”

“I am indebted to you. I have no choice.”

“If you prefer to view it that way. First, I would like it very much if you came down from there.”

Reluctantly, I slid my book back into its burrow. Mr. Calloway held out his arms and I slid off the branch into them.

“Very well then, Mr. Calloway. What is your second demand?” I asked, stepping away from him and straightening my skirts.

“Secondly, I would like you to call me Josef.”

“It is highly irregular—”

“Please?”

I breathed deeply, wishing he could have demanded something that would not get me into trouble. “Very well…Josef. And your third demand?”

“Would you honor me by attending a certain party at my side?”

“Such a decision is not up to me. You must speak with my father.”

“I already have. He gives you permission to go. But I would like to know if you want to go.”

I was taken aback. Did I want to go? “I would have to consider it. But even if I decided to go, I would not have anything grand enough to wear.”

“I shall see to that. As for an answer, the party is in three days’ time. I shall return for a reply in two. Is that time enough?”

“More than enough.”

“I should hope you decide to attend.”

“I am very much flattered at your invitation…Josef.”

“Now is that not better than Mr. Calloway.”

I giggled. It did feel better, more relaxed than Mr. Calloway. But I was not ready for him to know that. “I should head back. They will wonder where I have gone.”

“They already know, Caroline. How do you think I found you?”

“Of course, I should have known.”

“Your mother suggested I start here, at your hide-away. Do I intimidate you?”

“No,” I said aloud as my mind screamed, “Yes!”

“That is good. I should hate to think someone is afraid of me.”

Not afraid, I thought, unsure of what is going on inside myself when I am near you. “No one could fear you,” I whispered, looking at my hands folded neatly before me.

“Is that so?”

“I believe so.”

He smiled. “May I walk you home?”

“If you would like.”

“I would, very much so.”

I smiled, controlling the emotions bubbling inside me. We did not speak as we walked. He was hesitant; I felt him looking at me every now and then and saw him open his mouth as if to say something. At the house, he promised to return soon. I am not sure if this excited or frightened me. My emotions confuse me greatly.

Mother beckons me to help with sewing Marie’s birthday dress. I can hardly believe she is nearly six years old! My how time flies.

A Tale of Two, Part 3: Josef

September 4, 1891

Father recently presented me with this journal. Very well, it is only recently if you consider the word loosely. It has been almost two years since he has gifted this to me, yet you are the first page I am to fill. This is because I have a secret I must keep from Father. When Mother is better I shall inform her, but until then, you are the only one to know.

I fear if I told Father he would quietly accept it, then lash out in some way. He wants me to marry Isabelle, his Spanish business partner’s daughter. I find her obnoxious. She rambles away in Spanish and refuses any attempts made at teaching her English. This despite my efforts to gain some mastery of Spanish.

Father must not know I have found another to whom my heart calls. It sounds crazy, but I have, and I barely know her. Father would never approve, especially as she is a farmer’s daughter. But she is as beautiful as the moon and stars at night, her heart is as glorious as the good Lord’s, and her smile makes the sun envious. She is everything beauty should be. Her siblings are troublesome, but she hides her exasperation from them, showing them only kind words and empty threats. They have no idea what they have. She is wonderful.

I met her today at the market. I saw her distress when the baker would not lower his prices for her and bought her bread. She was reluctant to take it, but then what is a woman to think when a strange man purchases her food without mentioning debt? I walked with her, felt her uneasiness. Especially when I assumed John and Marie were her children. Can you fault me? A beauty such as herself is normally married young.

My heart raced all the while she was near me. I could not help but long for it to do so forevermore. She does not know but I intend to see her everyday possible.  She lives on the Smith farm with her mother and father, yet she appears as delicate as any city girl. I would love to make her mine. I intend to woo her.

Love is called Caroline Smith.

800 Some Miles

A screen is the gateway across 800 some miles.

In an instant the distance is lost.

Separate time zones collide,

Though my solitary surroundings never change.

A tiny camera,

The circumference of a pencil,

Becomes a window into a world

Of a child laughing, oversimplified songs

Accompanied by overacting,

And you, overflowing with affection.

And though voices and images

Can travel the distance,

We oft opt for a keyboard and screen.

Your voice becomes the tapping of keys.

Your face preserved in snapshots

To be drunk and memorized.

Your words, which can be measured,

Perfected in the time before clicking

The beveled send button,

Remain raw and very much you.

And across 800 some miles,

Through a screen, keyboard, device,

Your life and love melds with mine,

Encased in an embrace

Of meant to be,

Engaged to be,

It is.

A Daughter and a Man

For years, I knew I had been missing

something, though I had learned only the fear

of being forgotten or taken by the cruel touch

of a man who wanted nothing but tears.

And though a part of me continued longing

for love, security, I remained just someone’s daughter.

Then I met a man with a young daughter,

not yet two years old, her mother missing

from her life. A woman who left his heart longing

for someone faithful who wouldn’t give him reason to fear

he gave his love in vain. Someone who wouldn’t leave tears

in her wake, destroying everything she might touch.

Meeting by a virtual waterfall, how could we touch

each other so profoundly? How could his lovely daughter

not be terrifying, but impelling? There were days when tears

danced down my cheeks as we learned each other. Missing

him was rare as we filled each day with conversation and the fear

it wouldn’t work, despite our love, and we’d be left longing

for the other, settling for another, someone closer. Longing

for a person miles away whom we could not touch

and could only dream of meeting. But fear

festered in my mind. I couldn’t be there for his daughter

and be the mother she needed. Not when I would be missing

her first time reading by herself, the tears

from a scuffed knee at daycare, or days indoors when tears

fell from the sky before she’s too old to know more than longing

to play outside. I would be no better than her mother, missing

her life. He was comforting, emoting tender touch

I imagined I could feel. We would wait and see, but his daughter

would love me when we met, I should have no fear.

He has a way of washing away every trace of fear

and making it seem silly. His voice soothes away tears

caused by feelings of inadequacy. His daughter

is fortunate to have a father who will not leave her longing

for a mother, whose love is evident in his tone and touch.

He’s filled my soul where something had been missing.

There is no fear in meeting my love’s touch,

only in missing him when I depart. But I have been longing

to meet him and his daughter, and hope my leaving sees few tears.

Eternal: Epilogue

Epilogue: Beginning Eternity

Years ago, Valetta had asked me how I imagined my dream life. When I had closed my eyes, I saw a life I wanted, but didn’t think I could ever have. And yet, here I am, with Drei, living in a two story beach house on a lake in a forest. Almost exactly as I had described.

Drei’s sisters had been buried in that single grave I had found. He paid to have them exhumed and cremated, bringing their ashes back with us. The urns had a room they shared with other memories, fond and painful. Pictures, news clippings, items that held special meaning—including the rocking chair Drei had found all those years ago, a maternal family heirloom of mine.

Another special place Drei and I had set up, though I had been reluctant at first, was a garden. It wasn’t like his original, left behind and untended at the original safe camp, but it was a close second. We didn’t have to build a greenhouse, as there was an atrium that essentially functioned as one. Together, we worked to find the right combination and proportions of flowers with the initial goal of replicating the scent still following him around. After a while, Drei and I both decided it shouldn’t be a replica because the original had been a solution to his pain and a gift to me, his love. He suggested I take more creative control over its composition as I was now in need of channeling pain. I didn’t argue, and it wasn’t long after I started feeling better. There was something about catering to life that balanced a loss of it.

Kneeling by the water, I set some blossoms floating into the center of the lake. My yearly ritual, because I didn’t have an urn or a grave to send them to. The lake is the second best thing to him, as it is where we first met and where most of our happiest memories were. It is also where he made his first sacrifice for us.

I brush the tears from my eyes, wondering, not for the first time, if I’ll ever be able to stop crying for him.

“Abriel,” Drei calls from behind me.

I watch the blossoms for a moment more before turning to jog up the stairs to the balcony off our room where he waits. Where he has waited every year on this day.

“Beautiful flowers you chose this year,” he says, opening his arms to me.

“Thank you.” The sadness dissipats again, waiting for next year. Tending a garden really minimized my sadness surrounding the event to the point I only felt it deeply once a year. And like clockwork, it’s back on this day; I wake up with it and that’s how I know to go to the garden and pick whichever flowers speak to me for my annual visitation. “Why does it feel like it hurts more every year?” I ask, gazing out at the small specks on the calm surface of the water.

“Because it is another year you have lived without him,” he replies gently, rubbing my back. “And another year you realize he will not return to say hello.”

There’s a truth to his words, more truth than I want to admit. It is the first year I have asked, and I can’t believe he’s hit on it so well. No matter what had happened, Nick had always popped up somewhere else, smiling, calming me, apologizing for something or another from the time before. Subconsciously, I think I’m still waiting for him to show up and apologize for scaring me so badly.

“Nick is not coming back this time,” Drei whispers. I appreciate his honesty; it’s the only way I’m going to stop crying on this day. And I know that. But some part of me, somewhere deep in my heart, doesn’t want to stop hoping, even if I know I should.

“I added the angel and the guardian to our memories room,” I say, changing the subject. Although they have been available for some time now, Drei has avoided adding them to our collection. I decided to correct the oversight.

“At least it is not a doll;” he smirks and I hit him lightly on the arm. He is never going to let that one die. Though he continues to smile, his eyes darken a little, growing more serious. “There is one thing you have yet to ask me.”

The sky begins to lighten with the coming dawn as I try to think of what he means. When it strikes me, I know why I hadn’t remembered. I haven’t thought about it in years, and now I might finally have the answer I have been wanting since Drei first mentioned it.

“Do you think you have fulfilled your promise to the Lady of the Moon?”

“I strive to deserve your love every day,” he says softly, holding my gaze steadily, his amethyst eyes bright and resolute. “And I will never deserve it until I strive every day hereafter.”

“There is no one else I would rather spend my eternity with,” I confide before he kisses me.

A light crosses the forest and we stop, stepping into our room and closing the French doors. It is my first sunrise since I had a pulse. Most of them before now I had slept through, but not today.

“You know, if we ever grow tired of forever, I could change that,” I remind him, resting my head on his chest.

“I do not imagine I will grow tired of spending my un-life with you, Abriel,” he says as the first rays of dawn fill the room.

I miss it, though, because I’m looking at him, and all of the promises that fill his eyes. Eternity is a long time, but he silently promises he will love me everlastingly; and by the way he kisses me, I can tell he knows the same is true of me.

Eternal: Chapter Twelve, Part 3

But that wasn’t everyone. Justin and Angeline were married and started their own law firm together. He had taken my advice, though I had known that at the march. She had said yes, just as I knew she would, and she was the reason he joined Caroline that day. As much as they argued, they loved each other and there would never be someone else they’d want.

If you were wondering, their law firm was one of the most successful in the nation and represented the new government—by Caroline’s recommendation, of course.

Mitchell and Valetta stuck around helping Caroline until just before the first elections. Then they took off to travel the world, just as Valetta had always wanted to do with her love. It only took a couple hundred years, but she was living her dream un-life. There wasn’t anyone I knew who deserved it more.

And Mitchell? Well, he was still Mitchell. And no matter how old I become, I doubt he will ever stop making fun of me. But I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Obviously, the Council agreed I had made my significant impact. All charges against us were dropped and we went on with our un-lives. I had heard, though, because of vampiric support during my campaign and the new government being formed, the Council was considering co-habitation in a hundred years, give or take a score. Once co-habitation was established, after all, they could fully stake claim for their part in the revolution.

Elizabeth, the little girl from the march, didn’t see a doll of me made. In fact, no one ever made a doll of me. They did, though, make an angel of me, and she received that for her birthday—courtesy of Drei, who still found it hilarious. Surprisingly enough, the angel looked like me. Pale skin, blue-grey eyes, blondish brown hair, and arms open to welcome everyone and everything. Of course, she was called Leirba. What I didn’t expect was that she was the angel not of change, or hope, or peace, but of miracles. Another company called her the guardian of the impossible, including a story about how she magically came to earth one day, led a great movement for change against all odds, and disappeared when the people could see the path forward. It also promised she’d return again if they ever needed her.

As cute and inspiring as I thought it was, I hoped they wouldn’t need me again, and should they, I hoped someone else would be there to step up and take his or her turn. Otherwise I would be there, but I can guarantee you whoever was supposed to be stepping up wouldn’t like it.

My parents were reunited again, too. I bought a plane ticket for my mom, and left a message for my dad telling him when to be at the airport, which flight, and everything. It dawned on me I could have been there, as well. But the only thing I could do to right what had gone wrong was to give them back to each other.

I stayed at home and mapped it. I watched as she stepped through security, searching for someone familiar, anyone familiar. My dad searched for me, because I had left the message. The two of them finally saw each other, their eyes locking and everyone else seeming to freeze in place. Then he was holding her, so gently, terrified she wasn’t real. She started crying, wrapping her thin arms around him, telling him she loved him and she was sorry she ever had to leave.

A month later, he was divorced from my mother, leaving her the house and enough money to keep her satisfied for years. I think she had been expecting this as she didn’t put up a fight. She just let it happen, and a year later she was married to some guy down the block who divorced her a few months after for everything she was worth. I wouldn’t say she deserved it, because she didn’t, and I found it somewhat cruel that she had to work after never working on anything but a committee for years. I called Dad, left him a message about Kenzy’s situation, and he helped her get back on her feet, ensuring the next guy she married wouldn’t do the same by making him sign a pre-nuptial agreement.

Mom and Dad, though, they had a small apartment in New York, his favorite place in the world. They were happy and he was doing everything he could to help Mom heal after all she had suffered through. I was proud of her for taking the aid he offered—and found for her—and of him for stepping up and being home to help her. If I was lucky, my eternity with Drei would be filled with just as much love as their time together was.

Looking back, it almost seemed as though that march was where most people ended the movement, though it still technically continued into today. I found it strange and flattering. Though it wasn’t the end, it seemed to be the start of everyone’s future. For better or for worse, we had succeeded.

Finally.

Eternal: Chapter Twelve, Part 2

Within weeks of the march, Caroline had officially called for a complete removal of the government, as I had known she would. She explained, no matter what agreement they came to in negotiations, it wouldn’t be long before things reverted to the way they had been.

Initially, people weren’t sure what to make of it. They weren’t ready for something so radical, not when that would mean removing the entire governmental body in work and replacing it. In response, she explained Leirba’s Council—they left it in my name so not everything was changing—was already drafting possible temporary solutions. It was a huge country, they weren’t ignoring that fact, but this was also a huge problem. No matter what they did, it would take time.

When she presented her proposal for the new temporary government, a council instead of a single figure head, and larger councils below and at every level, people relaxed. This was her guarantee that not everyone in the most important positions would be regular or elemental, which even satisfied some of those still unsure about elementals and hell.

A few short years later, the existing government was dissolved. Every official had either been petitioned from office or forcibly removed when only a few remained. An online ballot was released and the first members of the Change Committee—the council that would lead the country in this exchange of power—were elected and met. Caroline and a regular were the co-presiding chairs, the other twenty members divided between elemental and non. Together, they decided to rid the government of political parties other than elemental and regular, so no one group had too much more control than the other. Other such decisions regarding the new government were made in those first meetings, and, slowly, were being made in each state by their elected Change Councils—the state-level equivalent of the Committee.

Last I had heard, things were running smoothly with the temporary government—though it didn’t seem so temporary as it had been in place for six years. There was, of course, plenty of chaos, but things were quieting as each Council grew stronger and reviewed their new respective constitutions for any amendments that needed to be made. Things were looking better. In another year there would be elections again for most of the Committee and Council seats, though many felt that almost everyone holding a seat would win it back so they could finish what they had started.

Caroline, in addition to her revolution work, had also come to some resolution with her parents. They remained adamantly against the movement and all related things, but she finally had the backing and the proof she wasn’t insane, unhealthy, or freakish. Though they wouldn’t back down, she argued she was still their daughter, regardless of how they thought she should be, and she was going to live her own way, with or without their approval. When they failed to provide a compelling argument for her to continue visiting, both Caroline and Ian were freed from their mandatory meetings with them. This saddened her slightly, but she was quickly consumed in other business. I had a feeling, given a few more years, they might come around to accepting societal norms had changed and could figure out they really did love her—elemental, angry, wild, and all.

Ian was painting, as he had told me he would be. His murals and collages, portraits and scenes were gorgeous and many were available for viewing online or in various magazines. He also had current shows in a New York Gallery of his Movement works, and another in England of his Pre-Movement works. There was rarely a critic with a negative comment, though even those existed.

The one piece I had explained to Caroline, the one he said I was in, he named after me: Abriel. I read an interview in which he was asked why it was called Abriel, who was Abriel. His answer: “She is the bravest person I know, and without her, none of us would be where we are today.” Though this thoroughly confused people, especially the interviewer, I felt touched. The world would know my real name, even if they couldn’t match it with a face.

By far, though, his Movement works were his best known. They depicted everything from our early meetings to our commercials, Caroline’s local speeches to small group work, his picket signs to Nick’s death. It was the single greatest depiction of modern history in the world. I wasn’t the only one to think so, and I was biased.

However, he wasn’t just painting and making appearances; Caroline wouldn’t let him off that easily. Whenever she needed help or a second, outside opinion, he was on her speed dial. He didn’t mind it so much, though. If anything, he missed having her boss him around sometimes. Since they had gone their separate ways, he was suddenly making every decision, even about his exhibitions. Occasionally, when setting up a new exhibit, he called her so someone else could decide how it should look for once, especially since she had no eye for art and could therefore give a properly unbiased opinion. No matter what happened, they were stuck together. It was a good thing they didn’t mind.

Jake and Kora both returned to college, changing their majors to political science, the new version—Jake for a master’s and Kora for a bachelor’s though it meant an extra year of study for her. Both wanted to continue being a part of the change happening around them, and politics was the place to do so.

Kora was married on the two year anniversary of the march. We were invited—Drei received the invitation through Valetta. I went alone, but stayed to the back of the crowd, dropped off her present at the reception and left. She was stunning, the wedding was perfect, and Dan couldn’t have been a better match for her. The gift was the angels of love and hope, a note tucked into the box saying, “No matter what happens in life, love and hope will always lead you true.”

Jake was reunited with his mother. There were tears and apologies and promises made anew. When they went home together, his father apologized for his cruelty, and Jake finally found his answer. He wouldn’t forget, but he could forgive them. All of them.

With his new attitude and his family reunited, it wasn’t long before Jake was dating—and then engaged to—the girl about whom he used to tell me. And guess who? Natalie, the girl he thoroughly pissed off in his ethics class. They were cute together, and they reveled in the occasional heated debate.

Mikael and Xenia co-authored a memoir on their participation in those two years with me. It was a best seller and paid for them to go through college to become environmentalists. They were both working toward doctorate’s degrees.

Xenia eventually dyed her hair back to its original color and settled down. She could be herself, and that was all she had ever wanted. Her friends and her were all still single, no man (or woman) able to keep up with them. Someday that might change, especially as more and more people were becoming comfortable with admitting they were elementals or that they were okay with those who were.

Mikael’s parents showed up not long after he was interviewed the day of the march about his involvement in the movement. They told him they had made a mistake and wanted him back in their lives. No matter how much they apologized, though, Mikael remained silent. When they stopped fussing over him, trying to figure out if he was ever going to say something to them, he told them what they did was inexcusable, but he appreciated the apologies. Then he asked they never contact him again unless he did so first.

It couldn’t have been easy for him, but I think that’s what had been bothering him in those times he looked sad. He was trying to figure out what he would do if they came back. It couldn’t have been easy, but he had decided for himself what was right. I didn’t worry about him, though; Mikael had surrounded himself with a new family, both from our group and from his boarding school. He nurtured and cherished those relationships, but otherwise focused on his studies.

Occasionally, all of them gathered together in our old apartment, talking or plotting for old time’s sake. Caroline had kept up the rent and had given permission for the landlord to give weekday tours as an added bonus. I think they thought now that everything was going better, I might come back. While I couldn’t stop caring about them all, I couldn’t go to them. I was dead, technically, and I felt it was finally time I started acting like it.

Eternal: Chapter Six, Part 7

It wasn’t difficult to track down to where Jake had disappeared; he had left in a terrible mood with a unique mix of emotions trailing behind him: disappointment, anger, hatred, self-loathing, and a touch of sorrow. The trail he left traversed campus and through the park nearby, down to the river on the edge of the field just beyond the park. He wasn’t much better off than when he’d left; if anything, he had just started bottling it all up again.

“Jake?” I asked, standing a few feet from where he was sitting on the bank. He stiffened, keeping his back to me and curling into himself. “Could you talk to me? Like a person who isn’t being purely defensive?”

When he didn’t respond, I sat next to him and waited a moment. He wasn’t running, which was a good thing, but something was definitely wrong. All of his bitterness wasn’t from normal circumstances. Something over the past few years had changed him. Never could I have imagined him so cold and hard.

“What’s wrong?” I tried, wanting him to open up to me. He’d feel better if he did, I was sure of it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, staring fixedly at the water as if it was going to give him the answers he wanted. I would have told him it wouldn’t if I had thought it might help. “I don’t even know you, Leirba.”

Leaning back on the heels of my palms, I sighed. True, he was being a pain, but it was also true he wasn’t necessarily himself. Besides, anger wasn’t going to help me with this; it would only worsen things. “You do know me, so don’t even pretend.”

“Then why are you going by a different name, Abriel?” His eyes met mine; the brightness I had seen before was just a trick of the light. They were dull and lifeless; I wondered if the hint of childishness in his smile had also been an illusion. It was difficult to tell anymore. “It’s sketchy.”

“Drei wants me to go by Leirba for now. It’s really long and complex and I’m not really supposed to talk about it,” I said, having to look away from him. I wanted him to trust me, but I couldn’t even give him sufficient reason to. “Now what changed you?”

“Why are you here?” he asked instead. “Why now? Why not before?”

“Before what?” I inquired, hoping he’d say something to let me pry further.

No such luck. “Before now.”

It amazed me I could even be talking to the same person from all those years ago. The others, I could still see them, who they had been beneath who they had become. But every trace of who Jake had been…it was like it had all been erased.

“Before now I’d been figuring things out. I’ve been learning about myself and my movement, and some other stuff—”

“That you can’t talk about,” he finished bitterly. I winced at the daggers in his voice. “Well, while you were off doing whatever it was that was more important,” he spat, facing me, his face red and splotchy, contorted in a nasty combination of heartache and fury, “I was shipped from relative to relative until I was dumped into foster care, and then shipped from family to family.”

I was speechless for a moment, my mind absent of any response. “What happened to your mom?” I asked, remembering how he had told me she’d sent him to the camp for his protection. In his relation of it, she had promised to be there when he returned to her.

“The fucking government happened!” he screamed, tears coursing down his cheeks as his bottled emotions spewed forth. I tried to clear them away as best I could while letting him still go through the sensations. He needed to; he needed to feel again. He’d been making himself numb for too long and it was alienating him. “By the time I got back they’d picked her up.  My dad blamed me for everything; said if I’d never been born she’d never have been caught. He told me get the fuck out before he killed me. So I went to my grandparents, who sent me to one relative to another and to another until the last one didn’t want me either. I was dropped in their fucking system!” he yelled, pulling his knees to his chest and running his hands through his hair. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to hide in their fucking system?”

I pulled him into my embrace, knowing it wasn’t the foster care system he was angry at; it wasn’t even me. He felt like his father had told him the truth. It was his fault; he was the only one to blame.

“Jake,” I whispered, cradling him in my arms, rubbing his back and trying to limit how much of his pain he had to go through. There was so much and it was still so raw, as if he had avoided feeling any of it before now. “It’s okay. You’re okay. It isn’t your fault.”

He pulled away from me, his bloodshot eyes revealing how unworthy of my help he felt he was. “But it—”

“Your mother loves you,” I told him sternly. “She told you that, and she meant it. Nothing changed that,” I said, taking his hands in mine. He stared at me blankly, unsure how to respond; he wanted to believe me, but he had also spent so much time believing he was to blame. What I said seemed only like a happy pipe dream. “Nothing changes her love for you. Okay?”

He nodded slightly, wiping away his tears.

Eternal: Chapter Two, Part 5

“Why are you with her?” Valetta demanded when we stepped through the door. Her anger flooded the room as she stood, glaring at him.

I could feel Drei shrinking beside me under her fury. Our talk earlier hadn’t completely settled him, and he still hadn’t decided the answers for himself. But I didn’t want her bullying him when it was my fault and I was around—I didn’t want her being hard on him even when I wasn’t around, but that was slightly harder to control.

Slipping my hand into his, I stared back at Valetta. “It was my idea,” I stated, determined not to fold under her ferocity. “I asked him to come with me because I wanted to be with him.”

She was completely taken aback—not expecting me to speak on his behalf, apparently—but it wasn’t long before she recomposed herself, her anger still obvious but not nearly as strong. “Why?”

“Because I love him, Valetta, and I enjoy spending time with him,” I explained gently. I knew she had once felt the same way, but somehow she seemed to have forgotten that.

“But he was not there to protect you, and he turned—”

“We were both responsible for what happened, and we’ve come to terms with it already.” I was trying to remain patient. She didn’t know the circumstances and seemed reluctant to even attempt understanding them, but that didn’t give her an excuse to completely ignore their existence. “We went over the whys and the hows and we’re past it. We just want to be happy. Just like you.”

Mitchell took Valetta’s hands and pulled her aside. They argued a moment over whether or not to trust what I was saying, if they were really my own words or somehow Drei’s influence. He eventually talked her down, taking our side, and explaining how he saw it to her. We weren’t trying to spite her; Drei wasn’t trying to take advantage of me. We were simply making the best of our situation and living our undead lives the way we wanted. And for once, Mitchell was speaking straightforward and, instead of hitting him, I kind of wanted to give him a huge hug.

“Apologies are in order,” she said when Mitchell finished and they had approached us again.

“No they’re not,” I said, crossing the space between us and taking her hands in mine. “You were just standing up for what you felt was right. There’s nothing to be sorry for in that.”

“But—”

“You are worse than Abriel when it comes to arguing about everything.” Drei was unsure yet about whether he was still in deep with her or not, but not so uncertain as to remain silent. “She is right, though. There is no reason to apologize.”

“I yelled at you,” she persisted, her dark eyes wide and befuddled. “I was cruel and judgmental; I separated you, and—”

“We needed that,” Drei finished for her, steadily growing surer of his position in this. “At least I did. It gave me time to contemplate how much I do value her;” he met my eyes and held them. A faint warmness spread through my body and my lips upturned slightly. “How I have made mistakes in the past, and renewed my resolve not to repeat them.”

“I do not recall mushy messes being on our itinerary,” Mitchell teased, successfully coaxing grins from all of us—even an eye roll from Valetta. I was grateful he was breaking up the cycle of reassurances that was bound to follow, but it didn’t stop me wanting to hit him for his teasing.

“Do you always have to be insensitive to the moment?” I asked, my hands on my hips.

“Only when you are around,” he taunted jovially, hugging me.

“Of course. So what should we do now that all this drama is done with?” I asked as Drei slipped an arm around my waist, his other hand disappearing into his pocket.

We all looked at each other, hoping someone had an idea. “What if we just talk?” Valetta suggested after a while. With no other suggestions, we sat in the living room and talked.

It was entertaining, as we covered recent events—both serious and frivolous—debated about different places in town, and discussed what I had come up with for my movement. From their reactions, I really had figured it out—all of them had known since before meeting me, but none of them would ever tell me what it was.

It was well into the afternoon before Drei insisted I should sleep. Mitchell and Valetta agreed, despite my arguments, but then Valetta suggested we all retire for the day, as if to ensure they weren’t just treating me like a little kid. Mitchell even proposed we go out as a group the next night before we parted ways. Things were somewhat back to normal for the time being. Valetta didn’t even say anything about Drei and me sleeping in the same bed again. That was probably the best thing, too. I felt like I was actually able to fall asleep.