Читать книгу Wind-Borne Sister - Melinda Holland - Страница 9

My stay at Anna’s grew from hours to days, then weeks. I helped with the milking, the food storage, the harvest. Allan came as often as he could be spared, but the bulk of the fall preparations fell to Susannah and me. I wondered who had helped her in years past, what she might have done had I not come. I wanted to ask, but I also imagined that prying questions on my part would lead to more incisive questions on theirs, questions about plans and pilgrimage that I preferred to ignore for the present. Here at Susannah’s home I was welcome. I was just Gabriela, not someone with a strange and feared gift. I was kept busy but did not feel used. In the later evenings, Susannah would sometimes tell me stories of Anna as a child, of her playfulness and loving ways. One day, just as the leaves were at their most golden, she asked me to begin reading aloud from Anna’s letters. I felt both eager interest and a deeper nervousness: would Anna’s experiences lead to further discussions of my own gift? We sat together by the fire and I began to read.

“Mama, it is so beautiful here. I wish that you could also see these places with me. Today we journeyed within sight of the mountains. Mountains, Mama! Tall and craggy, with snow at the peaks. I understand now why others have told me that I should take this trip. ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills . . .’ The Lord is still the most beautiful One to look upon, but his mountains are fair indeed.

“I met several young women aboard the ship, and we agreed to travel together for a while, pooling our resources and taking safety in numbers. Molly and Lily are twin sisters and love to laugh together. Katherine is more aloof and wise, but I see her read her Scriptures each night and keep waiting for the right time to speak to her of them. And finally there is Isabella. I know it is not good to say, Mama, but I am not sure whether I ought to trust her. She is friendly on the outside, but there is something hard and heavy about her that leads me to feel wary. Pray for her, please.

“The ship came to land three days ago. After some travel on foot, yesterday we came upon a midsummer fair. I have never seen so many people in one place! There was dancing and music and all sorts of vendors and booths. Molly, Lily, and I wandered around together, enjoying the day. We bought tasty bread and refreshing lemon water. Toward the end of the afternoon, shortly before we had promised to meet up with Isabella and Katherine, we came to the tent of a fortuneteller. I didn’t want to go in; I know that God asks us to trust only him. But Molly and Lily are so persuasive when they want something—and you see, I was outnumbered! Moreover, they decided that they would pay for their own fortunes to be told, as well as my own.

“The tent was dark and smelled of old canvas and beeswax. The woman reminded me of you in some ways: wise eyes, a gentle presence. But she also had a touch of evil to her; I don’t know any other way to say it. Forgive me. She took Molly’s hand first, and she smiled. ‘You are looking for love, and you will find it, for you give it freely. He will love you well, and you will have two children, a girl and a boy. Look for the sign of the green boar.” Green boar? We laughed. Then it was Lily’s turn. The older woman took more time, tracing the lines of Lily’s palm. Lily paled in the waiting; perhaps she also sensed the thread of evil that traced its way through the atmosphere. ‘You are jealous of your sister’s joy. Seek your own way, and you will find freedom there. Do not linger too long in her shadow, but also trust to love: hers, yours, and that of the older man who will see your beauty past your envy and sadness.’

“Lily’s face turned red, and she would not look at Molly. The words surprised me, Mama; I had not thought of Lily as jealous: they are always a team, arms linked, making merry. But I have watched more carefully since, and I see now that Molly is the instigator, and Lily joins in. What impresses me is that Molly has never brought up the fortuneteller’s words to Lily, except to joke in a good-natured way: ‘Let us keep watch for green boars and older men!’

“Then it was my turn. I nearly ran out of the tent, for my spine tingled and my hands shook. ‘You need not fear me, child. Your death will come from water, not from human hands—and it will come too soon. Keep away from the sea if you can, though your death will find you all the same.’ I began to cry, angry and embarrassed that my fortune seemed all of death instead of love. She cocked her head to one side and then reached for my cross, the one Papa made for me before I left home. She put one finger out to trace it, then jerked back as though the pewter had burned her skin. ‘In listening you will find your gift. In others’ pain will be your freedom. Your faith will burn you and demand much, and it will hold you when all else fails.’ Then she hurried out of the tent, leaving us to stare at one another in confusion.

“I felt so frightened, Mama. Death by water! And yet I tried to remind myself that in our baptisms, we are already drowned—and then brought to new life. But she also said my death would come too soon. Pray for my safety, Mama, even though I know you do not hold to fortunetellers. Perhaps I should not have told you, but I feel better writing it out and remembering that often it is out of a need for income that older women pretend to see the future, when all that they are doing is guessing in the dark. At least her last words were true and good: I know that my faith will hold me when all else fails. Jesus has never let me down.

“Give my best to Papa and to Allan. Tell the cows I will be back by next fall and they should be good to you. I hope that your sight is holding steady; I know how much you love to see the beauty around you—and the art that you create. God is faithful, Mama. We know that well. Blessings be upon you. With much love, Anna.”

I looked up. Susannah’s eyes were full of tears. “You read well, Gabriela. Thank you.” It was clear that one letter would be enough for now. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, quietly stroking a purring Ebenezer, and I knew she would soon be napping. I ran my hands over the pages of Anna’s letter, imagining her up late by candlelight, writing in the bedroom of an inn. I saw again in my mind’s eyes the beautiful dancing girl by the barn. Why had her fortune been so dark? Could she have come home safely by the roads if she had spurned the sea? Foolish questions. She was long gone, though she felt real and vital to me through her letters, through the strong, even strokes of her pen. I longed to meet her companions, to learn what had become of them. Had Molly found her green boar—and Lily the wise older man who saw beyond her faults? Did Katherine find peace in her faith? I went to bed with my mind full of questions and a deep interest to read further.

That night I had a strange dream. I stood at a distance from the fortuneteller’s booth at the midsummer fair. I watched the three girls go in, giggling. And then I saw the teller hurry out the back. In a wide arc around the tent, she came straight to me. She grabbed my hand and pulled it to her, opening the fingers only to find that I held Anna’s cross. She grimaced, shook her head. “Why won’t he let me be?” she asked as though to herself. Then she took my other hand and peered through tired eyes at my palm. “Many losses in youth, a long journey, welcome at the sign of a green lion. Do not doubt your gift; do not hide your strength. You will see things you wish not to see, but they will guide your way. Another who cannot see will lead you. Still Another who sees all will scald your heart and yet give you joy.” She dropped my hand and turned. Suddenly all around me was fog. Out of the fog I heard the clang of a ship’s bell, the calling of seafarers in distress. Through the fog I glimpsed three men and two women aboard a small dinghy. Waves threatened to overturn the vessel, but the men seemed assured as they plied their oars slowly, as calmly as possible in the midst of a treacherous sea. “Death by water,” came the voice of the teller, who came up behind me and laughed bitterly in my ear. “Death by water for one so young and fair.”

One of the women turned my way, and I saw Anna’s face, pale yet peaceful. She had both hands wrapped tightly around the pewter cross at her neck, and she was praying, her lips moving and her eyes shut tight. Suddenly the woman next to her tore at Anna’s hands so violently that the delicate chain at her neck snapped. She reached for Anna’s cross, took it from her startled companion, and tossed it as far into the sea as she could. Anna just stared at her, bereft and frightened.

“You bring bad luck wherever you go. Your cross was cursed!”

“Oh, Isabella . . .” Anna bent her head, weeping and praying, weeping and praying, as the boat sought a shore that could not be seen.

I awoke with a gasp, troubled and heavy-hearted. The images of the dream stayed with me through the morning as I went about the chores and daily routine. Had I seen the past, as my sight sometimes permitted me by day, or was it only a flight of imagining, brought on by the troubling passages of Anna’s letter?

It seemed to me that Susannah watched me carefully throughout the day. Yet how could that be, with her blind eyes? She held herself attentive and alert in other ways, as though taking in all the clues that my movements and sighs and pace of work could give her. At day’s end, instead of asking me to read another of Anna’s letters, she spoke the question that had been reflected all day in her behavior. “Gabriela, I can tell that something is troubling you. What is it?” And so I recounted my dream to her, with as much detail as I had courage to share. For a while she sat in a quiet peace, as though settling something within herself. Then she turned back to me.

“Brie, Anna has been gone from us for eight years now. We have missed her and grieved her, but we have peace about her passing. It seems that in carrying that pewter cross, you have been given a connection to her story, perhaps even to her memories. Do not let them weigh you down.

“After long years of living, it seems to me that we spend so much time trying to sort things out inside ourselves, hiding them or fighting them or even avoiding them. The key is to quiet the competing voices and listen deeply for God. Have you asked him lately what he is asking of you? Have you inquired why this connection with Anna exists? Do not run from this gift; run toward it and see what might grow out of its turmoil.

“You have been such a help to me of late, as the colder weather draws near. I know that I have thanked you, but you also haven’t taken much Sabbath rest in your desire to serve and assist me. Take a day tomorrow, Gabriela. It looks to be a fair one. Take a day to yourself for listening, for opening yourself to the Lord’s voice.”

I felt surprised at her suggestion. I wondered if perhaps she wanted a day to herself and this gave her an excuse. But as I watched her face, she smiled, and I felt her growing love for me. She held it out as gift. Why should I look further?