* * * * * * *
Some change has come. The bright figures beckon me to another door, to a stairway. They are inviting me to go up.
There is a steady white light blazing past the doorway.
I will go up and see.
Epilogue
Before Letty laid down her brushes for the last time, she painted one final picture.
In a world restored, it is the only thing that passed through the door, into the light.
The King himself hung that painting in his throne room, a grand room where all the people of the world gather to sing and tell tales of their golden age.
Letty herself now stands before the painting, wondering. For that picture is the ugliest thing in the room. Her good friends, Michael and Thaddaeus, join her and declare that it must now be the ugliest thing in the world. Why did the King hang it so prominently?
Other people come to stand by Letty. They stand in the strong light, looking over her shoulder at the dark painting, wondering.
“Me!” Emmie says, pointing.
“Yes, and me. But it ain’t my best look,” Winnie says.
“You can say that again. Look at us all! We look pale and sick, like we’re dying,” says Tom.
“Such a cold place,” Hyla says.
More people come to look at the strange painting and as they come, their faces appear in the picture.
“Lookit that ragged old building in the background. What does the sign say?” Grissle asks.
“The Tower Inn,” Tom replies. “I think . . . I think I remember that place.”
“Yes,” Hyla says. “We used to live there, but it wasn’t by the sea.”
“We lived in a house on that very shore. Look there in the background. It’s my old fishing boat on the water.” Letty’s father says this as he swings Peter up onto his shoulders so the boy can get a better view.
“Lookit that dark wing spread across the whole sky!” Peter says.
The face of the white-haired scholar appears in the picture and Thaddaeus looks around for him in the crowd, then says, “there you are. Is the mayor here? Did he come in at the end?”
“He’s here,” the white-haired scholar replies.
“Nothing like a last minute entrance,” Thaddaeus says, grinning.
Soon the mayor’s face appears in the picture and so does the face of Angus. Between them walks an old woman. “My grandmother,” Jared says to everyone. In the painting his face is pockmarked and sad, but now, in person, he is his old jolly self. A small black book is tucked in his shirt pocket.
The General’s oldest daughter comes to his side and he hands the little book to her. “Yours, I think.”
“Oh, this belongs to my sister,” she says, and hands the book to a dark-eyed girl.
“I got it from him,” says the dark-eyed girl, and passes it to the white-haired scholar.
“But I don’t want it anymore,” laughs the scholar.
“Let me have it! I’ll read it!” Peter cries. He takes the book, opens it, and watches in glee as the pages flutter up into the air, like birds, then burst into sparks that float away into the light. Father puts Peter down and the boy runs after Emmie who is chasing the bobbing sparks around the Great Hall. Letty’s mother comes in with a crowd of children who immediately join Emmie and Peter in their game. All the children follow the living lights out into the bright courtyard; laughing and shouting, the children disappear among the trees.
“Well, Mother, what do you think of this?” Letty’s father says, nodding at the odd painting. Mother looks up to see her own face amidst the crowd on the dark shore.
“Who painted that?” she says to Letty.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, Letty, I think you did,” Father says gently. “I think I remember that you once painted pictures like this.”
“I did too,” Thaddaeus says, “on that other shore where that dark wing sheltered the whole world and we thought it was night.”
“But why hang this picture here now?” Letty says. “What need have we of shadows?”
“To remind us,” Thaddaeus says.
“Of what?”
“Restore, of course.” And he begins to sing in a tuneless way, “Beneath, above, behind, before…”
After a while, the people gathered around the painting wander away in twos and threes until only Letty and Michael are left standing, their faces mirrored palely on the painted shore.
Suddenly Michael takes Letty’s hand and swings her around to face him.
“Do you hear it?” he says.
“What?” She’s been lost in her own thoughts, absorbed by the dim recollection of shadows.
“The bells! Listen.”
They stand for a moment, holding hands, eyes shining, listening to the sweet summons. For the great feast is about to begin. The bread lady beckons.
Together they run out into the bright courtyard and disappear among the trees.
And now the painting is empty, the old door is closed, and the darkness is passing away.
THE END
Acknowledgements and Author Information
Thank you Tina, Jana, Matt, Zach, and Jackie for reading the early drafts and giving encouragement, feedback, and constructive criticism. A special thanks to Tina who asked for dessert and got the epilogue. Thank you Greg, Brendan, and Jackie for listening and patiently awaiting the outcome of my early morning disappearances. J., thank you for the cover painting. This book is dedicated to all of you, and mainly to the Glory of God.
E.P. Cowley lives in Vancouver B.C. Visit the author’s blog:epcowley.blogspot.com. Information about the next book headed down the pipeline shall be eventually posted there.
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