“Yes, we’re supposed to invite everyone from the Gablefront to come for dinner and the theater. I think it will be fun.”
“And the day after tomorrow? Can I have your complete, undivided attention?” he asked.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” she demurred. “But I can show you around the island.”
“Good. It’s a promise. Save the whole day for me.”
They sang two songs together, a compromise of styles, for they chose some of the familiar folk songs that everyone loved despite their sad themes. Not wishing to alarm Gretchen again, Lucinda closed the instrument after the second song and suggested they join the others in a card game. And so the evening passed with a pleasant conviviality, and Gretchen, when she looked in, appeared to be content.
The next day the actors spent completely in seclusion while the staff of the hotel prepared for the evening’s entertainment. Jackson, under Gretchen’s direction, rearranged all the furniture in the parlor to create a makeshift stage and three rows of seats. Emmie and Lucinda cooked, baked, marinated, and grilled for what seemed like hours. Celia sent over two trays of desserts with a note promising ten people for the evening’s festivities. Lucinda caught herself wondering what she should wear. Such excitement over a silly amateur play!
But the evening was fun. Celia, Hammet, and their eight visitors arrived promptly at six, and the expanded dinner table was quickly alive with conversation and laughter. Everyone lavishly praised the meal, and the wine flowed freely. The actors perhaps imbibed a little more than the others, for a few of them declaimed their lines over dessert, causing Ed Jomarson to leap up and clap his hand over his leading lady’s mouth.
“I think it’s time to raise the curtain!” Hammet called out, so the whole lot of them rose to their feet and jostled into the parlor. Ed had spent some time that afternoon rigging up dramatic lighting, and this elicited cries of “Very nice!” and “Isn’t this impressive!” as the members of the audience found their seats.
The play itself was thoroughly bad, a comedy of manners involving a wealthy Bethel burgher who unknowingly insulted his neighbor’s wife, and none of the actors could speak a convincing line. But no one in the audience was minded to be critical, and all the more outrageous insults were applauded wildly—including, Lucinda suspected, a few that were improvised on the spot. Omar and the Jomarsons’ daughter had a love scene that had probably been more sedate when rehearsed in the orchard; but here, egged on by catcalls from the audience, the two actors indulged themselves with a prolonged embrace and many meaningful glances. Lucinda could not help noting that Omar’s attentions to the Jomarson girl—his expressions, his tone of voice—seemed very similar to those he had used with her. Perhaps the man was both a flirt and an actor by nature.
The final scene had been written as broad satire and was played as grand farce, and everyone in the parlor was laughing helplessly as it drew to its ridiculous conclusion. On Ed’s signal, Jackson cut all the lights. In the sudden darkness, Hammet could be heard calling out, “More! More! Author!” The houselights came back on to a standing ovation. Even Gretchen, lurking watchfully in the back of the room, was on her feet and smiling.
“Oh, the good god love us,” Celia said, fanning herself with her hand. “That’s one to go down in the history books. I can’t remember the last time I’ve laughed so hard.”
“Anybody interested in a little more dessert?” Gretchen said loudly, speaking up above the chattering crowd. Everyone answering in the affirmative, they all trooped back to the dining room. The day ended on a note of high hilarity and sweet confections, and everyone went up to their rooms that night full and happy.
And everyone slept in the next morning except Lucinda and Omar. They met early in the kitchen, packed a day’s worth of food, and took off on foot before anyone else had crept down for breakfast.
“It wasn’t nearly as awful as you’d led me to believe,” the angel chided the reluctant actor. “Or—well, it was, but it was more fun than I’d thought it would be.”
“Thanks to plenty of wine and an audience hungry for diversion,” he said. “But I thank the great god watching over all of us that no one I know was here to witness my humiliation. And you cannot tell a soul what you once saw me lower myself to do.”
“But you were very convincing,” Lucinda said. “Particularly in the love scenes. I thought surely you had developed a passion for Ed Jomarson’s lovely daughter.”
Omar groaned and then he laughed. “If I thought you really believed that, I would go out in the next fishing boat and fling myself into the sea. But enough about that wretched play! Tell me about the island. Where are you taking me?”
So she showed him the main roads and took him on the long, winding path that circled the island. But she did not lead him to the beach she had shared with Reuben; she did not offer to take wing and fly him to any of the remoter peaks of Angel Rock, although she had done this for many guests in the past. But not this guest. She was not sure why.
They ate their lunch sitting on a short cliff that teased the ocean to furious spray twenty yards below them. The sun was warm enough to make them drowsy but not hot enough to make them cross. The wind was playful and surprising, stealing one of Lucinda’s linen napkins before she could catch it, and brushing the brisk, damp sea air through their hair.
“Isn’t this a beautiful day!” Lucinda exclaimed after a long moment of contented silence. “Do you see why people come to Angel Rock? Do you see why I love it here?”
“I do see,” Omar said after a pause, and replying in a more serious voice than Lucinda expected. “And I’m glad to think that you’ve been so happy here. But I think it’s time you considered coming back to Samaria. Permanently. This is no home for an angel.”
Lucinda stared at him, taken completely by surprise. “What? But this has always been my home. Why should I think of leaving?”
Omar spread his hands. “It’s a rock in the middle of the ocean. There is nothing here—nobody here. You see a few odd Edori every other week. Maybe a Manadavvi boatload now and then. Where is your companionship? Where is your society? You’re an angel, Lucinda! You’re one of Jovah’s elect! You were put on the earth to help carry out the god’s commandments and to bring him the petitions of the voiceless mortals. How can you serve humankind if you are so far from them they do not even know your name? How can you serve the god if he never hears your voice raised in prayer?”
“I raise my voice in prayer,” she said, though at the moment her voice was strangled with disbelief. “I’ve asked for sunshine and for rain—I’ve prayed for medicine and received it. There are people here who need me, and I’ve served them—”
“But, Lucinda! There are—what, twenty people living on this island? On Samaria, you could serve thousands. You could live the true life of an angel, with all the reverence and adoration that commands. You could be part of the life of a hold, which is exciting and fulfilling and demanding. You could join other angels to sing masses to the god. You could lead the Gloria!”
“I thought only the Archangel led the Gloria,” she said sharply.
“And how do you know the next Archangel will not be you?”
She simply stared at him.
“We wonder why the god has not named the next Archangel,” Omar went on, more slowly. “Could it be because he is not familiar with her name? Because he is not familiar with her voice?”
“He knows my voice,” Lucinda whispered. “He knows my name.”
“He has not seen you function in Samarian society. He has not seen if you can command the respect of angels and the adoration of mortals. He has not been able to judge you. But if you return with me to Samaria—”
Lucinda laughed in amazement. “You think to promise me the role of Archangel, which no one but the god can bestow, if I will only return to the mainland with you? I think you go a little too far.”
“I make no promise. But I tell you the truth. The god has chosen no one and we do not know why
. But it only makes sense that he is observing us all, looking for clues, looking for weaknesses. How can he choose you if he cannot observe you? Do you not want to be considered for the greatest honor any angel can achieve?”
“Well, frankly, I’ve never given it any thought,” Lucinda replied. She was still shocked and more than a little bewildered, but alert now and not ready to be outmaneuvered by Omar. “But offhand I would say I would be the last angel Jovah would name to the post.”
“And why?”
“Because—” She stopped, at a loss for words. Omar leaned closer.
“Because you live remote and isolated, unused to the ways of angel society.”
“Well—perhaps.”
“But if you came with me to Samaria—”
“But I don’t want to go with you to Samaria! I’m happy here!”
“For how long? For the rest of your life? To live and die solitary, unknown and unsung? Come to us for one year—for six months. Discover if you like the life, or if you hate it. Then decide if you want to return to Angel Rock forever. If at all.”
She wanted to refuse outright, to tell him she had no interest in the gaudy, frenetic life of the mainland, but the words would not come. She remembered her weeks in Samaria after the Gloria, the color and pageantry of the cities and the holds. Well, she had enjoyed herself then. She had felt more alive and excited than she ever had. And she had wanted to go back—for a visit, nothing more!—though not right away. As a special treat. Once every few years. For a month or less.
But to live there? To make that her permanent home?
To be considered for Archangel—?
She scrambled to her feet, hastily brushing crumbs and seeds from her lap. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she said rapidly. “Angel Rock is my home. These are my people. The god—or you or anyone else who looks for me—can find me right here.”
And she flung herself forward off the edge of the cliff, diving straight toward the ocean before pulling herself up in a close, sharp curve, driving her wings hard against the heavy sea air. She flew high, higher, straight toward the clouded outline of the sun, so high that Angel Rock shrank to a black stone in the ocean below her, and she could not see Omar at all.
She avoided her guest for the next two days, and he wisely made no move to approach her. To her extreme irritation, she could not stop thinking about what he had said. Oh, not the business about being the Archangel—that was a lure he had no right casting. But about Samaria. Living there. At least for a while. A few months. To determine if it would be the right place for her after all.
Aunt Gretchen would rage against such plans, she knew. Would resist them with all her considerable strength of will. But if she decided to leave, simply take wing one day and fly toward the mainland, there was no way Aunt Gretchen could stop her. Though she would not want to part that way, secretly or in anger. She would want her aunt’s blessing. Which she would never get.
Although she could ask.
If she wanted to go.
Which she didn’t. Not really. Although, for a month, or maybe two, could it really be such a bad idea?
She tried to think of other things, but could not. Even counting the days till Reuben’s arrival (seven now, or so she thought) did little to distract her. She wondered what Reuben would think of her moving to Samaria. She thought he would not like it, especially if The Wayward did not go often to the mainland. But if it did … Well, he might have an opinion to offer her; she would listen to his advice.
And then she would make up her mind.
All the soul-searching left her abstracted and a little fretful, though she tried to hide her preoccupation behind her usual light cordiality. Nonetheless, she caught Gretchen’s eyes on her more than once, sharp and considering, and Emmie asked her a couple of times if she was brooding over something.
“If it’s that Edori sailor, though, I don’t want to hear about it,” Emmie added. “Because I warned you! Don’t be thinking about him.”
At dinner that second day Lucinda made a point of sitting by Omar and engaging him in idle talk. He slanted her a quick, sideways look but easily joined in the conversation, relating a funny story about an adventure at Coburn’s general store that had everyone at the table laughing. Afterward, in the parlor that she had shunned for two days, Lucinda sat at the harpsichord and softly played a few sweet melodies. Omar joined her within five minutes.
“Am I to take it that I have been forgiven for suggesting the unthinkable?” he said, seating himself beside her.
“If you promise not to say another word about it, yes,” she said. “Are you in the mood to perform tonight? What would you like to sing?”
“Songs of farewell,” he said. “I leave in the morning.”
She was conscious of an unexpected jolt of some unidentifiable emotion—regret? relief?—but her hands did not falter on the keys. “Your week is up, then. It seemed to go quickly.”
“Too quickly. But I’ll come back in a few months, if I may.”
“We’d be glad to have you.”
She selected a few ballads, a little mournful but completely to Omar’s taste, and they sang duets while the other guests murmured in the corners. Between selections, they talked quietly of inconsequential things, and the hours passed without any unpleasant interchanges.
But late that evening, as Omar rose to go to his room, he paused to look at her intently. “Think of what I said,” he said soberly. “Any hold would welcome you. For any length of time. And the Eyrie would be honored to have you.”
She did not reply, but she nodded once, her eyes still on her music. He lingered another moment, but when she did not look up, he made her a brief bow and left the room. In the morning, when she emerged for a late breakfast, he was gone.
That afternoon, as Lucinda lay napping in her room (she had gotten very little sleep the past two nights, for there was so much on her mind), Gretchen burst in without knocking. “Open the drapes, we need a little light,” her aunt said without preamble, stalking to the closet. Lucinda sat up in bed, marveling. Gretchen threw open the closet doors. “What will you want? Summer clothes, I suppose, but you’d best take a few warm things. You never know about weather.”
“What—? Aunt Gretchen, what in the world—”
Gretchen was pulling out shirts and vests, tossing them on the bed when they suited her, and jamming them back in the closet when they did not. “You won’t really need your nice clothes—maybe one dress, and the rest can be those sturdy trousers you like so much. Here, do you want to bring this? It’s rather pretty.”
Lucinda came to her feet, sure she must still be dreaming. As instructed, she drew open the curtains and let the room flood with afternoon sunlight. But even by this illumination, nothing seemed clearer. Gretchen was still rooting through her hangers, looking for acceptable items.
“You may as well take this blouse. I’ve never liked it, but I know it’s one of your favorites. And shoes! Well, I suppose you should bring your boots and then those sandals you like so much.”
Lucinda crossed the room, took her aunt by the arm, and pulled her forcibly away from the closet. “Aunt Gretchen, what are you doing? Why do you think I’m taking a trip? Where do you think I’m going?” Samaria? she wanted to ask, but she couldn’t think that was possible. But then, where?
Gretchen faced her, her expression stony and set, her eyes wild with anger or conviction. “Ysral,” she said. “By the next boat out.”
Lucinda dropped her hand. “Ysral! But—this is ridiculous. Stop a minute. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I think you need to get away from Angel Rock for a while. A few months perhaps. I have friends in Ysral. You can visit them.”
“You do not have friends in Ysral! You’ve never mentioned them if you do. And why do I need to go away from Angel Rock? For Jovah’s sweet sake, sit down and tell me what is going on here.”
A moment longer Gretchen stood ramrod stiff, and then all the energy seemed to
leak suddenly from her thin body. She sagged forward, drained and exhausted.
“I don’t think you’re safe here anymore,” Gretchen said in a low voice. “I never should have taken you to the Gloria.”
Which made no sense either. Lucinda shook her head once as if to clear it, then took Gretchen’s arm again, and led her to the bed. She pushed her aunt down to the mattress and took her own seat in a nearby chair.
“Start at the beginning,” she said. “What’s wrong? What are you afraid of? What does it have to do with me?”
Gretchen sat shapelessly where Lucinda had set her, staring before her at sights distant from this room and this time. “Bael,” she said at last. “He has remembered you exist. And he has taken an interest in you again. And I want you as far from him as possible.”
“And why?”
“Because he killed your mother and your sister. And he is an evil, evil man.”
Delirium, delusion, madness; and yet she spoke so calmly. Lucinda felt a cold, chilly hand spiderwalk down her spine. “My mother died on the side of the road, my sister in her arms,” Lucinda said gently. “Bael had nothing to do with their deaths.”
Gretchen nodded, her eyes still fixed on some point in the wretched past. “Before Bael was named Archangel, he spent much of his time at Cedar Hills. He had been Michael’s foster son, you know, and they were very close. He was almost as outraged as Michael was when Rinalda—your mother—joined the Jacobites, and he concurred with Michael’s decision to keep her imprisoned at Cedar Hills. Although, in fact, he recommended harsher punishment for her. But Michael was not in the habit of condemning young women to death.”
Lucinda caught her breath sharply, but said nothing. After a moment Gretchen went on. “When you and your sister were born, no one was more horrified than Bael. He made no secret of the fact that he considered it an abomination that an angel should have been twinned in the womb with a mortal. He even claimed that Jovah had warned him that the arrival of such twins signaled the end of Samarian society as we knew it. Now, how would Jovah have told him such a thing? I asked the oracle Deborah if she had received that message from the god, and she said Jovah had commented on the arrival of the twins but she had not interpreted his remarks in just that way. It was Bael’s own great hatred that led him to concoct such a lie.”