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As if in answer to his silent question, the bedroom door opened and Agnes appeared, carrying a tray of food. Tantalizing scents floated through the room, made his stomach grumble in response.
She moved toward him, and her dress alone told him that they weren't in the village anymore. Not that he needed such proof-the room itself, and its clutter, were answer enough.
She was wearing a beautiful bronze dress that reflected all the red and brown highlights in her eyes. Her hair was down, flowing in waves around her pale face. She looked exquisitely, vibrantly alive.
She smiled brightly. "Good morning, Elliot."
He ignored the burning pain in his chest and struggled to sit up. "Hello, Agnes."
She put the tray on the bedside table and sat down, scooting her chair in close to the bed. "You must be hungry."
He glanced at the food-fried potatoes and sausage, buttered biscuits with jam, and a steaming cup of coffee. Coffee. The forbidden brew smelled so tempting. "I am."
As she prepared a plate for him, spread jam on his biscuits and salted his potatoes, he couldn't help staring at her. She looked so young and beautiful and happy. "Where are we?" he said at last.
She flinched at the question. Slowly she put down the salt shaker and turned to him. "We are at Lethe House,
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Elliot. I did not know anyone else who could save your life."
"Ian saved me?"
She nodded. "He is a great doctor." Elliot watched her. Was she truly as innocent as she appeared right now? Did she not understand what this Ian had done, how he had ruined his own life by saving Elliot's? "He must be. How long have we been here?" "Three days."
Three days. And already she was blooming again, already this place had made her happy. He'd had twenty-two years to make her happy, and he'd failed. Over and over and over, he'd failed. And Ian did it in seconds. He stared up at her. "You should have let me die." He said the words softly.
She leaned forward, pressed a warm hand to the healthy side of his face, the side that could feel the gentleness of her touch. "You know me better than that, Elliot."
"You'll go back with me again?" She didn't blink, but he saw the way her jaw tightened, the way her fingers clenched in her lap. "Of course. You are my husband. My family."
He didn't understand. This wasn't the old Agnes, wasn't really a woman he knew at all. She was so strong, so honest, so honorable, and she had the biggest heart he'd ever known. He believed that she thought of him as her family, and the belief fortified him.
Family. That's what he and Agnes were, what they'd always been. The two outcasts, together against the whole world. Only now, she had another family. He could feel it in this old house, hear the murmured voices of the people downstairs. This was her family now, and he was just a useless has-been, a part of her life that should be over but wasn't. "Agnes, you hate life in the village. I know you do."
"Hate is too strong a word. I do not hate it, nor do I hate the people."
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'Then what?"
"I simply ... die there. I cannot tell you why."
He knew he ought to release her, now, before he lost his nerve. She deserved so much better than a broken-down, scarred old man with nothing to offer. She deserved children and light and laughter, all the things he might once have given her, but now never could. It was too late for them, there were too many moments lost.
Suddenly the bedroom door opened.
And a breathtakingly beautiful woman appeared in the opening. She was a small woman, no taller than Elliot's shoulder. Strawberry blond hair lay piled in a loose coil atop her head. She paused uncertainly, her fingers resting on the doorknob. He remembered her suddenly-Ian's mother. "I-I don't mean to intrude. ..."
Agnes beamed at the woman. "Do not be absurd, Maeve. Come in." She turned to Elliot. "Maeve sat here with me the past two nights."
Maeve glided toward the bed. "Good morning, Elliot. You may remember me. I'm Maeve." Her voice was soft and sweet, like a lullaby.
He couldn't find his speaking voice.
"Selena," Maeve said, "go rest. You look like a cadaver."
"Oh, no, I should not-"
