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She leaned down, kissed him slowly, thoroughly. "We have what we have always had, my love. Dreams and memories."
"Ah, Selena . .." He took her face in his wet hands, held her with infinite gentleness. "It hurts to dream with you."
Tears stung her eyes. "I know," she said in a trembling voice. "But it's all we have."
The next morning Selena stood at the armoire, staring at herself in the mirror. What she saw made her feel queasy, unsteady on her feet.
The dark russet wool of the Shaker gown covered her from throat to foot. Already the tender flesh of her throat was chafed by the high collar. Slowly she buttoned the unadorned kerchief around her throat, straightened it so that the "indecent" outline of her breasts was completely hidden. Braiding her hair, she wound it into a tight bun at the base of her neck and pinned her white, starched cap in place. The ruffled edge framed her face and covered the flyway curls that grew along her forehead.
She made her bed, carefully tucking the heavy blankets in, smoothing the white sheet hem along the top.
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Her fingers lingered lovingly against the cotton, feeling the softness one last time.
One last time .. .
She waited for the hot sting of tears, but this time they didn't come.
Forcing her chin up, she straightened and headed for the door and went into the hallway.
The house was quiet, too quiet.
She descended the stairs slowly, her booted feet creaking on the worn wood. Everyone was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. Elliot stood by the door, hat in hand, as alone in a crowd as a man could be.
The minute she reached the bottom, the crowd surged around her, crying, talking softly all at once, saying their good-byes in harsh, throaty voices. She hugged each one in turn, clinging as long as she could, and then she drew back.
Ian turned to Elliot. "May I say good-bye in private?"
Elliot squeezed his eyes tightly shut and nodded.
Ian walked up to her, his every footstep a blow that seemed to strike her heart. Gently he took her hand in his and led her through the front door, out onto the silent porch.
In front of them, the wagon sat in readiness on the drive. Behind it, the world was still and white.
He took her in his arms and held her closely. She clung to him, melting into the strong, familiar warmth of his body, wondering if she'd ever be this warm again.
"Someday," he breathed, drawing back.
She gazed up at him, this man who was her rock, her lifeline, the other half of her soul, and she couldn't think of a single thing to say.
What was left? Every hello they'd ever said had really meant good-bye.
* * *
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Elliot stood awkwardly in the foyer, wondering if he'd given them enough time-if enough time existed for the kind of good-bye they were saying.
Maeve came up to him, put her thin, pale hand on his arm. "I will miss you, Elliot. I miss you already."
He looked down at Maeve and was wretchedly ashamed that he'd brought sadness and heartache into her home. Of all the people he had known in his life, this small, quiet woman had accepted him the most freely. "I'm sorry, Maeve."
Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. "I know you are. Take care of our Selena."
His throat felt too tight to speak. "I will."
She smiled. "And take care of yourself. Do that for me."
