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Not wanting to cry again, I put that letter aside and open the next.
My Dearest Ella, Faerie Maiden,
As I sit at my desk, the ship swaying with its steady progression, charting our course, and journaling the necessary notes, I am distracted by thoughts of my lovely wife. You are everywhere. Your eyes are in the sparkling water on which I navigate. Your clean scent is on the fresh breeze across the waves. Your tenacity is in the sails whose uncompromising will advance my ship across the sea. Your smile shines brightly within the rays of the sun, and your lips are in the extraordinary design of a seashell, one that is lined with the most exquisite shade of pink.
You would not know this, but I have an extensive collection of seashells that fill the voids of the shelves that line the walls of my private quarters. They are wonders of nature, their artistry so fine, their beauty singular with shapes and colors and textures as diverse as they are similar, yet clearly, the ocean is their domain. There is one in particular I have always considered to be my favorite: the queen conch and it is prominent throughout the Caribbean. The tip of the shell shows the perfect outward rotation from its center, accented with smooth points that gradually get larger until it eventually fans out to a wide opening. It is here that we find its most appealing characteristic. The inside of its chamber is a perfect pink, a mixture of an elegant pale rose in full bloom and the high clouds of a summer sunset contrasted against a darkening sky. Try to imagine it in the drawing I attempted for you.
Not only is beautiful, but the snail that resides in this surprisingly large shell is an important food source for the people of the islands. They prepare it in numerous ways; sometimes raw, sometimes cooked, but always quite delicious as the meat is mild in flavor with a subtle sweetness that is easily complemented by other ingredients. Someday, I will take you to the islands so you may taste it for yourself.
I think you would love the Bahamian islands, in particular. They are, by far, my favorite. The water is crystal clear. The sand is white with a slight pink hue, and the islands are covered in coconut palms that stand tall with long fronds that sway in the wind. It is warm and humid, with bright sunny days, often interrupted by fierce squalls that drench the land and cool the air. You can comfortably swim in the water, for its temperature is like a luxurious bath. It is everything you would imagine a tropical paradise to be, and I think what you would love most are the seashells that wash in on the beach. In my mind, I can see you walking along the shore, collecting the treasures that you find. I imagine you amassing an impressive collection of your own, and the notion warms my heart.
I will bring home a few for you to admire. Rest assured, that will be soon.
Your loving husband and humble servant,
Alasdair Stewart
Before I can contemplate the idea of visiting a tropical island any further, Ewan enters the parlor.
“Pardon me, m’lady. But Douglas is requesting yer presence wi’ Lord Galloway.”
My chest tightens from his grim expression. “Of course.”
We hurry down to Callen’s bedchamber where the air is thick with the stench of illness and oncoming death. I go to the window and pull the drapes, then let in some clean air. The cool draft lifts my hair, and I breathe in its freshness.
As I’m looking across to the forest that Lilith always wanted him to visit, a thought overwhelms me.
“Douglas, please tell me you have a litter here in case of emergency.”
“Yes, ma’am, we do.”
“Good. Go as fast as you can and bring it here. We are taking Callen to the forest.”
“But…m’lady…”
“Please hurry, Douglas.”
Before long, we are entering the forest and making our way to a clearing covered by purple, white, and yellow wildflowers.
“Bring him over here.” I direct Douglas and Ewan to set Callen down in the shade of an elm tree with a fantastic view of the flower patch brightly lit by the midday sun.
I situate myself by his head and gently lift it so that it can rest in my lap. His hair is damp and heavy as I brush it from his face.
“Callen, we are here in Lilith’s forest.” I see the corner of his mouth lift in acknowledgment. “Open your eyes, look upon the place that she loved.” His eyes slowly open, taking time to adjust to the light. “I can picture her sitting right here, enjoying the beauty of the wildflowers as the butterflies fly about. Can you picture that too?” He nods his head ever so slightly. “Perhaps if we are lucky, her faerie friends will appear,” I say with a slight giggle as my hand gently rubs his forehead. He smiles again, gazing upon the flowers, trees, and underbrush. It simply could not be more beautiful than it is right now. The flowers are glowing in the light, contrasting against a sea of green.
I catch something swooping through the flowers, distinctly different from the butterflies. It moves fast, then slow, stops, disappears, and reappears. To my delight, another joins in, and then another and another. Minutes later, a strange sense of joy overcomes me, and a presence I have yet to feel before.
“Callen, they are here. Can you see them?”
He nods again.
“She was telling the truth. Thereismagic in this forest.”
A tear falls from Callen’s eye; he blinks, and another follows the same wet trail. My own eyes sting with emotion: sadness for saying goodbye but also happiness knowing Callen and Lilith will be together again soon.
“Callen, I think Lilith is here with us. She is waiting for you. She’s ready for you to join her.”
Tears run down my cheeks as I try to hold back the sobs. I wipe them away as the air shifts and a sudden breeze gusts hard around us. I glance around, expecting to find clouds moving in, but the skies are clear. Callen’s head turns, and his eyes widen as if he sees something. Slowly, he raises his hand, thin and frail, fingers opening as if to take hold of another. My heart beats faster as his breaths rattle in his chest.
“Go, Callen,” I whisper.
His hand falls, his eyes close, the air becomes still…and he is gone.
