Chapter 20 #2
“Well, the poem says, the person falls asleep then dreams of going to heaven, finds a beautiful flower there, and wakes up holding the flower.”
Peter, Dahlia, and Mary all nod.
“Can you not see?”
“Oh, tell us you arrogant, girl!” Mary laughed.
“The flower is in the person’s hand because he did wake but not in this world. He woke up in heaven. Because everyone knows that you cannot possibly take something from heaven, not when you are alive that is.”
The others sat in silence, pondering Claire’s insights.
“Why is it sad then? I should think to go to heaven would be a beautiful thing,” Dahlia argued.
“Because it obviously shows how much the person yearned for such a flower when he was alive but found not a one. I know this because isn’t heaven supposed to be where all your yearnings are granted?”
“Oh, Claire, it is remarkably clear now. Well done,” Mary said impressed.
Dahlia stared at Claire with surprise and quiet pride. She kissed the top of her head. Turning to the Mary, she kissed her as well.
“My sister, a philosopher. I did not see that coming,” Peter said smiling as well.
Claire smiled brilliantly.
“And everyone thought that Mary was the smart one.”
“I shall pull your hair for that!” Mary said, laughing and leaping at her sister as they had not done in a very long time.
With a shriek, Claire jumped up and ran towards Peter, seeking refuge.
“Peter, Peter help!”
She pulled her brother up and used him as a shield against Mary.
Laughing, Mary, Claire—and Peter, for he was being dragged about— ran around the room. At one point, Claire pulled at Peter’s other arm.
“You must side with me, Peter; I am the victim here!”
Laughing, Peter moved away from both his sisters.
“You cannot bait me; I remain the impartial brother.”
Mary and Claire both give him annoyed looks then quite suddenly raced for Dahlia.
Dahlia, realizing what was about to happen, leaped from the settee and ran away from the twins. They chased each other like children set loose in a meadow, laughing and giggling, quite out of breath.
And then it happened—Claire caught Mary and pulled at her hair, her coiffure disentangling. Claire’s shriek signaled the start of the real battle, the twins, still laughing, raced out of the sitting room and into a bigger fighting field.
“You’ll never win!” Claire’s voice echoed from outside.
“They shall wake up the entire castle,” Dahlia said still laughing, still out of breath.
Standing next to her, a grin on his face, Peter looked out the open door at the vanishing figures of his sisters.
“They shall give Mr. Cooper a heart attack first.”
When Mary and Claire’s shouts and laughter could no longer be heard, Peter and Dahlia realized that they were left alone together.
With their grins diminishing into slight smiles, both searched for something to say.
“Claire’s interpretation of Coleridge’s poem was quite impressive,” Dahlia said.
“Yes, quite. Which is very surprising, for she never showed any inclination towards poetry as far as I know; the poetry books in the library have never been touched.”
“She has been looking through my poetry volumes. Do you have the modern poets? Perhaps she prefers them over the classical ones.”
“Perhaps you are right; I must order new volumes of more recent poets then. Thank you, Dahlia, for that observation.”
“My pleasure, Peter.” She smiled.
A small white object fell and landed first on Peter’s shoulder then on Dahlia’s arm. Surprised, both looked down at the tiny berry now resting on the floor between them. At once realizing what it was, Peter and Dahlia both looked up.
They stood under the chandelier where the sprig of mistletoe they themselves had put there still hung, quite forgotten.
They looked at each other, no longer smiling.
Peter could see the light in her green eyes.
Those green eyes.
He had never known such yearning, had not known that he could feel such yearning. The loosened chains came off completely, leaving his heart unbound. His hands moved to her face. Cupping her cheeks, he could only think of her.
And what if
In your dream
You went to heaven
And there plucked a strange and beautiful flower
Dahlia.
She filled up his senses, and the yearning man that he was, he marveled at the feeling. He watched her, so close to him, and she was awash with feelings too.
Peter tipped his head, emotions getting the better of him, and felt his lips skim over hers.
“I cannot, Peter.”
Dahlia turned her head away. A tear fell from her eye.
“I cannot afford to lie to myself, to settle for anything less than what I really want. Too long have I lived like that.”
With trembling fingers, she traced his face. Then dropped her hand.
“I am sorry, Peter, but if I cannot have the genuine thing, then I do not want it at all. I do not want you to kiss me because I am the wife that you will soon cast off. No. Neither do I want a kiss borne from a silly holiday tradition. Kiss me because you care for me as I do you. Because your heart tells you to as mine does. Or not at all.”
Still looking at him, Dahlia stepped slowly away.
“Good night, Peter.”
Peter stood where he was. He could not move, even had he wanted to.
Her words had shaken him to his core. Her honesty cut him.
She would not compromise, and though he suffered for it, he also admired her for it.
She meant every word, knew every word to be her truth.
He could trust Dahlia to always tell him the truth.
Kiss me because you care for me as I do you. Because your heart tells you to as mine does.
But his heart did tell him to. His heart had been telling him to for quite some time now. Deny it, block it as much as he wanted to, his heart knew it was there.
His heart, his feeble heart that suffered just by looking at her. There, was that not proof that he should—he must—deny it?