Chapter 41
I’m growing old. That’s the thought on Ansel Winthrop’s mind as he struggles under the weight of the large, bearded man, grunting and groaning as he helps him lean on the rocks. He’s panting. They both are. Waves crash onto nearby cliffs, spraying them with seawater.
“Thank you. Thank—” The man is breathless, his heavy frame draped over the boulder.
“You had quite a tumble. You’re certain you’re all right?”
The man nods, gasping. “All. Right.” Rolling over to sit, he leans forward onto his knees and collects himself. “How may I repay you, kind sir? You’ve saved my life.”
“Think nothing of it.”
“Are you here on holiday? Perhaps I could put you up somewhere on the water.”
“Thank you, but I’ve been staying as close to the water as one can. Dunn Cottage.”
The man’s eyes flash. “Dunn Cottage, you say?”
“There, built right into the cliffside overlooking the Atlantic.” AJ brushes sand off the man’s notebook and hands it back, stealing a glance at the open page. “You’re an artist?”
He shakes his head. “Author. I write novels. A bit of poetry here and there. This…”—he taps the sketch in his book—“Someone inspired me. I’m preparing to put it into verse.”
He should look away, but AJ cannot stop staring at the confident young woman with red hair blowing out behind her who seems to be fighting…herself. Two identical faces with different expressions face each other with swords drawn. “She’s lovely.”
“Thank you. She was.” He clutches the book, eyes closed as the wind musses his hair.
“Do you mind terribly if I ask what is meant by this? One woman is split in two.” So much like Merryn before and Merryn after.
Perhaps he’s a fool. How can one remain married to someone who’s wiped the slate clean and started over? This new Merryn, she’s forgotten him. He promised to love, honor, and cherish…a woman who is no more.
He smiles, eyes closed. “Indeed. I had filled my mind with all the lovely memories—those overlooked in a busy, demanding existence.” He opens his eyes and looks at AJ.
“I met a young woman here the other night who made plain to me the error of that belief. Before, I focused on the bad. Then I clung to the good. But the truth lies somewhere in between.”
“She is both versions.” AJ crosses his arms.
“Claiming anything less would be a disservice to her memory.”
AJ had loved Merryn before the accident.
Falling in love with her had happened quickly and intensely, with time only deepening it.
She’d had this habit of rolling her eyes then sailing away in that imperial manner of hers, but then came the magic—a teasing glance tossed over her shoulder, for no more than a breath.
That look had unsettled him in the most pleasant manner. Every time.
But then she’d died, except…Nigel spotted Merryn—his Merryn—parading about as a lost woman.
AJ had located and spoken to Lady St. Laurent first to gather the details of the situation, discuss his approach with her.
Then he went to Pittville Park with butterflies in his stomach, unsure exactly what he’d do when he saw her again.
He meant to let that fleeting first encounter pass with a brief flirtation, then reassess.
But then she rolled her eyes and laughed…
then looked back over her shoulder with that smirk no one else on earth could possibly imitate, and he was gone.
Totally lost on her, hopelessly back in love with the woman he’d married.
All his blinding grief, the intentional numbing, it all unraveled that day at the park.
She wasn’t the same, of course. She pulled back in a moment when she would have once charged ahead. She spoke less often and with more hesitation.
Yet she still followed her whims. She laughed often and did exactly the opposite of what she was told and never took no for a final answer. She loved generously and delighted in everyday beauty as if it were magic. He’d no defense against it, especially when she was near.
When they’d first met, the Ansel who had been driven and practical and anxious had lost himself blissfully in each present moment with her. She’d melded him into something new. No…into something he’d always been but hadn’t yet discovered.
She’d always possessed adventure in her soul, a way of finding the most enchanted path through life.
Soon that adventurous spirit was not hers but theirs.
The pair of them, always pursuing marvels, chasing wonder, delighting in life and simple, everyday moments.
She’d cajoled and tugged him into adventure.
Even when his work and drive eclipsed his sense of wonder, she’d begged him to come back, to toss the urgent and live for the important.
He’d spent the time with her, yet in every moment his mind itched to be back in those crucial business matters, to tackle another task. He was always an inch away from another financial breakthrough.
Now in the second part of their marriage, his second chance, he’d thrown over the business interests, his passion cooled. That itch had gone dormant, and the moment he saw Merryn’s face again, he eagerly did exactly as requested—then invited her to remember who she’d once been.
Let’s adventure together.
He’d nearly written her a letter instead when Nigel had first told him. He’d meant to move on, as she clearly had.
But then he’d visited his parents. They’d been tucked in their neat little cottage in the hamlet where he’d grown up, his father robust and content.
His mother…wilted. Clearly ill. His father had carried her around the garden—they hadn’t the money for a wheeled chair—and placed flowers on her lap while they chattered away.
The differences in them mightn’t have seemed so abrupt to AJ if he’d not been away so long, but to his grown-up eyes, it seemed a radical change.
His father was now the soft and nurturing one, his mother harsh and exacting as her mind slipped into lostness.
Disease had ravaged her mind, leaving her a shattered remnant of who he’d remembered.
It was more than forgetfulness—it was an entire shift of her nature.
“How can you do it, Father? How can you endure her this way?” She wasn’t even the same woman.
The man’s response had been simple, but penetrating.
“Love’s not a contract with her body. It’s with her soul.
” He leaned on his hoe and looked out over the wild field around their cottage toward the chair where she sat, head back, long fingers weaving a flower garland in her lap without even seeing it. “And her soul’s still in there.”
AJ looked upon his mother. Beauty fell naturally from her hands, and loveliness remained in her—loveliness and faint traces of herself. In this moment at least, she soaked up nature and exuded contentment.
And when her husband walked past her, she’d grabbed for his hand as if searching for home, and then she swung it between them. Some days, you must have love enough for two. Heaven knows she’d done the same during his earlier, stubborn years.
It can be easy to release someone who is damaging or evil, faithless or even violent. Yet what did one do when a marriage became inconvenient? Uncomfortable?
Within the hour, she’d fallen out of sorts. She was cross and tearful, but AJ could not erase the image of the way they’d clung to one another.
Her soul’s still in there.
So AJ had taken a risk. He’d gone to speak with Lady St. Laurent, the woman with whom Merryn walked in the park every day, convincing her of his merits and learning who his wife had become.
Then, with Lady St. Laurent’s blessing, he spoke with Merryn herself.
He found that his wife, who had been shaped by new circumstances and draped in different clothing, was still his wife.
Poetry-reading, tree-climbing, delight-seeking Merryn yet lived.
It was indescribably healing to his heart, and he rejoiced, felt rushes of relief almost daily.
But most things that seem too good to be true…are.
Now he is the one split in half. One part devastated, the other still madly in love, barely enough to hope.
“You do too, I’m certain,” says a voice.
AJ shakes off the cobwebs of deep thoughts. “Do what?”
“Love her, I mean. Your wife. As I did mine.”
“Of course.” It’s quick. Too quick. He glances down at the sketch.
“But she is like this image. Split in two, fighting herself.” He went searching for her after Newlyn.
A mad dash to find her and keep her safe…
but then he’d hung back. The Merryn he knew never would have run from him.
But this new Merryn…He hasn’t any idea what she wants.
What she needs. Most of the time, she doesn’t seem to, either.
“What do you do with a woman like this?”
He smiles, his face crinkling around the eyes. “You must embrace both parts of her and love them back together.”
AJ stills, a muscle twitching high in his neck. He can picture his father sweeping up his weeping mother, simply holding her and rocking.
He startles as a hand is laid gently on his.
“Go. Seize the time you have, and don’t waste another minute deciding whether or not you’ll love her.”
AJ stands, strength trickling through him. Yes, he will find her. Go to her. Tell her…something. No, he’ll finish taking her out on all the adventures she begged for and let them be poor as church mice, just as she asked years ago. He’ll find a way, even though he hasn’t the means anymore.
He had the treasure and went seeking money instead.
He turns to the man. “Thank you. Thank you, sir. I believe I’ll heed your advice.”
His weathered face breaks into a grin that looks like glory split open. “Fine. Fine, then.”
AJ helps the man rise, then hands him back the notebook, unable to forget the angst in the face depicted within. “I do believe you’ve captured a universal truth in that picture.”
He laughs. “No more than you have in yours. Oh, don’t look so surprised. I’ve seen your paintings, Mr. Rupert Covington.”