A Visit From Death
Nella glanced up at Death, her amber eyes widening.
He’d taken the shape she knew from their first encounter—bronzed skin, straight back, sinewy physique. She gripped the table for support and swallowed, her throat bobbing delicately, betraying her nerves.
Death took a moment to study her. She was lovelier up close now—well fed and rosy, having gained weight since he’d seen her last. Her wardrobe had also improved, and the ice-blue silk dress complemented her skin tone, announcing her station.
She’d certainly put some distance between herself and that cabin—her life dictated by the evils of enslavement.
He pushed away a strange sensation in his chest—light and fluttering—at seeing her after all this time.
He’d secreted her in the back of his mind.
The thought of her had brought welcome respite as he collected souls of Sauk warriors, women, and children from the American plains, dying on the land they’d been promised was theirs, land that they could keep.
On the battlefields of Wallachia, where he had just been, malaria had done more damage than any human enemy.
He knew she was busy amassing her evidence, so Death had assembled his. In his estimation, there was still little worth saving among humans. But could she possess something that would prove him wrong? The possibility was electrifying.
He settled into the seat across from her, his form solidified enough to be seen by other humans, if only vaguely. He hadn’t done it before—for what was the need?—but Nella shouldn’t be seen talking to herself. It could end their arrangement prematurely.
He was surprised to find it was interesting to be corporeal in the world. He wondered if he might try it again soon—engaging with the living, not just the nearly dead.
“I trust you’re well,” Death said, taking her in, attuned to every breath and gesture, knowing he’d replay this meeting in the gaps between his tedious collections.
She paused, her lips parting and closing, as she thought of what to say.
“It has been challenging,” she said slowly. “And interesting. Certainly not the life I would have had without you.” The server poured hot tea into two cups—the china clattering in the woman’s hands, though she had no idea of the reason for her nerves. Death frowned at her, and she hurried away.
Death turned back to Nella with a smile. “Without me, you’d have no life at all.”
Nella grasped the cup, the tea inside sloshing as she steadied herself. “Very true . . . and while I appreciate it, I did want to ask, Why have you taken so long?”
Death cocked his head. “You think this is long?”
“Yes,” she said, the sound strangled. “Twelve years without a word. I had no idea when you would come.”
Human perception of time was fascinating.
“Well, I had to give you a chance,” Death explained, picking up his cup.
“I doubted you would be ready after mere months. Only with experience will you truly know all the ill that man has in his heart.” He sipped delicately, the bitter liquid hot and thick with the taste of herbs.
“I read the papers and found none of your evidence.”
“They would not take articles written by women or colored folk. I have the rejections to prove it. I tried a French male pen name. Let’s see how that works.”
“Fickle and feckless. These humans are caught up in the arbitrary, wouldn’t you say? Does it change how you feel about them now?”
She shook her head, the movement sharp. “I still believe as I did all those years ago.” Her voice wavered at first but then strengthened. This was it. Her moment to convince him.
Death leaned forward, ready for their debate to begin. “Even with all your struggles since? The men in the alley? You still feel that way?”
She sat back in shock. “The men . . . you knew? Why did you not intervene?”
Death shrugged a delicate shoulder. “That is not my role.”
Her nostrils flared. “So, would you have let me die? Can I even die?”
“Would you like to?”
She snorted. “Of course not!”
He gave her a patient look. “You can feel pain, my dear Nella, but your death is . . . paused, if you will.”
She silently digested this, swirling her tea with a spoon. “You left me with no guide. What else should I know?”
He remained quiet, sensing the things unsaid between them. He could see them in her eyes.
“Have you already forgotten the finer points of our agreement? You traded your legacy for immortality.”
“Ahh,” she said, comprehension dawning. “So, a child . . .”
“Is legacy,” Death finished. “Only your words will be left. That was our deal.”
Nella pursed her lips.
Death nodded. “Could you watch your children grow, wither, and die? Our experiment would end too soon because of your devastation at this death or another. It’s truly for your benefit. I’d thought it wise.”
Nella said nothing, instead drawing out a parcel of papers, her hands shaking as she passed it over the table. She glanced at the window, her driver just visible in his seat.
Death knew he had been right. Given her feelings, a child would have only complicated things further.
He flicked through the pages eagerly, drinking in her words.
He knew some of this, of course. He’d observed her from time to time.
He didn’t check in often, though, only when his need to know grew too great.
Just sensing she was there, at her task, had made his work less exacting.
Her experience in the world, and their bet, had given him something else to think about.
Now, with her words, he had even more to experience—a completely different perspective.
She’d recorded it all, the beauty she’d seen and the good people she’d come across.
He read her accounts of human kindness—being saved in the wilderness by a trapper and his runaway love; her early days with Eulalie, building a business and aiding other marchandes; the work of the Free Creole women’s groups to lift up their neighbors.
He had seen these sorts of things all the time but had never considered the beauty in any of them.
He found it curious to consider as he continued to read.
The most interesting passages were those of human creativity.
A number of the stories revolved around a man named William and the care he took in his craft: forging objects from metal and bringing them into reality.
Here, Death saw more of her. He quickly deduced what was written between those lines.
She fidgeted as he read, taking tentative sips of tea and placing the cup back on the saucer.
Her eyes darted around the shop, trying to land on everything but him.
He took his time, savoring her nearness as he absorbed her words.
He knew she remained steadfast in her belief, but she would not for long.
Death knew what was coming.
He sat back, his face carefully neutral. “Have you enjoyed the process?”
Nella hedged as she reflected. “It was hard to know what you wanted, what would count as evidence, but in the end, I enjoyed capturing those moments from life, showing you their meaning.”
Death nodded. “I’m glad. Your talent has only increased,” he said, pulling out a familiar bundle of folded paper from his pocket.
Shock ran over her face, followed quickly by anger. “Those are from my desk.”
Death chuckled, surprised at her response. “Don’t look so alarmed. I had to make sure you were on track; after all, the fate of the world is at stake.”
“But you went through my things! Without permission.”
He shrugged indifferently. He could take so much more if he wanted.
“I had a vested interest,” he explained.
“And I’ll admit, I couldn’t resist. I can honestly say this is going better than expected.
Humans are so given to speaking about nonsense, blathering on about nothing—but the written word!
I can see it through your eyes and hear your voice.
It’s an odd sensation that I have come to like.
I find it . . . refreshing. After all, this is why you’re alive.
” Something akin to sunshine bubbled up within him.
He was not familiar with it, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
Death watched as Nella digested this.
“So, this is it? Earth continues?” she said cautiously.
He grinned, showing all his perfect teeth. “Unless you want to end it now?”
“No!” Nella said. “I just . . . I mean, I continue? My life goes on? I grow old? I . . . die?”
Death snorted. “Of course not. You have me intrigued. I need to see what you’ll do next.
You’re off to Paris, are you not? I think the trip will do you good; there will be more to see and more life to share.
You’ll learn the world is bigger than these shores, and humans of all kinds are capable of great cruelty.
You will continue with your task—that is, until you can’t. ”
Her face fell, but she schooled it back into place, the reality of what she’d agreed to dawning. Only Death would decide when, if ever, her task was complete.
Death rose from the table, taking the writing with him. He had much to read before he’d collect her next installment. He was interested to see how she would deal with what was next.
“Wait! I had a question.”
Death paused, head tilted.
Nella took a deep breath. “My brother . . . Silas . . .” She looked up, so hopeful.
Death had wondered if she would ask. “Don’t search further, for he is with me.”
Her mouth dropped open. “How? Why? When?”
“It was not long ago,” Death said matter-of-factly.
She sat, still shocked, the news reverberating, tears cresting down her cheeks. “But how?”
“Yellow fever,” Death said. “Just after Mardi Gras. He’d been bit by mosquitoes when clearing out the marshes on the Cormack plantation.”
Nella’s gasp filled the tearoom. “That’s not true!” she said, eyes glistening. “He was just here. He wrote this.” She pulled a scrap of paper from her purse and laid it on the table. “He was supposed to meet me.”
“I’m afraid he will not,” Death said simply.
She sat for a long while as the knowledge of the loss washed over her.
“My dear Nella, does this change anything? I have your evidence,” he said, gesturing to her papers, “but I’ll gladly accept your forfeit.”
“No,” she said after a long time. “I . . . had hoped to see him again.”
“You can. All you have to do is give in.”
It would be easy with the pain of the news so fresh. Death waited. The world bustled around them, unaware that its very existence hung in the balance.
“No,” she said, lip trembling. “I won’t let you take anyone else.”
Death smiled. He stood closer as he made his final point.
“I don’t say this to be cruel, Nella, but more loss is to come.
Joy, happiness, and a little peace, but pain and loneliness will always follow.
If you haven’t learned that by now, you will.
” Death tapped the table. “This is the game we play. That’s how I know I’ll win. ”
“No, you won’t. I won’t let you,” she said, her eyes hard, mouth tight.
“Well, we shall see,” he said, more invigorated than he had been in eons. He wondered how long it would take before she finally gave in to him. Before she learned that death was inevitable. That he was inevitable.
He glanced out the window at the man named William, who waited in the carriage, the horses pawing the ground.
Yes, she’d learn that soon enough.