Chapter 33
“They say the stars fell by the thousands, like majestic fireballs across the night sky. Can you imagine what fear such beauty of that magnitude would cause?” Henry said as he sat on a rock, observing the starry sky. “Look up and tell me what you see.”
She gazed at the midnight horizon and saw nothing.
“Evaline Quinn with nothing to say?” Henry said, unimpressed.
“You’re not real,” she said.
“Can you hear my voice?”
“Yes.”
“Do you see me sitting upon this stone?”
Eva reluctantly cast a glance in his direction.
With his back to her, he wore a white shirt and a brown waistcoat. One arm rested on his knee. The muscles of his forearm flexed as he played with his pocket watch. In the white moonlight, she could practically count every freckle that marked his skin. The ticking of time was loud in her ears. Tick … tick … tick.
She shut her eyes.
“Well?” he urged.
“You’re not real.”
“I am as real as I have always been, Eva.”
“ ‘I did not exist to you before you arrived, nor will I exist to you when you return’,” she quoted his words. “I was an idiot not to listen to you.”
“Do you regret our days?”
Eva tried to swallow. Her throat was dry. She had no more spit. With great difficulty, she shuffled through the brush. “I’m feverish and you’re nothing but a hallucination.”
“You have been walking for nearly four days straight. If you do not drink water within the next twelve hours, you will perish beneath the sky … as another fallen star.”
“Stop haunting me and let me die in peace.”
“I promised I would be with you in this life and the next.”
“Go away.”
“It is my turn to be a thorn in your bottom now.”
She pushed past his figure on the stone without a glance at his face. “Screw off, Henry Asheford.”
“There is my imp with her prickly spirit.”
A bitter rage shredded her heart. She spun around. “I said go away! I hate you, I fucking hate you!”
The rock was empty.
Her chin trembled. She stumbled awkwardly as she inspected the valley around her.
The moor was blanketed in a ghostly light. A warm breeze rustled through the brush. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted.
She lowered her head.
I will die here. Alone and weak and full of hate.
Without shedding a tear, she turned and continued walking toward her fate.
Hours had passed when Eva collapsed into a stream running along a muddy ditch. Thirst had driven her to insanity. With trembling limbs, she stuck her head in the stream and lapped up the cool, dirty liquid like a savage animal.
A cramp sliced through her stomach.
She clutched her belly with a groan. Another cramp came. Then a shiver spread across her body in violent waves until all she could do was lie on her side with her knees against her chest.
That’s it. This is how I die.
Her eyes briefly fluttered open.
The sky above her was alight with a billion stars until the darkness took over.
There was a sharp poke against her shoulder. When she did not stir, she was poked again. And again. And again. Then something poked her cheek, piercing her skin like a needle.
She opened her heavy eyes.
The pale face of a boy in front of a bright-blue sky came into sight.
“Wake up, m-missus,” he said.
“Bread…”
“Wh-what?”
She tried to lift her head, but it felt like a slab of concrete. “Bread … please. Help.”
A cloud of dust kicked into her face as the boy sprinted away.
Eva’s eyes drifted shut again.
Soon, all kinds of voices came.
“Oh, darling little thing,” a woman’s voice whispered in Eva’s ear. “Can you hear me, darling? Can you feel this?”
There was a gentle tap on her cheek.
“Bread … please,” Eva croaked.
“My name is Phoebe Randall,” the woman said. “There is no need to speak, no need at all. Abraham! Son! Come quick and help the missus up.”
Eva struggled to open her eyes. Between laboured attempts, she saw the handsome, round face of a middle-aged black woman. Her kind, trusting brown eyes studied Eva’s face with the loving grace of a mother.
Phoebe brushed back Eva’s hair. It was plastered against her sweaty forehead. “Don’t you worry now, darling. We will take you back to the farm and set you straight.”
“What’s happened, Ma?”
“Abraham, can you please carry this lady to my bed?” Phoebe said. “Be careful, son, she’s as fragile as a newborn pup.”
Strong hands found their hold around Eva’s body. She was lifted into the burly arms of a teenage boy of mixed race. His chartreuse eyes examined her. Concern marked his features.
Eva clutched at his shirt. The motion of being lifted made her nauseous.
“Who found the lady?” Abraham asked.
“My brother, Lewis,” a small girl’s voice said. “He’s a hero.”
“Cecilia, what on God’s good earth are you doing here?” Phoebe barked. “Off you go, quickly, back to the farm.”
“But I want to see the pretty lady.”
“Don’t make me tell you twice, child.”
The girl whined.
Eva’s eyes fluttered open to see a girl no older than five skipping up the hill. A white bow bounced in her curly red hair and her white dress fluttered around her knees like tiny butterflies.
The next time Eva opened her eyes, she was being gently placed on a bed. The first thing that hit her was the distinct smell of a crackling fire. And home-cooked food.
A cramp rippled through her stomach.
She gripped the sheets. “Please … I’m so hungry,” she cried. “And thirsty.”
“Here is some water, darling,” Phoebe said.
Something cool touched her lips. Eva gulped down some water, causing her to cough violently.
“You must drink slowly.”
“I can’t feel my legs,” Eva said.
A wet cloth was placed on her forehead.
“What’s wrong with her?” Cecilia said.
“She’s s-sick,” Lewis said.
“Like Mummy was,” Cecilia mumbled. “Is she going to meet God?”
“Don’t ask silly questions, child,” Phoebe said. “Children, go play outside with the ducks while I tend to the lady.”
Tiny footsteps pattered away on the floorboards.
“I’m going to die,” Eva moaned.
Phoebe held her left hand. “Tell me your name.”
“Eva.”
“Stay awake for a little while longer, Eva.” Phoebe patted her cheek. “It won’t be long until my husband arrives.”
“I can’t … I can’t keep my eyes open.”
“Listen to my voice and think nought of death.” Phoebe squeezed her hand. “You are strong and courageous. You must dig deep for that will to live, child. Lord God, Holy Spirit, have mercy on this pure soul. Oh Christ, hear our pleas, have mercy…”
Phoebe’s prayers drifted around the room until they became white noise.
Eva’s chest rose in laboured breaths. She could feel the blood rushing through her veins. It was thick like syrup. Her beaten and broken soul surrendered without resistance to the darkness that called to her.
She found herself lying next to Henry in the prickly heather. They both peered up at the night sky, rich with a thousand burning streams of falling stars.
Tears filled her eyes. The sensation of teetering on the edge of nothingness gripped her, and for a fearful moment, she couldn’t breathe. But she had to. She had to breathe in the scent of the past and that of the future because her consciousness would never cease to rest until she understood what it had all meant.
She gripped Henry’s hand.
They were two souls, bound by destiny, separated by destruction, and reunited as one to become fading footprints in the sands of time.
“What do you see now?” he said.
With one last bittersweet inhale, she replied, “Our worlds colliding.”