Waiting for the Moon

She launched herself forward, cringing to him, at last understanding his fear. For the first time, sharing it.

Please, God, she thought desperately. Don't let me own a husband.

Without Ian, she wouldn't want to live.

Chapter Nineteen

The next morning, Selena woke early and went outside. She loved the twilight hours of dawn and dusk when the sun was a brilliant, colorful glow that obscured the horizon and painted the still-dark world in shades of purple and red and gold. As always, she wore only her nightgown. She cared little that the lacy hem got dirty and wet from her trek through the trees, that she came home with dark, freezing feet.

What mattered were the sensations, the thousands of tiny unexpected pleasures. A mushroom squishing between her toes, the chilly kiss of dewy grass against her ankle, the icy slickness of the beach stones beneath her feet.

She walked through the forest, touching everything, stroking a dozen leaves, noticing their different textures and scents. Birds twittered down at her from their invisible perches high in the spruce and pine trees.

Invigorated, she plucked up her soggy, dirty hem and strolled back to the house, trying to master the wonderful skill of whistling. When she reached the house, she expected it to be full of people, but unfortunately, everyone was still asleep.

With a sigh, she went to the parlor and retrieved her stitchery, snuggling into a comfortable leather chair to wait for the rest of her family to awaken.

Beside the chair was the ebony japanned notion box 238

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that Maeve had given her. Lifting the lid, Selena marveled again at the colorful spools of thread and yarn. She chose a bright purple and began to work.

It took almost three minutes for her to lose interest- this was an improvement, and she was pleased. Yesterday she'd lost interest immediately. The small, white circle of fabric, drawn taut by a wooden hoop, taunted her, reminded her with every prick of the thumb that her fingers didn't work correctly. Normally it was not something she noticed except at mealtimes, but tasks like this were an unavoidable reminder. There was a curious tie between her brain and her hands, something Ian called motor skills, and hers were impaired.

She laughed at the thought. Who cared? She didn't want to make needlepoint, or eat, for that matter; she did both only to please Maeve. Selena herself saw no need for another pretty pillow in this house. What Lethe House needed was gardens, lots and lots of gardens, where the flowers bloomed year round, in a dozen brilliant colors. And paintings of sunny days and brilliant blue oceans. And laughter, always more laughter.

The study door creaked open. "Lord, Selena," Johann said, stumbling into the room. "Don't you ever sleep?"

She gave him a quick smile. "Not much."

He made a growling sound deep in his throat and took a long drink of the delicious-smelling brew called coffee. Forming his fingers around the delicate china cup, he glanced at the fallen needlepoint. "Having your usual success with fancywork, I see."

"Yes. It is most frustration." She looked at him sharply, seeing the dark circles that accentuated his watery eyes. "You do not look healthy."

He gave her a lackluster smile and sat down in the chair opposite her. "I'm dying, don't you know."

Something cold touched her heart at the words.

"Aren't you going to say something?" he quipped. "Some vapid remark about my future?"

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She released a quiet sigh. "But you told me that you are dying. I cannot lie to you about that."

He gave her another smile, this one sad and honest. "I appreciate the honesty, Selena."

"What does it mean, exactly, that you are dying?" He looked at her strangely, and she thought for a second that he wasn't going to answer, then, very slowly, he said, "That is a big question, one that has obsessed the philosophers for ages. Death is ... like sleep, maybe, except that you never wa

ke up. When your heart stops, the body cannot function anymore. You're dead. Then they bury your lifeless body in the ground." He shrugged. "And your life is over. Most people don't know when or how they will die, but I'm different. I know that the syphilis will kill me-years from now. By the time I go, I'll probably be mad as a hatter and won't care at all." At his softly spoken words, Selena felt a sharp sting in her heart. A wave of emotion moved through her, unlike anything she'd felt before. The thought that Johann would one day be gone. "I know something of this sleep where there is nothing around you, nothing beyond you, from which you cannot awaken. It is frightening, the nothingness." "Yes," he answered.

She leaned toward him, touched his hand. "You are so lucky, Johann." "What do you mean?"

She smiled. This was one truth she understood. "Each day in the light is a gift."

He looked surprised. "Yes," he answered, and she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes.

She didn't want him to cry, so she said, "Tell me something that is not so sad. Tell me about Marie."