by Marcy Wilson-Cales

And the continuing bells.

Half-asleep, aware of little more than the soft heat of the fire on one side, the coolness of the wall on his other, and suspended in the softness of the bed, Barnabas heard the clear notes blend into his waking dreams:

And then the bells rang loud and deep
God is not dead, nor, doth he sleep
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on earth, goodwill towards men...

He managed to wake up a little further when Julia slid back under the covers, sweating from rebuilding the fire. His arms went around her until she could only use his chest for a pillow, which she did.

"Don't ever leave me again." She heard him say, slowly, softly, his voice still heavy and thick from sleep. She lifted her head to look down upon him, sensing the words coming to him that he had been on the verge of saying last night.

He had been full of words as he had undressed her, his actions painfully slow as the heat of the fire drew a gleam to their skin and hurried the breath in each throat. Full of words, and yet afraid to say them. Don't part us after all we've been through; don't turn away from me as I have from you; I know better now, let me prove it...

Words uttered in complete silence, communicated by the way he would stop everything and just LOOK at her, deep into her eyes as if he needed to drown in the depths.

"Let me stay with you," were the words that had finally escaped from his throat that night. "Let me stand by you."

Julia silently brushed his hair from his forehead. Even half asleep, or sound asleep, or wide awake, lines of tension left their marks on him. What a terrible thing, she reasoned, to not even be safe in dreams. But his dreams, conjured in a desperate counter to harsh reality, had grown out of his control and had only just been dispensed

In the smoky light of dawn, which was as dark as the sky over a forest fire, his long, dark lashes swept feather-fine shadows from his brows to spread over his cheeks. He was losing the battle of Time, and it showed quite deeply in the spreading frost at his temples, and the now permanent pull at his mouth.

But now that he could finally say the words that were so important to them, a great weight had been taken off. And Julia was grateful.

Words were tools to Barnabas; necessary skills to lean to belong to the community around him. She indeed agreed with that. But, having been raised in a house where words were far cheaper than affection (and both lacking), they meant to her the ultimate expression of trust.

How hard had it been, upon their first meeting. Barnabas had been shown how easy his fellow man could lie to him, and had paid for it with his humanity. When Julia met him, he was clearly not to be taken in again, ever. Winning that trust over had been about as easy as taking the Path of Righteousness, complete with the thorns and briers on its stingy and narrow way...

Julia's face softened to recall that piece of Duncan, his love of old ballads and poetry...by now there was little pain in that look, only a gentling...

Every encounter with this man, a battle. And every day, a war. She had taken the risk by leaving herself open to him, and while her life had been on the line more than once (while her OWN temper was giving her trouble), Julia's gamble had slowly paid off. He had gradually realized she would NOT fight him, and somewhere in his thinking, she had stopped being his enemy. Not all at once, mind. It had been a slow and painful growth, and he certainly hadn't woken up one day (or night) and decided they were friends--!

Painful for both of them. While she knew her own feelings, she was as hesitant to express them as he was.

But I did need to hear the truth from you, she thought, still stroking that thick and brown hair. People lie to me all the time; my profession demands it(!) But that hasn't killed my need for honesty...

She bent and pressed her lips on his forehead. At her newest touch, she felt his eyelashes flutter against her throat, his lips curve into a smile against her collarbone. His arms slid around her waist again, and held her, tight.

"There is in every true woman's heart a spark of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the broad daylight of prosperity; but which kindles up, and beams and blazes in the dark hour of adversity." --Washington Irving.

To Be Continued

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