Chapter Two

The girl’s sweet, angelic face, smiled at me with a gaze of non-comprehension. Her fingers never stopped playing with the cloud of dark fiber over her shoulder, and she cast her spindle down again, creating a long cord of thread, before winding it again. I watched in fascination, the repeated gesture mesmerizing to me.

Through the cottage window a slant of sunlight drifted across the floor, lighting up particles of dust and setting them to dancing. I had never suspected that even Heaven had dust, but as I pondered on it, I figured that dust was one of those inescapable things—even in the afterlife. Birdsong and the gentle song of wind dancing through tree leaves filled the air. The breeze which wended its way through the window was chill and I wrapped my arms around myself.

Another whistle joined the songs of the birds, then shifted to a different song, one with definite rhythm and cadence. It was a jaunty tune, full of spring, and jollity. I turned to smile in wonder at the girl, to share with her the delight I felt at that charming tune.

She was gone. The cottage was empty.

I started, staring around me at the cracked and darkened walls—the empty fireplace with the fallen timbers shattered across the floor. The whitewash was darkened and stained by years of rain.

The whistling drew closer, and I went to the doorway, drawn to the sound despite the sudden change it seemed to have brought about in the once-cozy, now dismal, cottage. The whistler was a slight form, strolling slowly up a dirt road. The sunlight glinted gold in his otherwise copper hair. As I watched, he shaded his eyes with one hand, and called out something to me that I didn’t understand.

“I’m sorry?” I stammered.

The figure drew to a stop, looking as astounded as I felt. After a moment, he drew closer, shaking his head. “You’ll not be wanting to be around this old place,” a firm voice called to me. “It’s not safe.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was trespassing. I don’t even know how I got here…” I made a useless gesture with one hand. How to explain that I had drowned that this was apparently my version of heaven? Did one actually have to explain things to a dream? As the man drew closer, I had more doubts of his angelic origin. He could be a leprechaun perhaps, but not an angel. There was a mischievous bend to his lips and his blue eyes had all laugh lines around them, dotted with a fair spattering of light freckles against his ultra-fair skin. His nose turned up, which would have been cute on a child, but looked rather out of place on his mature face.

“Who are you?” He called, coming nearer, his blue eyes suspicious. He waded through waist-high green grass to approach. The blades parted around his legs and parted around the open-mouthed, joyous face of a golden dog, running at the man’s side.

On reflex, I knelt down and tickled the dog’s ears. He was a golden lab, the spitting image of my dad’s old companion, though Tipper had died seven years ago. The dog swiped my chin with a sloppy tongue and I giggled. I looked up at the man, who had drawn to a halt right before me, and was watching us stoically. “I’m Meg,” I told him. “My name is Meg Tanner.”

“I’m Devon Horan,” He responded. “What brought you here?”

I sighed, rubbing noses with the friendly dog. “The sea, I suppose, you could say.” I told him.

“Kip,” Devon scolded, as the dog licked me again, with enthusiasm. The dog dropped back a few steps, wagging his high-held tail. “The sea?” His face was troubled.

“Where am I?” I asked him. “I’m afraid I’m… lost?”

“Yes,” Devon seemed to bring himself back to attention with an effort. “Yes, you must be lost. We are on a small island… the closest town is Trinity.”

“Oh!” I felt a rush of shock. Part of me had assumed all of this was part of dying, a piece a heaven. I watched a piece of dandelion fluff float on the wind and faced my returned mortality. “I came from Trinity… I’m not sure how I got here.”

Devon scowled. “Where are you staying, in Trinity?” He made the question a casual one, turning his shoulder, obviously expecting me to follow him. I fell into stride behind him, running my finger tips through the high grass.

I shrugged. “I don’t know… I don’t really belong anywhere.”

He turned with a sudden, jerking motion, so fast that I almost ran into him. His face was troubled, as if I had said something that struck him to the core. “What?” He demanded. “What did you say?”

I shrugged, nonplussed by his reaction. “I don’t really have a place to go.” I glanced back at the cottage behind me. It seemed so dark and empty, a shell where a spirit once had been. It made me think of my father, lying there, with all that made him real missing. “What is this place?”

I wanted to ask him about the girl, about the change that had happened to the cottage when he appeared, but was afraid that it would sound like the words of a mad-woman. Perhaps I had dreamt the whole thing. Somehow, I could not believe that.

Devon started walking again, and I had to stretch my legs to keep up with his long strides. “This is a very old place,” he said, over his shoulder.