Repairing the World

Tikkun Olam: Hebrew “Repairing the World”

 

Chelsea stood in the Temple Church accompanied by Tammanend still adorned in the great Shaman’s bison robe and Dr. Samuel Pepys wearing a long cloak and his tricorn hat.  Strange arcane symbols embellished the perfectly round church, and effigies of the Knight’s Templar marking their final resting place seemed to create a thickness in the air.  Ghostly mask-like carvings of a man’s face composed of leaves, the ‘green man’ along with strange pillars with a terrestrial globe and astrological globe capping the tops respectively.

“This is how Charles Dickens was able to write ‘A Christmas Carol’”.  Dr. Pepys said matter-of factly.  “He knew how to navigate the Ley.”

Then it dawned on Chelsea that she was seeing some kind of Christmas future...or present, albeit a surreal Christmas ‘present’.

“There is a brilliant young man about the same age as young William Penn who in a few years will change the world with his revolutionary discovery of the laws of Gravity.  Again he is learning how to maneuver the Ley.” Dr. Pepys explained.

“What are these Doric columns?” Chelsea asked as she carefully tiptoed through the sacred sanctuary.

“That, my dear, is Boaz and Jachin.”

“Biblical, I take it.” She replied slightly uninterested.

“Somewhat.  You see, my fair girl, Boaz and Jachin are the two pillars that stood at the entrance of the temple of Solomon.  They represent severity and mercy on the tree of life…alas, Chokmah: Hebrew for wisdom and Binah: Hebrew for understanding…before reaching Kether, the crown…In the east, Samhadi, the height of divine consciousness.  It is the yin/yang, the duality of existence.  Light, dark, good, bad, male, female, sun, moon.” He said and his voice trailed off as he was taken by the grandeur of the Temple himself.

Tammanend followed behind Chelsea as a guide and protector.  He waited for a moment to ensure Chelsea might see him as he touched the pillar and stood between the two sentinels.  The threshold between the pillars became the grassy savannahs of Pennsylvania and Ohio at about the time Tammanend led his people west to ensure their survival.  For as far as the eye could see was vast wild prairie and beautiful stands of trees and woodlands.

“This.  This is how it looked to the Great Spirit before the white men came.”  Tammanend said softly and with longing.  Chelsea was astounded by what she was witnessing.  The Temple Church of London let out into the American plains unspoiled and pure.  She could smell the sweetgrass and the sounds of birds and the faint rustle of verdure in the wind.  It was the absolute authenticity of nature.

“How?” She asked breathless.

“These are doorways in the wrinkles of time.  Tiny little holes in the fabric of space.” Dr. Pepys replied.

“I’m dreaming---I, I must be dreaming.”  She said and she grew nervous and wanted very much to wake up.  Dr. Pepys shook his head ‘no’ then he smiled kindly.

“You are separating the subtle from the gross, my dear.  ‘as above, so below’. A very important step in recognizing the gifts of the laws of nature and achieving, well, a kind of ‘nirvana’, if you will.  You have asked from the subtlest parts of your heart and now you shall receive.” Pepys explained. “However, I must ask:  What is it you hope to achieve from this most extraordinary request?”

“Achieve?” Chelsea asked confused and a bit disoriented.

“Besides your own personal gain?” He continued.  Then he patiently waited for Chelsea to gather her thoughts and to truly put words to the things that affected her deeply.  But more importantly to articulate what it is she truly believed.

“I…um…I never really…wanted to have children.” She began slowly the words trickling in gradually at first.  “But something happened…and I don’t know exactly when or exactly what it was but I…I fell for her, for this woman.” Chelsea began.

“Fell?” Dr. Pepys asked confused.

“Yes…head over heels.  I never expected it. Not in a million years.  But…She sends me…She has extraordinary talent and her paintings are very much like the Rhys paintings.”  She said veering off point.

“I see.” Dr. Pepys replied patiently.

“She makes me want…to be…better…to…be a better person…to combine…knowing a part of her would be growing inside.” Chelsea said softly.  “I mean, the idea of creating another life with her makes me feel like there is hope.”

“Hope for…you?” Pepys prodded.

“For me, for everyone---for the world.” Chelsea said and her words surprised her.  Before, her focus seemed to be on the pertinent things of life as she knew it, a job, security, a place to live and a hobby or two—the distractions of pleasure and entertainment.  Now the world became a nest that must be feathered and cleaned and sometimes torn down and rebuilt. 

“The word Jachin is replaced with a ‘y’ in the Semitic pronunciations.” Dr. Pepys began and his eyes sparkled.   “’Yak’ means ‘one’ and the suffix, if you will, ‘hin’ means ‘only’.  Here we have the great mystery revealed.  It is ‘unity’, the ‘only one’”.

Tammanend stood near the pillar ‘Jachin’ as Dr. Pepys continued.

“The story of Boaz can be found in the book of Ruth.  He redeems the estate through traditional and legal means all in his love for Ruth. The thing you have that is separate from yourself can only be redeemed through the perfectness of love.  ‘Jachin’ becomes the unity of being – something that a family member cannot divest.  And ‘Boaz’ becomes the unity of thought through the ‘act’ of love.” Dr. Pepys said softly then he turned and gazed at Tammanend who was leaning on the pillar Jachin gazing out at the breathtaking vistas of early America.

“It is in the Upanishads.” Tammanend said. “’Brahman’ is ‘Jachin’.  ‘Atman’ is ‘Boaz’. This is what she taught me”.

“Who is ‘she’?” Chelsea asked.

“She is Ansa.” Tammanend said and the sound of her name brought glimmering light into the temple.  The rays sparkled and flickered and infused the entire church with a kind of magical mist.  As Chelsea watched the light fill the church it took her breath away.

“Come.  It is time to learn the calls.” Dr. Pepys said and he gently took Chelsea by her arm and led her to the altar of the small church.  Chelsea kept gazing backward at Tammanend standing on the threshold, his sanguine countenance taking in the wonder of the wilds only a few steps before him.  Then suddenly the great chief crossed the threshold of the sacred pillars and Chelsea watched him as he moved further and further away half obscured by the high grass and the distance.

A black Bentley was parked in the circular drive of the Savoy Hotel.  It was almost the exact model of her Majesty’s, the Queen’s official touring car.  Vacationers and tourists as well as Londoners passing by stopped to study the automobile.  People could be heard whispering things like, “Is the Queen really at the Savoy?  Whatever for?”  They were kindly corrected by the doormen and various hotel personnel that the royal standard was not perched atop the car’s roof, therefore, Her Majesty was not inside nor was this the Royal vehicle.  “Then it must be some other important dignitary.” The whispers continued.  Ashley sat in the back of the car.  She had already gathered Chelsea’s things and tucked them carefully back into her suitcase.  The bellhops had loaded the trunk.  The only thing missing was Chelsea herself.  Ashley fidgeted in the back seat.  The driver, Dillon, waited patiently.

“I’m so sorry.  I asked her to be here by 6:30.  I’ll try again.”  Ashley said apologetically.

“Please don’t apologize, ma’am.  It is my job and my duty to wait.”  He said smiling.  Ashley dialed her cell phone for the umpteenth time and once again it rang and rang until finally on the fifth ring Chelsea answered.

“Chelsea?” Ashley said concerned.

“Hi—I’m so sorry.  I lost track of time and I’m on my way.  I’m only a few streets from the hotel.  I’ll be there in a minute.  I’m so sorry.” Chelsea replied.

“Don’t worry I packed all of our things and I’m waiting in a Black Bentley if you can believe it.” She said chuckling at the absurdity of it. “I’ll see you in a few.”  She said and then she hung up and opened the car door.  She stood on the curb so that Chelsea could see her.  Finally after a few minutes she saw Chelsea ambling along the lane and quickly sprinting towards the car.  Ashley climbed in on her side and Chelsea slid in on the other.  The air conditioning in the car was a cool relief. 

“Wow!  You really pimped the ride!”  Chelsea said giggling and excited.  Dillon pulled the car out of the drive and two were on their way to new digs.

“What happened?  Where were you?” Ashley asked.

“I thought I had a little time and so I stopped at the Globe.  And then I walked over the bridge because it was so nice out---I, I just lost track of time. I’m sorry.”  Chelsea said apologizing yet again.  Then she sat quiet seemingly centering herself.  She reached for Ashley’s hand and clasped it tenderly.

“I want you to know…That I believe in you.  I believe in us, whatever this is…”  She said softly and she could feel her heart race as she peeled away her protective layers.  “I want you to know that I feel deeply…about you.  And sometimes my response time is not…optimal…but I do feel…even though I may not say it…or reciprocate…in a…timely way.  I won’t apologize for that…It’s just the way I’m built.”  She said softly.  Then she gazed at Ashley and Ashley could see that it was the most honest she had ever been with herself since their adventure began.

“I know.”  Was all that Ashley said and she smiled and her copper colored eyes flashed a kind of mysterious knowing as the sun set on olde London Towne. 

 

Chelsea was stunned by the grandeur of the Hyde Park residence.  It almost seemed palatial.  It looked like the townhouses seen in all the Merchant Ivory productions shot in turn-of-the-century London.  In front was the signature wrought iron fencing with the sharpened points guarding the house from the commonness of the street.  They were met by Wilkins in the front parlor.

“Ms. Coleman.”  He said with perfect etiquette.

“Wilkins---this is Chelsea Barrett.” Ashley said.

“A pleasure---“ Wilkins replied and nodded his head in respect.

“I’m sorry we’re late.  We had no time to change our clothes.  We must look like touristy Americans.” Ashley continued.

“We ARE touristy Americans.” Chelsea said.

“Ms. Coleman there is some news. Some rather upsetting news.”  Wilkins said soberly.  Ashley and Chelsea could hear masculine voices murmuring in one of the dining rooms on the ground floor.

“Dame Thornton passed away this afternoon.” Wilkins said and his face was grey and his eyes watered slightly.

“But I just left her this afternoon.  She seemed quite well.” Ashley replied in shock.

“She…fell asleep…and did not wake up.  Natural causes.” Wilkins replied.

“So…are we…should we go back to the hotel?” Chelsea asked.

“We should go so that they can make proper arrangements.”  Ashley added and began to move towards the front door pulling Chelsea’s arm.

“On the contrary.  We require your presence precisely at this time.”  Wilkins said.  “Dillon has taken your trunks to your rooms.  If you would like to change please take a moment to do so.”  Wilkins continued.  “I am quite aware that dinner is supposed to be served at 8:15.  Mrs. O’Halloran has made the required trip to the east side foraging for this elusive Thai Coconut soup.  As for the other guests we will be serving Lancashire hotpot.  However, if you are hungry at the moment I shall have Erin prepare some hors d'oeuvres immediately.

“What does this have to do with us?” Ashley asked.

“Dame Thornton’s accountants and solicitors are in the other room pouring over her estate and will.  Since she had no heirs she has left almost the entire estate to the both of you.”  Wilkins said.  “I do not know the particulars and that is why you are both required presently.”  He nodded leaving the girls gob-smacked.  He had only moved a few yards before turning back. 

“Please follow me.  I’ll show you to your rooms.”

“This is getting more surreal by the moment.”  Chelsea whispered.

 

Erin, the cook, had prepared a wonderful plate of exotic cheeses and crackers along with cru d’etat.  Middle aged men, some in dark suits looking like bankers and others sporting bow ties and tweed jackets reminiscent of literary professors in the states, murmured among themselves as papers and files covered a huge mahogany desk from the Empire period. 

“Gentlemen.  May I introduce you to Ms. Ashley Coleman and Ms. Chelsea Barrett.”  Wilkins said and he smiled at the girls as they seemed to look like deer caught in the proverbial headlights.  There was a gasp and a hush as the recognition of Chelsea’s name was spoken aloud.  A distinguished gentleman stepped forward.

“Ladies.  Permit me to introduce myself.  I am Archibald Smoot, chief legal advisor to Dame Thornton.  You have inherited between the two of you approximately 400 million pounds.”

Chelsea held onto Ashley’s arm to keep from fainting.

“I’m just a poor white child from the woods of North Carolina.” Ashley whispered in her southern drawl, awaiting cameras and a producer to spring out of a hiding place somewhere and tell them it was all a big joke.

“Shhhh.”  Chelsea replied.

“The stipulation is that the two of you be married.” Mr. Smoot added as the other men cleared their throats and looked away. “But…same gender marriage is not recognized as legal in the U.K.” He added.

“Why would the Dame stipulate that if it is not legal?” Ashley asked.  The men looked at each other for a possible answer.

“We do not know.  We were hoping that perhaps she might have given you a clue.” Mr. Smoot replied.

“I have no idea.” Ashley said.  The men scratched their heads. 

“Are either of you British citizens?” He asked.  The girls shook their heads ‘no’ in utter confusion.

“Oh dear.” Smoot uttered. 

“The various charities, museums, trusts and foundations that Dame Thornton supported in her lifetime require the continued stewardship of…well, yourselves.” A non-descript lawyer stated from the back of the crowd.

Smoot stepped forward.

“A fortune of this amount cannot be taken from the country.  It is illegal to remove it all and the good works that Dame Thornton so painstakingly forged would collapse if the support were pulled…It could affect the entire British economy.” 

Splendor in the Snow

“I won’t leave you, Nellie.”  Mrs. Hopkins said as she replaced the candles that had burned down low in the cellar.  The house was quiet and after Miriam relit the wax beacons she sat down in their soft glow and opened the Bible to the Song of Songs.  Nell was as gray as the stone walls in the basement and her face betrayed her vacancy.  She wondered what had actually happened.  Did she lose her way?  Did she tarry too long in the cold streets and faint from exposure?  And why didn’t someone help her?  Why didn’t a good Samaritan take her in to warm herself even for just a little while.  There was a great influx of Irish immigrants in New York and they are a clannish people she knew. They  helped each other.  So why did Nellie have to die alone on the streets?  Was the cold painful?  Or did she fall asleep in the snow and the wind, too weak to carry on?  The questions plagued her and the only way she could make any sense from such a tragedy was to remind herself that only God knows when it is time to come home.  She attempted to alleviate her sorrow by reading:

“My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one,

and come away.

For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;

The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is

come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;

The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the

tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come

away.” She read softly.  After a moment Mrs. Hopkins rose up and gazed into the dead girl’s face.  She straightened her collar and touched her hand. 

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered and then she resumed her seat and began reading again.  Mr. Watkins crept down the wooden stairs slowly.

“Miriam.” He whispered.  “You should go to bed.”  She smiled at him kindly, nodded and placed the Bible in his hands. 

“I’ll look after her.”  He said wearily.  And at that moment Miriam saw something she had never seen before.  She could ‘see’ Henry in his youthful appearance.  Twenty, maybe thirty years younger, a smart, dashing chap in a military uniform.  Something overcame her and she leaned in and softly kissed him.  He was taken aback and once the initial surprise wore off Henry wrapped his arms about her.  They lingered there in a kind of restful reverie.  Then Miriam pulled herself away gazed at him for a moment, smiled and made her way up the cellar stairs and back onto the first floor.  He sat down with the Bible gripped tightly in his hands.  Religion seemed foreign to him but the loss of a friend was too close and so he wept quietly for poor Nell.

 

The baby moved within and its restlessness woke Victoria.  She could not find comfort as her back ached and she needed to relieve herself.  She moved within Richard’s arms and he was fast asleep.  The fire had died down and only a few embers still held their deep orange glow.  She gazed up at the ceiling of the parlor and although, the snow had reached almost five feet outside and threatened to bury them in an icy tomb the first bits of dawn crept in and she realized they had survived another day.  She studied his sleeping face and he was so handsome and innocent in his repose that tears of gratitude and affection welled up in her eyes.  Certainly the coming baby enhanced the feelings of intimacy and joy and the overwhelming desire to be wrapped within his strong, majestic mien.  She moved close to him and he stirred for a moment moving his arms into a full embrace.  Still sleeping he kissed her neck and then let his head rest and he sailed back into his dream state.  Gently she moved his arms, rose and quickly pulled on her skirt and bodice.  She cloaked herself in her wool cape as the temperature in the room had fallen.  She threw the last bits of wood onto the dying fire and stoked the coals until a flame erupted.  Once the flame caught she knew the room would warm up with time.  She wandered through the pocket doors and pulled the great velvet curtain away from the grand window.  The snow had surpassed her height.  The few remaining feet left uncovered revealed that the storm was not yet over.  The snow fell steadily from the dark sky but the light seemed to fight its way through the thick clouds.  Victoria lit a lantern and made her way up the grand staircase to the second floor.  She knew Tammany was at the end of the hallway and so his countenance did not startle her.  She quickly turned into her bedroom draped every inch in canvas for the winter.  The dust rose in clouds and yet she seemed oblivious.  She moved to a small room that was her privy and though it was very cold she felt compelled to relieve herself.  She found a chamber pot and to keep what warmth she had she lifted her skirt and eased her bladder.  There was a shift within and an odd quiver.  Somehow she had felt the sensation before but she was so far along she thought nothing of it.  As she gazed down into the chamber pot the bowl was bright red.  A deep grief stricken groan rose up and transformed itself into a full blown wail that shook the foundations of the entire house.  She collapsed in anguish and fear and her sobs seemed to rush over her of their own accord.  She heaved in desperation with a sound that was absolutely primordial and could turn anyone’s, even the most courageous man’s blood cold.

Richard awakened instantly from the gut-wrenching cry and jumped up and out of the bison hide.  Without even thinking he dashed through the pocket doors without a stitch to cover him and took to the stairs three and four at a time.

“VICTORIA!” He yelled concerned. “VICTORIA!” She could not yell back but caved in with distress and weeping.  He followed the hushed tones of grief until he found her huddled in the corner beside the chamber pot.  When he saw the cause of her suffering he immediately picked her up thinking if she were level in his arms that he could keep the baby from slipping away.   He quickly carried her down the stairs and through the pocket doors and laid her down on the buffalo robe.  Then he wiped away her tears and hovered over her whispering words of encouragement and hope.

“We will not lose this one.  It is fated to be born.  You understand that this child is supposed to live.”  He said with absolute conviction. “And you.  You are the one to bring him into this world.  You know this to be true, don’t you?  You are the one who will rear this child and he will change the world.  And so because you have the sun and the moon and all the stars at your side you must believe that it is impossible to die.”  He said and his face was fierce with truth and fervor. “Say it.” He instructed.

“It is impossible to die.”  She said softly.

“It is impossible for him to die.” He repeated.  “Do you believe?”

She nodded yes but her face betrayed her hesitancy.  Then he lay down beside her and tenderly kissed her and said, “Remember when we took a carriage ride through Hyde Park.”  She smiled and blushed and her gloom seemed to lift for the moment.  “And you asked me if I believed in magic.  And I said that as long as I am with you I ventured to say yes.  And I thought to myself that how can a man of my station possibly be with a woman of your standing?  If I believed in something greater than myself and submitted to the forces of that great good then it was possible.  And look at us.  We have created our own majestic place filled with splendor and excitement and children.  We will have children.  And this is only the first and he will be born…at the right time.”  She threw her arms around him and her body heaved with emotion and she felt as though she had to believe.  There was no other option.  So she cast away her fear and she held onto the thoughts of this new child born healthy and strong.  He held her for some time whispering ideas for how they would spend their first Christmas and what the nursery might look like.  Whether it be a girl or a boy and what names seemed to be favored.  Michael, Isabel, Louise, Genvieve, Yvette, Robert, Max, Margaret and Ashby.  He got up momentarily to stoke what was left of the fire.  She drank in his nakedness as he stood near the fireplace.  He was svelt and muscular and healthy and he was exactly what she wanted.  Even when she did not know, there was something in her soul that led her to him.  And he was right, that the obstacles in their path could have easily torn them asunder.  The world seemed at odds with them and at every turn suspicions and jealousies would erupt like secret undercurrents swirling about them. They defied convention. They challenged the norm. If it had not been for Victoria’s tireless devotion to her philanthropic work they could quite easily be pariahs within New York Society.  They were on the fringe as it is and so as much as they tried to alleviate other’s discomfort in their union they did not pay much mind to opinions and gossip. The fire had died down again and Richard pulled on his trousers, shirt and coat.  

“While I am out I’ll come up with a boy’s name and you come up with a girl’s name and we’ll have tea and talk about our plans.”  He said cheerfully.

He wrapped her up under the Buffalo Robe and went to fetch more wood for the fire.  As he stepped outside the wind had died down but the snow was falling furiously.  The drifts were so high that they reached his forehead leveled off.  As he peered above the snowy landscape he could only see the tops of the trees breaking out of their white cocoons and the blue grey of dawn just about to light up the cloud filled sky.  He moved back in to the kitchen and fastened the makeshift snowshoes to his boots.  Then with his hands he attempted to carve a ramp up to the surface of the snow.  He was not even sure where to look for wood and if he could find a cord already chopped he would have to dig it out.  He wondered if it would be easier to break up the chairs in the dining hall but it seemed a sin to consume such beautiful craftsmanship and carving.  He ventured out and made his way around the side of the manor.  He found a fallen branch in the yard and decided he would use it to poke through the snow and locate something appropriate for burning. 

Even though he was only yards away outside Victoria could feel his absence.  The quiet was at once comforting and yet she could hear her mind jumping from one thought to another.  The horse whinnied and stamped in the kitchen and she knew the poor animal must be hungry.  She did not move.  If she kept herself recumbent then her body might recover and the baby would be all right.  She decided she could keep her spirits up if she hummed something upbeat and possibly inspirational.  She sifted through her mental repertoire and discovered a few uplifting songs that the reformers would sing before the opening of lectures on women’s rights and the plight of orphans in the world.  And so she hummed softly and the music seemed like salve for her.  The bay whinnied almost as an accompaniment and it made her giggle.

“That’s right, Michelangelo, sing!”  She said aloud and the horse neighed and bobbed its head in response as she sung verses to songs she knew.

He drove the branch down into the drift and it hit the ground easily.  Even though his task seemed daunting and frustrating he held in his mind the image of his son being born and it made him smile and it filled his heart with such reverence that he was aware that something holy and sacred was at work.  He could will it into being just like he willed his relationship with Victoria into being.  But it could not come from a self-serving, ego driven place.  It had to be in complete synchronization with the cosmos.  It had to be born from a place of ‘all love’ and a kind of submission to the machinations of universe.  And that is how the divine manifests as magic.  He stopped for a moment and in the silence of the falling snow he could hear her faint voice singing from inside.  He smiled and he imagined there was an entire cord of wood just under him against the house and as he drove the pole down a few feet further he hit something and began to dig.  He cupped his hands as a shovel and whittled his way down until he found exactly what he was looking for.  Then he stood upright, gazed at the snow-filled sky and chanted “Thank you!  Thank you!  Thank you!”

After making several trips from the frozen woodpile to the kitchen, Richard commenced rebuilding the fire.  It was early morning and there was not much left to eat.  There was a small bit of cheese left in the picnic basket and a scrap of beef that had hardened in the cold.  He could make her some tea at least and then forage down in the root cellar to see what might be edible.  Once he stoked the fire and the flames sprang up miraculously from the sodden logs he pulled the kettle from the kitchen and let it heat on the hearth.   He moved close to her.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he brushed a few stray hairs from her cheek.

“I haven’t moved and so I haven’t noticed anything.”  She replied.

“Don’t sit up.”  He instructed.  “May I look?”  He asked.  She nodded and he pulled away the bison hide and then carefully lifted her skirt.  A cursory glance revealed that whatever hemorrhaging had occurred had stopped.  He replaced her skirt and covered her with the animal skin. 

“I don’t think you should move.”  He said.  “Not even to sit up.”  She seemed to agree and her eyes glazed over with caution.  A hush seemed to cascade over the room and it was so quiet they could hear Michelangelo breathing in the kitchen. 

“We have to find something for her to eat.” Victoria said softly.

“We’ll have to find something for us to eat first.”  He said and he gazed quietly at the fire and poked at it so the flames would drive away any moisture.  He was pensive and tried hard to keep a cheerful tone.  She studied him for some time as he quietly pulled the kettle off the fire and methodically made her tea just the way she liked it.

“I’ll have to sit up to drink it.”  She said softly.  He nodded then he wandered into the grand dining area and pulled a few pillows from the couches and chairs. 

“Let me bear your weight.”  He said and his strong arms lifted her slightly as he moved a few pillows into position.  The tea was absolutely enchanting and seemed to be the only thing that connected her to her routine and her life as she knew it.  Just the aroma of it brought back memories of her mother and grandmother and afternoons spent in lively conversation and witty repartee.  She missed her mother terribly and that thought led her to the fact that she missed Mrs. Hopkins and hoped that her trusted Governess was fairing well in the storm.  She wished there was a way to send a message to her to let Miriam know that she was all right.  Richard sipped his tea quietly watching the flames lick at the wood, the hiss and crackle of water set free.  She could see a heaviness settle on him.

“What has happened is not because of anything we did.”  She said almost whispering and he turned and looked at her.  “It was not wrong and it was not dangerous or careless.  It is something that has happened.  It happened once before and I took every precaution----“ She said stopping abruptly as the words caught in her throat and the tears flowed easily.  He moved to her and took her hands.  And after a moment she regained herself.  “There is something you should know.”  She said and she trembled as she spoke and her face betrayed a great, painful hardship.

“You don’t have to tell me.  I am already aware of the past.” He confided.  “And it is too hard.”  And the words caught in his throat and he wiped his eyes and took a deep breath and attempted to find his balance again.

“Please do not ever restrict yourself from me or I shall find it unbearable.” She said.  And he found a handkerchief in his trouser pocket and dried her tears.  “I want to make love with you – that way - with wild abandon as if it is our last day each and every time.”  She whispered.  “We can create our intimacy just like we have created our marriage.”  And he gazed at her face resplendent and fair, her dark eyes filled with incredible veracity.  “I want…” She began and then she fell silent and blushed,

“What.”  He whispered.  And she drew close and said, “I want you to have pleasure.”

“But I do.” He replied.  He did not quite understand what she meant.  And she thought if they had come this far in their candidness she may as well continue.

“I want to know…what it is…you like.”  She said.  And her eyes burned with a scintillating knowing.

“I like everything…that happens between us.”  He said.

“But there are certain things that might give you more pleasure and that is what I am asking.”  She continued. And the heaviness that seemed to bear down at the beginning of their conversation began to evaporate.

“Perhaps when you are feeling better, we’ll experiment.”  He said cryptically and his face flushed at the thought of engaging in certain acts with her. 

“I won’t break.”  She said.

“I know.” He replied.

“If it is a choice between me and having children.”  She said almost out of breath.  “Then I choose me.”  And he understood her perfectly.  He let his hands run over the thick fur of the buffalo robe and he was glad she put herself first.  He was glad that she was mindful enough to know exactly what she needed because it was the exact thing that he needed and wanted and desired and if children were born as a result then they would be blessed all the more from it.