Song From the Sea (21 page)

She nodded. “Not even God can do that,” she said, wiping her eyes again. “I think He means for us to go on, to find our way no matter how dark the path seems, but oh, Adam … sometimes I—sometimes I lose my faith that I'll ever find my way.” She glanced at him guiltily as if she'd just made the most appalling confession, and he had to smile.

“Faith is a funny thing,” he said. “One doesn't think much about it when life is going well, but when the tables abruptly turn and life doesn't seem worth living, faith becomes cold comfort. Personally, I've given up on it altogether.”

Callie's mouth dropped open. “Adam,” she said, looking genuinely shocked. “You're not saying that you've
completely
given up on God?”

“In a word, yes.”

“But He'd never give up on you—never! You are His beloved child, and He loves you for all eternity.”

“I've given up on eternity, too,” Adam said dryly, rather enjoying Callie's outrage. At least she'd put her sorrow to one side for the moment.

“You
can't
give up on eternity,” she said, as if she was explaining the most basic concept to a three-year-old. “Eternity is there, just like God, whether you like it or not. And it doesn't matter if you're a marquess or the milkman. God doesn't make any distinction.”

“How do you know?” he asked, shifting her to a more comfortable position and brushing the hair back off her smooth forehead. “Do you and the Almighty regularly take tea together and discuss His plans for bringing His wayward children into line?”

“Don't be absurd. I just know, and so would you if you'd shut off your clever brain and open your eyes and ears and heart and listen.”

“You make one hell of a theologian, Miss Calliope Magnus. The Jesuits have been looking for someone like you.”

She slugged him in the shoulder and he winced. “What was that for?”

“For being stupid,” she said.

“For my sins,” Adam murmured.

“Your only sin that I know of is turning away from God and the world He made. That's quite serious on the sin scale, you know. It's not as bad as committing murder or adultery, I don't think, but it's a lot worse than jealousy.”

“Hmm. Jealousy isn't really one of my problems. What about thinking carnal thoughts? Where does that place on your er, scale of sin?” He was mightily curious to hear her answer to this one—he had some rather detailed and deliciously carnal thoughts running through his head at the moment, and they all concerned Callie.

Callie considered. “I wouldn't worry too much about that one. God wouldn't have made us human and thrown in physical desire if He didn't mean for us to enjoy our bodies.”

She slowly tapped one finger against those luscious lips, which sent Adam's temperature up another degree. He could think of much more useful things to do with that lovely mouth.

“I believe,” she finally said, “that the trick to avoiding sin is not to act on those thoughts in an inappropriate fashion.”

Adam smothered a laugh. “Ah,” he said. “That eases my mind considerably. I have behaved in a most exemplary fashion.”

“I don't think you should look so self-congratulatory just yet,” she replied tartly. “There's still the matter of your misplaced faith.”

“Neither you nor I can do anything about my lack of faith. It is firm, and unshakeable, and your playing vicar will get you nowhere,” he said, guiding the conversation back to where he wanted it. “Your unhappiness, however, is another matter, and one that I believe can be resolved.”

Callie's eyes darkened and she clenched her hands in her lap. “You do not believe in God, and yet you think to play Him?” she asked with a rare note of bitterness.

“I think nothing of the sort. I do think that truth might go a long way toward resolving this particular problem, though.”

Callie stiffened against him. “Truth? What sort of truth?”

“Yours, for a start,” he said gently. “You told me a very nice truth a few minutes ago. Do you think you might be able to manage just a little bit more?”

She shifted on his lap again, and he had to close his eyes, for it was a very, very nice shift, but was producing undesired consequences. He inhaled, thought of turnips— rotting, really putrid turnips this time—and exhaled.

“I—I don't know what you mean,” she said, her cheeks turning that fascinating shade of crimson roses in deep bloom.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he said, knowing he was taking an enormous chance, but willing to gamble on her innate honesty. “You might think me insufferably stupid, but I am not deaf, dumb, and blind in the bargain. Your creative skills are unparalled and you might one day think about writing a novel, for I am sure you would be highly successful at the endeavor, but this is real life.” He regarded her steadily. “This is
your
life. I can't help you with both hands tied behind my back, which is how I've felt since the moment you opened your eyes and started feeding me a story that might have come from
The Accounts of Lady M., Adventuress at Large.
I'd far rather hear the real story of Callie, as sketchy as it might be, even if the story only starts from that first moment.”

Callie's hands slipped to her cheeks, one hand covering the back of his, her fingers tightening on it. “You knew?” she whispered. “You knew all along?”

“Not all along, but I had my questions from the beginning. I wasn't sure until about three weeks ago when I spoke to Dr. Hadley. He told me he believed that you'd lost your memory.”

She shook her head, incapable of speech, her eyes welling with tears. “No,” she moaned, jumping to her feet and running to the window, leaning out as far as she could reach.

Adam, deeply alarmed that she might fall, moved like lightening, grasping her tightly around the waist.

She spun around, shoving so hard at his chest that she caught him off balance and he staggered backward.

“Did you think I was going to jump out?” she cried, her eyes flashing. “You might think me all sorts of insufferable things, including a liar and coward, and in that you'd be right, but I have a better sense of self-preservation than to try to kill myself. I only needed some air,” she finished, staring at the floor, her face a picture of misery and embarrassment.

“Callie,” he said breathlessly, in as much need of air as she. “Dear God, don't scare me like that again. I honestly— I didn't know what you intended.”

“Well, I wasn't trying to kill myself, if that's what you thought,” she said, chin thrusting forward. “You gave me a shock.”

“That's two of us, then, who are in bad need of some cognac.” He looked around the room and mercifully spotted a tray on the bureau that held a carafe of red wine and two glasses. Not wasting any time he grabbed it, took the stopper out, prayed the wine hadn't turned to vinegar, and poured two glasses. He took a cautious sip from one, decided it was drinkable, and handed Callie the other.

He raised his glass, his hand still slightly trembling. “To life,” he said, not altogether facetiously.

“To life,” she echoed, her expression as grim as he'd ever seen it.

She drank briefly and slammed the glass down on the windowsill. He couldn't believe the goblet didn't shatter, given the force it landed with. “Callie? What the devil has gotten into you?” he said, staring at her. She looked like an avenging angel, and he was her direct target. He wouldn't be surprised if he exploded into flames at any moment.

“You have a great deal of spleen, Adam Carlyle, talking to
me
about life. I at least live mine the best I can, even if I don't remember anything before I came here, but you, on the other hand, behave as if life owes you everything and you owe nothing back.”

She paused only to draw breath. “I'm deeply sorry that you lost your wife and child in a horrible accident, and I know that you feel their loss terribly and sometimes would like to die yourself, but that's no excuse for turning your back on all the people who love you and need you, not to mention turning your back on yourself and the gift of life God gave you. He
didn't
give you any guarantee that life was all going to be smooth sailing. You take the bad with the good, as Niko always said, and you do the best you can, and that's all that God ever expects or wants, and you have no right to decide otherwise, no matter what. You have no right at all. You should be grateful just to be drawing breath.”

Callie abruptly sat down where she stood, which was the cold, hard floor. “That's all I have to say.” She suddenly looked exhausted.

Adam stared at her, his emotions in an uproar. He didn't know whether to be merely indignant, or furious with her insufferable cheek, or to laugh himself silly at this woman who dared to lecture him when she couldn't even remember her own name.

And yet … and yet Callie had managed to reach a place deep within him where truth resided. Not a truth he wanted to look at, perhaps, but truth nonetheless.

“Who is Niko?” he said, for lack of anything else that came to mind.

She glared up at him, her elbow on her knee, her fingers shoved through her unruly curls. “Our cook and our houseman and one of the wisest men I've ever known, so I'd listen if I were you.”

Callie stopped abruptly, her eyes widening. “Niko … Oh—Oh, Adam—I remember! Not anything else, but I can see him clear as day!” She hopped to her feet, smiling as if she'd just been handed the moon, her eyes glowing. “He's not a tall man like you, and he's slighter in build, but he carries himself with the same confidence. He knows himself, Adam, has that wonderful sense of belonging to everything around him, so everyone else feels as if they belong, too.” She started to laugh, twirling around in a circle, her arms hugging herself, tears pouring down her face. “I remember!” She ran over to Adam and threw her arms around him. “I prayed so hard today that I would remember someone, that I would remember what it was like to love and be loved, and I do. I really do!” She tilted her head back and looked up at him, her eyes shining so brightly that she might have been handed the sun as well. “Remembering feels very, very good.”

“I am happy for you, Callie, very happy.” Her happiness must have been contagious, for the radiant strength of Callie's sun shone all the way into the arctic reaches of his heart, stirring a long-forgotten memory of joy.

He quickly stepped away from her. This was Callie's moment, not his. “Maybe this is only a beginning,” he said. “You might start remembering more and more, now that you've recaptured something significant.”

Callie lifted one shoulder. “Maybe. For now it's enough.” She perched herself back on the bed, wineglass forgotten. “Why didn't you tell me you knew?” she asked, regarding him quizzically.

“Why didn't you tell me you'd forgotten?” he countered.

She puffed out her cheeks and released a breath. “I thought you'd send me to an asylum. That's generally what happens to people who can't remember anything about themselves and who have no one to answer for them or support them, isn't it?”

He couldn't deny it or fault her reasoning. “In general, yes, it is. I suppose you didn't know me at all and didn't realize that I wouldn't do anything so cruel or unconsidered.”

“No,” she said, with a tender smile that went straight to that strange, exposed place in his heart. “I didn't know you. I know you much better now, and I feel confident that my next address will not be Bedlam, whatever happens to me.”

“You will be going nowhere near Bedlam, I promise, although I am hard pressed not to give you a severe spanking for having delved into my affairs with no invitation on my part.” He took another sip of wine to fortify himself and met her gaze square on. “Truth for truth. Who told you? About Caroline and Ian, I mean. About what happened to them.” Just speaking the words felt like a knife plunging into his heart. He hadn't spoken their names aloud since the day of their burial, at least not while awake. His nightmares were another matter.

“I only found out today at Nellie's,” Callie said, reaching out for his hand and drawing him to her, picking up his other hand and holding them both tight between her own. “No one at Stanton ever said a word, I promise. I'd never have plagued you about the woods, Adam, or teased you in so many other ways, not if I'd known. Forgive me if I unknowingly upset you?”

“There's nothing to forgive. We have both kept our secrets, and the time for that is past. I failed Caro and Ian, but I don't intend to fail you, Callie. You will have your life back, one way or the other. I swear that to you.”

She shook her head, meeting his eyes squarely. “You can't, Adam. You can't swear to something you have no control over, and I would never think to hold you to a promise you can't keep, no matter how honorable your intentions. I thank you with all my heart for wanting to help me, but in the end my life is in God's hands, and only God can see me safely home.”

Something in Adam wanted to cry out that her home was here, that it would always be here, but he knew that was no more than wishful thinking.

Callie was already on her way, her memory beginning to return. Some other lucky person would soon be able to reclaim her for his own, and Adam would go back to his solitary life, the sun gone with her.

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