The Charm School by Susan Wiggs
Twenty-Six
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat.
They took some money, and plenty of honey
Wrapped up in a five-pound note...
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon, the moon,
the moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.
—Edward Lear, The Owl and the Pussy-Cat
Isadora hurried across the ballroom, hoping she could leave unobtrusively. As she edged toward the entranceway of the ballroom and paused beneath the carved federal walnut arch, memories flooded her. Less than a year ago, another Isadora had stood at this very spot, trying to slip out of a party she wasn’t enjoying.
She had wished to escape that night, as well. But what she had wanted to do was escape her own life.
Now, although the scene was eerily the same, she knew she was here to live that life. The gilt cherub mirror hung in the foyer. The graceful Boston fern flourished in a pot with four legs. She had destroyed it the last time. As if the mishap had never happened, it had been replaced.
One step, then another. Invisible. She was invisible; she could fly like a bird, slither like a snake. Though once awkward, she was now lithe and graceful, fleet of foot, causing no more stir than a breeze as she disappeared into nothingness, into freedom—
She barely noticed a commotion at the door. She heard a scraping sound and turned in time to see more guests arriving. A masked and snarling pirate burst into the house.
“Ye powers,” she whispered, jolted by the look of him. Her preoccupation with Ryan had made him a phantom in her heart. She was losing her mind, surely.
The pirate had tangled the end of his tattered scarf around one of the legs of the fern pot. Laughing heartily, the pirate gave the scarf a tug.
Time seemed to slow, and Isadora saw the whole sequence as if through a wall of water. The scarf went taut, upending the large plant. The alabaster pot shattered against the marble floor.
The abrupt movement and the explosion of noise caused everyone to freeze for precisely three seconds. Then the masked pirate faced the onlookers and said, “Oops.”
Dear God, that was no phantom. He was real.
The band of growling pirates surged into the foyer, pretending to menace people with rusty sabers and antique pistols, but for Isadora, the world stayed frozen.
She saw nothing but the tall man in the tattered red scarf. Heard nothing but the echo of familiar laughter.
Ryan.
Her heart spoke his name when her mouth was too astonished to make a sound.
Ryan.
Alive, he was alive, a vibrant and laughing contradiction to the grim reports of his death.
Sheer joy made her knees nearly buckle. She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying her best to keep in the sobs while the tears flowed down her face. Vaguely, she became aware of her family gathering around, watching her with concern as the masked and jubilant pirates made their merry way through the crowd. She recognized Chips’s bald head, Timothy Datty’s slender darting form and Izard and the Doctor and Gerald and Luigi and even the surly Click, all of them shrieking with glee as they committed robbery. The guests, thinking it was entertainment, gave up their belongings without a murmur.
She noticed all this through a blur of tears, noticed it even though she didn’t take her eyes off Ryan. He threw back his head and released a piratical stream of full-throated laughter, and then, as the other guests joined in the spirit of the “attack,” he came toward her.
More swiftly than the wind itself, he crossed the foyer and swept her up into his strong arms so that her feet left the floor. “Avast there, wench! Did you think you could escape me?” Angling a path through the crowd, he carried her out into the night, where a fresh wind, salted by the sea, skirled up from Boston harbor.
He stopped walking and kissed her, a rough open-mouthed kiss that filled her with the taste of him, and at last he was real to her, no dream, no ghost come back from the dead, but Ryan...her Ryan.
Still clinging to his neck, she slid down so that her feet touched the ground. “I thought...we all thought...you’d died in the storm. What of Journey and Delilah and the children?”
“They’re working on an apple farm in Canada. We had to stage the accident at sea in order to throw off our pursuers.”
“Why did you let me think you were dead?” she whispered. “Why did you let me grieve?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, love. I came as soon as I could.”
She shut her eyes and pressed herself against him, savoring the miracle of his return. God, his smell—the wind and the sea and just...just Ryan.
“I have something to tell you,” she whispered.
“Oh, Christ. The scurvy barnacle did it, didn’t he? Chad Easterbrook asked you to marry him.”
“As a matter of fact, he did, but—”
“Damn it. Damn it. I knew I’d be too late. I’ll challenge the scum to a duel, blow his empty head off—”
“Ryan. I said he asked me. I didn’t say what my reply was.”
He stared at her, a cautious joy lighting his face. “You mean...?”
She felt the wind cool the wetness of tears on her cheeks. “How could I consider him, when I’ll always hold you in my heart? I thought I’d find everything I needed to know in books, but I learned love from you, Ryan. I love you.”
When he kissed her again, she was certain she could taste his joy, could see it in his eyes when he lifted his mouth from hers and said, “So what was it you wanted to tell me?”
She took his hand and covered it with her own, bringing it down to cup her stomach. “Remember when you said if I found myself with child, you’d make it right?”
He swallowed hard, and his voice held a rough catch of emotion. Like the dawning sun, his face lit with knowing. “I remember. I...promised.”
“Then I think you’re going to have to make good on that promise.”
He froze in a moment of complete incredulity. Then, throwing back his head, he let loose with a shout of triumph and swept her up into his arms once again. “Say your prayers, wench,” he said in his mock-pirate snarl, his broad strides hastening along the brick walkway. “You’re mine now, all mine!”
And as he carried her down to the harbor, she buried her head against his shoulder, laughing and weeping with all the fullness of her love. “Ah, Ryan. Didn’t you know? I always have been.”