Evie woke in the hospital forty-eight hours later. Erik was there, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. He told her what she already knew—that she would be all right now—before calling the nurse to say she had awakened at last.
They let her go home four days after that, and for a while she stayed in the king-size bed upstairs, while Darla and Tawny and Nellie treated her like a queen. They even moved the computer up there, so Pete could show her a thing or two about it while she got her strength back.
By mid-December, she was much better, able to open her store again and work half days. Will Bacon, who ran the local clinic, warned her to take it easy, though. Pneumonia, Will said, could ruin a person’s stamina for quite some time.
For years after that, Evie always felt that Jack Roper looked at her strangely. Jack had gone down into the basement of that old house. And he’d seen her father on the floor, knocked out by one of the bricks from the wall.
What Jack could never figure out, he said, was how Evie, in her condition, managed to work that brick free of the wall, let alone heft it and hit the old man with it.
Once or twice, Evie was tempted to explain to him about telekinesis. But she never did. Jack was such a practical soul. She doubted he’d believe her anyway. And that whole time was such a blur to her now, anyway. She thought she’d willed that brick out of the wall and through the air. But she’d never be absolutely positive that was what she had done.
And she had no memory at all of crawling up the basement stairs and into the living room where Erik said he’d found her.
No, really. She thought it was probably best to just let the whole thing go. Let Jack look at her strangely. She could live with that.
A few days before Christmas, Erik and Evie flew to Oregon and paid a visit to the institution where Gideon had been confined. The old man didn’t recognize her. The doctors said it was the way it often went, in cases like these.
During the flight home, Evie thought—as she had a hundred times since that day she woke in the Oregon hospital—that maybe they should talk about it all. But they didn’t. They glanced now and then at each other, shared a loving smile, and listened to the low drone of the powerful engines that were taking them home.
Christmas was beautiful. “The best we ever had,” Becca said. Nevada and Faith showed up in the afternoon. They all went for a huge dinner at Darla’s. Even Nellie came for that.
New Year’s Eve, Erik and Evie went to a party at Delilah Fletcher’s house. At midnight, they kissed beneath the mistletoe in Delilah’s living room. Then they went home and made long, wonderful love in their king-size bed.
Afterward, as they held each other, Evie thought again of talking to him of the miracle of her rescue five weeks before. She remembered the meadow, and the dreams of him. And the envelope she’d stared so hard at, with the address of the old house on it.
But she said nothing. Erik had already explained to her how he’d found her. Nevada had come up with the address at the last minute; she’d forgotten she had it, and then discovered it scrawled on an envelope after all hope was gone.
And really, as each day passed, Evie saw less and less need for talking about it anyway.
The strange dreams of Erik in the meadow had helped her. In them, she’d told the truth about herself and her past. And in them, Erik had accepted that truth, gone on loving her in spite of the wrong she’d done. It didn’t matter that it hadn’t been real. The important thing was that she felt forgiven for those years when she had told lies about her visions for her father’s gain.
At last, nothing of the past bound her anymore; all the darkness had turned to light. She could lead a happy, normal life with her newfound family.
And as the weeks—and then the months—went by, Evie learned something else about herself. The strange powers that had haunted her for over twenty years of her life were gone now. No visions ever came to her, to be blocked out by the wall. She saw as others saw at last. No more. And no less.
She wondered, at times, how that had happened. Erik had told her that she’d died on the living room floor of that old house—and come back when he called to her. Just as she had died when she was ten years old, returning then because her sisters had needed her so.
Was it possible that when Erik had called her back, she’d left her gifts behind? For another time, perhaps, when she was more capable of using them well?
She’d never be sure. It was all speculation.
And in the grand scheme of things, she wasn’t even positive that it mattered. What mattered, for Evie Jones Riggins, was that life in North Magdalene went on, full and rich and good.
In April, on a bright, clear morning after the kids had left for school and Erik was gone to work, Evie decided to put some of the family’s outerwear away in the spare closet in Erik’s studio before she headed over to Main Street to open her store.
She set the coats across a corner chair and stuck her head in the closet, planning to push the canvases in there out of the way. But a tricky ray of sunlight found its way into the dark space and played upon the image of a pale, gnarled hand.
Curious, Evie pulled that canvas out into the light.
It was a painting she’d never seen before—a painting of her father’s hand, scooping up a stack of mail, the address of the old house where her father had imprisoned her printed clearly on the top envelope.
Evie set the painting on an easel. She stared at it for a long time.
And then she decided she needed her husband. Right now.
She went out and found him, at his brother Joshua’s house. Erik was just getting ready to paint the house a hideous green color that Joshua’s wife, Wilma, had picked out herself. Evie marched into the yard and took her husband by the hand.
“Evie, what’s going on?”
“Sweetheart, I have work to do.”
“This won’t take long. An hour, tops, and you’ll be back here slathering that stuff that looks like pea soup all over Joshua’s house.”
“Shh.” He shot a look toward the front door. “Wilma will hear you.”
“Then come with me and I’ll shut up.”
With a put-upon sigh, he let her lead him out the front gate and back home, where she pulled him up the stairs and pushed him into his studio.
He saw the painting then. He turned to meet her eyes. “Evie, I…”
She felt as if she just might cry. “It all really happened, didn’t it? It happened for you, as much as for me?”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then he nodded.
“You really do know. Everything. All my secrets. All my…sins?”
“Evie…”
She cast her gaze down. “I suppose I should be grateful, shouldn’t I? Because what happened between us was a miracle, wasn’t it?”
“Naw.”
She looked up at him then. “What do you mean?”
“It was just love, Evie. Love. That’s all.”
“Oh, Erik…”
He held out his arms to her. With a glad cry, she ran to him.
Their kiss was long and sweet. Soon enough, she was helping him out of his painter’s overalls. They fell on the couch together, the sunlight streaming in to bathe their bodies in warm gold.
Evie clutched her husband’s back as she cried out in love and joy.
And afterward, when they lay holding each other close on that couch, waiting for their heartbeats to slow a little, Evie thought of the miracle that was her life. Somehow, she had become what she’d never dared to dream she might be: an ordinary woman, loving and loved.
Evie snuggled closer to Erik and his arms tightened around her in response. Sighing in contentment, she recalled one of the visions she’d had, that day in her shop when Erik had grabbed her arm: a vision of the two of them, making love right here, in the sun. Until now, it had been the only vision from that day that remained unfulfilled.
Wonder stole through Evie. She knew then that the chains of the past had fallen away for good and all. What endured was love. Evangeline’s final unexplained vision had found its true meaning at last.
* * * * *