I woke beneath a blanket with my face pressed to the leather of the couch and a pain in my chest. I shifted. I’d fallen asleep with the lump of Sky’s Bible squashed beneath me.
Oblivion lifted. Grief crashed down. I tried to lift my head but it felt like a bowling ball.
On the coffee table was breakfast. Crepes, juice, eggs. The thought of eating pushed bile into my throat and forced me to sit up.
I could hear Sky talking quietly in the bedroom. “But what did I expect? Of course I had to tell her. No, not yet. Maybe a couple days? That might help. Okay. Keep me informed.”
The phone clicked as Sky hung up. I tiptoed to the bedroom door. Sky’s face was in his hands and his guitar was on the bed beside him. Normally I might leap onto the bed and ambush him with morning snuggles, laughter, most likely a lazy-morning love session.
I turned off that scene. It hurt too much. Normal was not on the schedule.
Sky looked up. “Good morning.” He took a step toward me. “Um, did you eat?”
I shook my head. My stomach was doing flips. In fact, one more mention of food and…
“Me neither. I ordered blueberry crepes... ”
I slapped a hand to my mouth, ran to the bathroom and slammed the door, just barely making it to the receptacle. A couple minutes later I peeked out.
Sky was waiting. “Are you sick? Is that why you slept on the couch?”
I shrugged. For now, sickness was a buffer against faking normal. After I showered, Sky tucked me back into bed with a tender kiss to the forehead. When he shut the door, I curled up into a ball and wished I could disappear.
~~
In the evening I showered again. I could cry there and no one needed to know. My stomach growled but the thought of food repulsed me. I ventured into the living room and found Sky staring into space.
“I thought you were at the hospital.”
“Just got back,” he replied. “Are you feeling better?”
I nodded even though feeling better was a long way off.
“The doctor told me Lex has a heart murmur.” Sky rubbed the slight stubble on his chin. “He said if ever there was a fortuitous outcome to a man receiving a beating, this was it. Seems his heart could have given out at any moment but, since they caught it, the tear can be mended with surgery.”
If only the tear in my heart was the surgical kind. “How is he?”
“He’s pretty sore. The ribs make it painful to move. The hard part for us is, he’s going to have to find a new line of work. Less stress, more rest.”
I frowned. Lex was one of the few people in the crazy music world I truly trusted. “What will he do?”
“At the moment, heal up so they can safely perform the surgery. We’ll take him to his uncle’s home further south and he’ll recuperate there.” Sky paused. “Would you like some time in the French countryside?” He looked up, eyes beseeching like a wayward puppy. “I hear there’s a barn.”
At the word “barn” I choked on a sob.
~~
There was more than Lex’s health at stake. Record executives agreed it was best if Sky remained off the radar a while. A woman had been killed at the club where we partied a couple nights before and her body was found at the hotel where we had stayed. Didn’t take amazing investigative skills to see a correlation. Until police figured out what happened, all interviews and appearances were cancelled.
Here I was, given the very thing I’d wished for, relaxed time with my husband. Too bad my stomach was tied in knots round the clock. Not pleasant little, in-love butterflies either. My innards had turned against me. I passed it off as shock or something due to what Sky had shared with me but mostly I was too miserable to care about the cause.
The day we drove away from Tours we were a sorry lot. Lex reclined in the back of the converted van we had rented. With every bump in the road, he sucked in a painful breath and groaned. He refused stronger pain medication because he had such a fear of becoming addicted. If Lex wasn’t moaning, I was. I still had no appetite and the smell or even thought of food triggered a strong gag reflex. Several times Sky had to pull over for me to be sick. I almost wanted to laugh when he suggested the sickness was my way of punishing him but all I accomplished was a grimace.
In a way, it helped to have Lex along since he was a buffer. The things Sky had shared ate at my heart like poison and I truly didn’t want to hurt him with the thoughts scalding my brain. As my stomach churned, I reached for God, desperate to escape the ugly movies in my head.
I leaned my head against the leather headrest and gazed at the gorgeous country slipping past my window. Such a shame views of greenest fields, hilltop chateaus and vibrant flower-boxed cottages were viewed through a haze of intense nausea.
We stopped at a market in a quaint little village to glean the makings for a picnic lunch. A glorious aroma caught my cowering appetite’s attention so I eased toward a tiny, smiling, sun-wrinkled woman with baskets full of peaches. As Sky paid for some of the heavenly-smelling fruit, he explained in French that I was feeling sick. The woman motioned me closer and reached for my hand then gazed into my eyes and put the back of her hand to my forehead. She spoke to Sky in rapid French, pointed toward a little shop across the street, and handed me a few of what looked like cloves. She pantomimed I was to put one in my mouth and hold it there.
As we walked toward the shop, the pungent flavor of the clove warmed my stomach and relieved the sick spasms. Inside the small cottage-style store where dried clusters of flowers hung from the ceiling, a middle-aged woman approached. As she and Sky chatted I gazed around at homemade items ranging from knitted scarves to large bins filled with what looked to be loose tea. I reached into one and brought a wooden scoop of confetti-like mixture with bits of dried fruit and flower petals to my nose. My small sniff became a deep inhale. Marvelous! I could practically see the beautiful garden where the tea’s ingredients had soaked up warmth, health and peace.
“Ze tea. It smells like life, no?” The woman addressed me with a smile. “Ze nose will tell you what ze mind will not.” She studied my eyes a moment. “May I?” she asked. She reached for my hand and pressed the palm. She set reading glasses on her nose and inspected my fingernails then reached for my hair, lightly pinching a couple strands much like Chloe would assess fabric. “How you say, ze hormones? Disrupted.”
I shifted a bit under the perceptive woman’s gaze. Hmmm. So far, she was spot-on.
She stepped back and looked out the window toward our car. “You have another with you, no?”
Sky told her about Lex, utilizing French and English, keeping the story of his wounds vague.
“I have just ze thing for heem.” She went to a couple of her storage bins and measured a brown powder, a bit of what looked like tea leaves and a couple scoops of different dried flowers. “Zees feeds ze bones, helping zem knit well. Plus, I have added chamomile and… others, to calm, ease pain and,” she winked, “improve ze flavor. Help ze body recover from a shock.”
Her eyes fixed on me with the last sentence and I looked away. That kind smile stirred a longing for home, my mom, perhaps Mrs. Bells’ screened porch with a spring breeze, fresh cake and tea.
“If you ‘ave ze time, I can show you how to brew hees remedy. To sip as a tea is ze preferred method.”
She asked Sky to bring Lex inside to rest on an inviting couch by a window overlooking a fairytale valley dotted with cottages and grazing sheep. She explained the cushions on the couch were filled with dried herbs and flowers. “I call it ze Healing Couch. It is quite comfortable and therapeutic.”
As Sky got Lex settled, I accompanied our hostess into a little kitchen with white washed stucco walls and fixtures that hearkened back to the fifties; white, simple and utilitarian. Through an open door I viewed a trellised porch roofed by flowering vines. Beyond was a small, tumbling garden interspersed with tiny stone paths. If I was a fairy, I thought, I would live in that garden, flitting from hanging, bell-shaped flower to dew-sparkled leaf.
“I am Anya,” she said as she filled a kettle and set out delicate saucers and cups. “I hope I am not delaying your journey?”
I introduced myself and assured she was a most welcome delay. “Poor… Lester. I’m afraid Lex and I have not been very fun traveling companions.” I trusted this woman right away but decided to play it safe nonetheless. Seemed prudent under the circumstances. Besides, it was refreshing to talk to someone who didn’t seem aware of Sky’s superstar status.
“We are all, how you say, ze walking wounded. Some moments we notice it more, eh?” She smiled over the little glasses set on the end of her nose. Behind the spectacles, her fair, unwrinkled skin and clear blue eyes were make-up free. Hers was an ageless, healthy beauty content to go unnoticed.
I set about doing what I could to help but mostly I took note of her brewing techniques; mixing bits of loose teas from small containers into tiny pots with a little strainer at the top, boiling water poured over and lids on to steep while she brought out a tiny creamer bowl with a spout, sugar bowl, miniature spoons, and other items with the grace and precision of a well-rehearsed dance handed down for generations.
I offered to deliver Lex’s tea and discovered him sound asleep.
“Zee couch often has zat effect,” Anya commented. “Sleep will do him much good.”
We found Sky inspecting several ancient-looking instruments hung on a wall. “May I?” he asked Anya. “This dulcimer is amazing.”
“Of course. They are far too neglected by me.” Anya brought down the gleaming, stringed instrument inlaid with intricate wood patterns of flowers and flourishes.
Sky’s eyes sparked like a child on Christmas morning as he reached for the beautiful instrument. He sat in a high-backed chair with the dulcimer across his knees and began tapping the strings with little felt-covered hammers, immediately picking out a tune.
“I see we have a master musician in our midst,” Anya noted. “Such a gift.”
We left Sky lost in musical discovery and returned to Anya’s charming kitchen.
“I feel like I’ve traveled back in time a hundred years,” I commented as she sat across from me at the little wooden table.
“In a way, you have. We are very particular about technology here. Slow to embrace what is new until it has proven… beneficial. All things are permissible but not all things edify*, eh?” she quoted. (1 Cor. 10:23)
“You know the Bible?” The surprised exclamation was out before I could stop it. “I mean, I didn’t expect… ” I groped to explain.
Her eyes twinkled as she added beige, pebbly sugar to her tea. “You do not expect in France one embracing truth rather than humanist philosophies? I too am often surprised to find myself here.”
“I kind of assumed you must be some sort of herbal mind reader or… ” I hesitated.
“Witch?” she supplied.
“I had wondered how to politely refuse if you asked to read my palm.”
Anya laughed again. “In many circles, I would still be called a witch, just because many wish to label rather than to understand.”
“Well, I’d like to understand,” I prompted.
Anya took a long sip of her tea. “My ancestors practiced zee healing arts, sold charms, cast spells and such for pay. My grandmother, great-grandmother, and beyond passed zese… abilities to zeir daughters. As a very young girl I longed to know who had created all zee beauty around me. I felt Him call my name. I would worship Him in nature and adore Him as I gazed at bright stars in zee night. My mother and grandmother said I ask too many questions. Zey say I reach beyond what we are to know. Our arts are simple, zey tell me, not to be confused with habits keeping folk under chains of religion.”
Anya gazed out the window. “Once I stole a Bible from a church. I read it by light of a candle late at night while zee family slept. I loved zee poetry of Psalms and stories of Christ.
“Strange things began to happen. I had dreams of hideous beasts chasing me. One night I woke and one of zee beasts from my dreams stood over my bed. I screamed zee name of Jesus and it vanished.
“I read how witchcraft was somesing God hated. I did not want to do something to anger Him so I shrew out everything I had used in my magic arts. My mother and grandmother did not understand. Zey thought I was rejecting our heritage, our family customs.
“For years I tried to fit somewhere. Our local church knew I came from a family of witchcraft and did not trust me so I was very alone. But God was always with me. I learned to talk to Him and to hear Him speak. When I first had dreams of future happenings, I would sink zey were wrong, ties to my old ways but God convinced me He could use my sensitivity. He would tell me how to pray for people. In zee same way I used to manipulate magic to help, now I would bring zeir hurts to my Heavenly Father instead.”
Anya seemed on the verge of saying more. Instead, she reached for a muffin. As she slathered it with butter the melodic percussion of Sky’s dulcimer melody floated in with a flower-scented breeze. “Ah!” Anya noted, “I have never heard it in such good tune.”
She asked where I was from so I told her about my country roots and a bit of my own spiritual journey. As I talked, Anya opened a cabinet and withdrew a small writing pad and pencil. “How fortunate to have such a heritage.”
Sky popped his head into the kitchen. “Do you have a pencil?”
Before I could respond, Anya handed him the items from the cabinet. He thanked her and rushed away. “Was it always easy for you to believe?” she continued as if the interruption had not occurred.
“Yes, and no… ” I faltered. “Forgive me, but that was kind of amazing.”
Anya paused with the teacup halfway to her mouth. “What?”
“You got what Sk—Lester needed before he even asked.”
“Oh? It is logical, no? He is creating and he has need to record his thoughts.”
I shrugged it off but, as we chatted, I noted how Anya anticipated my needs, adding more tea to my cup, handing me a condiment before I had a chance to ask. Perhaps she was just an insightful hostess? When she turned away to place dishes in the sink, I opened my mouth to request a tour of her garden.
“Perhaps we can continue our conversation outside, yes?” she asked.
I laughed. “I get the feeling words are unnecessary around you. Fess up, you are a mind reader, right?”
Anya spread her hands and shrugged. “I am sorry. With some there is a… connection. I do not mean to be rude.”
“With me? Do you hear my thoughts or something?” The thought creeped me out a bit.
“Please do not be frightened. When I was young, I was surprised to discover others did not hear what I heard. It is different now than when I practiced magic. Now, I do not hear words in my head telling me others’ secrets. Instead, I feel a wave of, how you say, empathy. Especially when I have prayed for someone, I am in tune.”
“Have prayed. You’ve prayed for me? For us?”
Anya opened the screen door leading to the garden. “Walk with me?”
I followed her into sunshine diffused by overhanging, ancient tree limbs, the contented drone of countless bees and a rich potpourri of musky earth, honeyed blossoms and spices.
“When I pray,” Anya explained, “I have learned to listen when God speaks back. He told me today I would have visitors who share my faith. This is very welcome since I am usually rather alone in my belief. I am sad that others here do not desire to know about ze most precious part of my life.
“Also, He told me my visitors would be in pain; pain of body and pain of heart. It is my pleasure to do what I can to administer help for hurts and sadness. How is your head?”
I was surprised to realize my head felt almost normal. “Much better.”
“Good. And your stomach is… okay?”
“More than okay. This is the first time in days I ate without feeling sick. Wait.” I shot Anya a suspicious glance, “I never mentioned my stomach.”
Anya grinned. “Any mama can tell stomach upset in the eyes.” She handed me a clump of pungent-smelling leaves. “Mint; in water or brewed as a tea. It will help.”
I felt healthier and more optimistic in that garden. Everywhere was beauty, vibrant growth, rich aromas and happy sounds of life, from a chattering squirrel to trilling birds. The sun’s warmth caressed tension from my shoulders as a sweet breeze teased my hair. “If every hospital was like this there would be no sick people,” I mused.
“I am glad you like it,” Anya responded. “Most who visit our village find it too… provincial for their interest.”
“I confess I don’t even know the name of your village.”
“We are Crissay-Sur-Manse. One of ze most beautiful villages in France.”
“Oh my! What an honor!”
Anya laughed as she reached to hand me a clump of lavender. “The difficulty would be to find a village that does not have that distinction.” She kept the lavender and handed me several long-stemmed sunflowers instead. “The beauty is more pungent when one has been in difficult places, no?”
“Definitely. Right now this feels like a piece of Heaven.”
“Would you like to speak of your troubles?”
It was my turn to laugh. “Somehow, I think you could tell more of my troubles than I could.”
Anya’s eyes twinkled as she linked her arm in mine. “I would never steal an opportunity to unburden ze soul. Always, how you say, zerapeutic?”
Her sympathy melted me. “Watch it. You may get more than you bargained for.”
Anya led me to a bench beneath a peach tree. She reached for a peach, wiped it on her apron and handed it to me.
“Aha! Peaches started this whole adventure in the first place.” I took a bite. “Reminds me of home.”
“For the day, sweet Esther, I am your sister, your mama. We have zee beautiful gift of time. This is no, how you say, happenstance.”
I told Anya of the stress of travel and a high-pressured work environment, at least as much as I dared. How much more she guessed, I couldn’t tell. As I spoke, my heart felt lighter, my soul thawed and I got to set aside the armor that had begun to feel like my own skin.
At one point Sky stuck his head out the back door. “I’m so sorry, Love. Are you bored?”
“Not at all,” I grinned at the little boy enthusiasm of musical creativity on his face. “Write away.”
“Lex is snoring like a freight train. So glad he’s getting rest,” Sky added before ducking back inside.
“You love each other very much. It is beautiful to see,” Anya noted. “However, love is never a journey without danger. To invite love is to embrace beauty and pain, no?”
Whew. That comment touched an emotional abscess. Pain constricted my throat.
Anya knelt in the dirt beside the bench and plucked at some weeds. “Often, our torment is borne of fear zat has lain in darkness. Something wakens it and we must battle for our soul… and for our loved one. Shame cowers and grows in darkness. We must allow God to pluck it up, to heal as only He can.”
As I watched Anya pluck up the weeds, I pondered the deep roots of hurt gripping my heart. Between Sky’s shame and my pain, God was going to need a gargantuan earthmover.