Star's Crossing

Epilogue 3: For Crowds or Pages

The lights shone down, blinding. 

Amid the velvet rows were the faint faces of those she knew—her family, friends, neighbors, townsfolk. But others had come from far and wide to hear M. Atwood read from her newest pages.

She searched the crowded margins—it was standing room only, a notion that struck her as a little terrifying—but his face was not among the throngs.

Where was he? Had he been held up? Had he thought, after all, for some reason she could not imagine, not to come?

Mare sat, knees trembling beneath her gown, in the cushioned chair at center stage. A light stood beside her on a table, beside a pot and cup of tea. She'd done this many times, particularly during the war years. Reading did not scare her anymore.

It was reading to him which made her blood run in hot, quick currents. His face that made her stomach flutter and heart skip. Imagining those eyes—those knowing eyes upon her, and that slight smile. A dare in it, always.

He is not here, she reminded herself, settling. The worry-bone pricked her heart, but she forced it from her thoughts. He is all right, wherever he has lost or found himself.

She took a breath, opened her novel to its mark, and read.

The chapter she'd selected was a letter from a civil soldier to his far-away love. Inspiration had been taken from Teddy's letters during the war. But many of the words they'd shared were not meant for crowds or pages; indeed, they'd color her cheeks quite tellingly. There were faint traces of that want in this book. A taste of truth.

The reality had been better. But the reality was hers alone, kept under her pillow and close to her heart on the loneliest nights. When her mind would wander. When her imagination would take her to terrains never before explored.