Journey's End - The Final Book of the Legacy Saga Book 3

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Lord's sifting process began ages ago and the harvesting is now in progress.

Sadly, as prophesied, the number of tares far outweighs the volume of wheat.

Adagio St. John's Journal

Salt Lake City, Utah

Two months later

The city has changed a great deal since we were here three years ago to visit my mother. It seems a little . . . I guess, colder. The people seem colder, not all but some. A city that was once filled with genuinely good people who strived to be Christ-like and decent human beings has slowly been changed to one I would most likely not recognize even if I could see. Of course, it is the same throughout the country, and the world. But for me, and Adagio as well, it is more noticeable here.

However, I remind myself daily that there is still a lot of good. That good can be found in the hearts of the faithful, those who have watched for the signs and can see past the mounting tribulation and recognize God's hand in all things.

I ponder on these things as Adagio and I water the vegetable garden and flower patches. Dagio splashes in the large shallow kiddie pool we purchased to help him stay cool during the sweltering July days. We placed it near the patio where we are able to keep tabs on him until Mom comes. She will be here soon to take him out for ice-cream and a movie. There is nothing she enjoys more than spoiling her grandson.

Despite the heartache, Mom has been through, she is doing very well. After Father died over seven years ago, I wondered if she would ever heal or truly be okay. Her marriage to him was an emotional trial, as well as a refiner's fire, and toward the end she underwent an inner change. Two years ago, she embraced the Lord's gospel and became a new person. Sometimes it is hard to believe the warm compassionate woman I know now is the same cold and unfeeling person who raised me. Once Father was gone, it was easier for God to work in her heart. How grateful I am for the privilege of really getting to know my mother, the real person, the person she was always meant to be.

Mom soon arrives and Dagio dries off and changes, excited to spend time with his 'Grandma Kat.' He still misses his grandparents in Italy, but he has enjoyed getting to know my mother. Her presence has helped to smooth the transition.

"We'll be back by four," Mom tells us.

"That sounds good," I say, kissing Dagio's cheek.

"You and Adagio should do something fun with the time."

"We will," Adagio says. "I am taking your beautiful daughter out to lunch."

She makes a soft noise of approval. "Good man."

"He is," I agree and Adagio kisses my cheek. "He's the best."

After they leave, we change and Adagio treats me to lunch at the City Creek mall. It is Saturday and the food court is humming with the voices of teens out of school for the summer.

Sitting at a table by the windows near the exit, for the first time in a long time, I find myself straining to focus on the shadows moving to and fro. This startles me because I have not felt that need since my first date with Adagio years ago. I smile slightly, remembering how I was quickly falling in love and had wished so badly that I could see him. Thinking on this current urge to focus in spite of my blindness, I realize it is most likely because of the dream. During those precious moments, I was given a glimpse of the world. For the first time, I could clearly see color, and people. When I dreamed before, there were never pictures. Even if there had been, I wouldn't have known what I was seeing anyway. My dreams had been made up of muted colors, shadows, and music. Always music. Now, interspersed with the muted shades are snapshots of memories, a second here, a second there, but never enough to make up the entire scene.

Through my husband's grandfather, I was able to see the handsome man I married. I saw his green eyes, his thick, black hair, his full lips and lightly-stubbled, chiseled jaw. With his height and muscular build, I know now without a doubt that I am an envied woman.

But as amazing as it was to see Adagio's grandparents, the most glorious part of the dream – and the most memorable – was seeing my Savior, feeling his loving embrace, and absorbing His glorious spirit, as well as His promise that He would never leave me alone.

"You're remembering, aren't you?" Adagio softly asks. He is always able to read me so easily.

"I am." I release a soft sigh. "It's still so amazing to me and . . ."

"And?"

"And I . . ." I don't know how to say it without sounding ungrateful, like speaking the words out loud might offend God. Like he doesn't know my thoughts anyway.

"What is it?"

His soft imploring draws my emotions closer to the surface. I speak as softly as I can, not wanting anyone to overhear. "I'm grateful for such a wonderful experience, but . . . I wish . . . That small glimpse made me want more. It wasn't enough and it should have been. I should be happy, Adagio. I shouldn't want more, but I do." I blink the tears away and Adagio's hand tightens on mine. "To see you, to see Dagio . . ." I take a deep breath, managing to draw forth a smile. "I'm okay."

When Adagio finally speaks, emotion is thick in his voice. "One day, cuoricino mia. One day you will see me, and you will see our son. Until then, this is what we have." He presses one of my hands against his face. "Whenever you need to see me, just touch me. This is your face. It belongs to you." His voice has grown softer and raspier, the deep tone causing my breaths to come faster.

"Adagio . . ."

My single breathing of his name says everything.

"Let's go home, angel."

* * *

Adagio

When they arrive home, Adagio leads his wife up to their room. It is the same room his grandparents shared when they were alive and stayed there, and for that reason, Adagio and Evangeline had chosen it for their own.

Closing the door, Adagio takes his wife's hands and gently presses her fingers over his closed eyes.

"See me, Evangeline," he breathes. "I'm yours. Look at me. These are your eyes." He moves her hands over his face, shuddering as her hitched breathing tingles his skin. Moving her fingers to his mouth, he whispers against them, "These are your lips." He releases her long enough to take off his shirt. Drawing her hands down his muscular chest, he holds them against his pounding heart. "Feel how my heart beats for you."

Then he presses his mouth to hers, attempting to convey his never-ending longing for her. "You do see me, amore," he rasps against the soft skin of her cheek. "Better than anyone."

"I see you, amore mio," she murmurs huskily, pressing herself against him, the two melting into one another.

And for the next while, passion roams freely as emotion and need merge uninhibited and unrestrained.