She lowered her expression.“No, why?”
He didn’t believe her but decided not to press.“Did Emmanuel say anything to you?”
“Yes, though I’m not sure I understand any of this.He said something about climbing the mountainous pathway and how the Eye had been watching me.He wanted to meet me face-to-face.He seemed to know why we were here and said it was a good thing.He walked off into the woods but looked back at me like He was—” She stared in that direction for a long moment.“I don’t understand any of this.”
Michael took a breath, stirring that clean and swept feeling with the air of the chapel.“What we’re doing here is searching for evidence of Fickle’s claim.”
“So maybe we’re on the right track.We’ll find what he needs to back his story, or we’ll find what we need to debunk it.”
“Did Emmanuel mention Wenthelen?I remember hearing her name.”
“Oh yes, He was glad I found the painting.Said it was Wenthelen’s favorite.”
Michael sagged a bit with the weight and magnitude of what just happened.As a Cross man, he’d heard stories of his family members, and others, encountering the Man, but he never imagined he’d be on Emmanuel’s call list.
“Let’s go back down to the cellar, light all the oil lamps we can find, and start seriously going through the archives, beginning where you found the portrait.”With another gulp of water, his strength returned with a bit of creative clarity.“Scottie, tell me, please, did I say something to you?”
She shook her head.“Besides asking how long you’d been out?Nope.”
Okay.He’d believe her, though he could hear his voice in his head talking to her.
Back to the cellar, they found oil lamps everywhere.When the cellar was ablaze with the cozy, romantic light of oil lamps, Michael took it in, especially the woman in the middle of it all.He didn’t care if she rejected him.He loved her.For some reason, he felt free to feel it.Maybe even say it.Even better, he didn’t need her to love him back, which felt utterly and completely freeing.
“Can you believe these lamps still have oil?”Scottie heaved an armload of books onto the table.
“Scottie, love, we just encountered Emmanuel.There’s nothing I won’t believe going forward.”She returned his smile, and the last of his heart’s boarded windows opened.
What’d You do to me, Emmanuel?
“All right, let’s see what we got.”Scottie opened one book.Michael another.
“We should wear gloves,” he said.“But—”
“Somehow I don’t think our brand of preservation matters in this room.”
“You might be right.”He pointed to the table and the lamps.His determined rigidness toward Scottie, his determination to be nothing but profesh, didn’t seem all that important in the light of the lamps, the excitement of exploration, and the realization that Emmanuel had come.“What do you think?Should there be romantic stringed instruments and a seven-course dinner on the way?”
“I don’t know—” Scottie surveyed the table then the page of an open book.“Were you a romantic with Purnell?”
“Not very.Not in the beginning.”He was an open book.If Scottie wanted to know something, he’d tell her.Everything.“She brought it out of me eventually.This sort of atmosphere spoke to her heart.What about you?Are you romantic?How about your bloke, Cap?”
“I’m not a romantic.As for Cap—” She thought for a moment.“He tried, but deep down he was pining for his ex-wife.I’m glad they’re back together.I told him to invite me to their wedding.”
“That’s very big of you.”Michael closed the book he’d been perusing—nothing but husbandry numbers—and selected another.Across the table, Scottie gently turned the pages of her volume of Lauchtenland annals.“You’ve not met the right man yet, that’s all.”
“Nope, guess not.”She attempted to glance his way but aborted the effort.Instead, she held up the leather-bound book with its collection of uneven pages revealing a rather smooth handwriting over the miniscule clumps of threads and fibers found in the paper of the day.
“This looks like a journal,” she said.“By, well, um—it’s hard to read—a Lord Midlands, I think?The writing is faint and very old-fashioned.I don’t recognize some of the letters.”She slid the book over to Michael.“I’m not sure I believe there’s a right man for me.To be honest, I’m not sure I know who I am anymore.”She reached for another large leather-bound book.“But I feel different.Do you feel different?”
“From what happened?Up there?”He tilted his head toward the stairs.“Yes, I feel different.”Very different.Freemight be the appropriate word.
Michael studied the lettering on the page Scottie passed to him.“Yes, this is the journal of a Lord Midlands.For a long time, Lauchtenland spoke a blend of English and Danish, which displayed in our written word as well.We adapted more to the British English in the early 1700s.”He returned the book to Scottie.“Some of these volumes will be in Latin.”He tapped the page from the book he’d selected.“What I see is a record of land gifts from various kings to commanders of the Lauchten army and to various merchants who paid large taxes.The script is very faint, but I believe that’s the scope of it all.”
“Anything about Lord Midlands?”
“Not so far.”
“It’s probably nothing.”Scottie sighed and closed her book.“Is there a Lord Midlands today?”
