The color intensified until beams of emerald laced through the sky. Tipped with an orange-pink color, they shaded to a rosypink that spread. Soon, stars in orange, pink, blue, and bright white glittered against a rosy backdrop.
The green deepened at its lower edge to a luminous blue-violet, and at its upper reaches, bled into a trembling yellow-white that seemed to pulse. The curtains shifted, folded, parted, reformed. Ribbons of light spiraled upward toward the zenith, thinning to translucent wisps before gathering again into great sweeping arcs that spanned half the sky.
Awed to silence by nature’s majesty, they sat speechless; Ivy could not have said for how long. When she finally spoke, her voice came out as a whisper, as though anything louder might shatter the sacred experience. “I had no idea.” She tore her gaze from the shifting lights to briefly look at him.
Torin remained quiet beside her, his face tilted upward, the green and rose glow playing across the sharp planes of his cheekbones and jaw.
She let out a reverent breath. “To think, in New York we went about our lives, never bothering to look up unless to check the weather or the position of the sun to note the time. I'd see a few stars on a clear night. Although, I suppose, with all the chimney smoke, no night was really clear. If I climbed to the roof and got above the streetlamps, I could see a handful more.”
“You climbed onto the roof?” Torin sounded more amused than shocked.
“There was a flat area, where I could sit and watch.”
“That’s hardly reassuring,” he said wryly. “Just to be clear, you and Jewel are not allowed to climb on the roof.”
“Spoilsport.” With an elbow, she playfully nudged his side and then let out a shuddering breath. “I thought that was what stars were—a faraway scattering of dim lights. From a book, I learned about the constellations and thought I was very educated about the heavens. I could pick out the Big Dipper. Orion, although mostly his belt.” A soft, wondering laughescaped her. “But the whole time, all those stars were out there,” she lifted a hand to the sky, “unseen and unknown, waiting for darkness to reveal their jeweled majesty.”
He pointed upward. “There’s the Montana version of the Big Dipper.” He moved his arm, his finger indicating a different direction. “Orion is almost lost among the other stars until you see bright-red Betelgeuse on his shoulder.”
She pressed her gloved hand to her chest, as if to hold in her emotion. “There's a verse in Psalms, ‘The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament showeth His handiwork.’”
“Psalm 19,” he confirmed.
“I've read those words a hundred times. But I never understood God’s majesty until just now.”
Above them, the aurora rippled—a great slow wave of green light rolling northward, trailing wisps of violet in its wake. New colored light formed, brighter than before, pulsing with an inner radiance that cast faint, shifting shadows on the snowcapped peak. They shimmered and danced and folded in on themselves.
“The first time I saw the lights,” Torin said quietly, “I almost wept.”
Ivy turned to look at him.
His eyes were still fixed on the sky.
“I can see why,” she said, unable to resist tilting her head back again to gaze at the glorious array above.
“I'd just arrived here,” he continued. “Jewel was a baby. I had no one—no family, no friends who understood why I'd done what I'd done. I was living in what seemed like a primitive home with a vulnerable baby.” He paused. “We’d been having a difficult night. Jewel wouldn’t stop crying. Teething, I know now. I bundled her up and walked down to the lake. And then, the sky didthis.” He waved upwards. “And I thought—if God can make something so beautiful in the darkest, coldest part of the night, then maybe I hadn't made a mistake. Maybe somethingmagnificent still waited for me, forus, even though I couldn’t see through my darkness.”
Ivy wanted to ask more questions about his past but sensed Torin needed to share at his own pace. Lightly, she laid a hand on his forearm and squeezed to show she understood. Then, although she wanted to linger, she pulled back her hand.
“I’ve thought back on that knowing more times than I can count.” He looked down at her. “I wanted you to experience the miracle, too.”
The sight of all those stars was magical, a glimpse of something extraordinary that would fade when the sun rose. But now, Ivy knew they were there, hidden—a secret memory she’d cherish for the rest of her days.
She looked up at the magnificent sky, the mystical splendor a contrast to the human heartache of their conversation. Unbidden, a swell of emotion rose in her. Her throat ached. Needing connection, she wanted to reach for Torin’s hand. Instead, she clasped hers together in her lap. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over, rolling down her cheeks. She sniffed.
Torin removed his glove. More tenderly than she would have thought possible, he brushed her tears away with his fingertips, his eyes bleak. “Thank you for caring.”
Her mouth trembled.
With a dampened finger, he touched her lips.
She tasted the salt of her tears.
With a short, raspy breath, he stood, tugging on his glove. “We’ve left Hank and Jewel long enough.” Holding out a hand, he helped her up. “We’d best be getting back.”
Abruptly, Ivy realized how cold she was—at least on her outside. But her mind remained full of beauty.
Something had shifted between them, born of the majesty of the sky. Ivy longed to pursue the wondrous feeling, to have the freedom to tuck her hand into the crook of his arm and strolltogether. But the game trail was too narrow, and Torin was her employer.
