Dark Angel (27 page)

I gasped as he pushed me away, the connection broken.

My mind reeled, unable to process the infinite images I had seen. I was trembling with cold; my lips were like ice and my fingernails had started to turn blue.

He was breathing hard. “I could not have imagined… Thank you. It is no wonder you take the memory with you. It is precious. I will treasure it always.”

And to Death, always was a very long time.

I gazed up at him in amazement. “I did not die.”

Death smiled. “No. But you were willing to, for him. That says a great deal about you.”

“But there will come a time?”

“You ask me to predict the future. All things are possible, until they are not.”

I let out a breath. Perhaps, all in all, it was best for me not to know. “Will you give him back to me now?”

He reached out to touch my cheek, hesitated, and dropped his hand to his side. “You have the heart of a lioness.”

I smiled. “So he says.”

He closed his eyes in a slow blink, and when he opened them again, Death was gone. In his place, Gerard’s gray gaze stared back at me.

I let out a sob of joy. He stumbled toward me, and I caught him in my arms, holding him tightly.

He whispered my name over and over. “Do not take such foolish chances again. I am not worth it. Nothing is worth it.”

“Shh, hold me, only hold me and we can argue later,
after
we are married,” I told him. I needed to feel his heat, take his warmth inside me—and banish the chill, sad pleasure of Death’s kiss from my mind.

With a sound of joy, Gerard wrapped his arms around me and held on. “You will marry me?”

I smiled though the blur of tears. “Today. Right now. Forever.”

The kiss he pressed on me hummed with happiness, hope, and eternity. I laughed from sheer pleasure when we broke apart, but he did not release me. Instead, he looked over my shoulder, staring into the mist that watched us again with its penetrating, silent gaze.

“What happens now?” he asked Death.

“I want to show Catherine something,” the voices said. Death looked at me. “Do you see it?”

I did not at first, until a memory—several actually—bobbed to the surface. Death’s memory was eternal, and these were insignificant compared to the billions of others, but they were important to me, and he had known and found them for me.

I gasped, finally understanding, and burst into tears.

“Catherine, what is it? What is he doing to you?” Gerard gripped my arms, turning to Death with fury in his stance. “Stop it!”

“No…no, it’s all right, Gerard. He gave me a gift.” I smiled at the shifting shape in the mist. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“What sort of gift?” Gerard demanded.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “He’s shown me the children. Their memories, their lives.” My throat closed up and I had to clear it before I could speak again.

Gerard looked back and forth between us, his frustration at not understanding evident.

“When Catherine’s ship sank,” Death spoke aloud so that Gerard could hear as well, “her friends believed her dead. It was put out that she was on a mission of mercy to save the Home. Catherine became a martyr, a rallying point for forgotten children. In her name, Miss Nightingale took up the cause.”

The fog shifted, reformed, and smiled.

“
She
did it, Gerard,” I told him. “She led the way, in my name, and now there are Catherine Briton Benevolent Homes in dozens of cities all over England. The children are all right, better than all right. It’s like Matthew said—God has a way of taking on our cares if we let Him, doesn’t He?”

Gerard looked at me, stunned, and I nodded, elation suffusing my heart.

The mist drifted. I could almost see through it now. Death was about to leave us. When or if I would see him again, I did not know. I only knew, for the first time in my life, I was grateful to him.

Gerard released me and stepped forward. “A question.”

I could tell Death was impatient to be on his way, but he forestalled himself. “Yes?”

“Am I—am I ever to be forgiven?” Gerard asked quietly, but I heard the catch in his voice.

I felt the heavy sigh Death would have given if it’d had a form. “I, like you, am the servant of a greater master. Forgiveness is not mine to give. But you have shown great compassion for others, and that often reflects well. Perhaps someday, you will find what it is you seek. Farewell.”

And with that, Death was gone, the mist dissipating in the wind.

“Until we meet again, Catherine,” I heard him whisper in my mind.

Afterword

History records that on October 25, 1859, a huge storm dubbed the “Royal Charter storm” swept through the English Channel and moved north to the east coast of Wales. It smashed the great Royal Charter vessel against the coast of Anglesey, killing four hundred fifty people. The storm sank at least one hundred thirty-three other ships in the two days it raged and badly damaged another ninety.

Approximately eight hundred lives were lost at sea and on land in one of the greatest collections of maritime disasters England had seen in generations. I imagined that my heroine, Catherine, was aboard one of those vessels the day the storm hit and she found herself a castaway on the Dark Island.

Who knows how many more people went missing during the storm, and what their untold stories might be?

Obviously, there is no such place as
Ynys Nos
. However, the Welsh island of Anglesey and the Isle of Man lent a bit of their character and history to my mysterious island in the middle of the Irish Sea, for which I am grateful.

The gentlewoman Florence Nightingale did indeed serve Her Majesty’s Royal Army in the Crimean Theater from 1854 to 1857, with a contingent of thirty-eight nurses she trained herself. During her time in the Crimea, she became known as the “Lady with the Lamp” for her compassionate service to the soldiers under her care. After the war, despite contracting “Crimean Fever,” she set about changing the face of nursing from the confines of her sickroom. She received an outpouring of donations to fund the Nightingale Training School at St. Thomas’s Hospital in 1860, inspiring generations of women to answer the call of the previously disrespected nursing profession both in England and abroad.

I think she and Catherine Briton would have made a great team, don’t you?

About the Author

RWA Golden Heart nominee TJ Bennett writes outside-the-box historical romance with richly detailed settings and unusual subjects. Her varied background includes extensive travel as a military dependent in Europe; owning a consulting business; teaching college-level English; and working as a civilian contract negotiator for the US Air Force. TJ knows about the black moments in life, too, and uses it to enhance her writing. She believes nothing is ever lost, and no painful experience is in vain.

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