Shadow of Reality (20 page)

Richard nodded. “Would cyanide really work the way it did in the skit?”

“I don’t know. I suppose Stark simplified it for dramatic effect, same as he changed the time period for fun and took other bits of dramatic license for the sake of the story. But the essentials were right.” She choked as a new wave of the horror of it all hit her.

“If only I hadn’t been right. I prayed to be wrong. Richard—”

He held her tightly, pushing the horror back with his own fierce caring. At last he said with his lips against her ear, “‘Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good.’”

She nodded, the top of her head brushing his cheek. “Yes, all those things I learned years and years ago—literally at my grandmother's knee—and even things I myself have taught my own poetry students…suddenly I really heard them.  and they made sense to me, to my very real everyday life. Not to the fantasy world I wanted to live it.

“I remembered another when Anita was leading Gavin off and he looked so—so
beaten
.” She closed her eyes, whether to shut out the image or to focus on it, even she wasn’t sure. ‘The villain’s ways are villainous and he devises infamous plans to ruin the poor with his lies and deny justice to the needy. But the man of noble mind forms noble designs and stands firm in his nobility.’” She was silent, letting the words echo to the far corners of the room.

In the comfort of Richard’s arms it all became clear to her who the man of noble mind was. Elizabeth realized that it was Richard’s presence that held her steady during the landslide. She knew now that the night on the balcony while Richard and Gavin chased the fictional jewel thief, it was Richard whose safety she was crying out for. And that one, brief moment when she thought Richard might be involved had been much more shattering to her world than learning the whole truth about Gavin. It was Richard. It had always been Richard.

Now she saw it. Richard was of the true nobility, the real gentleman who put the rights and feelings of others before his own.

Now she knew. She knew the difference between love and infatuation. Between dreams and reality. She realized her feelings for Gavin had been based on fantasy and superficial qualities, and that she had made a vital error in deciding to trust Gavin because she thought she loved him—basing her decision on advice from fairy tales rather than on eternal truths.

She looked up at the outline of Richard’s profile—how unspeakably dear to her he was!—and realized that what she had considered his dullness was one of his most endearing qualities. Richard was real, dependable, solid…

Besides, he’s not nearly as dull as I used to think
. For the first time that day, she smiled.

She knew what she would answer the next time he asked her to marry him.

But would he ask?

How long had it been since the last time? It seemed like a lifetime—just before she met Gavin…and Richard met Anita.

Would he ask again? She had had so many chances and blown them all. Nobody got that many second chances. Now that she knew Richard was the real hero for her, would he want the part?

His voice broke her reverie. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He held her at arms’ length and looked at her. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” she laughed.

“I say, are you casting me as your fictional hero now?” He adjusted an imaginary monocle.

“Oh, no!” She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I’ve got a much better role in mind for you.”

“Do you really mean it?”

“More than I’ve ever meant anything.” She moved back so she could watch his face as she spoke. “It was you all along, Richard, only I didn’t realize it.”

He held his arms open to her. “Let’s go home.”

Home—it spoke of comfort, of protection, of freedom…of Richard. She walked into his arms. “I’m already there.”

Epilogue

Monday, April 16, 1990

Elizabeth walked into Richard’s office carrying a bowl of April daffodils and tulips on Easter Monday. He looked up from the letter he was reading. “It’s from Bill. He wants to make sure we put next year’s mystery week on our calendars now. It looks as if the whole group plans to return. This year will be a hard act to follow, though. We can’t hope to win that big every time.”

Elizabeth put the flowers on his desk and walked around to plant herself on his lap. “Shall we invite them all to our wedding? Irene and Cathy would make darling bridesmaids…I don’t know about Anita—”

“You aren’t still worried about her, are you? You said you believed me when I explained it was all to provide a cover for her investigations.”

“Even the kiss in the gazebo? That was all in the line of duty?”

“The fact that you believed it was real proves it was effective camouflage, doesn’t it? Anita had her suspicions about Gavin pretty well worked out by then, and we were worried about your safety.”

“Poor Gavin.” She stood up and moved  around  the  room. “It’s still so hard to believe…”

Richard nodded, but characteristically didn’t interrupt her stream of thought.

“Was I wrong to dream?”

“Of course not. Dreaming the impossible dream is part of the human spirit. After all, if you don’t have a dream, you can’t have a dream come true.”

She laughed. “You sound like a show tune writer.”

“Yes, I guess I do. Sorry. But the point is to dream your dreams—then redeem them in the light of reality.” He stood and walked to her. “Elizabeth, in the hard, cold light of day are you disappointed in your bargain?”

She flung her arms around his neck. “Richard! Don’t you ever think such a thing! All my heart is yours, and all my dreams are of you.”

When he kissed her she knew the fulfillment of the promise that the redeemed would come home, entering the Promised Land with shouts of triumph, crowned with everlasting gladness. “And gladness and joy will be their escort.”

She rested her head against his chest. “You see, I was right all along. Dreams can come true. But the pearl of great price may be in your own backyard.”

“Well…” Richard leaned down and nibbled at her ear. “If you find things getting dull, we can always go to another mystery week.”

“Mmmm, maybe.” She lifted her face and traced the line of his cheek with her finger. “But I have a feeling the real world will be quite exciting enough.”

The End

About the Author

Donna Fletcher Crow is an author of historical novels including the epic Glastonbury, A Novel of Christian England, which was awarded First Place in Historical Fiction by the National Federation of Press Women. Donna lives and writes in Boise, Idaho. She has four adult children and 10 grandchildren. Her newest book, A Very Private Grave, will be released in 2010.

For more information and other titles by Donna or other authors visit:

www.TheStonePublishingHouse.com

StoneHouse Ink

Table of Contents

Title page