JOURNEY TO THE MIDNIGHT SUN
James Sheldon
LOVE CONQUERS ALL
Book 1 of 3
Chapter 11
Not too early the following morning there came a knock at the door of the wedding hut.
“Come in,” said John.
Jessie poked her head in to see the newlyweds wrapped in a large quilt made from hides of forest caribou. They were not in bed but comfortably situated on an elk rug, cuddled up and reclined before the hearth. The stone hearth, which looked big in relation to its surroundings, was constructed in the shape of an arch and appeared the centerpiece of the hut. Unlike the wood planked floor of the longhouse that had rugs of bear, moose, and elk, the hut’s floor had a base of clay, sand, and straw mixed together wet and laid down to dry like concrete. It was more forgiving on the feet than concrete, even while it remained rigid and durable. Sandwiched between clay floor and elk rugs lie a layer of fresh spruce boughs. Not large boughs as one would find on the outside of a shelter but small tender boughs, woven together into a soft underlayment. It had been laid down for the newlyweds. It had a fresh scent, not strong but mild and clean, which mixed well with the scent of wood burning in the fireplace. Alongside the hearth stood the sleeping platform, an elevated floor made of hardwood planks atop which the young lovers slept on a surprisingly comfortable mattress of dry hay grass contained in a wood frame, richly covered with animal pelts.
Presently, the newlyweds appeared somewhat disheveled, not because they’d spent the night swinging from chandeliers, so to speak, but rather they simply had a glow, at once peaceful and happy.
“Good morning,” said Jessie, stepping in and shutting the door behind her.
“Good morning,” they answered in unison.
With a quick glance, Jessie determined they had eaten all the treats that she and Mia had laid out for them the night before.
“Would you like some breakfast?”
“Yes, please!” again nearly in unison, both of them smiling.
John’s eyes shifted briefly to the elevated floor where his trousers lay beside the bed.
Noticing, Jessie said, “There’s no need for you to get up. I can bring you breakfast in a few minutes. Would you like that?”
“Oh yes! Thank you, Jessie.”
“Thank you, mom!”
“You’re most welcome!” And opening the door to step out, “I’ll be right back.”
As Jessie came through the longhouse door, Emma turned from the hearth, “How’s our kids?
“Never better,” with a smile.
The Matriarch and her daughter, being aware of Laureal’s cycle, had made certain the wedding fell on such a date as to waste no time beginning the process of rebuilding the family. Jessie hung her coat by the door and, crossing the floor, came to her mother’s side at the hearth, “It stopped snowing.”
Emma peered into the oven to check the bread cakes. “We need to keep them in there for a few days.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem.”
“No, neither do I,” using a stone slab to close the oven, “Last night I dreamed their union produced a handsome boy.”
“Boy or girl, it would do John good to hold their child in his arms before he goes.”
“It would sober him,” and lowering her voice so the twins would not hear, “and perhaps, save his life.”
“Save his life?” struck by the change in her mother’s tone. “You only mean like, bring him around…right?”
“Yes, and, no. A few weeks ago, before he decided to come north with us, John asked to speak with me. He wanted me to know that, if he had not returned in a year, to know that he had died. He promised to be careful. He promised that everything would be fine and he was only confiding in me as a matter of protocol. Of course, this is never to reach Laureal’s ears, unless, heaven forbid, a time comes when she must be told.”
“He will return to us,” as if it were a fact.
“He will have every intention. Of that at least I am certain.” And pausing in thought, “I imagine that, when a boy is taken from his mother and father at six years of age, it creates a kind of need, a type of desperation really. A desperation that, in the hands of experienced trainers, produces a warrior as determined as humanly possible. And that worries me because, regardless of what John says, I fear he will not be able to surrender his quest in the face of the impossible. Have you noticed he never talks about the other Seekers, like perhaps he doesn’t want us to know that none survive.”
“Mom—,” pleadingly, her tone that of a little girl who resists bad news.
“I’m only seeing what’s before me, dear,” contritely. “John’s Order did not give him that wolverine cap for nothing. But more than that, I think John was meant to come here, not to kill, that was not the Great Spirits intent. A door has been opened in John’s heart since coming here, and, even if only a little, it is no small thing.”
“I’ve seen it!” regaining hope. “And I’ve seen it in Laureal also. In her soul, every day, she becomes more a woman.”
Nodding, “We have more reason for hope than not.” And pausing in thought, Emma shook her head, “All my life I have seen signs, but I have never seen so many signs as I do around those two. Even before they were wedded and I was only considering their union, a white headed eagle appeared at the moment of critical thought, and it was following the course of the river! And another time, a snow white owl glid out of the forest, landed on a limb, and gazed into my eyes. Another time, on the heels of a prayer, a gentle breeze came as if from nowhere to caress my cheek. And one day, before the freeze, as the two of them walked the river trail…I saw a bright reflection of light following them in the water, and despite my many worries, I could not help but believe that they are being protected!”
“I also have seen signs,” her countenance animated. “Just last night, while they were yet here in the longhouse, I went out to check the wedding cabin, to make sure the hearth was stoked and the lamps were lit. So I went through the door twice,” glancing to the big door of the longhouse, “and I saw nothing unusual. But then, only a short while later, when John opened the door and stood before it with Laureal at his side, a light came from the hearth like a fire log had flared, and the way before them suddenly illuminated. It made the snow shimmer across the floor and out the door. And as they went through the door to begin their journey, they appeared to walk on a path laid down by a hand from heaven!”
“Oh!” cried Emma. “Listen to us!”
“Maybe we are,” busting out laughing, “just a couple of loony old women.” Then quieting down, relaxing, and thinking, Jessie added, “Mom, something good has come in this season of disaster, and it is around those two kids, and it is not bound to this world.”
“Yes dear, what you say is true,” and smiling with hope, “Let us pray it leads our family to a new beginning.”
A short time later in the wedding hut, John and Laureal sat snug in fur quilts before the hearth enjoying a breakfast cooked just for them. And suffice to say it was special. When they had finished, John arose and went to the window where, pushing a hanging fur aside, he opened a shutter just enough to peer out and check on Ellie.
“How is she?” Laureal asked.
“She’s fine,” closing the shutter and turning to her, “You have a wonderful family.”
“We are your family now, darling.”
A playful grin came over him, “It sure feels good,” coming back to her, “getting breakfast in bed and not having to do anything at all.”
He brought his nose to her neck, under her ear, not kissing but nuzzling like a happy pup.
Laureal cringed and let out a happy squeak.
John whispered, “I don’t suppose you care at all for this married stuff.”
“Nah,” cringing, squeaking.
“Ellie,” he called lowly, turning away.
“Hey,” grabbing his arm, “get back here!”
Gently pushing her hair to uncover her glowing face, he admired her. Then, easing his hands under the large quilt, he lifted and carried her to their bed and laid her down. He then laid down beside her, on his side, his head propped while hers lie on fur pillows.
Laureal ran her hand over John’s powerful chest, then up his neck to his jaw, and on to his cheek, touching and caressing his face, gazing into his eyes, “When you go…I’m going to miss you something terrible, John Summerfield.”
“I’m going to miss you too,” softly stroking her hair, “but that’s a year off, and when I return, we will never again be parted.”
Overcome with worry, Laureal dropped her gaze.
“Sweetheart, everything will be alright.”
Visibly struggling with her thoughts, full well remembering her mother’s warning, being that she not be overbearing, Laureal just could not keep herself from it, “John, I have such fear for you in my heart,” lifting her troubled eyes to his, “I have something I must tell you, and, it’s going to hurt you, but, in my heart, I know it must be said.”
Suddenly confused, “What, Laureal? What must be said?”
“John, after that day we met in the woods and you put me up on Ellie, I would look for any excuse to go into the woods in hope of finding you.”
“And I was always looking for you,” as if he couldn’t understand what the problem was, “I was always hoping to find you. And when I found you and we would talk…afterwards, even though I felt I shouldn’t, I could not stop thinking about you.”
“You felt you shouldn’t think about me because of your quest, and you struggled with that?”
“Yes, but…
“John, wait. Please, hear me out.”
His mouth open to speak, John fell silent even as his expression spoke to his confusion.
Laureal continued, “I also had reasons to struggle and feel that I shouldn’t think of you.”
Understanding her meaning, his spirit sank before her.
“Stay with me,” pleading, pushing her hand into his. “John, I couldn’t stop thinking about you either. But, early on, I struggled with my thoughts and feelings. And yet, whenever we met and I saw your smile, any bad feelings I may have had melted away. I wanted them to melt away, and you always made them melt away. We learned to talk around subjects that might bring us pain. We avoided what happened to us that first day under the maple. But then one day, fairly early on, while on my way to dig seeds in a glade, I was missing my father and brother and grandfather so much that my pain was terrible. I felt completely lost. I became confused in my mind, and, I began to blame you, and, I hated you.”
Laureal drew a heavy breath, “What I am about to tell you may sound crazy, but this is what happened that day. As I came into a glade, I saw a lone dove in a leafless tree. It was not a big tree but medium to smallish. As I passed under its eve, the dove and I held one another’s gaze. There was something immediately obvious about the dove, not physically unusual but, unnatural. As strange as it was, I mean, it would have captivated me except, I was in so much pain that it only partly distracted from my thoughts. Anyway, I put my basket down and started to dig for seeds in a squirrel hole. I was on my hands and knees. Then, when I turned to look back, that dove was perched on the handle of my basket not five feet away! It was staring into my eyes. John, you know how birds naturally keep a sharp eye out for predators, especially when on the ground. They nervously turn their heads this way and that. Well, this dove never looked anywhere but into my eyes. I asked it what it was doing but of course it made no reply. I tried to return to digging but couldn’t help turning to look. And always it was there, just gazing at me. And the look it gave me! It was like, fearless serenity. This went on for a good while. Finally, I turned to look and it was gone. I had scarcely realized it but the darkness in me had faded. The shadow wolves had lost their grip on me. And only then did I realize what had happened. The Great Spirit saw that the seven deadly shadows had found me in the glade. They had surrounded my heart! But the Great Spirit, in his mercy, sent a dove to touch my heart. He turned my eyes from evil just enough, and I saw that I could spend my life in the shadow of a tragedy, or, I could walk out into His light and be free. And realizing that he had opened my eyes, that I might know the one from the other, I broke down in tears of gratitude.”
“Laureal, you don’t have to—
“Yes I do!” cutting him off, wiping tears with one hand, unconsciously squeezing his hand with the other. “My grandfather…he had a name for the master of the shadow wolves.” And pausing in thought, “It was more of a reference really. Grandpa would say, ‘That pair of hands that is ever working in the dark.’ And grandma, she called him, ‘The Master of Deception.’ Mia told me that her grandmother, who came from a family far away to the east, called him, ‘Lucifer.’ I’ve heard folks call him ‘Darth Vader,’ and ‘Skeletor.’ I don’t know what he or it is exactly, but I know this: if I had continued feeding the wolves that lurk in the shadows of my soul…then when you and I next met, you would not have recognized me. You would have looked into my eyes, but you would not have found me. You would have seen a different woman, a woman given over to darkness. And lest I somehow freed myself from the shadows within, which only get stronger once a person starts feeding them, they would have devoured my opportunity for happiness in life.”
“Laureal, I…
“John please! Let me finish,” drying her cheeks, “My family and I, we believe the Great Spirit is calling you even though you do not believe in him. He is using you for something…something bigger than yourself. He proved it when you put your quest aside to help us even though we had attacked you. You have a good heart, John. You are a powerful man in body. And in your mind you are focused and determined. Your mentors chose you from many to wear the wolverine cap. But John, even with all that, you do not stand a chance alone in battle against the Master of the Seven Shadows. John…oh John, I have felt such fear for you. I fear I will lose you!”
Laureal looked awful, her fearful expression framed in a tangle of hair from which reddened eyes gazed, “John, I had a dream - no, not a dream - a nightmare. I dreamed the lord of darkness got to you. He got to you in a way I could never have imagined. He presented himself to you as being the very thing you seek. He deceived you into thinking him the master of all that is good, pure, and beautiful. A shining white wolf, sitting on a polished boulder of onyx…he offered you the world and you accepted because you thought it was good. And when you returned here in victory, I could not find you. I looked into your eyes but I was not able to find you. You walked and talked but, inside, you were dead and gone.”
Laureal broke down completely, “I’m sorry John,” she sobbed, “but I had to tell you.”
Nearly to break down himself over Laureal’s terrible state, John took her into his arms and pulled her close, “It was just a dream, a nightmare. It wasn’t real. It’s not going to happen!”
“Maybe not as I dreamed it, but John, no matter how brave and strong and smart you are…without the Great Spirit to protect you, you haven’t a chance against the one that walks in the shadows!”
“Laureal,” looking her straight in the eyes, “everything is going to be alright. You’ll see,” stroking her hair, “I’ll come back to you, and I will still be me, and you will be you, and we will spend our lives together.”
With his wife’s cheek pressed to his heart, her tears running down his chest; John recalled the words of one of his instructors, a married man who came to work one day and made an offhand remark about life, ‘Marry the prettiest package you can, boys, because they’re all nuts inside.’ In his mind, Summerfield could not help wondering if, having been happily married not even a day, the other shoe had already dropped and dropped hard. And yet, in his heart, another voice spoke up, saying, ‘Listen to her, John. She moved a mountain to love you. But, she did not move it by herself.’
Too many thoughts to list was John Summerfield thinking. Glancing at his wife, he realized she had fallen asleep, having poured herself out. He had never seen her looking bad but there she was, drooling. He laid his head back, closed his eyes, and thought of the story she had told him about the dove. There had to be a logical explanation. Perhaps the bird, being migratory, had a human friend to the south. A kind old savage woman that hand fed it. And when it saw Laureal gathering seeds, it simply landed on her basket handle because it was a familiar perch from which to beg. He smiled because he knew what Laureal would say about his explanation. She would say that that was exactly how the Great Spirit worked. Whatever the case, he had no reason to doubt her story. He figured most renaissance men would find his story about the bluebird hard enough to believe, or that an angry young doe had actually sought him out and scolded him. But because the Order had given him the wolverine cap and thrown him out into nature, he had seen the unexplainable with his own eyes and, little by little, it had changed him. It was no bad thing to visit nature and feel the presence of something bigger than one’s self, something beyond what is visible. Far more real to actually be out in nature long-term with no backup and no retreat. It forced a brutal kind of honesty on a man because, on a day-to-day basis, his very life depended on his every behavior. He could not lie to himself and live. He could no longer observe nature as a beautiful painting in an art gallery. He could not because, he was in the painting. And mysterious though it be, a real connection existed between himself and whatever it was that wielded the paintbrush. Not a static painting but flowing and swirling like a river, sweeping him into depths where his hard-driving need for self-preservation might outweigh his soul and drag him down unless, some greater truth were there to save him.
Deep in thought, John knew good and well that it had not been his decision to put his quest aside for Laureal and her family. Rather, he had done so by stumbling along and finding himself there after the fact. And so he could not help but wonder if there was an invisible force in the river of life. Had the same force that tumbles and polishes a rock in a stream, brought him to where he was? A force that could not be explained even as one felt a mysterious connection to it. A force that could come down into the forest with such power, as to bring the stars in its wake, that they may appear as leaves in the trees. Not an evil force. Not a pair of hands to pull a man into the dark but, insomuch as his limited ability to understand could couch it, the hands of a craftsman, performing his labor of love to shape a stone in a stream, a tree in a forest, or a man in a family.
John Summerfield could no longer discount the possibility that there could be something beyond the visible at work in all that he saw. And deciding it couldn’t hurt, being that he had nothing to lose, and perhaps, something to gain—
“I’m not a praying man,” his voice low, his eyes closed, “I wouldn’t know where to begin. But, if there is some kind of entity that can actually hear me, and, if all of this is your doing…well then, I guess I should start by thanking you for my life, and for this woman at my side. And, well, if you have some control over how all of this works, or, if you know how to make it work, then if you could work it out so that whatever I may find out there, I return home no worse a man than I was when I left, I would greatly appreciate it.”
John opened his eyes only to discover his wife Laureal, gazing at him, the joy in her expression like a simple summer sunrise.
