Roses climbed the trellis and rhododendrons were everywhere, great forests of them. He’d never seen such towering plants. Damon started up the pathway, noting every single weed was gone. Stepping stones led the way to the house. Each round of stone held a meticulously carved symbol. Great care had been taken to etch the symbol deep into the stone. Damon leaned down to feel the highly polished work. He admired the craftsmanship and detail. The artisans in the small town all had that trait, one he greatly respected.
As he neared the house, a wind rose off the sea and carried sea spray and a lilting melody. “Sarah’s back. Sarah’s home.” The words sang across the land joyously. It was then he heard the birds and looked around him. They were everywhere, all
Magic in the Wind 9
kinds of birds, flitting from tree to tree, a flutter of wings overhead. Squirrels chattered as they rushed from branch to branch. The sun was sinking over the ocean, turning the sky into bright colors of pink and orange and red. The fog was on the far horizon, meeting the sea to give the impression of an island in the clouds. Damon had never seen anything so beautiful. He simply stood there, leaning on his cane and staring in wonder at the transformation around him.
Voices drifted from the house. One was soft and melodious. He couldn’t catch the words but the tone worked its way through his skin into his very bones. Into his vital organs. He moved closer, drawn by the sound, and immediately saw two dogs on the front porch. Both were watching him alertly, heads down, hair up, neither making a sound.
Damon froze. The voices continued. One was weeping. He could hear the heartbreaking sound. A woman’s voice. The melodious voice soothed. Damon shifted his weight and took a two-handed grip on his cane. If he had to use it as a weapon, that would give him more leverage. Concerned though he was with the dogs, he was more centered on the voice. He strained to listen.
“Please, Sarah, you have to be able to do something. I know you can. Please say you’ll help me. I can’t bear this,” the crying voice said.
Her sorrow was so deep Damon ached for her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt someone’s pain. He couldn’t remember how to feel anything but bored or frustrated. The dogs both sniffed the air and, as if recognizing him, wagged their tails in greeting and sat down, hair settling to make them appear much more friendly. Keeping one eye on the dogs, he strained to catch the words spoken in that soft lilting tone.
“I know it’s difficult, Irene, but this isn’t something like putting a Band-Aid on a scraped knee. What do the doctors say?”
There was more sobbing. It shook him, hurt him, tore up his insides so that his gut churned and a terrible weight pressed on his chest. Damon forgot all about the dogs and pressed his hand over his heart. Irene Madison. Now he recognized the voice, knew from Inez at the grocery store that her fifteen-year-old son, Drew, was terminally ill.
“There’s no hope, Sarah. They said to take him home and
10 CHRISTINE FEEHAN
make him comfortable. You know you can find a way. Please do this for us, for me.”
Damon edged closer to the house, wondering what the hell she thought Sarah could do. Work a miracle? There was a small silence. The window was open, the wind setting the white lacy curtains dancing. He waited, holding his breath. Waited for Sarah’s answer Waited for the sound of her voice.
“Irene, you know I don’t do that sort of thing. I’ve only just come back. I haven’t even unpacked. You’re asking me…”
“Sarah, I’m begging you. I’ll do anything, give you anything. I’m begging on my knees…” The sobs were choking Damon. The pain was so raw in the woman.
“Irene, get up! What are you doing? Stop it.”
“You have to say you’ll come to see him. Please, Sarah. Our mothers were best friends. If not for me, do it for my mother.”