Wind-Borne Sister. Melinda Holland
with a wider heart. Would you accompany me for the last of my journey?”
It seemed safer to say yes, so I nodded. He led his horse beside us as we traveled in silence for many minutes. Every now and then I glanced his way, both wary and curious. His face was creased from sun and wind, and the gray at his temples implied age, but his eyes were young, even merry at times, as he watched a hopping sparrow or caught sight of a rabbit along the roadside. He wore a pewter cross, heavier and more masculine than the one in my pocket, around his neck. I realized with a start that he must have known Anna.
Before I thought, I asked aloud, “Sir, what was Anna like?” He turned abruptly toward me, startling the horse. “What do you know of Anna?”
I reached in my pocket and pulled out the cross. I opened my fingers slowly, watching his face as I did so. The merry eyes disappeared behind a fog of pain and remembrance. “Were you on the boat? Did you know her?”
I looked up, meeting his eyes directly for the first time. Suddenly I saw Allan, dancing near the old barn, a lovely, green-eyed lass in his arms. They were laughing and young. I could not speak for a moment. Anna was so vibrant and beautiful; no wonder so many struggled to accept her death.
I looked away. “My sister found her cross washed up on shore several years ago. She cleaned it, cherished it, and wore it daily. I never met Anna.”
“I am amazed that Susannah even spoke of her.”
“It was because she also was startled by the cross. I have been out walking much of this morning, as she retreated to her room after our conversation. I understood that she needed time and space to grieve once more.”
Allan looked as though he wished to say something more, and then thought better of it. He resumed walking, his step slower and heavier, no longer humming.
We walked on in silence until the barn. He cared for his horse, drawing water from a nearby well I had not noticed earlier. He also took time to milk the cow, who seemed to recognize him and relax in his presence.
It was close to evening by the time we approached the house. I carried one of his saddlebags, while he managed the second along with the milk pail.
Susannah appeared in the doorway as we came within yards of the house. Her earlier turmoil seemed to have passed, and she smiled in greeting to Allan as she held out her arms. He set down his burden and embraced her. I stood aside, glad that the reunion seemed a joy to both. He had told me the truth. It had surprised me in recent months how many people lied when they were afraid—or lied when they wanted power over you. But here were two faithful people, two people who clearly loved one another and who had loved the vibrant, gifted Anna, now gone from their lives.
Susannah turned her head toward my steps. “Gabriela, it would seem you have met Allan. He is a good man; you need not fear him.” She seemed to be reading my thoughts, but I let it pass. Together we went inside to see about preparing the evening meal.
I watched Susannah and Allan, their easy movements, their gentle affection, and thought once more of my mother and aunt. Family can be such a complex gift, fraught with conflict and pain, and yet at times it shines with an inner light of understanding, like a moonglade over the water. I missed my sister with a deep ache and said little.
At dinner, Allan offered a thoughtful grace, even including me—and my pilgrimage. After an interval while all of us relished the rich soup, he spoke to me for the first time since our conversation about Anna on the road. “Few women would travel alone in these days. You are fortunate to have found my aunt as a safe haven.”
“I know it well, sir. I saw her home in a vision yesterday morning and see her as a direct answer to prayer. God has been very faithful to me, even in my bleakest times.”
“Where is your sister, the one who found my cousin’s cross? Did she not come with you?”
I shared again the story of Anna’s death, leaving out any mention of special sight or healing power. He wore a puzzled expression, seeming to recognize that I was not sharing all I could, but he did not press me. As the evening wore on, we talked of the storm, of the coming autumn, of Susannah’s need for extra provisions beyond what she had been able to store so far. She invited me to stay as long as I needed, provided that I would help her in her daily chores and preparations for the long, cold season that would come all too soon. I agreed, grateful for a place apart from village rumors and furtive looks. Allan looked relieved; I saw that he was worried for his aunt but respected her need of independence, of her own place and ways. It would seem that my coming had been provident for more than just myself.
My stay at Anna’s grew from hours to days, then weeks. I helped with the milking, the food storage, the harvest. Allan came as often as he could be spared, but the bulk of the fall preparations fell to Susannah and me. I wondered who had helped her in years past, what she might have done had I not come. I wanted to ask, but I also imagined that prying questions on my part would lead to more incisive questions on theirs, questions about plans and pilgrimage that I preferred to ignore for the present. Here at Susannah’s home I was welcome. I was just Gabriela, not someone with a strange and feared gift. I was kept busy but did not feel used. In the later evenings, Susannah would sometimes tell me stories of Anna as a child, of her playfulness and loving ways. One day, just as the leaves were at their most golden, she asked me to begin reading aloud from Anna’s letters. I felt both eager interest and a deeper nervousness: would Anna’s experiences lead to further discussions of my own gift? We sat together by the fire and I began to read.
“Mama, it is so beautiful here. I wish that you could also see these places with me. Today we journeyed within sight of the mountains. Mountains, Mama! Tall and craggy, with snow at the peaks. I understand now why others have told me that I should take this trip. ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills . . .’ The Lord is still the most beautiful One to look upon, but his mountains are fair indeed.
“I met several young women aboard the ship, and we agreed to travel together for a while, pooling our resources and taking safety in numbers. Molly and Lily are twin sisters and love to laugh together. Katherine is more aloof and wise, but I see her read her Scriptures each night and keep waiting for the right time to speak to her of them. And finally there is Isabella. I know it is not good to say, Mama, but I am not sure whether I ought to trust her. She is friendly on the outside, but there is something hard and heavy about her that leads me to feel wary. Pray for her, please.
“The ship came to land three days ago. After some travel on foot, yesterday we came upon a midsummer fair. I have never seen so many people in one place! There was dancing and music and all sorts of vendors and booths. Molly, Lily, and I wandered around together, enjoying the day. We bought tasty bread and refreshing lemon water. Toward the end of the afternoon, shortly before we had promised to meet up with Isabella and Katherine, we came to the tent of a fortuneteller. I didn’t want to go in; I know that God asks us to trust only him. But Molly and Lily are so persuasive when they want something—and you see, I was outnumbered! Moreover, they decided that they would pay for their own fortunes to be told, as well as my own.
“The tent was dark and smelled of old canvas and beeswax. The woman reminded me of you in some ways: wise eyes, a gentle presence. But she also had a touch of evil to her; I don’t know any other way to say it. Forgive me. She took Molly’s hand first, and she smiled. ‘You are looking for love, and you will find it, for you give it freely. He will love you well, and you will have two children, a girl and a boy. Look for the sign of the green boar.” Green boar? We laughed. Then it was Lily’s turn. The older woman took more time, tracing the lines of Lily’s palm. Lily paled in the waiting; perhaps she also sensed the thread of evil that traced its way through the atmosphere. ‘You are jealous of your sister’s joy. Seek your own way, and you will find freedom there. Do not linger too long in her shadow, but also trust to love: hers, yours, and that of the older man who will see your beauty past your envy and sadness.’
“Lily’s face turned red, and she would not look at Molly. The words surprised me, Mama; I had not thought of Lily as jealous: they are always