Heartfire

Alvin and Margaret were given the best room, the one with a balcony overlooking the garden. They sat there that first evening, taking in the peace of their first night together in so long that Alvin marveled aloud that the child had ever managed to get itself conceived.

“Let's not be apart again like that,” said Margaret.

“Well, not to point the finger, but you were traveling as much as me.”

“Never again,” said Margaret. “You won't be rid of me.”

Alvin sighed. “I never want to be rid of you, but I also want the baby to be safe. I'll take you home– Hatrack or Vigor Church, whichever you want– but I've got to go to a place in Te

“Take me with you.”

“And run the risk of you giving birth on the road? No thanks,” said Alvin.

Margaret sighed. “All this wandering, all this separation, and what have we accomplished? The war is still coming. And you still don't know how to use that plow of yours, or what the Crystal City really is, or how to build it.”

“I know a few things, though,” said Alvin. “And maybe the main reason for all this travel wasn't the tasks we had in mind. Maybe it was those folks in the other rooms. Denmark and Gullah Joe and Fishy and Denmark's lady– I think we'll get them all to the Crystal City, in the end. And Purity and Hezekiah– I think they'll come along, too.”

“And Calvin,” said Margaret. “He's changed.”

“Couldn't bring himself to travel with us, though.”

“I think he's ashamed of what his carelessness set off back in Camelot,” said Margaret. “But he's steadier. His heartfire has a lot of paths that lead somewhere. And…”

“And?”

She brought his hand up to her mouth and kissed it. “And maybe I have other reasons to look into the future with more hope.”

“I reckon now he owes his life to me, somewhat, he's got to think different.”

“Well, don't count on gratitude. It's the most fleeting of all human virtues. The change in him has to run deeper than that. I think it was when he raised that wave to stop the slave revolt from happening. Thousands of lives were saved when he did that.”

Alvin chuckled.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Well, I was on the road, but I was looking ahead. I saw him trying to make a splash in the water, like the old game we played. But he was so weak, he wasn't up to it, he couldn't concentrate.”

“So you did it,” said Margaret.

“It wasn't easy even for me,” said Alvin, “and I was healthy and experienced.”

“Well, don't tell him that he didn't make that flood.”

Alvin laughed. “And take away his one memory of doing something heroic? Not likely.”

They sat a while longer in silence. Then Margaret patted her belly and sighed.

“What?”

“I was just thinking how much my mother would have loved to be here. She set such store by babies. Lost a couple before I came along and managed to live through infancy.”

“But your mother is here,” said Alvin. He reached over and laid his hand on her chest, over her heart. “Every heartbeat, she put it there, she heard those heartbeats in the womb, month after month. She's in your heartfire now, as you were in hers. That doesn't go away just because of a little thing like death.”

She smiled at him. “I imagine you're right, Al. You usually are.”

He kissed her. They sat there a little while longer, till the mosquitoes drove them back inside. They fell asleep clinging to each other, and even in their sleep they kept reaching out to touch each other, for fear that one might have slipped away in the night. Miraculously, they were still there in the morning, touching, breathing, hearts beating together; heartfires bright; lives entwined.