Tea or coffee? I'll just be a minute... won't you sit by the fire?
Oh, my visitors on the sofa? These are a few old friends of mine--very old friends. A couple of stories--a couple of poems--a couple of songs. And I think a drawing or two. They dropped by for a visit--haven't seen them in a while--and I find I didn't remember them quite accurately. Somehow I thought they were different--but then maybe I've changed.
This is the first--"And the Stars Remained". Why don't you get acquainted while I go find you a drink?
...
Brushing her fingers along the soft, shabby, velvet carriage seat, Leah hummed as she sat in the old, worn carriage. Friendly and familiar, the carriage creaked amiably around her as the tall dun horses slowly trundled it along. Glancing out the small, round window, she caught sight of a sleepy meadow basking in the midday sun. Slight, lazy breezes caressed the waving, green grasses. Frisky young deer cantered past; Leah giggled at their gawky long legs.
Sitting across from her, her twin brother Luke leaned over curiously to look. She moved over to let him see the mottled brown fawns leap, race, and prance. He joined in her laughter.
Leah settled back in her seat. Wistfully she glanced back towards the meadow, but the fawns had vanished. They had all gone away—like the man who had said he loved her.
Luke tried to catch her gaze, but she would not look at him. Starting at the tears forming in her eyes, he squeezed her hand sympathetically and whispered, “Not Arthur?”
She turned to look him in the eye. “Yes. Arthur.”
He sighed in pain, and patted her graceful, delicate hand so suited to the piano she loved to play—the instrument that had brought Arthur into her life. Biting his lip in frustration, he looked away and sighed, “I wish…”
“—That I would get over him?” she finished. “I will, someday—“
“—You hope?” he murmured. “I know… I thought,” he stopped. “You were humming—you might play again soon. Maybe?” he uneasily forced out.
“Luke,” she passionately cried, “when will the pain of playing go away? It’s not as if I can diminish the pain in my life like so many chords.”
“I know,” he sighed.
She turned away.
Slowly pulling to a stop, the carriage groaned in relief as its passengers stepped out into the uncomfortable autumn heat. Leah hurried after her brother as he wandered off towards a nearby hotel for something to eat.
They entered the looming white building shyly, but a smiling maid pointed them straight towards the dinner-hall. Echoing with the clink of silverware, murmur of gossip, and roar of laughter, the long, dimly lit hall held an enormous wood table, hundreds of steaming dishes, and a hearty crowd of hungry travelers.
Leah gasped in delight at the wafting smells of savory beef, bitter salad, sugary carrots and yeasty bread. She breathlessly waited for Luke to pray before eating. Just as she tasted the salty, tender meat, though, a slammed door announced a new traveler—unknown to all but her.
Hails from the other diners greeted the newcomer; Luke alone noticed Leah’s pale face. She bowed her head, no longer hungry. In despair she hoped against all hope to remain unnoticed. However, her wish would go ungranted.
Startled, Arthur jumped when he caught sight of Leah. He almost joined her, but instead changed his mind and sat at the other end of the table. Short, thick locks of shaggy blonde hair masked his fearful eyes, but his trembling mouth betrayed him; Leah saw that he, too, struggled with his soul.
Her hands shook. Without a word she stood and left the room. Hearty, raucous laughter followed her dainty footsteps.
Quickly paying his bill, her brother rushed after her, reeling with anxiety. He found her weeping by the side of the carriage, gasping through her sobs. Silently he lifted her into the carriage, laid her on the velvet seat, and covered her with a cloak. “Are you… alright?” he asked.
She sobbed, “Must I be?” “Oh, Luke!” she gasped, “Why did he have to come?”
Luke did not answer. He merely patted her arm, climbed out of the carriage, vaulted to the driver’s seat and ordered the horses on: the driver clucked to the horses, and the town pulled away.
Leah sighed. Her weary eyes traced the pattern of the trees dancing in the wake of the carriage, carried along by the wailing wind. Towering mountains shut out the dying sun, but the light of its stubborn fingertips clung fiercely to the rosy clouds. She, too, clung fiercely to her pain as if the soft immaterial clouds of her thoughts could validate her existence; as her mind drifted into sleep, she wondered if the sun had a name.
Finally breaking free from the light, the clouds darkened overhead as the wind grew stronger. Angry and savage, the careening trees spun faster to the pounding beat of the carriage wheels, furious and wild. Startled out of her sleep, Leah cried, caught up as much in the madness of the trees as in that of her pain.
But the wind softened in its rage, sighing away the clouds to reveal the bright and glorious stars. Leah’s heart relaxed, and she realized as God gently opened understanding in her heart that the stars stayed firm in their places in spite of the chaos around them. Exactly where God had placed them in the beginning, they remained whole, complete, and fully, beautifully functional for God’s purposes.
“So,” she thought, “can I fulfill His plans for me exactly where I am?” She poked her head out the window, relaxing in the breeze. Looking up at the stars, she remembered how God had put each one in its place and knew each one’s name, just like He knew hers; she thought of how He held them together just like He held her.
Hearing a gentle rustle behind him, Luke peered back at his sister, surprised at the peace in her face. He smiled down at her, and she smiled back wanly. Healing, she knew, had begun.
She slipped back into the carriage and fell asleep.
Slow, slight, and steady, the stopping of the carriage wakened her. Cheerfully, spiritedly even, Leah stepped from the carriage and allowed her brother to escort her to the dining hall. There, another table, another overwhelming array of smells, and another happy, hungry crowd made her shrink back into her seat, but not in fear.
Time slowed to a halt. Heavy, faltering footsteps filled her ears. She turned almost unbelievingly, though she knew for sure whom she would see.
Filled with exhaustion, Arthur collapsed into the seat across from her. “Please,” he began. Broken tears ran down his face. “Forgive me,” he swallowed, “I had to follow—had to know—.” He gulped back sobs and dropped his head.
Years of fear, agony, and shame fell away from Leah as she lifted her eyes to his. She spoke softly but firmly the reply she had waited with so long: “I already have.”
And she spoke truth.
Arthur dropped his head, overwhelmed.
Leah looked away. Noticing the piano for the first time, she stared. Her feet slowly pulled her forward. Faintly smiling, she sat on the stool and drew the piano towards her, fingers tingling.
Slow and soothing, her lilting melody eased her audience, and the table chatter ceased as the tones of the piano enveloped the group of travelers. They smiled at the sound of the gentle wind, the creaking of the wheels, and the softness of the carriage seats. Her quiet, contented joy spilled out of her heart in raptures both innocent and sweet.
Filled with pain and sorrow, she wove the impulsive, disruptive wind into the fierce whirling of the trees—the dance of her troubled soul. Arthur gasped as the bitterness of the night blew away the rosy warmth of the sun; her brother shifted in unease.
Yet with a gentle, sweeping waltz the wind swept the clouds from the stars. Sweeping the pain from her mind, her heart revealed the unmistakable truth of her identity like the unmistakable brilliance of the stars. Her listeners’ weatherworn spirits relaxed into the peaceful, joyful swaying of the universe; her brother smiled at that of her soul.
Tears of joy filled Arthur’s eyes; he looked at her, and he understood.
Next morning, the carriage pulled away from the hotel amidst joy and rebirth. Frisky and merry, the horses trotted briskly off in the pink morning light. Leah laughed as her brother yet again squeezed his long lanky body into the velvet seat, not unlike the gawky fawns.
Arthur had left the night before, healed of his burden and eager for new life. Leah let him go, firmly rooting her spirit in the plan she knew God had ordained for her life. Even as the carriage trundled into the courtyard of their home, Leah remembered that God would not forsake her. In the midst of her family’s noisy welcome, she held onto the truth she had learned—for the stars would not let her forget.
...
One may notice that the twins' names are the same as the twins in Star Wars. That was entirely accidental :D
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