Finding Grace: The Guardian Chronicles Book One

Chapter 27. Unexpected News*

Chapter 27. Crack the Shutters by Snow Patrol

I returned a short time later carrying a large box, with several envelopes hanging out of my rear pocket. I had made arrangements some time ago with the post office to hold my mail regardless of how long it went between checking. I knew who the package was from instantly, recognizing the elegant script on the address label, and the attention to detail in the wrapping. Unceremoniously, I tore open the accompanying card:

Mon Cher Emil,

I regret that it has been so long since I have been in touch with you. I know you understand how time can pass without seeming to, and that you will forgive me for my lapse. I hope you will. I have been gone long enough. I am returning home in March. I anxiously await our reunion, mon ami. I have been sorely remiss in not keeping better contact with you.

You knew when I left that I was leaving on a soul-searching conquest, and you have my deepest apologies for the way in which we parted. My intent was never to hurt you. I believe I have found something of myself, and I hope you will be open to what I have found when I return. I pray this letter finds you well, and that happiness may have descended on you, even in my absence.

Avec affection,

Tourneau

Tourneau had always been vague. In March, he had said. It would be March in two days. He could return then, or any time after that. Certainly he would return before the month was up. Stuffing the refolded letter into my pocket, trepidation for what Tourneau had come upon while he was abroad plagued me, as I remembered other times when my mentor had tried to get me to participate in various projects, such as tea time with church ladies in the late 1930s, or a period where Tourneau wanted to create a feeding stock out of some lovely young men and women in the 1960s. My angst only increased thinking of how to tell Evan. I would have to stay close or take her with me if I left. I did not feel that Tourneau would do anything rash, but I did not want to risk her safety if my old friend came upon Evan when she was home alone.

Ignoring the stairs, I leapt onto the porch and walked around to the back door, to see if Evan was still in the kitchen. She wasn't, but I could still smell the stench of the food. Quietly I walked through the kitchen, dropping the envelopes on the table and moved into the main room, noting the lub-dub of her heart was slow and steady. Evan had turned on the fireplace and was asleep on the rug in front of the flames. I went past her and up to my rooms, where I stashed the box from Tourneau on a shelf with other things he'd sent me. Tourneau really was like a father sending trinkets to a child. I then went back downstairs and watched Evan sleep for a few moments, enjoying the peacefulness of her features. Kneeling down, I scooped her gently into my arms and carried her up to the room where her things were stowed, then went into the other room to read. Mostly, I sat and listened to her breathe.

That first night Evan awakened screaming. I went in to her and sat with her, stroking her face softly until she went back to sleep. She calmed easily, and looked so childish in her sleep with her lower lip in a pout, and eyelashes fanned across her cheeks. She turned her face into my hand as I stroked the auburn hair from her brow, nestling her cheek there.

After awhile, I went back out to my sitting area and found an antique box of photographs Tourneau had given me, old sepia toned pictures from the now-antique camera he had bought and used with his lady friends. He had been fond of having them pose like subjects of the great artists, so there were many lovely ladies at tea, in the park, around the old porch talking. Tourneau had always been eccentric, gathering the lost about him like a shepherd.

Ten years Tourneau had been gone, without a word. Shaking my head, I wondered what had happened to cause my old partner to return. To the Undead, ten years was nothing but a short holiday, but the turmoil in Tourneau's eyes had haunted me, as I remembered our parting. We had realized that no matter how close we were as friends, I could not be all that Tourneau was looking for. Our parting had been abrupt and painful.