Everything about Waterford High School was new, crisp and pristine and its interior was just as sleek and modern as its exterior. Glass geometric windows accompanied by brightly colored armchairs lined the hallways leading to Principal Ballard's office. Marigold and Giselle led the way through the glistening corridors with their male counterparts following less confidently behind them. They allowed momentary delays here and there in order for Tavington to catch up. Aside from coughing frantically as he inhaled the glass-cleaner infused air and sneezing in response to the particles that rose from the newly carpeted floors with every step, he was irrevocably drawn in by the brilliant checkering of stained glass that lined the windows of the administrative office.
"Marigold!" He called from several paces behind. "Marigold! Inigo Jones himself would be proud of this architecture! The last time that I saw windows of such-"
"-cool your jets, Fancypants!" Jake moaned, pulling him through the sharp edges of the glass doorway.
Marigold stopped and turned, allowing Giselle and Jake to blather away at the unsuspecting receptionist. "Let's grab a seat by the windows and you can tell me about Inigo Jones, okay?"
The pair cozied up in the corner and continued what would have been an enriching conversation if Tavington hadn't caught a glimpse of the young man leaving the principal's office. Marigold, who was gradually getting better at reading the endless series of calms and storms that lived inside of Tavington's eyes, was immediately compelled to direct her attention across the room. At first, she thought that it was Baako that he had seen and her nerves knotted up almost immediately. But all was well when she realized who it was.
"What did you do this time?" She taunted the lanky young troublemaker from her chair.
"Nothing out of the ordinary, Miss Casey." He approached them and gave her a charming grin that Tavington could read like a book. "The good news is, you'll be seeing me at South every Tuesday through Sunday until I graduate. Ballard thinks that he's punishing me, but between you and I..." the young man paused, openly baffled by the way Tavington was staring at him, "who's this?"
Marigold smiled pleasantly. Dealing with young Tommy Martin was something of an artform that she had mastered over many years. The relentless case of puppy love that he held for her dated back to her dishwashing days at his niece's café. "Tommy, William. William, Tommy. He's a former honor's student and will surely be one again once I'm through with him." An uncomfortable pause. "That is your cue to shake hands."
Tommy threw him the most intimidating glare that he could muster. With the silver line of braces peeking out between his lips, it came across as more precious than anything. "Of course, William! Your... cousin, I assume."
"William is my boyfriend." Marigold explained calmly. She had to spell things out for this one. "And he just started working for Tess this morning. You'll likely be seeing a lot of one another very soon. Tommy washes dishes after school. Or at least, he used to before he received his life sentence to South. I want you to be nice to William, okay? That means no Silly String or Nerf Blaster bombardments. Do I make myself clear?"
"Stings like a bee, doesn't she?" The blue-eyed boy smiled, only a fraction, at Tavington.
He'd silently prided himself in being able to transcend the similarities between Tess and Benjamin Martin, but this was almost too much...
Tavington understood fully that Marigold was an intelligent woman going in, but he was gradually beginning to realize the extent of her intelligence. He could tell that she was parsing everything about this conversation and had sensed the disconnect- perhaps even before anyone else did. She removed a narrow, silver wristwatch from the sleeve of her favorite yellow bumblebee print cardigan and checked the time. It appeared she would be able to get Tavington off of whatever hook he had landed himself on. For the time being, anyway.
"Passing period's in two minutes, I assume you have some hardcore socializing to do before the tardy bell rings, hm?"
Once Tommy headed off to class, Marigold steered their conversation back to the windows, much to Tavington's relief. She gathered that Tavington was merely uncomfortable being around the flirtatious little boy and she longed lighten up the remainder of their waiting time. That being said, he sensed a change in Marigold's demeanor as the group shuffled into Principal Ballard's office. He knew that she wasn't looking forward to recounting the shooting and hearing that there were virtually no developments during the hunt for Tristan left a heavy feeling in the air. Darren Baako was being held at a juvenile detention center and while the possibility of Marigold being confronted by him again were slim to none, a great deal of the meeting was spent listening to Jake and Principal Ballard debating safety precautions for Marigold, the staff and the student body as a whole.
During something of a lull, Principal Ballard turned to Tavington. The Waterford Police treated him as no more than a witness but, as people often do when they are desperate for answers, fabrications were spun. His story was both lost in translation in some areas and blown out of proportion in others. The result? He was becoming known as something of a local hero. Should the story of Marigold's full recovery ever come to the surface, he would probably have a pastry named after him at Coffee n' San-tea.
"Miss Casey is an asset to our school," the heavily moustached principal said, sans expression, "she's not your traditional teacher by any standards... but she understands that there's always back door to success. Plus, the kids love her! If there is any way that we can repay you for chasing Baako off the other night..."
Marigold stole a quick glance at her handsome new "beau". His eyes, clear and blue as ever seemed pained by this praise. There was no way she could have known what Tavington had done when he arrived at the scene. For all she knew, he had chased him off. He deserved whatever accolades he received from the community in her eyes. The guilt that continued to plague him was a strange and powerful force, it prevented him from accepting that he had done anything notable. He lowered his eyes and nodded.
The remainder of the meeting was very hard on Marigold. After stating repeatedly that she would not be taking time off, Principal Ballard and Jake bartered her independence. She did not expect the statement that Giselle made against her ability to return to life as she knew it and reacted to it as if it were a slap to the face. There was simply no denying that Giselle knew Marigold better than anyone else in the room did, even her own brother. She had watched Marigold intently all afternoon and noticed subtle changes- shortcomings in her strength that hadn't been there before. She crossed her arms across her chest just a little too tightly as they walked through the school, the usual spring in her step was switched out for a lethargic shuffle but what broke Giselle's heart the most was watching Marigold as she fought to hide the constant tremble that her body was overcome with every time she was left alone.
"If those are the conditions under which I can return," Marigold forced herself to say, "I only ask that my brother be assigned as my escort and nobody else. Except for maybe William when his schedule permits." She held his hand tightly under the table and all was well. If only for a moment.
"This is only a precaution, Miss Casey. If it's any consolation, it is also for the benefit of Tristan Stone as well. Apart from home and school, South was the only community that she actively participated in. A sharp set of eyes in the area can only help matters."
Marigold nodded, finding comfort in the feeling of Tavington's thumb as It gently massaged her knuckles. "I'm still not sold on the idea, but if it might help us find Tristan..."
"It's decided, then. You will return to work tomorrow evening. I will have letters prepared for your students asking them to honor your privacy and informing them of Officer Casey's presence for the next month or so." Principal Ballard's mouth or rather, his moustache, shot upwards in a smile. "I'm not pretending to know everything that happened the other day, and I know you don't want me to blow this out of proportion, Miss Casey, but I just wanted to say on behalf of everyone here at Waterford High, we'd be lost without you."
She forced a smile. People never seem to show appreciation for others until after they are gone. Apparently, having a brush with death is the same way. You see, she'd never thought of herself as an asset to any school she'd ever taught at. She'd always existed on an interstitial plane between ignored and partially acknowledged for her avant-garde methods. As her smile transitioned into a nod, Tavington gave her hand a tiny squeeze. If anything, it helped to know that he was there.
...
The autumn sky was brilliant and blue for most of the day. As the evening hours drew near, black storm clouds began to cover the horizon. Marigold, Tavington and Moxie were at the park when this subtle change occurred. Moxie was reluctant to end her game of fetch and paid no mind to the impending storm. Tavington seemed to be on the same brainwave as the playful canine and continued to throw the stick that Moxie had plucked during their stroll past the lake. Marigold contrasted their merry mood. The changes in her work life were troubling her, yes, but something happened during their time at the park that troubled her further. While collecting reading material for their evening excursion, she'd half-willingly slipped Tavington's biography into her tote. After all, Henry had instructed her to read it. Perhaps it would be a good idea to get it out of the way...
She predicted what most of the pages would reveal with ease- an eager young dragoon with a hunger for victory. The aggression that he showed in and off the battle field should have come as no surprise. Marigold found solace in stealing occasional glances of Tavington as he chased Moxie amidst the falling leaves. With a smile so genuine, he seemed in these moments to be a gentle soul, incapable of terrorizing anyone or anything. The tactics that he used on civilians were the most startling. As Marigold learned of his affinity for burning buildings, a nightmarish vision entered her mind. She closed her eyes tightly, allowing it to transport her across time. Without any explanation, she knew that she was looking through Annabelle's eyes yet again.
These dreams that she had always started with pain. But this time the pain was different. Marigold knew that bullets felt foreign and cold as they travelled beneath her skin. There was nothing foreign about what she felt now because it came from within; a rise and a plummet in her chest all at once- grief. Her throat, dry and raw, had pleaded not moments ago to the man in front of her. If only she knew what she had said.
"My order stands."
She knew his voice. She knew his form even from behind the curtain of smoke that separated them. Shots rang out in the distance, each one pierced her soul and deepened her grief. In her mind, she could see the faces of two young girls and the pain increased. The sensation of their loss, whoever those young girls were, was so intense that it seemed to frighten away even the smoke itself. The curtain parted, revealing his face. On it, she saw a stunning transition from malice to remorse. In the corner of his eye, she saw the birth of a small, but undeniable tear. The sound of the rustling pages relieved Marigold of this brief vision. She looked down, realizing that a passing breeze had caused her to lose her place.
"To love him is to love a man behind the mask," she quietly reminded herself, closing the book and placing it on the ground, "to save him is to love him mask and all."
A rumble of thunder echoed across the sky. Marigold could see Moxie submit to stillness as she listened. Tavington used this opportunity to sweep the stick from the leafy ground and give it a final toss. He removed the dark hair that had collected on his face and started to venture towards the tree that Marigold was standing under.
"I believe I've successfully tired Moxie out for the next week," he stated with a prideful grin. "How was your book, my love?"
Marigold moved several paces closer, meeting him just beneath the golden canopy. Several leaves tumbled silently from above, landing on their shoulders. Their faces had paled in the cold, their bodies gravitated towards one another in search of warmth. Marigold mediated on Annabelle's words for a moment longer. Whoever he had ordered the execution of in their conjoined memory had been dear to her and yet, Annabelle forgave him. Annabelle loved him.
"Say it again," Marigold requested, embracing him just tight enough that his heartbeat filled her ears.
"Say what again?"
Without letting go, Marigold straightened her back and pressed her forehead to his. Her fingers slipped in and out of his soft, windswept hair.
"My love?" He repeated the phrase back to her twice as a question and once following her confirmation.
She allowed her heart to swell, to grow into something greater than fear or distrust. As the emotion overcame her, Marigold held him closer. The wind, the thunder and the swirling leaves surrounded them like a tempest. Merely holding him in her arms would not be enough to keep her thoughts at bay. To love him in this moment despite everything that she had seen would require something else. Once their lips found one another, nothing else could touch them. Two-hundred-year-old longings are funny that way. The first contact was a tender invitation, the second an apology for making the other wait so long, and the third was nothing short of a two-sided surrender. Marigold allowed herself to let go and, if only for a moment, to be seduced by the warmth of his tongue and the desire that coursed through his powerful body like a current of electricity- but he was the one who needed saving, not her. Before temptation got the best of her, Marigold's kisses changed from lustful and deep to sweet, light strokes across his burning face.
"It's strange." Her whisper traveled across his lips, echoing through their handsome curvatures and ridges. His mouth seemed to her a tiny canyon that she longed to explore and lose herself inside. "I feel as though I have longed to do that my entire life."
"I believe you have, my love." Was his breathless response.
And wind barely had enough time to chill their lips before they surrendered to one another again.
...
The storm was raging at full force when they arrived home. Moxie was so accustomed to having her paws toweled off after running through damp grass that she remained on the inside welcome mat. Tavington and Marigold were preoccupied, shedding their dampened outerwear and countering their shivers with a warm embrace against the front door.
"Heavens, you're an icicle!" Tavington laughed, pressing Marigold's fingers against his lips. "What ever am I going to do with you?"
She stroked his face, adoringly. "You won't be of much help seeing as you're an icicle, too! How about you get a fire started? I have some puppy paws to dry off..." One icy but satisfying peck to the lips later, they parted ways if not, temporarily.
What happened next could have easily been described as the finest evening either of them had ever known. True, bright flashes of lightning shot across the windows and mighty booms of thunder followed close behind- many of which shook the tiny bungalow's foundation and sent Moxie into a state of complete hysteria; but these things hardly dampened their mood. After Marigold slipped into her pajamas and Tavington changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants, they walked, barefoot into the kitchen. Marigold originally wanted to teach Tavington how to use a modern oven and stove and had barely removed a muffin tin from the cupboard when she noticed his fascination with a box of imported digestive biscuits from the U.K.
"Help yourself! They're machine processed and a little ahead of your time, but I've always enjoyed them." She beamed as he took a small bite and nodded in approval.
He then proceeded to peruse the rest of Marigold's collection of biscuits and related snack items. She joined him shortly after. This turned into the creation of a platter of crackers, cheeses, cured meats, olives and, of course, the makings for tea. Marigold also prepared a honey mint berry salad that Tavington fell in love with instantly. She was elated to learn just how similar their palletes were. The idea of never having to argue with another man again about her distaste for fast food or, in turn, being criticized for her love of lighter cuisines was nothing short of a dream. Once they were happily situated in front of the fireplace, they both selected an album to listen to and remained blissfully in one another's arms.
At around 10:30 or so, Tavington volunteered to clean the area. Of course, Marigold didn't allow him to do all of the work by himself and when they returned to the living room, they realized that Moxie had taken over the couch.
"Wait right here," Tavington whispered after silently mourning the loss of their cozy fireside nest. He shuffled through Marigold's small but eclectic record collection. When he found the one he sought, he put it on the turntable and laid down the needle.
"You're becoming a deep track guy." Marigold moved in and buried her head in his chest. "My God, I haven't heard this song in years."
"You approve?"
She held him closer, swaying softly to the beat. "Absolutely." Their eyes met. "I've always found the lyrics to be absolutely stunning. They're almost... the embodiment of perfect love." She smiled, bashfully.
"Would you care to dance with me?" He stepped aside, just long enough to bow lowly before then returning to her embrace.
"We're probably going to knock over all of my furniture in the process."
"Well, the point of dancing," Tavington matched Marigold's clumsy sway, "and I don't mean proper, straight laced dancing, but real dancing... is to experience an increase in proximity. A union of two souls and a song. And when the two souls complement one another and the song, in turn, complements them... well. I'd say that if we stay close enough home furnishings will go unharmed. Do you know why I chose this song especially for you?" They exchanged smiles as she shook her head, "Because, Marigold, out of every song that I have listened to and learned from so far, this one truly casts a mirrored image of my heart. Perhaps if you truly believe that these words embody perfect love... my wicked, unworthy heart may be enough for you after all. I hear it and it's as if it were written with you in mind."
Marigold could feel her face turning red. She had glimpsed his vulnerability on several occasions, but never before had she heard it vocalized. "Actually," she said with a grin, escaping to comedy as always, "John Denver wrote it for his wife. That's why it's called 'Annie's Song'." She could see his smile falling slightly and regretted her response. "I'm sorry. I actually have an embarrassing connection with this song. Assuming I haven't already beaten your vision of it to death." With a nod, he urged her to continue. "There's this church in Charlestown that Giselle's cousin repurposed into a theatre back when we were in grade school. We would go there for a three-week theatre camp every summer. The building has these incredible stained-glass windows and even though it no longer serves the function of a church, visiting couples would sometimes hire a priest and rent out the facility for weddings. Giselle and I arrived several hours early for camp one year and ended up sitting in on a ceremony. All of the guests were enamored by the windows, but I was enamored by something else. As the bride walked down the aisle and towards her new life, there was a string quartet playing this song off to the side. After that, it was always my dream to make that exact same walk. The simplicity of the music, the colors from the glass reflecting on her white gown... everything was perfect. Naturally, Henry chose Vegas and an Elvis impersonator- you can figure out the rest, I'm sure."
"Another cue to say goodnight, I assume?" Tavington said, breaking the silence that the song had trapped them in when it ended.
As if by fate, another wave of roaring rainfall tore through the neighborhood. Moxie leapt off of the couch and towards the window, trying her best to intimidate the rain with her barking.
"Or we could stay here until the fire dies out..." Marigold suggested, returning to her original spot on the couch. Tavington followed suit. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes of course..." They reclined slowly. Marigold grabbed a nearby throw and nearly managed to cover them with it from head to toe, but of course, Moxie snatched it away. It trailed behind her as she raced through the living room.
"I'd chase her, but I'm too content," Tavington admitted as he pulled Marigold into his arms.
"She gets very jealous. She used to push her nose between my hand and Henry's," their fingers laced, "I wonder why she hasn't done that with you."
"Perhaps it's that miraculous judge of character you mentioned when we first met."
Marigold shook her head, "Dogs have really good hearing. My guess is she can hear the way our hearts beat in response to one another. Your character... well..."
Although she meant this only in jest, Tavington drifted off that night with a guilty conscious. It took a sudden change in his heartbeat for Marigold to realize that she had fallen asleep beside him. The fire had reduced to a smolder that was barely bright enough to illuminate the living room. She could feel him shaking in her arms and the tiniest appearance of a tear caught the light of the dying embers. He appeared to be lost in a dream that left him not erratic or frightened- but deeply pained.
"William?" Marigold attempted to ease him out of his dream with her touch. His cries were soft and filled with shame at first. Their volume increased as she held him closer. "William, my love?" She pleaded. "Wherever you have gone, come back to me..."
It was her words that brought him back. The shadow of guilt that the dream had cast on him remained as he opened his eyes and tried to explain himself. "I killed them," he sobbed, the idea repelled him from Marigold's touch entirely. Tavington stood and, to Marigold's surprise, headed for the door. "I killed so many of them! And the past is bleeding over into this world." When Marigold chased after him, he turned. "I don't deserve to look at you. You are going to find out the truth and..."
"William," Marigold coaxed, touching his hand before it could reach the doorknob. She didn't know how to talk to him when he was like this, but she had to try. "William, look at me. When I died, I had a sort of conversation with Annabelle. My role in this strange drama is clear. Judgement is not my task and therefore, I cannot and will not judge you. It is not my place to do so."
His fingers closed in on hers. He examined their clasping hands as though they were unnatural and didn't belong together. "If only I could rid you of what ever task my presence has forced upon you, my sweet girl."
"No, William. It is the greatest blessing that I have ever received." Although she tried to will them away, her eyes flooded over with tears. "I have only just started to fulfill it. Don't make me give it up now."
He held her close, gradually becoming aware of the circumstances. A soft chuckle sounded in his chest. "What is this task of which you speak?"
"To love you. Without question. Just as I did in my previous life and perhaps in every life before." She paused, only for a moment to savor the change of mood in his eyes. "And I do, William. I do love you. Every beat of my heart confirms that it is real. And I am not afraid of it because I know that it is good. Just like you."
She led him by the hand, back into the comfort of her arms. He moved once before succumbing to stillness once more. He rested against her body with such softness and innocence it was as if he was no longer a man, but a boychild with his head on his mother's breast. "Your love reaches beyond goodness, Marigold." He whispered before departing into a sweet slumber. "It is holy. You are my redeemer. You are my religion." These were the last words spoken between them until morning.