Mary gave him the laugh he was no doubt hoping for. “Yes, it is, but you’re probably not as strong as you think you are. Go sit by the fire. Rachel and I will take care of this woman’s work for now.”
It was dark by the time the woman’s work was finished and Rachel had replenished the living-room fire. Luke sat on the couch facing the fire with Pip snuggled against his thigh, while Aggie lay at his feet providing a pillow for Tony and Cleo. Rachel lifted Shadow onto the couch, then sat down beside her, and Mary sat cross-legged on the floor by Aggie, welcoming Trouchka into her lap.
Luke smiled at her. “They’re like a family to you.”
“Yes. They are our family. All good and true friends.”
For a while the fire hissed and crackled in a comfortable silence. Rachel finally broke it. “Luke, do you have a family?”
Mary saw him tense defensively. It was the first time since the night of his arrival that either of them had asked him such a personal question.
He took a deep breath. “Yes, I have an uncle. My parents and all the rest died in the Long Winter.”
Rachel said, “I’m sorry,” then waited patiently. But he said nothing more. Rachel turned to Mary. “Maybe this is a good time to open a bottle of our mead to celebrate Luke’s return to health.”
Mary put Trouchka on the floor and rose, but stopped when Luke asked her, “What’s mead?”
“Well, it’s a kind of wine made with honey.” She took one of the candles in their glass holders from the mantel and lighted it in the fire. “Actually, ours is more a fruit wine than a true mead.”
“Wine? You mean spirits?”
Rachel gave that a gentle laugh. “Not spirits in the sense that it’s distilled. We do have a small still out in the garage, though. Alcohol is such a good solvent and disinfectant. Do you object to drinking wine?”
He paused before he replied. “The Bible says we shouldn’t drink spirits.”
Rachel seemed surprised. “But wasn’t it Saint Paul who said, ‘Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach’s sake’?”
“I… I don’t remember that.” But he seemed reassured by it. He said to Mary, “I’d be pleased to have some… mead with you.”
Mary took the candle with her into the kitchen, got a bottle of mead out of the cooler and three wineglasses from the cupboard, and put them on a tray. When she returned to the living room, she put the tray on the side table by the couch and filled the glasses. The mead had a pale pink hue and the tart scent of wild berries that always reminded her of summer. She handed a glass to Rachel, another to Luke, then resumed her place on the floor, watching Luke with a faint smile. He held the glass as if it would break if he moved too suddenly. It was cut crystal, its prismatic facets making rainbows of the firelight. He whispered, “How could such things be made by the hand of man?”
Rachel said, “With skill and art, Luke. They belonged to my great-great-grandmother. She brought them with her to Oregon.”
“Where did she come from?”
“Ireland, originally. She was a child when her family left Ireland. They went to Tasmania first, and after she married, she and her husband sailed for Oregon.”
“How far is it to… Tasmania?”
“Well, I don’t know exactly. It must be over eight thousand miles. You know where it is, don’t you?”
Luke averted his eyes and shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“I’ll show it to you tomorrow on the globe.” She took a moment to taste her mead. “I’m surprised you don’t know geography, Luke. Someone taught you to read. Didn’t they also teach you geography?”
“A little. But things of this world aren’t important, you know. Not after Armageddon.”
Mary saw the tightening of Rachel’s mouth, but when she spoke, it was with consummate casualness. “But the world is still here, isn’t it, Armageddon or not?”
Luke’s attention was on his glass as he gingerly tasted the mead. He waited after the first swallow, as if he expected something to happen. A bolt of lightning, perhaps, Mary thought.
He said cautiously, “This tastes… good.” Then he turned to Rachel. “Yes, the world is still here, but it’s not like it was before Armageddon.”
“No. At least, parts of it have been devastated. Still, that doesn’t explain why you relegate an entire planet to a state of unimportance.”
“Because nothing in this world is important. Saint Paul said, ‘Set your affections on things above, not on things of the earth.’”
“But what did he mean by things of the earth? Was he talking about geography—which no one knew much about in his day, by the way—or was he talking about the mundane, selfish concerns that always commanded the affections of most people?”
Luke eyed Rachel speculatively while he took another sip of mead. “I think you must be right. He was talking about selfish concerns.”
“But this planet Earth—shouldn’t we admire the creator of such a beautiful world, the creator of the whole magnificent universe?”
“We do admire the Creator.”
“Then we should also admire the creation.”
Luke wasn’t entirely convinced. “But the creation isn’t as important as the Creator.”
“Luke, I was an artist and in a lesser sense a creator. I can assure you, I consider my creations more important than I. Besides, isn’t understanding the creation one way to understand the creator?” She paused, then with an easy laugh, added, “But I didn’t intend to launch into a theological debate. Aren’t you tired?”
He shook his head. “No, and I enjoy a… a theological debate.”
“Then maybe we’ll continue another time.” She stroked Shadow’s head while she sipped her mead. “Poor lady, I wish I could give you some of this. It might help your aches and pains.”
Luke started to pet Shadow, but withdrew his hand when she stiffened and growled. Rachel said, “Don’t mind her, Luke. She’s just getting a little crotchety.”
“She must be very old.”
“Yes, she’s at least thirteen. I’m afraid this is one member of our family who won’t be with us much longer.”
Luke seemed stricken by that, or perhaps it was the sorrow he read in Rachel’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Sister.”
Rachel glanced up at him. “Sister? Is that how you address women where you come from?”
“Yes,” he admitted, as if he’d been caught out. “We call each other Sister or Brother.”
Rachel waited a few seconds, then, “Tell us about your home, Luke. I don’t mean for you to tell us where it is. It’s just that we’d like to know more about you.”
He took another swallow of mead, then nodded decisively. “You have a right to know more, since you saved my life.”
Mary met Rachel’s eyes briefly, a glance that exchanged their recognition of a small step forward, while Luke pulled in a deep breath and said, “My home is about three miles from the ocean in a river valley. It’s a small river, but the Doctor calls it the Jordan, and he calls our little valley Canaan. In the summer when the morning bell rings and the birds start singing, the mist comes up from the fields, and the hay smells so sweet… well, sometimes I think the Lord gave us a taste of heaven here on Earth.”
Mary saw the shine of tears in his eyes, and she wanted to reach out and take his hand, so poignant was the silent cry of homesickness in his voice. She asked, “Can’t you go back to your valley?”
“Yes, I can go back, and I will when I’ve done what I set out to do.”
“What’s that?”
The question seemed to put him on the defensive again. “I’ll tell you about it… someday.”
Rachel asked, “Is this a family farm where you live?”