“Oh, you do,” I said and laughed. “She’s here also.”
He folded his arms across his chest, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Go on.”
“I would call their names, Sultan and Boudin Maid. They were Barbary lions, and they would come to me. To me. Sometimes I would feed them small bites of meat and always bury, if only for a moment, my hands in their manes. Those golden eyes, I don’t know how to describe those eyes. It was like falling and falling into another world where anything was possible. Time stood still. It was forever and not long enough. It was everything to me when that animal paused and let me touch him.”
“Ah, the magnificent beasts,” he said. “You weren’t afraid?”
“Yes, I was.”
“But you touched them anyway.”
“I had to. There didn’t seem to be a choice.”
“What absolute wonder,” he said, shaking his head.
I continued because I knew where I wanted to take Jack, what I needed him to see and feel in the cold morning of my leaving. I wanted to understand what we might be becoming; I wanted to hear his heart.
“It was a wonder, Jack. Years later, I opened The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and again dug my hands into the mane of a great lion. I felt that Sultan had followed me through all of my life, gone to visit you and then returned to me.”
Jack’s gentle eyes were moist, and his eyebrows fell down into a V. He leaned closer to me. “That’s a lovely analogy. A graceful way to see the past.”
“It’s not an analogy, Jack. Can’t you see? It’s grace, the kind that hunts us down and doesn’t let us go. It brought us together. The grace that keeps planets in their orbits and causes lilies to open their faces to the sun.” I dared to meet his eyes with mine. “It’s love.”
He folded his hands in his lap. “Philia, yes. We must love that way. It grows not once but over and over and then again over. I value ours beyond measure.”
“Real philia,” I echoed, my eggs now cold and congealed on the plate. Yes, that is what he thought of us; this vibrating connection and kindness was nothing more than deep friendship. Then why did it feel more than that one word? Why was I confused?
He took a raspy breath and continued. “It is difficult for Warnie and me to think of you heading home into that mess. We hurt for you. I do wish there was some way to help you, something more we could do than send you on your way with our prayers. If you decide to return, we will be here. We will always be here for you.”
But like the lion behind a cage, I couldn’t free myself to offer what I was in no position to give—my freedom to be with him.
“These have been some of the happiest days of my life,” I said.
“These have been happy days for us also, Joy.”
“Thank you for taking me in and allowing me to spend Christmas with you. Thank you for my gifts, and for the warm nights, the games, the long walks, and the conversation.”
Underneath all of this simmered so many unsaid words, so much unexpressed emotion. How was I to leave them?
Warnie entered the kitchen, coughing into his palm to shake off the cold morning. His eyes were red and his cheeks thick with three days of stubble. “Well, good morning,” he said upon seeing us.
“You must get to the doctor, Warnie,” I told him, “before that settles deeper into your chest.”
“I will,” he said. “I have dialed Doc Harvard and made an appointment.”
It was in that moment that the honk of a taxi startled us all. Jack and I stood.
“I must go,” I said. “Back to London and to the docks and then . . .”
“We will miss you, Joy.” He nodded, his spirit closed to me. I couldn’t discern—was he sad or frustrated? Angry? “Please write to us.”
“I’m going to miss you both terribly.”
Warnie came to me and also hugged me. “Joy, we aren’t going anywhere. When you return, we will be here.”
Tears gathered in my chest and then found their way to my eyes, falling before I could catch them. “I don’t know how I’ll find a way to return, but if I can, I will.”
They nodded at me in agreement and I turned away, walked out the painted-green door of the Kilns and into the taxi waiting outside.
I’d offered my heart, and now I would pay the price—I always did.
PART III
AMERICA
January 1953–November 1953
“Courage, dear heart,” said Aslan.
THE VOYAGE OF THE DAWN TREADER, C. S. LEWIS