At last it was time for the finale. Marcus and I had decided to use my power over fire and water to create something that would amaze not only the children, but the adults as well. I nocked another bolt of fire and pointed it straight above me into the sky.
The ball of flame climbed higher and higher. As it flew, a fiery green tail appeared. The tail stretched and grew, and the ball began to take the form of a firedrake.
I set up another arrow made from witchfire and launched it into the air. This one was golden and burnished, morphing and twisting into a young griffin who chased the firedrake across the heavens.
My magic almost depleted, I took my final fiery arrow and sent it into the moat. The surface hissed and popped as the magical flames traveled through the water, past the two boats of astonished spectators. Fish, seabeasts, and mermen and mermaids leaped into the air like sculpted soap bubbles, shimmering and dancing before they popped and disappeared like dreams.
The firedrake and griffin faded and then disappeared. The Catherine wheels spun to a stop.
Matthew broke the silence that followed with an unscripted addition to our fireworks display.
“We are such stuff / As dreams are made on,” Matthew said softly, “and our little life / Is rounded with a sleep.”
* * *
—
ONCE THE CHILDREN WERE PUT to bed, the adults gathered in the kitchen.
“I don’t remember spending this much time in the kitchen before,” Baldwin said, looking around as though the space were unfamiliar to him. “I must say, it’s a pleasant room.”
Sarah and I exchanged smiles. The domestication of Baldwin had begun.
“You should sleep in tomorrow, mon coeur,” Matthew said, rubbing the small of my back. “You expended a lot of energy tonight.”
“It was worth it.” I raised my glass of champagne. Ysabeau was right. Hers was much better than what we normally drank. “To life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”
The family joined in the toast, and I saw even Fernando touch his wineglass to Baldwin’s, a definite hint that the de Clermont family might one day form a more perfect union.
“I wonder what they’re doing in Hadley to celebrate,” Marcus said. “It’s funny. I go for decades without ever thinking of home, and then something happens to bring it all back. Tonight, it was the smell of the hay bales and the flickering light from the fireworks.”
“When was the last time you saw Hadley?” Sarah asked.
“When I left America in 1781. I almost returned—once. But I went to New Orleans instead,” Marcus replied. “Ever since I met Phoebe, though, I think of going back. I imagine taking her there, after she finds out about Obadiah. If she still wants me after that.”
“She’ll still want you.” Of this, I was certain.
“As for Hadley, you can go back anytime you want,” Matthew said. “The house is yours.”
“What?” Marcus seemed confused.
“Obviously you haven’t waded through all of the Knights of Lazarus’s real estate transactions,” Matthew said drily. “I bought it from your mother, just before she and the rest of the family moved to Pennsylvania. Patience’s husband received a war pension, and they took it in the form of a land grant.”
“I don’t understand,” Marcus said numbly. “How could you have known then that I would ever want to return?”
“Because it’s your home, the land where you were born,” Matthew said. “Terrible things happened to you there, and you suffered as no child should have to suffer.”
I thought of Matthew, who, like Marcus, had chosen to end Philippe’s life rather than let his father live a broken man. These were not empty words to him. He spoke from the heart—and from experience.
“Time has a way of healing these old wounds,” Matthew continued. “Then a day comes when they no longer pain us as they once did. I hoped that would be the case with you. I saw how much you loved Hadley even when the memories of your father were still fresh and sharp, in 1781.”
“So you bought the farm,” Marcus said carefully. “And kept it.”
“And took care of it,” Matthew said. “The land has been worked ever since. I leased it to the Pruitts for as long as I could.”
“Zeb’s family?”
Matthew nodded.
Marcus buried his face in his hands, overcome with emotion.
“The hidden hand need not always be a crushing grip,” Ysabeau said gently, looking at Matthew with love. “The touch we feel as a restraint when we are younger has a way of bringing us comfort later in our lives.”