Light Over Water by Noelle Carle Page A

low
whimper escaped his throat.  In one swift movement he pulled her onto his lap,
wrapped his arms around her and leaned his face into her neck.  He cried for
his mother, his shoulders straining as he sobbed, and Alison’s heart broke to
hear his sorrow.  She wanted to ease his pain and soothe him.  She wrapped her
arms around his neck and rubbed her cheek on his hair, her own tears flowing
now.  She held him until he quieted.  She wasn’t aware of time passing, or of
the slow dying of the wind.  The lamp sputtered in the growing quiet, and
Alison held on to Sam, aware and knowing for the first time that what she was
feeling, more than any sorrow, was love.   She wasn’t surprised.  It had been a
seed in her heart since they were little, but she was overwhelmed at the
immensity of it.  She felt as though she would burst and she could never hide
it from him.  For what seemed natural to her may be utterly foreign to him.
    It was curious to
her.  She’d known Sam always.  They were as comfortable together as brother and
sister.  She’d listened to his dreams and longings, and helped him diagram
sentences and measure angles.  They had competed fiercely in all their
childhood games and sparred over everything from sleds to politics.  But in
this one thing his heart was hidden.  She never knew if he loved anyone.  All
these thoughts came to her in an instant and as she mused on this, she realized
that she should move out of his arms.  She was indulging herself in the
nearness of him while he was simply seeking solace.
              Even as she
considered this, she sensed a change.  Stillness came over him.  She could feel
the muscles in his neck and arms gathering themselves to move.  He lifted his
head, drew his sleeve across his eyes and sighed, a long shuddering breath. 
Then his eyes met hers.  He studied her face, a sad one-sided smile lifting one
corner of his mouth.  “You are…” he started, when they both heard heavy steps
on the stairs outside.
              Alison slid off Sam’s
lap and bent to pick up the lantern.  The outer door opened with a bang and
Pastor Whiting hurried through, holding his own lantern high.  His breath came
in short puffs and he gasped with relief. 
              “Ah, I just got back
from calling on the Alleys, when I saw the bit of light flickering in the
windows.  I was afraid there was a fire starting.”
              He drew his hand
across his high forehead, and loosened his overcoat, while drawing in a
shuddering breath.  He was a round man, young for a pastor, with a dark fringe
of curly fluff circling his already bald head.  His blue eyes were always
bright, and for a man of his size he possessed an enormous energy.  He was a
methodical preacher who was somewhat stern and a bit intimidating in the
pulpit, but outside the church he showed an unusual depth of compassion and
sympathy for the struggles of mankind in general and in his flock in Little
Cove in particular. 
              “Mr. Eliot, Miss
Granger, you have taken sanctuary, it seems.”  His voice held a clear note of
disapproval until he eased closer.  Immediate concern lit his eyes as he read
the distress in their faces and discerned the signs of tears.
              Alison cleared her
throat.  “Pastor, I guess you haven’t heard what happened.”  She swallowed as
she felt Sam’s hand slide around hers.  “That Sam’s mother passed away today
and her little baby too.”  The words felt funny as she said them; grown up
words she’d heard her aunt use rather than say directly that someone died.
              A groan escaped Neal
Whiting.  He slumped into the pew ahead of them.  He sat there shaking his head
for several long moments, and when he turned to look at them, his eyes gleamed
with tears.  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Sam.  I’m going to go over to
your house.  I can take you back there now, or you’re