Chapter 9 - The Promise of Spring
By the end of March, the ice along the cliffs of Cold Harbor began to crack, sending great, echoing booms across the sea as the winter finally surrendered to the spring.
The rocky garden of the stone cottage was filled with the first green shoots of daffodils, pushing their way through the damp, rich soil.
Naomi had returned for the weekend, carrying several boxes of books for the new reading room, which was scheduled to open in Boston in May.
"The Carroway papers have been completely cataloged, Mara," Naomi said as they sat on the sunny veranda, wrapped in light shawls. "The scholars are already calling for access. It’s going to be the most important collection of abolitionist literature in the country."
"And the Newport mansion?" Mara asked.
"Sold to a historic trust," Naomi smiled. "They’re turning it into a public museum. The ballroom where... well, where the gala was held? It’s being turned into a gallery for local artists."
Julian came out of the house, carrying a small wooden box—the same box that had sat on the mantelpiece for four months.
He looked at Mara, his eyes bright with a quiet, beautiful readiness.
"It’s time," he said.
Mara stood up, her hand resting on the heavy curve of her belly. She was thirty-eight weeks now, her movements slow and deliberate, her body ready for the transition that was only days away.
They walked down the stone path to the edge of the cliff garden, where a wild rose bush was beginning to bud.
Julian knelt in the dirt, using a small garden trowel to dig a deep, clean hole in the rich, dark soil.
He opened the wooden box and lifted out the thick, dark braid of Mara’s hair. In the spring sunlight, it looked like a piece of the winter they were finally leaving behind.
Mara knelt beside him, her hand resting over his as they placed the braid into the earth.
"We divide, we cross, we tighten," Mara whispered, her voice carrying the memory of her grandfather’s morning routine. "But today, we just let go."
Julian covered the braid with the dark soil, pressing it down with his palms until the ground was smooth and level. He stood up, helping Mara to her feet, and pulled her close against his chest.
"I love you, Mara Bell-Mercer," he whispered into her short, dark hair.
May you like
"I love you, Julian," she replied.
As they stood on the cliff overlooking the Atlantic, the sea was no longer roaring with winter fury. It was calm, blue, and endless, reflecting the bright, golden light of a spring that had finally, beautifully arrived.
