He reached for Beautiful’s hand—out of habit. But of course… she was back in Bright-Harbor. Alone again. Just like when he’d left Uncertain.
What was he even doing? He wanted out of Uncertain—maybe become a Pilgrim, like Christian. But he hadn’t thought beyond the Wicket Gate. Certainly not all the way to the Celestial City. That meant dying. And he didn’t want that. Maybe Beulah. But that was so far away.
Maybe he just wanted to know the truth. Was Christian’s journey just a story? The places were there—the Slough. Beelzebub’s Castle. The Wicket Gate. Ruins of the Interpreter’s House. But no Evangelist. No Good-Will. No Interpreter. And no Cross.
When he’d first set out, he thought he had to walk alone. But she had shown him something different. Christian may have walked without Christiana—but Christiana had Great-Heart to guide her. And Matthew, Samuel, Joseph, and James. And there was Mercy. Phoebe. Martha.
And he had Beautiful. The ring was proof. She’d said the King had given it to her—for him. And she wore the ring from the Interpreter. Was it meant for her? Or had he stolen it? It fit her finger—just like his fit his.
He missed her chatter. Her boredom. Even her complaining. The birds were quiet—as if they, too, were waiting. Listening for her voice.
Build a house? He had no idea where to begin. But he’d promised. He didn’t have a choice. Except… he didn’t even know where.
Were pilgrims even supposed to build houses? Gaius did. And Mnason. Even the Prince—but for others. Christiana and her children had stayed—for years. Maybe. Maybe it was allowed. He wasn’t building it for himself. He was building it for Beautiful. And the babies they would have.
The City of Destruction lay behind him. It had been three hundred years since Christian left it—and still it hadn’t burned. No fire from heaven. No judgment. But Apollyon’s statue still endured. He looked once more… and turned away. Not there.
Town of Stupidity? Never. Carnal Policy? Even if Beautiful and he wanted it—they’d never be welcome.
He stopped at the hollow where they’d slept. Beautiful had packed him a sandwich—with a note. “Sandwich for my Seeker. Love you, Beautiful.” He wanted to lie down and sleep. To join his Beautiful in her dream. Way too early. The sun was barely overhead—and he was halfway back to the Cottage. He was definitely calling her a slowpoke tonight.
He paused at the place where she’d fallen in the Slough. Why had he laughed? He didn’t think he’d ever forget the hurt look in her eyes.
Later on, he leaned his staff against the olive tree. A sparrow called out. “Where has your beloved gone?” she seemed to say. He would kiss her feet a thousand times—just to see her eyes dance—if he could go back.
Maybe he would explore Beelzebub’s Castle. There was so much time. Maybe the answers were inside. What had happened there? No. Not without Beautiful. When he’d insisted on later, he’d had no idea he’d be returning without her.
He rested at the summer parlor in the Wicket Gate. He could almost see her cleaning. Unbelievable. You’re unbelievable, Beautiful. The pitcher was empty. She’d been right. Someone had stopped here.
Then it hit him. The village above the ravine—the one he’d seen from the Hill of Deliverance. The stream flowed nearby, and it commanded a view of the cascades and waterfalls. That was the place. And when they were ready, they could continue their journey—up the Hill of Difficulty.
By the time he reached the Cottage, the mountains had begun to cast long shadows. The common room was empty. He didn’t wait. He hurried to his room—to dream with Beautiful. He couldn’t wait to tell her.
Seeker found himself once again in Bright-Harbor. He stood at the edge of the vast ocean, waves crashing against the rocky shoreline. A young girl stood nearby, feet planted firmly in the sand, waving her fist in the air.
“Ooooh, look. Beautiful’s angry.” Laughter came from a group of boys standing just beyond her.
“Beautiful?” one boy jeered, laughing. “She’d look better in the dark!”
She stood there, trembling in rage, as their laughter faded into the distance. Her dress barely reached her skinned knees. Her straight hair—bleached almost blonde—brushed her shoulders. Lightning flashed across her freckled face. But there were those unmistakable lips.
“You… you’re Beautiful?” Seeker wasn’t even sure it was a question.
“Yeah,” she shot back, “do you want a black eye?” She stared at him for a long moment. Her fist slowly uncurled. Realization flooded her face. “Seeker? I didn’t recognize you, you dumb boy!” She beamed—and in a heartbeat the little homely girl turned into a stunning angel.
“Come on,” she called over her shoulder, already dashing down the shore, “I have so much to show you!”
What a strange dream. They had wandered the beach as children, picking up seashells. They’d splashed in the shallows and walked out to a small island at low tide. He’d written her name in the sand, and they sat together, watching the waves wash it away. He’d forgotten to tell her about his plan—but no matter. There was still tonight.
He wound the music box and let it play until the final note faded, then placed it in his satchel. He rolled the picture of Beautiful, tied it with twine, and tucked it beside the music box.
He climbed the tower and selected The Measure of a Man and The Yoke and the Plough, sliding them beside Redemption of Eva and his Book. That was all his satchel would hold. When he left, he eased the latch back into place, securing the Interpreter’s study.
One last lesson from Kind. Farewells to Miss Cheerful, Steadfast, Gracious—and of course Kind and Liorna. Then he set out on the Narrow Way.
He crossed the footbridge over the stream and came to the Hill of Deliverance. There, he sat among the lilies and gazed at the village tucked into the mountains across the ravine. A path wound across the plains to an arched stone bridge spanning the gap. Just beyond it, he would prepare a life for Beautiful.
He stepped lightly down the far side of the hill. This was the furthest he had ever gone. In the distance rose the Hill of Difficulty. Hill? It towered above the highest peaks in the Interpreter’s realm, its summit lost in cloud.
By the side of the path stood a small stone monument. Three sets of bones were affixed to it, neatly arranged, long picked clean by time.
Here lie Simple, Sloth, and Presumption.
Their hands were idle, their minds empty.
They perished as all who refuse to labor.
A grim warning. At the base lay coins, tools, and scraps of parchment. He picked one up. It was a prayer for prosperity.
At last, he reached the path to the village. Ahead stood a crossroads—Destruction to the left, the forest of Danger to the right. The Narrow Way continued straight as ever, ascending the Hill of Difficulty with no turns or switchbacks. Just straight up, an endless climb. He couldn’t see the top from here.
A hush fell over the path as he approached a row of grain towers—pale stone and weathered wood, with brass-ringed hatches and iron spouts. Each bore a symbol: wheat within a sunburst. Nearby carts rested under canvas, loaded with sacks marked by a simple circle scored with a shallow groove.
Tucked beneath a rise in the road stood a mill—blackened timber, a copper-shingled roof glinting like old coins, and a massive turning wheel. A low mechanical hum filled the air, layered with creaking wood, grinding stone, and the squeal of rope and pulleys.
A stone-arch bridge spanned the ravine—wide enough for a cart, with no rails, no gate. Its pale surface had been smoothed by years of passing feet, so old it seemed to vanish into the face of the ravine. From the forest, the stream flowed beneath the bridge, tumbling into the trees below and filling the air with the sound of rushing water. To his right, a stream poured down from the mountains, crashing into the waterfall where he and Beautiful had danced so many times in their dreams.
The village was lit with a soft golden light. Cobblestone streets curved gently with the hills, lined with pale stucco houses, clay tile roofs, and bright window boxes. The warm scent of bread drifted from unseen bakeries. A bell tower chimed nearby.
He walked through the village, taking it all in—gardens and terraces in full bloom, with lavender, sage, and roses climbing the walls.
At the edge of the village was a perfect plot of land—just big enough to build a house for the two of them, with a view over the stream winding through the ravine.
“Lovely view, isn’t it?” came a soft voice from behind. “Welcome to Delight.”
She was young and radiant, with a soft, round face and a slight fullness in her cheeks. Her blue eyes carried a peaceful presence he found soothing.
“Yes. It is,” he said, turning to face her. “I’m Seeker.”
“I’m Comfort,” she said. “It can be yours, you know—if you want it.”
“I want to build a home for my bride,” he said. “And this place—well, it’s perfect.” He glanced down. “Only… I’m not even sure how to begin.”
“Talk with my father,” she said. “He’ll find a way for you. Besides, he always needs help.” She pointed toward the center of the village. “Town hall—you can’t miss it. He’s the mayor.”
“Thank you,” Seeker said.
“Oh—and don’t be put off by his gruff exterior,” she said, smiling. “Under it all is a heart of gold.” She paused a moment. “Follow me. I’ll introduce you.”
Seeker followed Comfort into a building at the center of the village. The office was elegant but not extravagant. Natural light filtered through leaded-glass windows. High-quality wood paneling lined the walls. A landscape painting, a globe, and a bookcase lent a quiet air of authority. A modestly plush couch rested against one wall, and high-backed wooden chairs stood before a large, solid-wood desk with neatly arranged papers.
A timeless man sat behind the desk—neither young nor old—with white hair and a dignified bearing that suggested great age and wisdom.
“Father,” said Comfort, “this is Seeker. He arrived today. I assured him you’d be happy to help him build a house in Delight.”
He looked up at Seeker—stern-faced, though his eyes were amiable enough. “Seeker, welcome.”
“Pray, excuse me,” said Comfort. “I have other matters to attend.” She curtseyed and left.
“Tell me, young Seeker,” said the mayor. “What brings you to the village of Delight?”
“Sir…” Seeker began. But then the mayor stopped him.
“I’ve been called many things in my life, but ‘sir’ isn’t one of them. You can call me Jabal.”
Seeker spoke of his promise to Beautiful—his desire to build a life together with her.
“Ah, yes,” said Jabal. “Desire fulfilled is a tree of life. King Solomon wrote that, thousands of years ago. Desire was once the name of this village.” He picked up a black binder and stood. “Walk with me.”
He led Seeker through the streets of the village. “In Delight, everyone does their fair share—and everyone receives their due rewards.” He pointed to a lovely house with a charming flower garden. “When Diligent first arrived, he was no different than you. Look what he and his wife, Dedicated, have built together.”
As they walked, he pointed out more homes—and told the stories of the people who had built their lives there.
When they reached the edge of the village, Seeker exclaimed, “Yes—this is where I met Comfort! And she said you could help?”
Jabal opened the binder he carried and flipped through a few pages. “Yes,” he said. “This land is for sale. It’s Diligent’s—but as you saw, he doesn’t need it anymore. Fifty gold—that’s what it’s listed for. And a cozy little cottage shouldn’t cost more than, say, a hundred. Ten percent down is standard. So, fifteen gold, and we can start building.”
Seeker stared at him. “I don’t have any money.”
Jabal put his hand on Seeker’s shoulder and smiled. “Of course,” he said.
They retraced their steps back to Jabal’s office. “We do the King’s work here in Delight,” he said. “All work, and all are rewarded. Even my own daughters work. If you serve me well—serve the King well—my daughters will serve you well, too.
“One silver coin per day—that’s the standard wage.” He held out his hand, and Seeker shook it. “There is always something to be done. Milling. Harvesting in autumn. Chopping wood in the winter.” Jabal reached into his pocket, drew out several gold coins, and pressed one into Seeker’s hand. “A bonus, to help you get started.”
They met Comfort coming the other direction. “Daughter,” said Jabal, “Seeker will be needing a place to stay. Please show him to his room.”
That night, Seeker and Beautiful sat together on the beach, watching the waves reach their toes. She told him about going to the market with her mom, and he talked about his new room—and his work.
“I found the perfect place overlooking the ravine—where we can start our life. We’ll sit outside and watch the waterfalls together.”
“Seeker, you know I don’t care—as long as I’m with you.”
Seeker looked at her for a moment, then glanced down. “Only…”
“Yes?” she said, leaning in a little.
“It’s fifteen gold to begin building. I thought about it all day. Four years, Beautiful. At a silver a day… it’ll take me four years.”
“This is what you wanted, Seeker. We knew it would take a long time.”
“I thought about it all day. Things are different here. Eight silver a month for my room. Even a loaf of bread is six coppers.” He chuckled. “I wouldn’t be able to afford a bowl of Miss Cheerful’s stew.”
Beautiful laughed gently, her eyes lighting up the dream.
“I thought about it all day,” he repeated. “If I work hard, I can do it in two years. It won’t be easy… but I can do it.”
Beautiful nodded absently.
“Did you hear what I said?”
She nodded again. “I know you will,” she said. “It’s just… so far away.”
The next morning, Comfort introduced Seeker to the foreman, who led him to the mill across the bridge.
“Lunch at noon. Day’s over when the bell rings,” he said.
Seeker took his place at the arm of the wheel and pushed. It was harder than it looked. The wheel creaked and groaned as it turned. The fragrance of wheat made him daydream of Beautiful. He counted each rotation. One. Two. Three… Ten. Twenty… Ninety. Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred. In endless circles—until he lost track.
Fatigue set in. His feet burned. His back ached. Still, he walked. Minutes stretched like hours.
The first bell rang. He dropped to the ground with a groan. Muscles he didn’t even know he had ached. He took a long draw from his canteen, then pulled away, panting for breath. His heart raced.
He blinked, and lunch was over. Still hours left. He wanted to weep. “Only babies cry,” he told himself. Sweat poured down his face. He imagined they were tears. Still, he kept on. On and on.
The second bell sounded—mercifully. Seeker wasn’t even sure he could walk back to his room.
Comfort was waiting as he left. She placed a silver coin in his hand. “You did well,” she said. “The first day is always the worst.”
They walked back to the village together. “It’ll get easier, I promise,” she said. “Make sure you eat—for tomorrow.” Before she left, she handed him a loaf of freshly baked bread.
Seeker ignored her advice and dropped into bed like a dead man.
***
Seeker still ached—even in the dream. How was this possible? But seeing Beautiful made it all worthwhile. He kissed her tenderly and reached for her hand.
She gasped in alarm, then gently took his hands in hers. “Oh, Seeker… what did they do to you?”
His hands were covered in blisters.
She kissed his hands again and again. “Oh, you poor, dear boy,” she exclaimed. Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling onto his palms. Where they landed, the blisters vanished.
“Do you hurt?” she asked.
“A little,” he said with a shrug—then winced at the pain in his shoulders.
“Come,” she said, placing her arm around his waist as she led him from the village to a quiet spot beneath a fig tree. She sat and pulled him down beside her. Then she sang softly and rubbed his back, shoulders, arms, and legs—until he felt like a brand-new man.
Yes. Definitely worth it.
The next day was no easier. Seeker quickly learned to eat, even when tired or nauseated—work was twice as hard the next day if he didn’t. Day-old bread cost half as much—only three coppers—and gave him just enough strength to keep going. Sometimes Comfort brought him sandwiches at lunchtime, and they would sit and eat together.
He counted the hours each day. And the days: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday. And on Sunday, he rested. He’d read his books. Sometimes he’d descend into the ravine just to sit by the stream and think.
The months passed. He grew stronger, and the work felt lighter—but he was always tired, and his body always ached. His clothes grew thin, his beard grew in, and most of all, his heart grew heavy.
He spent every night in the dream with Beautiful. He clung to every moment, every kiss—but it was never enough. Each night, she’d whisper, “I love you,” and then he’d wake to another long day at the tread-wheel.
Seeker managed his money carefully, spending as little as possible. Seven gold—that’s what he needed for the earnest payment on the land.
Beautiful would urge him, “Don’t always be so serious. Buy yourself something delicious to eat.” So, he did—just to please her. And now and then, a peddler came through selling books. The man liked him and always gave him a good price. Sometimes, Seeker would skip a meal to buy a book instead. It kept him happy.
Fall turned to winter, and the mill shut down. Seeker chopped wood near the edge of the Forest of Danger—some for building new homes in Delight, some for heating the old. The labor was hard, but he welcomed the change. At least it wasn’t as monotonous as the mill. Wolf howls echoed from the forest, but the beasts never came close.
Seeker spent Christmas in the dream with Beautiful—and her birthday, and his. Just one more Christmas alone, and they’d be together. Forever.
When spring came, he helped plow the fields in the Interpreter’s realm—and planted the seeds by hand. Funny, he thought. These were the same fields where he’d met Beautiful, walking among the wheat as if it had always been there. He’d never considered that someone had to plant it, harvest it, grind it into flour—to make the bread he ate each day.
As the months passed, their dream began to fade. The colors grew less vibrant. Her voice, quieter. Her face, harder to see. He spent hours staring at her sketch, trying to hold on to every line—but he couldn’t stop it.
Harvest came, and he worked in the fields, reaping grain. The words echoed in his mind, tormenting him, “Hi, I’m Beautiful.” Was this the spot where she’d first poked his stomach and smiled? The Interpreter’s tower stood in the distance, calling to him—but there was no time. Sacks marked with Delight’s smiling face waited to be filled. Straw to be bound into bales. Carts to be loaded.
Harvest ended, and it was back to the mill. The work wasn’t hard anymore—just boring. The scent of wheat reminded him of Beautiful constantly. But in the dream, he could no longer smell her.
At last, a year had passed. He finished his shift for the week and Comfort paid him. He finally had seven gold. The land would be his. Just one more year, and he could begin building their home.
Seeker hurried back to his room, pulled a small pouch from his satchel, and emptied it into his palm. He counted: six gold, ten silver—plus the five silver from today. Seven gold in total. Then he headed to Jabal’s office and knocked twice.
“Come in.”
Seeker strode over and placed the pouch on Jabal’s desk. “Here’s the earnest money we agreed on for the land. Seven gold. It’s all there.”
“Yes,” he replied slowly. “You wanted Diligent’s land—on the edge of town?” He opened his binder, flipped to a page near the back, glanced at it, then looked up at Seeker. “I’m afraid that land is no longer available.”
“No. Longer. Available.” Seeker repeated the words slowly, as if trying to comprehend. “What do you mean, no longer available?”
“Just last week, a buyer purchased the land,” said Jabal. “He wishes to remain unnamed.”
“But…” Seeker stammered, “we had an agreement.”
“Yes, young Seeker, we did. Seven gold to secure the land—a generous offer for property valued at fifty. Things would have been different if we were having this conversation last week.”
“Surely, you can talk with the buyer. Make him understand how much I need that land—for Beautiful.”
“I am truly sorry, Seeker,” said Jabal. “I know how hard you’ve worked this past year. I only wish things could be different.”
“But you’re the mayor. There must be something you can do.”
“I’m afraid not. Even my hands are tied sometimes. But…” Jabal smiled easily. “This isn’t the only land in Delight.” He flipped to the next page. “There’s a plot right beside it—just as fine a view. Listed at seventy-five gold. Ten gold and eight silver would secure it.” He paused. “But for you, I’ll make it ten.”
“How do I know you won’t change the price again?” Seeker demanded.
“My dear sir!” Jabal sputtered. “Pray, control yourself. There’s no need to raise your voice.”
Seeker relaxed his hand—he hadn’t even realized it had clenched into a fist—and laid his palm flat on Jabal’s desk. “Forgive me, Jabal,” he said. “It’s just…”
Jabal waved a hand, then slid the binder across the desk and turned it to face Seeker. “Delight has other places to build.” He opened to the first page—neatly sketched plots of land filled the map of the village. He tapped a spot on the far side, away from the ravine. “I think you’ll find many lots suitable to your needs here.”
Seeker hadn’t told Beautiful about the land. All day at the tread-wheel, the thought had gnawed at him. How would he tell her? Would she be disappointed?
If only he’d worked harder. Or spent less. If only he hadn’t listened to Beautiful—“Buy yourself something delicious,” she’d said. He could’ve gone to Jabal last week. No… it wasn’t Beautiful’s fault. One less book from the peddler—that would have made the difference.
One more turn of the tread-wheel. The gears and axles creaked, the handle wobbled in his grip. He’d gone over it a hundred times in his mind. Beautiful was right—he was too serious. You can only tighten so much before something snaps.
Jabal should have waited just one more week. He knew that land was his—he shouldn’t have sold it. The earnest money was only a formality. Jabal himself had assured him of that. Heat rose in Seeker’s face, and his grip on the handle tightened.
Seventy-five gold for the land right beside it? He’d never be able to work enough to afford that. That smirk, when Jabal had tapped the far side of the village—was this his plan all along? Just business. Seeker’s breath grew ragged.
He quickened his pace, driving the handle harder, pouring all his ire into the tread-wheel. Without warning, it snapped from the shaft and sent him sprawling to the ground.
“Damn it!” he yelled, hurling the handle across the room. His vision blurred, red seeping around the edges. He slammed his fist into the wall. Then watched himself do it again. And again.
Seeker stood there, shaking—stunned at what he’d just done. Blood trickled down the wall, but the rough stone showed no sign of damage.
His hand was a different story—bloody, throbbing. Had he broken something? His face paled. What would Beautiful think if she saw it? How could he explain?
He glanced at the handle, then the shaft—a screw had come loose. His shift wasn’t over, but he needed to think. The mess could wait till tomorrow. He walked out, heading back toward the village.
***
Seeker sat on the bridge, legs dangling over the edge. He reached into his satchel and drew out a pipe and a pouch of tobacco. Guilt washed over him. The price of the pipe alone would have made the difference. He packed the bowl with care, set the stem between his teeth, and struck flint to steel. The spark caught, smoke curled from the bowl as he drew deeply. These days it was the only way he could think clearly. Another secret from Beautiful. Would she even know him when this was over?
He turned his problems over in his mind. A year and a half left. The work—and the loneliness—were killing him. And Beautiful was fading, little by little. There was no way out but through—just grit your teeth and keep going. He breathed a prayer to the King for help. The irony wasn’t lost on him—he might be the only man to pray while smoking a pipe.
People and carts streamed over the bridge, passing without a glance. Wait—was that Thoughtful?
“Thoughtful!” he shouted, straightening where he sat.
Thoughtful turned. It was him. He looked at Seeker for a moment, then laughed. “The beard looks good on you, man.”
“What are you doing here?” Seeker asked.
“Looking for you,” Thoughtful said. “They told me you’d be in Delight.”
“They?” Seeker asked, then added, “Mom let you come on your own?”
Thoughtful gave Seeker’s arm a playful shove, then dropped down beside him, swinging his legs over the edge.
“What happened to your hand?” Thoughtful asked.
“Long story,” Seeker said. He kept his voice low as he told it all, from the promise to Beautiful to Jabal’s change in terms.
Thoughtful was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the water. At last he spoke, “They’re screwing you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Seeker said with a sigh. “But what am I supposed to do?”
“You really love her, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
“Hey,” said Thoughtful. “At least she’s good looking—unlike the other girls you’ve liked.” A grin crept over his face. “She actually has—”
Seeker balled his fist and gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
Thoughtful laughed. “Mind if I stick around for a while?”
“Mom’s fine with it?”
He shrugged.
“I’ve got work.”
Another shrug.
“If you stay, you’ll work, too.”
“Sure.”
“You won’t get paid.”
“OK.”
“Deal,” Seeker said.
Thoughtful grinned. “Can I get one of those too?” He nodded toward Seeker’s pipe.
“Only if you don’t tell Mom.”
“I’m staying with Dad now,” Thoughtful said with a shrug.
***
Seeker and Beautiful walked the fields near Bright-Harbor, hand-in-hand.
“Just tell her,” Thoughtful had said.
“Beautiful,” Seeker said at last, “I lost the land overlooking the ravine.” He lowered his head.
“I told you already, you dumb boy,” she said. “I don’t care—so long as we’re together.” She lifted his chin and kissed him.
“I’m losing you,” he said.
Lightning flashed in her eyes. She raised her hand, and the diamonds on her ring blazed. “I’m right here, little baby.”
“No,” he said. He turned to face her. “That’s not what I mean. It’s the dream – it’s fading.”
“Yeah,” she said. “It is for me, too.”
“I’ve tried everything. I can’t stop it.”
“Baby,” she said softly, “it doesn’t matter. You’ve got a year and a half left. You’ll finish. And I’ll be waiting for you—even if the dreams stop. Never forget that.”
He tilted her chin and kissed her lightly.
***
The next morning, Seeker reattached the handle and scrubbed the wall clean. True to his word, Thoughtful took his place at the tread-wheel while Seeker hauled sacks of grain. Then they switched. Thoughtful never complained—not even once.
They talked, trading stories over lunch and supper. At night, Thoughtful slept on a bedroll on Seeker’s floor. The days slipped by, and Sunday came. Seeker led him down into the ravine to see the stream.
“Can I stay another week?” Thoughtful asked. Seeker was glad for the company—almost enough to forget how badly he missed Beautiful.
Another week passed—then another—until harvest ended and Thoughtful had to return home.
When their shift ended, a messenger came with a request for them to report to Jabal’s office. They crossed the village together, and Seeker knocked.
“Come in.” It was Comfort’s voice. She sat at her father’s desk, a ledger open before her. With a small wave toward the high-backed chairs, she said, “Please—sit.”
Thoughtful glanced left, then right, before taking the chair next to Seeker.
“I’ve been watching you, Thoughtful,” she said. “And I’ve spoken with my father.”
Thoughtful shifted in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him.
“We both agree—you’ve worked as hard as anyone here, even Seeker. In Delight, everyone works hard.” She smiled. “And everyone gets paid a fair wage.” She glanced at her ledger. “Looks like you’ve earned forty silver. Take out rent, and that leaves twenty.” She slid a small pouch of coins across the desk to Thoughtful.
A broad grin spread across Thoughtful’s face.
“And Seeker,” she went on, “Since Thoughtful covered half the rent for two months, consider yourself paid up through next month.”
That evening, Thoughtful treated Seeker to a hearty bowl of stew at the tavern and a fresh-baked loaf of bread. They washed it down with pints of ale. Later, Thoughtful bought himself a pipe from the peddler, and the two sat on the bridge, legs dangling over the edge, smoking together.
“Here,” said Thoughtful. “Picked this up while you weren’t looking.” Seeker raised an eyebrow as Thoughtful handed him a book. The Fool’s Book of Patience.
“Just what I needed,” laughed Seeker.
Thoughtful set out early in the morning. Seeker hugged him tightly. “I’m glad you’re my brother. You’ll never know how much this meant to me.”
Thoughtful smirked. “Maybe one day you’ll put it in a book.” Then he turned and walked out of Delight.
Harvest was done, and Thoughtful had gone home. The dream kept fading. Seeker was glad for the work of chopping wood at the edge of Danger—the solid thud of each tree hitting the ground was satisfying. Maybe one of them would be used to build the home for Beautiful.
His heart echoed the wolves’ howls from deep within the forest. The old fear was gone. Would they see him as a brother now?
Christmas Eve came, and he went to bed early. Beautiful was there waiting—glimmering under the stars. She bounded toward him, reaching for his hand, but it passed through him like mist.
She giggled. “You’re like the waterfall now,” she said, twirling the way they once had in the ravine, her hair and dress flowing around her.
Then she leaned close, a tear glinting on her cheek. “Oh, Seeker,” she sighed. “It’s dreadful. How will I last another year without your kiss?”
“Be strong, little baby,” Seeker said. “It’s only a year… and a few months.” He reached for her hand out of habit.
They walked side by side and sat on the beach. The boats lay still in the harbor. All was quiet. All was calm.
“’I’ said the donkey,” sang Beautiful, “I carried His mother uphill and down.” Her tears caught the starlight as they fell.
The Bethlehem star appeared, shining above the harbor.
“You’re so Beautiful.”
“I know I am,” she said, turning her head with a soft giggle.
“’I,’ said the dove from the rafters high,” she sang on, “cooed Him to sleep that He should not cry.” Her voice was soft and sweet. “We cooed Him to sleep, my love and I.”
“I love you, Beautiful,” Seeker whispered.
“Me too,” she replied. “Merry Christmas, baby. I love you, Seeker.”
Winter passed, and spring came. Once again, he planted the fields in the Interpreter’s realm. Summer came—and went. Each day was filled with labor, and each day the ache inside him deepened, until it became an unbearable flame.
Each night, the dream grew dimmer. At first, they talked, and sometimes she sang—but her voice faded. Later, they would sit in silence for hours. Often, she wept. And now, he could barely see her.
That night, they sat beneath the fig tree. Beautiful spoke, but her words slipped away before he could catch them. He held out a hand. Her fingers brushed his palm, cool as a passing breeze.
“Beautiful,” he said, leaning close. “I paid the fifteen gold. We start building in a week.”
She shook her head, without understanding in her eyes.
“Our home!” he shouted. The dream lit up—she was smiling. “We start next week!”
“Meet… stream… tomorrow.” He could barely make out the words—then she was gone.
The next morning, he didn’t wait. He descended into the ravine and followed the stream past the cascades, past the waterfalls. At last, he reached the stairs. Overhead stood the ruins of the Interpreter’s house, and across the water rose the Stately Palace.
He sat on the stone where he’d proposed to Beautiful—or had she proposed to herself? He chuckled softly. It felt like so long ago.
He sat watching the water flow as the sun climbed higher. Had he misheard her? Misunderstood? It didn’t matter. He was weary—two years of hard labor behind him, and the down payment was complete. Milling wouldn’t start for another week, and Comfort had given him leave to rest.
He almost didn’t recognize Beautiful on the stairs—tanned, fit, her hair straight and pulled back into a ponytail.
Her face lit up, and she flew down the stairs into his arms. They embraced and kissed—long, deep—then again, and again. She rested her head against his chest, trembling, breathing in the scent of him, as the sun inched across the sky.
At last, she pulled away, her fingers combing gently through his beard. “I love it, Seeker. You’re not a boy anymore.”
Seeker gave her ponytail a gentle tug. “And what happened to your curls?”
Lightning flashed in her eyes. “Don’t tell me what to do with my hair!” Then, with a teasing smile, “Want me to go back home?”
“You look amazing,” he said, kissing her. “You got here by yourself? In less than a day, slowpoke?”
She giggled. “Keep pushing your luck.”
They knelt at the stream, lowering their faces to the water and drinking deeply. The water was cool and sweet, and it revived them.
As the sun slipped below the horizon, the moon rose, bathing the ravine in soft light while fireflies blinked among the trees. Neither stirred to leave. In the warm, sweet air, they fell asleep on the grass, fingers laced tight.
The next morning, Seeker woke to Beautiful’s gaze. She stuck out her lower lip in a pout. “I’m hungry.” Then, as if it had just occurred to her, “I want apples for breakfast.”
They climbed the stairs together, holding hands lightly. She neither leaned on him nor ran ahead. The waterfalls crashed around them, but Seeker barely noticed—he was together with Beautiful again.
The sheep all turned to watch as they crossed the pasture.
“Right here,” she said. “We’ll have our wedding here. My parents will come. Yours, too. And everyone from Bright-Harbor.”
“I’ve made the down payment,” Seeker said. “It’ll take about half a year to build.”
“Yes,” said Beautiful. “And I need to get flowers, and food for the villagers, and…”
“Sheesh,” said Seeker, “Can’t we just run away together?”
“We can,” said Beautiful. “What do you think we’re doing right now? But you made a promise to my mom. You build the house, and I’ll take care of the wedding.”
The apple orchard was heavy with fruit. An old blind shepherd sat munching an apple, a Book resting in his lap, as if he’d been waiting for them. Strange—what use did a blind shepherd have for a Book?
The old man spoke of the days when he had lectured in the marble halls of Zion, before leaving it all behind after his wife’s death. Now he wandered from village to village, teaching and joining couples in marriage.
“Can you marry us?” Beautiful asked. “I’m Beautiful, and this is Seeker.”
He took Beautiful’s hand gently. “I’m sure you are.” Then taking Seeker’s in his other, he joined them together. “Do you promise to love and cherish Seeker, forever?”
“I do,” said Beautiful.
“Seeker, do you promise to love and protect her, forever?”
“I do,” Seeker said, his voice steady.
“You are man and wife. What the King has joined, no one can separate.”
Beautiful hugged the shepherd, “Just like that?” she asked incredulously. She pressed a silver coin into his hand, but he refused.
“Freely we’ve been given—give freely.” He rose and took up his staff. Turning to Seeker, he said, “He who finds a wife finds a good thing. The King sees, and that’s enough.”
Like that, the shepherd was gone. Seeker and Beautiful stood staring at each other, laughter bubbling between them.
“What’d we just do?” Beautiful’s face flushed. She stuck out her lower lip. “You going to leave your wife hungry?”
He reached up, picked an apple, sliced it with his clasp-knife, and placed a piece in her mouth.
“It’s not Miss Cheerful’s bread, but it’ll have to do.”
Her face turned bright red.
The week flew by. They never went to Delight or the Cottage. They wandered the fields and pastures, swam in the stream, and slept in each other’s arms beneath the stars. When the time came for her to leave, there was no shadow of parting.
“You’ll come visit your wife this Christmas,” she said, “and we’ll plan our wedding together.” She ran her fingers through his beard. He kissed her hand. “Bye, Seeker.”
Milling came and went, followed by the logging in the Forest of Danger. The dream was vivid again—Beautiful chattered and sang, her voice bright. They held hands and kissed, as if the miles between them no longer mattered.
Christmas came, and Seeker traveled to Bright-Harbor to see Beautiful. She spread a blanket across the guest room floor for them both.
Beautiful’s dad said, “I never expected you to come back for her,” and even her mom greeted him with a warm smile.
By spring, the foundation was laid, and the walls were up. After work, Seeker often stopped to check on the progress of their home.
Then came planting, and the roof went on. It was the cutest cottage in Delight—a main room, a kitchen, and a bedroom. No furniture yet; Beautiful should help decorate her own home. Besides, by then he had no money.
Seeker’s heart swelled. Two and a half years—they’d done it. Now only the wedding remained and bringing her home to Delight.