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.”
