The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 5

by Beth Brower

Pierce scowled. “Do you celebrate everything?” A worthy question. I myself don’t see any great problem with such a scheme. The edge of life can be marked in black faster than one would suppose. Why not ring all the bells?

Life must be lived. And if we can enjoy some of it, so much the better.

“I know how to photograph a well-constructed mask as well,” Pierce replied. “I can flatter.” “Why didn’t you flatter me?” I asked. “I don’t flatter my friends.”

There has been a price paid, and it would be a shame if the full toll were left unaccounted. It’s not only the faces on the battlefield that tell the story of war.

“Your secrets are your own. But one can see burden even without knowing the cause.”

“Some things must wring out every last ounce before the end. But your mettle is proven, Miss Lion. You will be weighed and not found wanting. Memories are preserved, sacrifices are honoured, and all the moments before half-open windows are known. In the end, all is mended.” I blinked quickly in succession and felt my fingers tingling at Hawkes’s words. It was like a blessing, or a spell. A holy magic.

“He’s a bit mad, that one.” I couldn’t help thinking maybe it wasn’t madness at all, merely that he understood something the rest of us didn’t.

I know I have incommoded more than one person in my lifetime, and I’m convinced it’s not pleasant for them. She had my full sympathies.

“You are far too confident with the space you take up in this world.”

“He said he wished you to be wise, and good, and true to the beatings of your own heart, and hoped that you could be spared the extremes of society, both the very poor and the very rich, so that neither need nor indulgence would spoil the soul he loved more than anything else in the world.”

The memory came to mind just now. And something I’ve not felt for longer than I care to admit began to take shape. That, come sunshine or cloud, I was going to be fine. More than fine. In place, and strong, and anchored in. Tonight, Islington became a stake. And Pierce. And Mary. And Saffronia. And Hawkes. All I can think of is the sound of the rain on the canopy, and everyone still smiling.