Sweet Soul

“Where’s your mom?”

My eyes read and re-read that question, and my throat closed up like it always did. A pair of dark eyes flashed through my mind, but I struggled to see the rest. The usual panic that came with that struggle set in. Before I could get to my feet, Elsie squeezed my hand, her touch pouring strength into my heart.

I breathed, I breathed, until I found myself saying, “She’s dead.”

Elsie’s grip hardened so much that it caused me to look at her face. She was stone, her eyes wide and glossy. This time I squeezed her hand. “Elsie?” My voice must have snapped her from whatever was haunting her mind.

Her chest was rising and falling so fast that I pushed her coffee toward her. Elsie picked up her mug and sipped the steaming drink. As she lowered her coffee, I could see her hands were trembling. I opened my mouth to ask why, when she picked up her pen. I waited, desperate to see what she would write, then she pushed the pad toward me.

“My mom died too.”

I stared at those four words, and sadness slammed into me like a freight train. My breathing was shallow, and I slowly raised my eyes to see Elsie’s eyes brimming with tears. I stared at her beautiful face, a face that had seen tragedy—like me. A face that had watched her mamma die—just like me, and Elsie pressed her hand over her heart and clenched her fist. The pained expression on her face showcased her hurt more than any words could convey. I knew it, because I felt it too.

The knuckles on our joined hands were white as we clung to each other. But as hard as this moment was, something light, some feeling as light as air itself, lifted some of the ache in my heart.

She understood.

With few words, and little explanation, I knew Elsie understood me.

I dragged in a ragged breath, and Elsie mirrored my action. Minutes passed, silence again wrapping around us.

When the throbbing of my heart calmed, I asked, “Where are you from, Elsie?”

Elsie’s eyes narrowed on me, but she wrote, “Portland, Oregon.”

“How did you wind up in Seattle?”

I could see he didn’t want to answer, but she wrote, “I had to get away. I managed to get here, and,” she looked away; I squeezed her hand. She drew in a deep breath, and wrote, “I had nowhere else to go.”

I had no idea what to say in response. My mind flashed back to the corner of the alley and her being cold, thin and unwell. Those memories were plaguing me when she added, “I’ve never even seen Seattle, Levi. Apart from cold alleys, I don’t know the city at all.”

Elsie dropped her pen. Her face was tired and sad. I hated seeing her this way, then an idea popped into my head. “Elsie?”

Elsie faced me.

“You feeling better? Better enough to get away from this house for a while?”

Elsie’s forehead lined with confusion, but she slowly nodded her head, sadness being gradually replaced by intrigue.

Standing up, I pulled her to stand too, and instructed, “Go back to bed, get some sleep. Be ready to go by nine.”

Elsie’s face scrunched up in confusion. Pulling her toward me, I gently lifted my hand to her face. Elsie swallowed hard and I heard her breathing deepen. “I’m,” I pushed myself to say, “I’m taking you out tomorrow, around Seattle. The Seattle you’ve never seen.”

Elsie’s pink lips parted, and she exhaled a short breath. I froze, thinking she would refuse. When those lush lips lifted into a smile and she nodded her head.

I wanted to kiss her. This close, with that beautiful face beaming up at me, I wanted nothing more than to kiss her pink lips. But I didn’t. Like a coward, I backed away. I thought I saw a flash of disappointment in Elsie’s eyes, but she lowered her head before I could be sure.

Elsie grabbed her pen and paper; I took her hand. I walked her out of the pool house to the kitchen door. I opened the door, and Elsie walked through. When she glanced over her shoulder, I said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Elsie smiled and walked up the stairs to her room. Just as I was about to shut the door, Lexi appeared from the darkened dining room, a sleeping Dante in her arms.

I opened my mouth to say something when Lexi beat me to it. “Dante woke up for a feed a while ago. I was in the dining room when I saw Elsie run by and leave. I panicked at first thinking she was running away, then I saw you by your pool house. Saw you let her inside.”

My face was on fire as Lexi spoke, rocking my nephew in her arms. I didn’t say anything, but I clearly didn’t need to. “You like her. A lot,” Lexi stated. Unable to lie to my brother’s wife, I nodded my head.

Lexi moved closer. “You’re taking her out tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

Lexi nodded, then went to walk back up the stairs. Before she did, she turned round, and looked like she wanted to say something, but stopped herself. Needing to know what it was, I questioned, “What?”

Lexi looked in the direction of the stairs, in the direction Elsie went, and she said, “I think she’s been through more than we can understand, Lev. I’ve tried to talk to her every day, but she avoids conversation completely.” Lexi sighed and added, “I think she’s really broken inside. Severely. I think there’s something dark in her past that’s haunting her.”

My heart ached, and just as I turned to go back to my room, I whispered, “Then we’re the same. That’s what makes her so special to me.”

“Lev…” I heard Lexi hush out softly, but I was out of the door and into the pool house before she could react.

My mind raced with what Lexi said, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t already see. Elsie didn’t speak, she was too timid and shy.  She’d lost her mamma, like I had lost mine. And I could see she was lonely, just like me.

Taking off my jacket, I walked to the table to clear away the mugs, when I saw a piece of paper was lying on the top. I wondered what it was. Suddenly I recognized Elsie’s handwriting.

Moving round the table, I dropped to the seat. The paper was folded in two, my name written across the top.

My heartbeat picked up speed as I opened the paper. At first I was confused by the centralized column of words, then my heart burst apart when I read a poem that Elsie had written:

Alone and lost, appeared this saint,

With pretty gray eyes, darkness can’t taint.

He stole her from cold, from blustering storm,