Bee And Foxglove

The Rain Falls

I hate to be the bringer of bad news. The world is a place of rain and sun, winter and summer. We love our friends each day, knowing it could be our last chance.

Unlike the rebellious snowflame flowers, the rain today was absolutely in agreement with its poetic purpose. It was chucking it down, as if God was just done, okay, and had completely given up on keeping Her mascara from running.

There was a knock at Bee and Foxglove's door. The rain was so loud Bee didn't quite hear it at first. At the second knock, Bee got up to open it, feeling an uneasy premonition.

Half hidden inside some pretty extensive rainskins, Bee recognised the face of Timothy, a pastor she knew from her church days. "Oh, Pastor," she said, not knowing what to expect.

"Hello Bee," said Timothy.

"Pastor!" cried Foxglove. "You must be cold! I'll put on the kettle!"

"Don't bother for my sake," said Timothy. "I've got some more rounds to do today."

Bee looked at Timothy expectantly.

"There's no easy way to say this," said the Pastor. "I've been told that you'd been closer to Lisa, Daughter of June, recently. Her glider crashed a few days ago into the cliffs of Sal. I'm so sorry."

"Oh," said Bee.

A little dumbfounded, Bee stated the obvious: "That's bad."

Timothy nodded, gazing at Bee earnestly, compassionately.

After a long moment, Timothy said: "I can stay if my presence would be of help."

"No, no..." said Bee. "I'll be okay."

"Are you sure?" asked Timothy.

Bee, her eyes welling with tears, looked to Foxglove. Foxglove nodded.

"I'm sure," said Bee. "Thank you."

"The funeral will be on the Day of the Moon at sundown. If there's anything you need, the church's doors are open to you, as always, my dear."

*

The funeral took place around the Ceremonial Tree of the churchyard. For ecclesiastical reasons I wouldn't be able to get into, this particular Ceremonial Tree was a purpleyew. On its branches, alongside violet berries, the mourners each, in turn, placed a lantern. Gradually the Tree lit up in a holy light.

Everyone wore white, including Bee, who had borrowed a dress from Foxglove. Melis was there, but didn't place a lantern. He wasn't there to mourn. He was there for Bee.

The mourners formed a circle, their supporters behind them, a hand on their shoulders. A white orb of polished quartz crystal was passed around. When someone took the orb, they spoke. Sometimes just a word or two, sometimes a whole speech.

Bee listened to it all, crying almost the entire time. The stories were almost all new to her. She didn't know Lisa. She wished she knew Lisa.

When it came to Bee's turn, she held the ball and looked around the circle. Her heart was breaking. She didn't know how she could say anything.

"How would you let me be here, knowing what I did?" Bee whispered. She realised others were straining to hear, so she forced the words out again, a little louder.

"Timothy said Lisa admired me. I don't know why she would. All I did was... all I did was..."

Bee cried in earnest now. Foxglove, to Bee's side, squeezed her hand. Melis hugged her from behind.

"I never intended for Lisa's magic to do this," said Bee. "All I wanted was for people to live their dreams."

After a minute, Bee's tears calmed a little. She found no more words, and passed the orb onto Foxglove, who was next in line.