Ruth's Magpie

Chapter 33: The Fifteenth and the First

RUTH:

I awoke early the next morning, before the sun. I started to stretch, aching as if I had spent the entire night on my right side, but I froze. Peter's arm was around me.

My face grew the hottest it had ever been. WhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo...

I immediately closed my eyes. If I did anything, it would be while "asleep."

I smiled. His arm was keeping me warm. A sense of calm filled me. I sighed deeply and moved closer so that our noses were inches apart. I nuzzled the top of my head against his chest. I slipped off to sleep once more.

When I awoke again, his arm was gone, but his cloak was draped on top of me. I rose to my feet, handing Peter the cloak back as he and Susan put the remnants of last night's dinner in a knapsack.

"Was I cold or something?" I asked as casually as I could.

He nodded, fighting to suppress a smile. "Yeah, you were shivering quite a bit. Figured that would help."

"Oh, thank you."

"Of course. Sleep well?"

Now it was my turn to fight a smile. "Best I've slept in months," I answered honestly.

Susan looked back and forth between us, but refrained from saying anything.

"I'll run our belongings down to the canoe," Peter said, "then we can wake the little ones and head back for breakfast."

"Sounds good!"

As soon as he was out of earshot, Susan turned to me. "Ruth, if this was what you planned for Lucy's birthday, I can't wait to see what you have planned for Peter's."

A familiar anxiety curled around my stomach as I forced a smile. "I should start that soon."

I had a very slight problem: I had no idea what I was doing.

I looked up into the dark sky. Planes like buzzards swarmed overhead, dropping bombs every second of the way.

I stood in the doorway. My family was in the street.

The blast knocked me off my feet.

This time, I didn't run into the house, as I had done that night. I ran into the street.

Michael was still alive.

"Ruth... my leg hurts..."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, baby." I looked at his leg and wanted to throw up. It was gone. I cradled him closely, kissing his forehead.

"Look!" he said, feebly pointing his finger at the sky. "A shooting star..."

An explosion ended my dream as the bomb landed on top of us. I screamed, sitting up so quickly that I flopped onto the ground. I curled into a ball, sobbing.

Peter burst into my room, pulling his pajama shirt on over his arm but not buttoning it. He rushed to my side, cradling me close. My cheek rested against his bare chest, warm and present despite my shivering.

"Worse than usual?" he asked, rocking back and forth. I nodded.

"It was... he was... his leg... and the bomb... it..."

"Shh, shh, just a dream, Ruthie, it's okay..."

I covered my face with my hands and cried. When my sobbing was reduced to spluttering, he helped me to my feet and finished buttoning his shirt.

"Thanks, Peter," I said, pathetically wiping my face. He extended a hand to me. I accepted it, a pleasant electricity warming my fingers, and followed him to the kitchen.