Return the Hearts of the Father by J.A. Cain

Author:J.A. Cain
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
ISBN: 9781599797892
Publisher: Charisma House
Published: 2012-08-04T00:00:00+00:00

He drove me through the night, aiding my rest. Now the light rose in Devon, as distant church bells chimed, pendulums of sound swinging in from the car window above my head. I sat up, wide awake in a split second, to breathe in a fuller air than I had ever tasted.

“Good morning, special.” He was positioned exactly as the night before, except his sleeves were rolled up, one arm stretched forward on the wheel, the other leaning out to cup the force of the wind traveling beside us.

We floated over a rise in the road, under tall trees, foliage thick as a concert audience, swaying hands enjoying every note. The branches interwove high above us, as we moved silently under an emerald cathedral, columns of light descending upon our heads from windows of gold. A thousand birds rejoiced at this new morning, singing glory at the gift of another day, fresh and unused. My mind understood their melody for the first time, hearing thankfulness faithfully offered from ancient days.

There were many stairs in my new house, tall and full of light. He carried me upwards, climbing then turning, climbing then turning. My new bedroom was large and still, opening out into the sky, three windows built into the slope of the ceiling. The light cascaded in from one direction and pioneered out through the other. The comforter slumbered in olives and golds, velvet cushions combed in one direction, piped with shimmering cotton flowers, soft as climbing jasmine.

I breathed out and closed my eyes. It was all gone. It was all gone, across a different ocean. No lodgers to greet me before my eyes had fully opened, before I had covered myself properly; no one pretending to give, with a touch taking everything they wanted.

Joshua began to sing once more, low and timeless. He sat down on the foot of the bed, scattering diamonds across the ceiling, tiny breathing reflections of hidden sequins sewn into the deep red throw. My mind jumped, agitated, listening for saucepans and an imploding hum. But no handle turned, no stairs were climbed. All was silent except his song, pitch perfect and full of infinity. His voice disappeared under me, swimming through the air around and into my resting limbs. I slept deeply.

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