This is the last installment in this story--we have made it to the end. Thank you for coming this far with me.
Previously on Terrarium Lights: Gail works through some of her own grief
(Alternate Epilogue >>here)
Of course, Gail did not forget her promise. Once Michael settled in—and heard the story of the past few weeks several times over, and read her journal and the notes she and the lad had made, and walked the length of the coast with Gail—they headed to the lighthouse.
After some polite chin-wagging, Mrs. Seward put up a sign saying she'd be back to the café after a break, and ushered them towards the lighthouse. She saw what Gail was carrying and smiled approvingly. As they went, she explained that he was in a room in the stairwell there. It was brighter and airier than the rooms in the house, she said, and he had often stayed there before, so they felt it was more appropriate. Besides, easier access for the doctor to not have to go through either the café or the rest of their house.
The doctor was not in at the moment, but Mrs. Seward was pleased to report that, according to him, Jonathon was recovering splendidly—which Gail was pleased to hear.
"But… I'm afraid the worst we feared was true," Mrs. Seward said, whispering almost as they approached the steps. "He doesn't quite remember things. He seems to have kept impressions—he knows that he knew us, but he doesn't… quite… well, remember us. And he doesn't see very well anymore."
"Ah," Gail said. So it was as Jonathon had thought.
"We're sorry to hear that," Michael said softly.
"Still," Mrs. Seward said, drawing herself up with her hand on the doorhandle. "Our boy came back. And we are ever so grateful for that."
If either Gail or Michael saw a hint of tears in her eyes, they did not comment.
The room was, indeed, quite nice. It was small and cool, but large enough that it felt cozy instead of claustrophobic; the long, wide window on the wall let in a stream of sunlight, and looked out trees and, through them, the sea. When the window was open, Gail imagined that it smelled and felt quite fresh.
Jonathon was sitting on the bed, placed just under the window and piled with the surplus of blankets and pillows Gail had noticed upon entering. He looked different. "Solid" was the first word that came to mind. It amused Gail somewhat that she half-expected his eyes to be blank and colorless as he stared with a different kind of vacancy toward the window. Overall, he seemed to have more color in him. His cheeks had more warmth to them, his lips looked less dry, and his eyes were a rich brown. Perhaps he looked different because he was in a cleaner shirt and waistcoat, and there was no blood or injury to be seen.
When the door opened, he turned his head towards them.
"Hello, Jonathon," Mrs. Seward said. "You have some visitors. They’re friends of ours from church. You don't know them, but Mrs. Goffrey has been praying for you while you were sick."
"Oh," he said, his hands fiddling with the blankets. "That's very kind."
"My pleasure," Gail said with a chuckle. She shifted the weight of her gift in her arms. Honestly, she should have asked Michael to carry it.
He tilted his head at her voice.
"I'm afraid I was traveling just now, through the weeks that all the goings' on took place," Michael said, "so I’ve only started on my prayers recently. But I have heard a lot about you."
"Ah." His face squinted in an embarrassed smile. "Thank you, I think."
"I'll be back at the café if you need anything," Mrs. Seward said, looking back through the lighthouse door towards the rickety and ungeared wagon pulling up around the bend. "And you two are familiar with the area. Just pop in and say good-bye before heading out."
Gail nodded.
"So." Gail started, suddenly unsure of how to start a conversation with so familiar a stranger. “How… how have you been?”
"Truthfully, I'm not sure." Jonathon went back to rubbing his fingers along the hem of the blanket. "I don't have much to compare things to. But… I think the weather has been nice. I know Mrs. Seward has been dealing with a personal loss, but they haven't told me much. Apparently I was asleep for several weeks, but… I assume you must know that already."
"I had an inkling," Gail said with a chuckle.
She glanced around the room, looking for a suitable spot. The best place was perhaps the dresser beside his bed. The only thing on it was a framed picture of Jonathon, standing posed with… someone. He looked vaguely familiar.
"We have a present for you," Michael said. "Something my wife made for you."
"Oh." He blinked. "I… you didn't have to."
"No worries," Gail said brightly. "It’s something of a hobby of mine. Is it alright if I set it on the dresser by your bed?"
"What is it?" he asked.
"It's a terrarium," she said, coming closer.
"I… I'm not sure what that is," he admitted.
"Well, usually, they're made in glass jars and the like, and a little scene is made with rocks and moss and various other things. Like a little mini garden, but of moss. But I made this one a little different." Gail set it down on the bed beside him, the weight of it making the mattress bounce a bit, and gave him a chance to explore it. "We made this one wider and more open, and in what was supposed to be a clay garden pot. It broke a few years back—though don't worry, no edges anymore, we made sure to sand them all down—so it's solid and won't fall over easy if you bump it."
“Technically, it’s not really a terrarium anymore,” Michael inserted helpfully. “But we made it using similar principles, and neither of us could remember what the other type is called. Mossarium didn’t sound quite right.”
Gail chuckled. “We tried to make it more for feel and texture than looks, so that’s another reason why we made it bigger. Easier to put your hand in, if you want.”
He felt it gingerly, brushing his fingers along the edge of the clay, stopping at a sudden protuberance.
"That's a little lamp we attached to it," she said. "It gives off more warmth than light, and it should be easy enough to find and turn on if you need it. Michael helped me rig it. A friend of mine gave me the idea," she added more softly.
"Oh." Jonathon's forehead was creased as he fingered his way down to the moss. "That feels nice," he said, smiling slightly and gently pressing his hand down on it. He picked up one of the smooth stones lying in the moss and fingered it, rubbing his thumb along the irregular notches and blunt edges.
"There are some stones for extra feeling and texture," Gail said. "And the moss will flower in summer. It has a lovely smell."
"I… I don't know how well I can take care of it," he said, slowly setting the stone down as if he were afraid to break it. "Will that be a problem?"
Gail lifted it and slid it onto the dresser beside his table, bending down to plug the little lamp into the cogstow beside his bed. "Don't worry about that," she said, her head still done by the dresser.
"It doesn't need much water," Michael explained. He put a spray bottle in Samuel's hands and gave it a light tug, the gears clicking slightly as the water built up pressure and shot out. "A few sprays every few weeks should be quite enough. We're not sure how it will work with the lamp, but I suppose we'll see. We can repair and reconfigure things as needed, but I think it should be decently waterproofed."
"That's… it's all very thoughtful of you both," he said, in a tone of gratitude that bordered on distress. "Thank you."
"Our pleasure," Gail said, straightening up and dusting her hands off. "We like to help when we can."
"You seem like kind people," he said, still holding the spray bottle, "and we don't even know each other." He held the bottle in both hands, frowning down at it. "Do we…? I… I can't quite tell… but… somehow I feel like I've heard your voice before." He tilted his head towards Gail, not quite turning all the way.
"After a fashion," Gail replied with a chuckle. "We have met before, though it makes sense you wouldn't remember me."
"Ah. I'm sorry. It’s… it’s something I’m hoping to work through."
"No worries," Gail said. "But recovering is a difficult process, I'm sure you could use some time to get back on your feet. Speaking of which, we didn't want to stay too long today, but we plan on visiting again—just so long as you wouldn't mind. We can help tell you things about the area, or read to you, or do whatever you might like. Try and help you adjust or else just keep you company."
He smiled brightly. "I think I'd like that. It's… it's good to hear more voices."
"We'll come by soon, then," Michael said, patting the lad on his shoulder.
As they made their good-byes and prepared to leave, Gail turned again to the framed photo that was now beside the terrarium.
It was of two lads, one of them Jonathon, in front of a building that Gail recognized as belonging to the academy. They each had an arm around the others' shoulder, and were smiling. The lad on the left wore a big smile, as natural as if that's what his face was born to do, while Jonathon’s half-smile was bashful and unsure.
It clicked. It was odd, seeing Samuel in a much more normal setting, and in a more normal color palette—or at least as far as Gail could tell, considering the obvious limitations of photography. She wondered if it had been able to capture color, how he would look. What color his hair and eyes would be, when he was alive. She smiled at the picture and set it down gently.
She was glad that, in a way, he would still be around to look out for his friend.
