A Knight Of The Word

He had been back from Wales for almost a month when he met her. He had returned defeated in spirit and bereft of hope. He had failed in his effort to speak with the Lady or return the staff of power. His parents were dead, and his childhood home sold. He had lost contact with his few relatives years earlier. He had nowhere to go and no one to go to. For lack of a better idea, he went up from New fork to Boston College, where he had studied years earlier, and began auditing classes while he worked out his future. He was offered a position in the graduate-studies program in English literature, but he asked for time to think about it, uncertain if he wanted to go back into academia. What he really wanted was to do something that would allow him to make a difference in people’s lives, to take a job working with people he could help. He needed human contact again. He needed validation of his existence. He worked hard at thinking of himself as something other than a Knight of the Word. He struggled bravely to develop a new identity.

Each day he would take his lunch in the student cafeteria, sitting at a long table, poring through his study books and staring out the windows of the dining hall. It was winter, and snow lay thick and white on the ground, ice hung from the eaves, and breath clouded in the air like smoke. Christmas was approaching, and he had nowhere to spend it and no one to spend it with. He felt incredibly lonely and adrift.

That was when he first saw Stefanie Winslow. It was early December, only days before the Christmas break. He wasn’t sure if she had been coming there all along and he just hadn’t noticed her or if she had suddenly appeared. Once he saw her though, he couldn’t look away. She was easily the most beautiful woman he had eves seen —.exotic, stunning, and unforgettable. He couldn’t find words to give voice to what he was feeling. He watched her all through the lunch hour and stayed afterward when he should have been auditing his class, continuing to stare at her until she got up and walked away.

The next day she was back, sitting at the same table, off to one side, all alone. He watched her come in and sit down to have her lunch for five days, thinking each time that he had to go over to her and say something, had to introduce himself, had to make some sort of contact, but he always ended up just sitting there. He was intimidated by her. But he was compelled, as well. No one else tried to sit with her; no one else even tried to approach. That gave him pause. But his connection with her was so strong, so visceral, that he could not ignore it.

Finally, at the beginning of the following week, he Just got up and walked aver, limped over really, feeling stupid and inadequate with his heavy staff and rough look, and said hello. She smiled up at him as if he were the most important thing in her life, and said hello back. He told her his name, she told him hers.

“I’ve been watching you for several days,” he said, giving her a deprecatory shrug.

“I know” she said, arching one eyebrow speculatively.

He flushed. “I guess I overdid it if I was that obvious, I was wondering if you were a student at the college.”

She shook her head, her black hair catching the winter light. “No, I work in administration.”

“Oh. Well, I’m auditing some classes.” He let the wards trail away. He didn’t know where else to go with it. He felt suddenly awkward about what he was doing. sitting here with her. He glanced around. “I didn’t mean to intrude, I just.”

“John,” she interrupted gently, drawing his eyes back to hers, holding them.

“Do you know why I’ve been sitting here alone every day?”

He shook his head slowly.

“Because,” she said, drawing out the word, “I’ve been waiting for you to join me.”



She always knew the right thing to say. He had been in love with her from the beginning, and his feelings had just grown stronger over time. He sat watching her now as she gave their order to the waiter, a young man with long sideburns and a Vandyke beard, holding his attention with her eyes, with her voice, with her very presence. The waiter wouldn’t look away if a bomb went off, Ross thought. When he left with the order, the wine steward, who had been by earlier, reappeared with the bottle of Pinot Grigio Stef had ordered. He poured it for Ross to taste, but Ross Indicated Stef was in charge. She tasted it, nodded, and the wine steward filed their glasses and disappeared.

They sat close within the dim circle of candlelight and stared at each other without speaking. Silently Ross hoisted his glass. She responded in kind, they clinked crystal softly, and drank.

“Is this some sort of special occasion?” he asked finally. “Did I forget an important date?”

“You did,” she advised solemnly.