“Doesn’t it look marvellous?” his sister gasped, her voice dream-like as she gazed at them.
Sean seemed to disagree while Derek’s mother looked rather pleased with herself. Why? Derek wondered. Had she had an ulterior motive in asking him to dance with his wife? Indeed, she had not asked, had she?
“Now us,” Kara exclaimed, dragging her reluctant husband back into the middle of the room while Derek and Madeline took their places next to his mother.
As they stood side by side, watching Kara and Sean stumble and almost fall, Derek’s mind was focused on his wife. Whenever he moved from one foot onto the other, his hand would brush against hers, sending tingles up and down his arm. Her breath quickened then, and she would look at him out of the corner of her eye before a shiver would shake her frame.
Fighting the impulse to pull her into his arms, Derek stood stock still like a stone column, convinced he had never experienced a worse kind of torture.
“That was…encouraging,” his mother spoke, jarring him out of his thoughts, as she stepped toward Sean and Kara. “Now off to bed. Tomorrow will be another day.”
As the others headed upstairs, whispering quiet goodnights, Derek and Madeline remained where they were until they heard the last door close. Then Madeline turned to him, her eyes round as she smiled up at him. “Will you show me how to make a fire?”
Derek swallowed, torn between his desire to accommodate her wishes and following his own. “Certainly,” he replied, his voice hoarse, and offered her his arm.
Step by step, they made their way upstairs, each not saying a word, each keeping their eyes fixed on something ahead of them. When he opened the door to her bedchamber, her arm slipped from his, and Derek felt a wave of regret wash over him. How had he gone the whole day without her touch when he now seemed to crave it like air itself?
Stepping toward the mantle, Madeline retrieved the small tinderbox, her brows drawing down into a frown. “How do I use these?” Opening the lid, she glanced up at him before returning her gaze to the small items within. “I believe these two things need to be struck together to create a spark, but…” Sighing, she shook her head, holding the box up to him.
Taking the tinderbox from her hand, Derek drew in a slow breath as his fingers brushed over hers. “These are called the steel or strike-a-light and the flint,” he explained, showing her how to hold them. “However, you cannot let the spark fall on the logs directly. They will never catch fire this way. You need to use the tinder, a piece of scorched linen, as well as a brimstone match.”
“Tinder? What’s that?” Stepping closer, her head only a hair’s breadth from his, she perused the small box in his hand.
Derek swallowed, wondering if she, too, could feel the strange weight in the air tonight. “You place it in the tinderbox and let the spark fall on it. When it catches fire, you gently blow on it and then hold one of the matches in to ignite. This way you can transfer the flame to a candle or taper and then light the fire in the hearth. Then you quickly extinguish the tinder so that you’ll be able to use it again before it needs to be replaced.”
Looking up, Madeline sighed. “That sounds fairly complicated.”
“I admit it’s not easy,” Derek replied, seeing the doubt in her eyes. “Like many other things, it takes practice, but it can be learnt.” For a long moment, he held her gaze, a question resting in them that did not need words.
After a while, his wife nodded, a soft smile curling up the corners of her lips, sending a jolt of excitement through Derek’s body. “Show me,” she whispered, and for a split second, Derek had no idea what she was referring to.
Then he remembered the tinderbox in his hand and cleared his throat.
As they stood by the small table in the corner, a candle at the ready, Derek instructed his wife how to conjure a spark. Although it only took her two strikes to draw some sparks, she had some trouble directing them onto the tinder. Annoyance began to colour her cheeks, and Derek could tell from the way her jaw clenched that she was getting disheartened.
The moment he was about to whisper an encouragement, a spark landed on the scorched linen, igniting it in the blink of an eye. “I did it!” his wife exclaimed, dropping the steel and flint in her excitement.
Derek smiled, lifting a calming hand. “Careful or the flame will extinguish. Now gently blow on it.”
Leaning toward the tiny flame, his wife did as he instructed, her eyes growing wide with pride when the flame began to dance taller. “Now, the match, right?”
Derek nodded, touched by her child-like excitement.
Holding the match into the flame, Madeline smiled as it caught fire. Then she transferred it to the candle on the table before blowing out the flame. “Don’t we need to close the box?” she asked, looking at him with a cocked eyebrow.
Snapping out of his trance, Derek blinked, then glanced down at the tinderbox in his hands where the strip of scorched linen continued to burn. Embarrassed, he snapped the lid closed before turning to his wife.
With a puzzled expression on her face, she looked up at him. “So, I could have lit the fire with the candle I brought in that night, couldn’t I?” she asked, a touch of red coming to her cheeks. “That’s why you didn’t come to help me. It would have been so simple,” she said, taking the candle and kneeling down by the fireplace. Then she held the small flame to the kindling and waited until it caught on. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” Shaking her head, she rose to her feet and set the candle down on the mantle. Then she turned to look at him. “You must think me a fool.”
Staring at her, Derek knew that that was exactly what she thought. “You’re not a fool,” he said, his voice steady as he stepped toward her. “People make mistakes. They overlook things, forget things. But that doesn’t make them fools.”
Closing her eyes, Madeline shook her head, and Derek could see that his words had not convinced her. The doubts that lived in her heart were still there, whispering in her ear that she was not good enough. That she would never be good enough.
Stepping forward, Derek gently grasped her chin and waited for her to look at him. When she did, he said, “I do admire you.”
At his words, she all but flinched, her eyes widening in disbelief.
As the flames began to dance from log to log, filling the room with a comfortable warmth, Derek held her gaze, willing her to see the truthfulness of his words. “We are all born into a world that becomes familiar to us. A world that we learn to live in. We learn its rules and conditions, and we acquire the skills we need to function in it.” Gently, he brushed the pad of his thumb over her chin, acutely aware of the closeness of their bodies. “You’ve been torn from yours and thrust into one quite unlike the one you grew up in. While children have a unique ability to adapt, people our age face far greater difficulties.” Leaning closer, he looked deep into her eyes, feeling her breath come out in small gasps. “You could’ve surrendered. You could’ve given up, but you haven’t. You’re still fighting to adapt, to find your place in this new world, and that demands respect.”
A lone tear glistened in the corner of her eye, and she tried to pull her chin from his grasp and avert her head.
Derek, however, would not allow her. “Naturally, you will make mistakes,” he whispered. “We all do. But that does not mean you’re a fool. Far from it. In truth, it is through our mistakes that we truly learn. If you see them as an opportunity to grow, they cannot harm you.”
Taking a deep breath, Madeline held his gaze, her chin still in his grasp, quivering with the emotions that coursed through her. Then she moved her head, freeing herself from his hold.
Derek swallowed, regretting the loss of her touch, hoping she would not withdraw.