Chateau of Echoes

His smile was apologetic. “My reputation precedes me.”

My smile must have been rather thin. I tried to shrink down into myself, knowing that if I could make myself smaller, my body heat would go farther. I know I closed my eyes. I must have let my chin drop, because the next thing I remember is Cranwell shaking me and my head jerking up.

27

“Freddie, listen to me. You can’t fall asleep.”

The yawn could not have been stopped if I’d tried. “Of course I can.” He could be so overbearing sometimes. “I’m really tired, Cranwell.” I let my head drop back down. It was so heavy.

Cranwell grabbed me by both shoulders. “Freddie. You must not fall asleep.”

“But I’m so tired.”

He took off his gloves and cupped my face. “Freddie, you’re freezing.”

It was true, I was cold. I had been shivering for at least an hour, but his coat was so big, I had managed to hide it. “I know. And Cranwell, I’m so tired.”

“Freddie, come over here to my side.”

“Not enough room.” My lips and my cheeks were so cold it was hard to form words.

“Freddie, move it!”

He must have been mad at me, because I’d never heard Cranwell yell before. But he was yelling then. At me.

The difficulty in unfolding my legs and pushing myself across that short distance between the seats is indescribable.

By the time I reached him, I was crying.

He must have seen a reflection from my tears because he quickly wiped them away. “Shhh. Don’t cry.”

“… mad at me.”

“No, Freddie. I’m not.”

“… yelled.”

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry. I was worried about you.”

“… cold.”

He unbuttoned the coat around me and then pulled me against himself, stretching the sides of the coat as far around him as they would reach and clamping them to his sides with his arms. We were chest to chest and my head was pressed against his shoulder.

“I know you’re cold. You’ll be warm again in a minute. Just don’t cry anymore. It will make you colder.”

“… not mad…”

He pressed my head against his shoulder with his chin. “No. Freddie, I love you.” His arms tightened around me.

“… can’t breathe…” It took me an enormous effort to get those words out.

He loosened his hold, but not by much. “Let’s sing. What do you want to sing?”

“… bright, coppered kettles…”

He groaned. “Sound of Music? Freddie.” He sounded disappointed in me, but he joined me anyway. By the time we were done, I felt marginally warmer.

“No more Julie Andrews. Something else.” He didn’t sound like he was joking.

A song popped into my head. It wasn’t one that I wanted to sing, but the longer I refused to sing it, the louder it echoed in my thoughts.

He shook me. “Freddie!”

“… Jesus loves me…”

He finished the line, “… this I know…”

“For the Bible tells me so.” By alternating the lines and joining in on the chorus we finished the song, albeit slowly and with not a lot of rhythm.

“‘Jesus Loves Me?’ I knew you believed. You just had to stop trying to convince yourself you didn’t.”

My lips had thawed enough to smile against his scratchy sweater. To this point, my head had rested against his shoulder, nose first. Now I had the energy to turn it and nestle it into the dip of his collarbone.

He laid his cheek against my head. “Someone will come soon.”

My eyes closed again. His scent was intoxicating: wool mixed with soap and aftershave and a hint of mint in his breathe. I felt my head begin to spin.

He shook me slightly and my eyes flew open. “Freddie, who’s your favorite author?”

I smiled to myself. “… trick question…”

He laughed. And with my head against him, I could hear it start deep inside his chest. “No, seriously.”

“… Jane Austen…”

“Movie?”

But I wasn’t finished. I shook my head. “And Byatt.”

“A. S. Byatt?”

I nodded.

“Good, Freddie. Movie?”

“Sense and Sensibility.”

He groaned. “You’re a romantic too. I never would have guessed it. And I suppose you thought Willoughby was handsome.”

No. I shook my head. “Colonel.”

“Colonel? You liked the colonel?” He bent his head to whisper in my ear. “Maybe there’s hope then for an older man.” I could have sworn he kissed my ear.

“Color? No, wait. Let me guess: blue.”

Yes.

“And a good choice with the color of your eyes. Food?”

“Chocolate.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

He babbled something else, but I don’t remember what it was. I started getting cold again, and this time I couldn’t keep myself from shuddering. It came from deep within me.

It seems to me that Cranwell shook me, yelled at me, and threatened me. I think at one point he even swore he loved me, but I had no strength left to respond. I watched in a stupor as lights flashed blue against the windshield.

And then I was being lifted into a different car. A police car. We streaked through the silent, frigid night, screeching to a halt in front of a hospital. I was bundled inside to a room, was told to undress while hot water was being prepared.

“What are you doing?”

It took a full minute for my lips to thaw enough to answer Cranwell’s question. “They told me to undress.”

“Why?”

“Hot water.”

“Of all the medieval-!” He tugged my coat back on and then lifted me into his arms. “We’re leaving. Nobody in their right mind asks a hypothermia patient in your condition to undress themselves and then hop into a bath.” He stalked down the hallways muttering about the ineptitude of the staff, then talked the receptionist on duty into calling a cab for us by barking ‘Taxi!’ at her. I must have fallen asleep on the way to the hotel.

When I woke, I was on a bed in a room ablaze with light. Cranwell was working to pull my boots off. I moaned as he pulled them from my frost-swollen feet.

He unbuttoned his coat, which I was still wearing, and deftly worked it from my arms. And he unwound the scarf from my head and pushed my hair away from my eyes. His face loomed in front of mine, and he searched my eyes. “Freddie, stay with me.”