She is dreaming.
Joanna stands beside her bed looking down at her accusingly.
“No!” Mara-Joy calls out in a distant voice. “It was not my fault. She scrunches up in a tight ball, wrapping herself protectively around her growing belly. Something feels different. Something is not right. A pain rips across her abdomen and Mara-Joy cries out in pain.
Joanna floats out of the room and Mara-Joy lifts her stiff body out of bed to follow. She looks over at Larry’s sleeping form and kisses him warmly on the cheek. He smiles as he slumbers and Mara-Joy can’t help smiling back at him.
“I love you, Larry. I honestly do,” she says, holding a hand under her belly. The churning sensation is getting progressively worse.
“Mara-Joy,” a floating voice calls out. She turns to the sound and follows it, her bare feet lightly touching the ground. Her white gown flows around her legs freely as they follow Joanna’s ghostly form down the stairs and out the front door, into the calm night.
She doesn’t know where she is going. All she knows is she must follow Joanna. Nothing is more important than trailing after Joanna.
“Joanna! Wait!” Mara-Joy calls out. She winces in pain as she tries to run and catch up to her.
She can’t do it. Joanna is too far ahead. A mere glimpse of her is seen through the dark night.
Panting, Mara-Joy continues to push after Joanna, in spite of the increasing bolts of pain that attack her midsection.
Suddenly she stops.
There she stands.
Joanna.
She is looking down upon her own freshly dug grave.
Mara-Joy swallows the hysteria about to emerge from her throat. How did she end up at the graveyard?
She stands behind Joanna’s form, her hands pressed protectively on her tummy. The pain is persistent and continually increasing.
“Joanna!” Mara-Joy calls out in agony. The spectral form of Joanna turns slowly and smoothly around, facing the distressed Mara-Joy.
She is beautiful.
Joanna’s face is heavenly and void of anger and hate. Her hair is long and flowing, seemingly floating around her angelic features. She reaches out loving hands to Mara-Joy’s tortured figure, welcoming Mara-Joy to her.
Mara-Joy falls to the ground sobbing, her insides twisting in agony.
“I didn’t want you to die, Joanna,” Mara-Joy cries. “I know I thought I did, but I didn’t really. You are my sister and I have always loved you deep in my heart. I am so sorry for what I have done to you and to Alan-Michael. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just wish I could take it all back.”
Joanna touches Mara-Joy on her head. The moment her fingertips brush Mara-Joy’s damp curls, she feels her distended stomach harden. A sharp popping sound gurgles from the depth of Mara-Joy’s belly and the pain has stopped. She feels a surge of warmth begin to envelop her mid-section and gently move up her entire body. She looks down at her white gown. Between her legs, blood is quickly spreading over her gown. She touches the dark spot
and lifts her bloody fingertips. A panicked sound escapes her lips as she looks to Joanna for help.
Joanna seems to float in front of Mara-Joy, her hair cascading around her soft face.
“Don’t be afraid, sister. All is forgiven,” Joanna says in her heavenly voice.
Joanna seems to glow as she reaches a hand down to Mara-Joy. Mara-Joy takes a gulp of fresh air and feels freed of pain, freed of anguish and hate and anger as she takes Joanna’s airy hand in hers. She rises to her feet easily, as though she is weightless and stands equally with Joanna, both looking into each other’s eyes without trepidation or hostility.
“Why are you here?” Mara-Joy asks in a faraway voice. She feels weightless, the pain she was feeling forgotten.
“I have come for you,” Joanna says, and turns them both toward a bright light. She smiles at Mara-Joy and holds tightly to her hand as she leads her into the temperate illumination.
The groundskeeper found her body the next morning. Curled up in a fetal position on Joanna’s grave, Mara-Joy was blue from the blood loss. Clutched in her stiff fingers she held a flower, a peace offering to her sister who rested beneath her.
Cause of death was hemorrhaging, due to the placenta covering the cervix. The baby had become heavy as it grew larger and placed too much pressure on the cervix, causing Mara-Joy to rupture and bleed to death. How she had ended up on Joanna’s grave, no one knew. All that was known was Mara-Joy had died with a smile on her face and a peaceful expression that no one had ever seen on her before.
Jobeth and Alan, along with their remaining children and their extended families, buried Mara-Joy beside Joanna. It seemed appropriate that the two women spend eternity together. Even though they didn’t know what had transpired the night Mara-Joy had died, they knew some truce had been made in the war between the two sisters. Jobeth planted flowers on her daughters’ graves that spring. The seeds she used were the seeds she had once salvaged from another grave so long ago. When she visited, she felt peace in her heart as she weeded the tiny buds that seemed to bloom so quickly from the rich soil that held Mara-Joy and Joanna. By summer, the flowers were in full bloom and the two gravesites were alive with vivid color.
Pauline, back for a visit from Africa and now married to Frederick and tranquil in the life she had chosen, examined the red flowers carpeting the two graves. She stood up from her crouched position and dusted off her trousers.
“Mother, why these flowers?” she asked Jobeth, who stood silently, watching Pauline.
“It was the flower Mara-Joy held in her hand, the night she. . .” Jobeth stopped, placing her knuckles to her quivering lips. It was also the flower she had planted on her beloved baby’s grave. “It seemed right.”
Pauline nodded and hooked her arm in the crook of her mother’s.
“Let’s go home to Dad,” she said warmly. Jobeth nodded her approval and began to walk toward the car parked at the front of the churchyard. They were just about to leave the cemetery when Jobeth stopped Pauline with a light touch on her arm. She looked back at the two resting places. A sea of red immediately caught her eye, signifying Mara-Joy and Joanna’s permanent home. Jobeth smiled to herself. She knew her daughters were together finally, loving each other, as they always should have. Jobeth had no doubts that the wars of the past were finally over.
She knew it because Mara-Joy had told her. Why else would she have clutched a poppy in her hand on her sister’s grave? The very flower Jobeth had retrieved and saved for all these years. She had never planted the tiny gems held captive in the dried head. Not once did it feel right to do so. She had waited for the right place and the right time. It was over. The war was over.
“What is it Mom? What’s the matter?” Pauline looked to her mother, concern written plainly on her face.
Jobeth patted Pauline’s hand lovingly.
“Everything will be fine, dear,” Jobeth said with sincerity. “Everything will be fine.”
Deena Thomson grew up in Ontario, Canada where she still resides with her husband and their six children. She is currently working on her next novel.
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