Annaldra

Ecstasy filled Ann as she headed back to the village. She felt giddy with excitement. Her entire being buzzed with the purest natural high. It was exhilarating. For the first time she felt complete. Not only had she found her family, and knew who she was now, she also had discovered her purpose. It was far more than she had expected to discover. She always believed there was something important she had forgotten, something big that drew her back, and now she had found it. Nothing could bring her down from this high.

It was all true: her mother was not crazy, and neither was she. The Otherworld was real. Deep down, she had almost believed her mother’s story, but there had been an element of doubt without proof. The ‘West’ as Tunkeeta called it, was to blame for that. Everything different about her now made sense, her dreams made sense. She really had visited the Otherworld in her dreams, not physically, but spiritually. She wondered if Tunkeeta knew, as she once told her a great destiny awaited her. Could she have known it was to return magik to the world? Is that why she treated me as some kind of prodigy?

‘Donald, Donald!’ shouted Ann waving excitedly as she spotted him sitting on Maidens Rock. She was dying to tell him everything, but couldn’t. She had made a promise; a promise that if broken would bring misfortune.

‘Thank god you’re alright,’ said Donald looking pleased to see her. Unfortunately, the look only lasted a moment before his face grimaced. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

‘For a walk. It is such a fine morning, wouldn’t you agree?’ she said choosing to ignore his mood.

‘You won’t believe where I’ve been either,’ he snapped. ‘Thanks to you I’ve been in police custody for three days.’

Her smile dropped as confusion displaced her excitement. ‘Eh? How can that be? We sat here last night watching the sunset together?’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ Donald put down his can of beer, staring at her as if she had lost her marbles. ‘You’ve been missing for nearly a week now! They thought something happened to you. There were searches, and when there was no trace of you, they pointed the finger at me. Aye, it’s always the junkie who did it! It’s easy to blame the fuck’n junkie!’

Ann’s heart sank to the pit of her belly. Her emotional pendulum had swung to the other extreme.

‘What day is it?’ she asked as the butterflies in her belly morphed into a snake ball.

‘What day do you think it is? It’s bloody Friday. What is wrong with you? Where the fuck were you?’

Wow, she thought biting her bottom lip. She had been gone six days, six whole days in the Otherworld, and it seemed like a couple of hours. Crikey! She should have realised. After all, her mother had been in the Otherworld for, what she believed to be a few months, but when she returned hundreds of years had passed. However, she had not given it any thought … until now.

‘Eh, visiting, I was just visiting.’ It was not a lie. She had been visiting, and she was bursting to tell him where and with whom, but she couldn’t; doing so would break the geis. ‘I’m really sorry Donald, but something important came up.’ Ann moved to sit beside him and noticed his body trembling. ‘What’s wrong Donald, you’re shaking?’ This was not good. He looked dreadful, his black-rimmed eyes were heavy, and his skin was sweaty and pasty grey like damp putty.

Donald glanced at her sideways without turning his head and huffed in an irritated manner as though he expected her to know what was wrong.

‘Are you ill?’

‘No, I’m not ill,’ he hissed sarcastically, while rolling his eyes. ‘Thanks to you, this is withdrawal symptoms. That’s all!’

Ann touched his arm, but he jerked it away. ‘I’m really sorry. Will you be okay?’

‘Look I’m going to deal with this shit, so I would appreciate being left alone. Please go!’ With his eyes firmly fixed on the view in front of him, he picked up his can of beer and took a few swigs before returning it to the cup holder he had hollowed in the sand.

‘Sure,’ she felt awful. This was all her fault. ‘Anyway, I’d better let the police and Padraig know I’m safe.’

‘Aye, you’d better!’

’And I really am sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you. Truly I am,’ she said, still hoping for a glimmer of forgiveness.

Again, Donald did not look at her, so she headed off, only now she felt downhearted and guilty.

Back at the hotel, the proprietor Mr Finch gave Ann a stern lecture. She had learned his name the night she arrived, on her return from Donald’s caravan, which to her seemed like the previous night. He had been waiting in the reception to give her a key for the front door. He explained he gave all female guests a key if they were staying for more than a few days as he and his wife went to bed early. The door was usually locked from ten onwards. He thought they would be more comfortable letting themselves in through the main reception door rather than having to go through the bar entrance. ‘They can be a bit rough in there,’ he had told her, ’But most are ’armless. However, some get a right gob on them as the night goes on… especially when they see a bonnie lassie.’

Ann had thanked him and gone upstairs to her room, unaware she would have cause to use the key a few hours later to exit the hotel.

Now she was back, Mr Finch did not mince his words telling her what trouble she caused, and how worried everyone had been. Ann was not used to this much concern from strangers. After she apologised, Mr Finch gave her a hug. It was actually nice. Yes, he was angry, but it was because he was concerned.

Mr Finch had given Ann the number of the police. Again, she had the lecture and again she apologised. She told the police she had gone to London to finalise her mum’s estate, but only because they insisted on knowing the details of where she had been. Thankfully, they seemed to believe her. She had never been comfortable lying as she reckoned she was no good at it. Being exceptional at reading people, she assumed most people were as apt at it as she was.

Replacing the telephone receiver, she sighed; she still had to face Padraig, but at least she now had a story. She hoped he would accept it and would not be too hard on her. She would not blame him though if he was; after all, she deserved it in everyone’s eyes. She would freshen up then head round, but it was not a thought she relished.

As she readied to leave, she noticed the bag her parents had given her lying beside the bed, half kicked under, almost out of sight. Picking it up, her heart raced as she opened it and retrieved the contents one by one. First, the dagger, with its intricately carved handle encrusted with gems; it was a masterpiece. Next was the vial of water with a crystal stopper, followed by the candle. Finally, and in complete contrast to the other items, was the string. It sure was not pleasing to the eye with all the dead bits attached to it, but they were her dead bits. With great care, she laid the string across the bed in a loose wave.

Perching on the side of the bed, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Taking her time, she moved her hand along the string pausing to feel the essence of each life. It felt wonderfully strange. She could remember her old lives, how she had felt, and remembered things that happened in them. She was a bear, a wolf, a mouse, a dragonfly, a kingfisher. Suddenly from nowhere, her heart leapt from her chest. She pulled her hand back as she caught her breath. ‘Oh my god,’ she whispered under her breath as the realisation sunk in. She had been human, a proper bona fide, one hundred percent, human being. Opening her eyes, she stared at the string. Tied to it were two locks of hair. One blonde, the other lock dark, bound together by a thin white ribbon that had greyed over time. She could hear her heart thumping against her chest to the beat of her breath as memories of that life returned.

Holding her breath, she stilled and slowly lowered her hand back onto the locks of hair and closed her eyes. Eleanora: she had been Eleanora, a simple peasant girl. How could she have forgotten? How could she have forgotten Swain, her husband? Her heart brimmed with love for him, overflowing into every atom of her being, so deep and so strong she felt it might crush her. She had to change now. She had to become Eleanora again.

Quickly, in an almost careless manner, she untied the locks of hair from the string. The blonde hair was hers. Swain had dark wavy hair. Clasping both locks between her palms, she raised them to her heart, then taking a long, deep breath she closed her eyes and emptied her mind. Slowly at first, with each inhale of breath she felt her soul tugging towards her heart, like a gentle pull. Then, out of nowhere, the quickening began, getting stronger and stronger until the rushing was unstoppable. She was losing control. She could feel herself being pulled towards a singular point like a black hole and she could not stop it. Then, in an instant, the panic that had built evaporated as Eleanora filled her being. It was done. She had transformed.

Gasping sharply, she opened her eyes, her fingers rising to her face she padded her cheeks, before circling her eyes, then running them down her long slender nose, finally stroking her soft full lips, the difference evident to her now chubby fingers. She was reborn. Eleanora was alive again. She stood up and walked to the mirror, her body trembling in the clothes that were now too big for her. Gazing at her reflection, she smiled. Eleanora was staring back, and she was pretty. She looked a similar same age to Ann, but she could not be sure. Peasant birthdays were not recorded in the eleventh century, and back then, she had been illiterate. Her hair was dirty blonde. She was much shorter, but her face was similar, though at the same time different. She had rosy cheeks and a rounder face, but her eyes were the same, only their green was not as bright. She felt different too. Physically she was much weaker, almost fragile, and her mind was not nearly as sharp.

Sitting back on the bed, she thought of Swain as it felt like they had been together only yesterday, though that was not the case. Slowly the reality of their separation grew in her. One thousand years or more; one thousand, long, lonely years; stood between them. Nothing could stop the unbearable grief that besieged her. Her heart broke into a million pieces, realising she would never see him again. Swain was dead. Tears spilled from her eyes and her breaths came in pants as she clenched the bedclothes. No, no, no, she wanted to scream, but the words did not reach her lips. Flinging herself face down on the bed, her pants slowly turned to sobs.

Then, from the depth of her despair as if a shadow had lifted, she managed to focus, to remember. Clutching her belly, she looked down. She had been going to have their baby. They were so happy and excited about becoming parents. Focus! She had to focus. She needed to remember. There was no baby. She could not remember a baby. The pain, the excruciating pain, was the last thing she could remember as her insides tore apart. The pain would not stop; it was only getting worse. She could feel the feebleness of her mortality as if at any moment her life would fade, diminishing into insignificance. Swain was cradling her, mopping her brow and kissing her… then nothing. Focus. No, nothing else came. She had no memories, no feelings after the pain.

Now an even deeper sorrow piled on her heartbreak. Did I die? I must have, but was our child born? She could not be sure.

Unable to take any more of the emotional anguish that overwhelmed her, Ann re-emerged in her consciousness as she focused on herself. The rushing came quickly as Eleanora pulled towards her heart, and in an instant, she was back. She was Ann once more, only now she was also Eleanora. She could remember Eleanora’s life like her own, being completely entwined with hers. The heartache and sorrow were as much a part of her now as they were for Eleanora.

This was the second time Ann had stood at the front door of Sea View, and again she felt sick with snake ball nerves. Even recalling the recent fantastical events, shapeshifting into Eleanora, her visit to the Otherworld and meeting her parents, did not ease the shame she was feeling.

‘Padraig, hi,’ she said forcing a smile when the door opened.

‘Annaldra, thank god you’re safe. We’ve all been so worried, where have you been?’ he asked as he leant forward to hug her. His arms were comforting. He genuinely cares. The thought made her smile.

’Padraig, I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Something important came up, and I had to leave at once. I went back to London… it was my mum’s estate. I didn’t realise it would take so long, I am so sorry. I had no idea the trouble it would cause. I’m not used to people worrying about me. Until recently, I was the one who did the worrying. I’m sorry,’ her voice trailed off.

‘We must let the police know you’re back, we were all so worried. We thought something terrible had happened to you. You left all your stuff at the hotel—’

‘It’s okay, I called the police station and I’ve told them I’m safe. I met Donald. He told me about the trouble I’d caused,’ she said avoiding eye contact, ‘especially for him. I don’t know if he will ever forgive me.’ She turned to wipe a tear from her eye. ‘I wish I’d told someone before I left. ’If I had realised the Otherworld’s time was out of kilter with our own, I would have. ’But it was late. I’m sorry.’

Padraig gave her back a reassuring rub. ‘Now, now dear, there is no need for that, you’re safe now, and no harm’s done… and Donald’s not like that, I’m sure he will forgive you. Anyway come through to the kitchen, I’m making bramble jelly for the Country Fair. It is next weekend you know,’ he spoke with warmth in his voice that comforted her.

Phew, Ann smiled feeling a burden lifting from her. Padraig was not making a big deal about it. He had forgiven her and did not seem interested in questioning her on the subject.

The Country Fair was the village’s annual show where local farmers showed the best of their livestock hoping to win a much coveted rosette. Winning a rosette could mean a major financial boost to the farm, guaranteeing a rise in the price of breeding stock. The fair was not just for farmers; the whole district was involved with all generations being catered for. There would be races and games; competitions for the best baking, wine making, crafts, jams and the likes. Padraig had told her it was fiercely competitive amongst the women. Elaine had won the best jam and sponge cake the previous year, and in the past, Donald, had often won the best wine. There were also stalls; every cottage industry from miles around would have one as well as fundraisers. Entertainers from the town were hired. Last year there had been clowns and stilt walkers.

‘You know Fin’s back from his holiday tomorrow night. You missed dinner last week, so why not come tomorrow and meet everyone?’ Padraig asked as they entered the kitchen. The sweet smell of the bramble jelly filled the air giving the place a homely feel. ‘Seonag’s coming as well,’ he added almost as an afterthought.

That was the last thing she had expected to hear; she has assumed his wife was dead. ‘Your wife?’

The same sad look spread across Padraig’s face that she had seen before when he mentioned her. ‘Aye,’ he nodded. ‘But she’s not well.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’ But at least it was better than her being dead.

‘Will she be okay?’

‘No, I’m afraid not,’ he replied taking off his spectacles to wipe them. ‘She had an aneurism two years ago, and well… she is brain damaged now.’

Ann could tell Padraig was still in love with his wife as he told her how his wife had collapsed while visiting a friend in the hospital two years ago. If she had been anywhere else when it happened, she would have died. Padraig and his sons spent a nail-biting night in the waiting room at the hospital as surgeons fought to save her. When the surgeon came to see them, they felt such jubilation being told the operation was successful. However, their joy was short lived when they learned she would not make a full recovery as she had damaged part of her brain. Over the next few weeks and months, the extent of the damage became clear. She had to learn to walk again, but, with this, she made a remarkable recovery. She had little control of her right hand, but Seonag was left-handed. However, it became more obvious her main problems were psychological. When she first woke up, she never spoke and withdrew into herself. She looked no one in the eye and was disinterested in everything so it was difficult to tell to what degree her mind was affected. Then, after a week or two, she spoke the odd word. She seemed to understand everything and undertook her daily physiotherapy, but she was not the same happy person anymore. Nothing stimulated her. When they first brought her home, the change did her the world of good. Her memory improved, and she talked and even laughed, but she got easily confused and her moods sometimes became erratic. However, after a few weeks her psychotic side became more prevalent and they realised they could not cope. She needed specialised round-the-clock care.

‘You miss her don’t you?’

‘Aye, I do. I really do,’ he said wiping his glasses again.

‘Where is she?’

‘She lives in the hospital, in the psychiatric ward. She gets home for visits when she is calm. They will not let her out if she’s distraught. Last week she didn’t come. She was not good. Some days are good days, and some are bad. When she’s having a good day, people who don’t know her wouldn’t realise there was anything wrong, but I know. She’s just not who she used to be, and on bad days…’ Padraig shook his head in a helpless manner and put on his now gleaming spectacles. ‘We need to give her strong tranquilisers to calm her down… she sometimes needs restraining. However, it is not all bad. I see glimmers of her old self sometimes, especially on good days.’ Padraig smiled at Ann, the sadness leaving his expression. ‘Anyway I hope now you’re back, she will perk up. She thought the world of you.’

‘Do you think she will remember me?’

‘I’m hoping she will, but I haven’t told her you are here. Her memory of the past is much better than her memory of the present, so I am hoping it will be a wonderful surprise. You know she adored you. She always wanted a daughter, and she thought of you… Well, like a daughter, especially after Mary—eh, I mean your mother passed away.’

Ann smiled looking forward to meeting her, despite her problems.

Padraig continued excitedly, ‘And you will be a huge surprise to Finley. I hope he comes straight here, without talking to anyone in the village or it will ruin the surprise. Finley adored you more than anyone. He loved you like a sister. The pair of you were inseparable. He was always playing with you and taking you for walks. You know it is funny, Scott was much nearer your age, but Finley was the one you bonded with most. You had a cute pet name for him. What was it now…’ Padraig paused as he tried to recall it.

‘No, sorry it’s gone, perhaps he will remember. He has never forgotten you. He still carries a photograph of you around in his wallet… You know the day they were coming to take you away, we couldn’t tell Fin. I mean he knew you were to be adopted, but he swore he would never let it happen. He got so depressed, so we let him go to school. He never got the chance to say goodbye,’ said Padraig shaking his head as though in regret. ‘He fell to pieces after you left. He went totally off the rails, but perhaps it was his age. He was only twelve you know, just starting puberty,’ laughed Padraig. ‘To see him now, well it’s like chalk and cheese. For years he was “the rebel without a cause”, an extremely angry young man. He was the village tearaway, the main troublemaker round these parts, then one day it was as if a light switched on and he found God. He worked so hard at redeeming himself, going to university to study theology to become a minister. Now he’s married to Elaine with a beautiful baby daughter. If anyone had told me ten years ago this would happen, I would never have believed it, nobody would, but miracles do happen.’

I know. I’ve experienced a few myself recently.

‘He’s gone from being the most disliked person in the village, to being well-liked and one of the most respected members of the community.’

‘I think perhaps Donald has taken his old title.’

‘Aye, you’re probably right, but it’s only because of the heroin. He is not a bad lad. You ken Donald used to be ever so popular in the village, especially with the lassies. He had such charm until… Has Donald told how he became a heroin addict?’

‘Yes he did, but it didn’t really make sense. He told me he takes it to function, but I don’t understand.’

‘Ah, he didn’t tell you then,’ sighed Padraig taking a break from stirring the jam and perching himself on the side of the table. ‘If anyone had a good reason to take heroin, it was Donald… poor Donald. It is such a sad story. He doesn’t talk about it. I doubt he ever has, but if he wants to move on, he must. I think maybe it is still too painful for him,’ said Padraig sounding like a psychologist.

‘Why, what happened?’

‘Well, it was two years ago. Aye, it would have been two years ago last month when Annabelle died or I should say was killed… I am sure it was September. She was knocked down coming home from work late at night. It happened on the stretch of road from the hospital to the bus stop just outside of town. It’s ever so quiet and has no streetlights or pavement. The driver probably didn’t see her,’ said Padraig shaking his head staring at the floor. ‘But not to stop and help was unforgivable.’

‘I don’t understand though, how can Donald blame himself for that?’

‘Oh, he does. If he had not been late. If he had not got a flat tyre, he would have been there on time to pick her up, and she would not have been walking on that quiet stretch of road at that particular time. Rightly or wrongly, it’s natural to blame yourself, even if it was something out of your control. Not long after he got rid of the car and has never driven since.’

Ann recalled the evening they spent on the beach. Some of his mannerisms and that sad lost look she caught glimpses of made sense now. It was not his granny’s or his mother’s death he was angry about, it was poor Annabelle’s. He was grieving his lost love who was so needlessly stolen from him. And the song he sang to her the day they met, the song that had moved her so deeply, was his story. Though now she realised, it was also hers—now she had remembered her life with Swain. A grey cloud cast a shadow over Ann’s mood.

Padraig returned to his stirring. ‘He probably got into heroin knowing full well what would happen, but the pain and sorrow he was suffering then was probably too much to bear, and maybe still is. This was probably the better option. A lot of people thought he might take his life as he found it unbearable. He talked to Finley after it happened, and Finley was concerned. I think he thought he could follow her to the afterlife so they could be together again, but his faith was weakening otherwise who knows what he would have done.’ Padraig paused recalling the past. ‘He had been with Annabelle for years. They were perfect for each other. Do you know what their nickname together was?’

Ann shook her head.

‘They were known as the Siamese twins around the village. Joined at the hip they were. They did everything together. You would rarely see either of them on their own,’ Padraig shook his head regrettably. ‘They were to be married you know. I wonder if Donald will ever find anyone to replace Annabelle. She really was such a special girl.’

Silently, the pair carried on working, Padraig stirring his jam and Ann writing labels and sticking them on empty jars, both their thoughts filled with sorrow.

It was Ann who broke the silence. ‘But why does Scott dislike Donald?’

‘Ah that’s easy. It’s because he blames Donald for Annabelle’s death. He told him as much. Scott loved Annabelle as well, you know. She went out with him briefly before Donald. They were all at school together, the three of them. Donald and Scott were great friends growing up, but by the time they were interested in girls, both of them fell for Annabelle. Well, when Annabelle started to date Donald…’ Padraig sighed and shook his head. ‘Anyway this caused a lot tension and basically ended their friendship, but Scott’s feelings for her never stopped. He goes out with other girls. His latest is Dorothy, but none have compared to Annabelle. When she died, he was devastated, and when he heard that Donald had been late picking her up… Well, he was furious. He went round to Donald’s screaming and yelling and knocked Donald to the floor. He started beating him, yelling that he’d killed her. They say Donald just lay there and took it. He didn’t even try to defend himself, like he did not care or maybe he thought he deserved it. Luckily, some locals were passing, and dragged Scott off him or he may have seriously injured him, or worse.’

‘She must have been someone really special.’

‘Oh, she was. She was ever so bonny, charming, clever and funny and she had the kindest nature you could ever know. That lassie didn’t have a bad bone in her body. I suspect most of the young men round these parts carried a torch for her. She left such a big hole in the community I cannot begin to imagine the hole it left in Donald’s life. Ah, poor Donald.’

Sadness had settled in Ann’s mood as she thought of Donald and his lost love. It reminded her of Eleanora and Swain. Death had torn them apart as it had with Donald and Annabelle. A young couple denied the chance to spend their lives together. She now understood Donald much better, and felt a bond with him, sharing such a similar heartache.

‘Well, that’s all the jars full. What do you think, Annaldra? It tastes good, eh?’ said Padraig trying to lift the mood, his words bringing her back from her thoughts to the kitchen.

‘Scrumptious,’ she remarked after having a taste. ‘Can I help out on the stall?’

‘I’m sure you can. It’s Fin and Elaine’s stall… you know to raise money for the church funds. I am sure they will be glad of extra hands. They usually have home baking and other things, anything that might make a few bob. Anyway come through and I will show you some old photographs that Scott looked out.’

Ann followed him into the living room at the front of the house. The room was small and rather dull with a low ceiling. Even though it was south facing, the two small windows were set in thick stone-walls that allowed in little light, and only gave glimpses of the spectacular sea view the house was named after. However, the large stone fireplace, the comfortable sofas scattered with brightly coloured cushions, and large woven rug in various shades of red and gold gave the room a cosy feel.

Padraig lifted the small pile of photographs from the sideboard and handed her the photograph from the top of the pile. ‘Here is a picture of you with Finley and Scott taken a few weeks before you were adopted.’

Ann went to the widow for more light. She gazed at the faded picture of the two young boys with the little girl in the blue dress sitting between them.

‘Wow, that’s really nice,’ she smiled. ‘We all look so happy.’

Then, like a wrecking ball whacking her, the shock almost knocking her soul from her body, she gasped as she stumbled back, only just stopping herself falling. Every hair on her body stood on end as her flesh chilled to goose bumps. She could not believe what she was seeing. Nothing could have prepared her for a shock of this magnitude. Nothing. There staring back at her through the older boy’s eyes was her husband, lover, her soul mate from a thousand years ago. It did not matter this was a child in the picture, she knew with absolute certainty it was him. She could see his soul radiating from the boy’s dark eyes and feel his essence, like in a dream, when you sense someone’s presence that is not visible.

Forgetting Padraig was beside her, ‘Swain,’ she whispered, holding the picture to her chest.

‘Ach, that’s it. That’s what you called him when you were a wee lass. You have a wonderful memory, Annaldra, wonderful,’ said Padraig unaware how her world had exploded.

Tears welled in her eyes as the butterflies in her stomach took flight. She could remember their life together as though it were yesterday thanks to their locks of their hair on the string. As a child she must have known who he was through her sense of touch, but had forgotten as she grew, being too young to retain the memories. It all made sense now, why she always felt a desperate need to return. Why, according to her parents she cried and moped for the first six months after they adopted her. Swain was the big, important thing that she had forgotten, but her heart had never forgotten him, always willing her to return to the point of obsession.

Joy coursed through her veins swelling her heart as she thought of him. He was so handsome with his dark wavy hair and even darker eyes. He was strong and noble though they had been poor peasants. Though it mattered not to them as the love they shared for one another was so powerful. They were young and happy and expecting their first child. Her last memory of that life was the agony of labour, then nothing. She could not remember her baby. A great sense of loss descended on her, but Padraig interrupted her thoughts.

‘And here is a picture of you with Seonag. Do you remember her now?’

Overwhelmed with emotion, she blinked hard squeezing the teardrops from her eyes. Taking a deep breath and wiping her face, she turned to face him, with a smile that she hoped looked normal. Ann stared at the picture without seeing it, her mind unable to focus. Swain was alive and well. He was living in this time, this world, this village. It was unbelievable, but she supposed, if she could be reborn, it made sense others could too.

Ann shook her head. ‘No, I don’t remember Seonag. I’m sorry,’ she said as she handed the photograph back to Padraig.

The afternoon continued with Padraig showing Ann more pictures of the family, but she found it difficult. Whenever she saw a picture of Finley, she struggled to stay composed. In one afternoon, she had remembered her beloved Swain, suffered the unbearable grief of knowing he was dead, and now, to her immeasurable delight, discovered they had both been reborn.