Chapter 14: The Vigil of the Waterwheel
On a clear, warm evening in late August, when the dusk was painting the mountain sky in shades of violet, amber, and molten gold, Emma and Luke walked down to the edge of the mill pond.
The massive wooden waterwheel turned with a slow, powerful, rhythmic splash: *whoosh-clack, whoosh-clack.*
Down in the meadow, five-year-old Silas was chasing fireflies with a glass jar, his bright, joyous laughter drifting across the water on the evening breeze.
Luke reached over, wrapping his strong arm around Emma’s waist, pulling her close against his chest.
Emma leaned her head against his shoulder, listening to the steady, unhurried turning of the wheel and the deep, eternal silence of the surrounding ridges.
""Do you remember the high-rise in Atlanta, Luke?"" Emma asked softly, watching the first evening stars appear over the mountain peaks.
""I remember the day you came home, Emma,"" Luke replied gently, kissing her hair.
""I was so terrified in that dark closet,"" Emma whispered, touching the Damascus steel ring on her finger. ""I thought my life was over. I thought the world was full of men who only knew how to take.""
Luke turned her gently, looking into her dark, luminous eyes with unshakeable reverence.
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""The darkness was just a tunnel, Emma,"" Luke said softly. ""It led you straight back to the ground where you belong.""
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