Grandma Alice shifted tiredly in her chair, looking drained from her lengthy tale. She turned her head and gazed out the window, lost in silent reverie for several minutes before she resumed her narrative.

**************

Well, Lori dear, as much as I'd love to say that we had a fairytale happily-ever-after, we didn't. We were still two flawed individuals, and we had our share of disagreements, misunderstandings, and even a few fights. But we kept trying, and we never gave up on each other. With time, as we learned more about each other—and ourselves—our relationship improved, and while we never had a perfect marriage, we did have a happy one. I never regretted our decision to stay together, and we loved each other until the day he passed on. Even now, I love him still and miss him constantly.

Early in the morning on August 20, we welcomed our daughter—your mother—into the world. We christened her Liliana Ruby Blake—Lily for short. Her first name was a combination of Lily and my mother's name, Anna; her middle name, Ruby, was in remembrance of my childhood friend.

Your mother was a strong, healthy baby, weighing in at a little over eight pounds and measuring not quite nineteen inches in length. She was rosy red and wrinkly and perfectly beautiful. It was love at first sight for both of us. Cam had been working hard to be a better husband... but he was a natural when it came to fatherhood. The tender love-light in his eyes as he gazed down at the tiny miracle asleep in his arms... it was a wonderful sight. Two years later, your aunt joined our family—christened Camellia Faye and called Cami for short, she was named for both Cam and the lovely flower, and Faye had been Cam's mother's name. Your grandpa was every bit as adoring and gentle with her as he was with your mom—and likewise with you and your brother and cousins, when all of you were born.

Mikhail returned two weeks after Lily's birth. He had not returned to say farewell before his trip, and I had not been able to write him at any time to let him know of our reconciliation. Cam was at work, and Alisa, Nathan's young ward and altar maiden, whom I'd hired to care for Lily part-time so I could resume my farm duties, had not yet arrived. So Lily and I were alone in the house when he came knocking on my door.

I let him in, dreading the interview, but I could see even before he walked through the door that he knew. I don't know how—if Beth had told him, or someone in one of the towns had filled him in, or perhaps he'd even bumped into Cam on his way. But... he knew. He looked so... sad. No—more like wistful, as if he had just been awakened from a beautiful dream only to realize it was nothing more than a dream. Looking at my sleeping daughter cradled against me, he sighed. "It... was lovely while it lasted, Alice. Deep down, I knew it had no substance. Though for a brief, shining moment, I allowed myself to hope—perhaps far more than I should have."

He declined my offer of tea, saying, "Thank you, but no. I... won't be staying, Alice." I exclaimed aloud in dismay, waking Lily. He reached out a hand and lightly brushed her plump little cheek with his finger as he stared up at him. "She's lovely, as I knew she would be—just like her mother." He sighed and continued. "No, I didn't accept either Ina's or Rutger's offers this year. I... had a feeling I wouldn't be staying this time. Even if neither of you could see it back then, I could. I could feel how much you both loved each other."

"But... but why? Why can't you stay?" I asked, feeling tears stinging my eyes.

He looked at me with a sad smile. "Do you really need to ask me that, Alice? Very well. First, I could not bear to cause discord between you and your husband. And you know—with all that has passed between us—that I would do just that, warranted or not. I would not endanger your happiness for any price, even at the cost of my own. And second, it's... too painful. To have come so close to such bliss, just to lose it in the end... it's more than I can bear. If I were to stay, every time I saw you—every time I saw you with him—I would die a little inside. So... it's better that I take my leave of you. This time... I'm afraid forever."

I couldn't stop the tears that strangled my voice, then, as he gently raised my hand to his lips and kissed it. "I wish for nothing but the best, the most supreme happiness in your life, Alice. I'll... never forget you."

He turned then and started to leave, but then he hesitated in the doorway for a moment as if making up his mind. Without turning back he said, "But... should you ever... if you and he should ever.... My friends in Port Crescent will always know how to reach me, and I will still be waiting for you. That—that's all. Farewell, Alice." And then he closed the door softly behind him, leaving me sobbing uncontrollably as I tried to console Lily—and myself.

True to his word, I never saw him again.

**************

Grandma exhaled a long, deep sigh, as if relinquishing decades of care at long last, silent tears trickling down her cheeks. "Grandma? Are you okay?" I asked her, worried at how tired she seemed. I jumped up from my chair and grabbed a box of tissues for her.

"Yes, Lori," she replied in a quavering voice. "I'm fine. Just... just tired. It was rather taxing to relive all of that." She looked up at me as I stood by her chair, looking anxiously down at her. "Really, I'm fine. I just... need to rest a while." She took a proffered tissue and dabbed gently at her eyes.

"Maybe I should leave, then? Or would you rather I stay here with you?"

"Go on, my dear. You've already spent quite a lot of your time listening to your old Granny yammering on," she said with a smile, and despite looking so worn out, her eyes still sparkled. "Go spend some time with that handsome fiancé of yours. I believe I'll just take a little nap...." she said, closing her eyes and settling back into her chair.

As I turned to leave, she called after me, "Lori, dear...." I turned back again, and although her eyes remained closed, there was a trace of tears still trailing down her fragile cheeks. "You know, I loved your grandpa very much. He was my life, my home, my shelter from the storm. But Mikhail... Mikhail was my dance in the rain."

She sighed, and I stared at her for a moment, watching as her breathing quieted and she seemed to drift into a light doze. I quietly crept away, then, closing the door softly behind me so as not to disturb her rest.

I was the last person to see her alive.

**************

The funeral, a week after her death, was beautiful. I think she'd have been equally surprised and gratified at how many came to say their final farewells to her. I don't believe she ever fully realized just how many lives she'd touched—how much goodwill her years of kindness and generosity had won her.

Afterwards, when the service was over, and the last shovelful of earth had been patted firmly into place, and all the food had been eaten and all the drinks had been drunk and the last guest had finally gone home... I returned to the cemetery. I was her only granddaughter, and I'd been very close to her—I might even say she was my dearest friend. I was heartbroken to have lost her, and I wanted a little quiet time alone to sit and think back over our last conversation, when she told me the story of her and my grandpa—her parting gift to me.

As I approached the gravesite, I was surprised by the sound of soft music. Ducking behind a large statue nearby, I peeked out and looked towards Grandma's grave. There, I saw an elderly man playing a violin as he stood facing the fresh marble slab. Full of curiosity and wonder, I waited and listened to the strains of sweet, melancholy music carried to me on the gentle breeze.

When he finished, he lowered his instrument and bowed his head, standing silently before the grave. I crept out of my hiding spot and quietly approached him. As I drew near, I realized the he was crying. I didn't recognize him—he hadn't been at the funeral, and he looked wholly unfamiliar to me. Still, I had my suspicions.

Hearing my footsteps, he looked quickly up, surprised. His pale blue eyes opened wide as he stared at me. "A-Alice?" he gasped in astonishment.

I shook my head. "No, I'm her granddaughter, Lori. Though Grandpa Cam always said I was the spitting image of her when she was young. You—you're Mikhail, aren't you?"

He started, then said in astonishment, "Yes... yes, I am—but how did you know?"

I smiled. "Grandma told me all about you and her and Grandpa Cam. In fact," I said, tears springing to my eyes as I glanced down at the grave, "it was the last thing she did before she died. It was as if she passed on her story to me as a legacy... like she knew that she hadn't much time left, and didn't want the story to be forgotten."

He turned towards her grave. "She was a lovely woman... a remarkable woman. Tell me... was she... was she happy? Did she have a good life?"

I nodded. "Yes, I really think so. I know that kids usually just assume that about their elders. But Grandma just radiated happiness and comfort and joy. She... she was very sympathetic, she always seemed to understand other people's problems and to know exactly how to best comfort them. I loved her so much...." My voice broke as I wiped away the tears that wouldn't stay back any longer.

"Yes... she was a compassionate woman. If you know of our history... you know that I, too, loved her. She was my one and only love—my first and my last. I'm... glad that my sacrifice wasn't in vain. If she'd been unhappy... if her life had been miserable...."

"No, not at all. I mean, no one can be perfectly happy all the time, can they? Everyone experiences pain and heartache now and then. But... it's like the thorns on roses. You put up with the thorns pricking your fingers because the roses are so sweet, they're worth the pain. And I think her life was like that—the pain she'd had in her life just made all the good times even sweeter to her. And I think, too, that her experiences, both happy and sad, were what made her so sympathetic to others. I think... I think she was content."

He nodded. "Yes, I believe you are right. Much like my pain made my music sweeter to others' ears." He lifted his instrument and gazed at it, then looked at me. "This violin... it's the same one my guardian gave me so very long ago. It was nearly a hundred years old then; now... now it's over one hundred fifty years. Yet it still makes beautiful music." With a sigh, he knelt down and set the violin and bow in the battered wooden case at his feet, then he placed the case on the fresh earth of her grave, in the center of the roses mounded high all around it. Straightening up and staring down at her grave, he said, "Please, will you allow me to leave this here for her? My last gesture for one whom I loved so well."

"But... but won't you want it? How will you play without your violin?" I asked, taken aback by his request.

He shook his head. "I will play no more—with her passing, all the music has gone out of my life." He turned away, though I saw a glimmer of fresh tears on his cheeks.

"You know," I said softly, "she's in a better place now...."

He turned and looked at me, his eyes bleak. "No. Please, do not give me meaningless platitudes. I don't believe in an afterlife. I couldn't... I couldn't bear it... an eternity so near to her, yet so far—always removed from her... my own personal hell. No, my only hope lies in reincarnation. That somehow, someday, she and I will at last be united—our souls one day recognizing and calling out to each other, despite the passage of time."

Then he turned and slowly walked away as a light spring rain began to fall—the angels themselves weeping for him in his loneliness.