~ Rite Of Passage ~

by

JoEllen Conger

After tomorrow, Corrine realized, she might never see Walter again. She became aware just how much she had come to enjoy his companionship. She enjoyed his delighted exclamations as he studied her photographs. She looked forward to his jesting and the little things he did to please her.

How could I have grown so accustomed to including him in my thoughts? It just won’t be the same without him. She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. I’ll miss him, she realized, sitting up straighter. I’m really going to miss him.

She contemplated her discovery, marveling that she had not recognized it before. Well, I’ll be damned! I think I’ve fallen in love. Why now? Why Walter? It can be nothing but a dead-end experience. He’s wanted by the police, and I still don’t know why. And what about Paul? What about my feelings for Paul? She sat, contemplating the new dilemma.

Well, it’s for sure no one has reached through my defenses since Paul’s death like Walter has. Not that a few good men haven’t tried. What makes him different? She couldn’t put her finger on it now that she thought about it.

Since her desire to touch, and to be touched had been rekindled, she didn’t know for sure whether she wanted to deny herself or not. What would Paul think? How would he feel about it? What would he do if I had been killed and he lived on?

Her rational mind chided her for her weakness; her romantic self accepted the growing relationship. Why do I have to live with just romance from books? Why with just memories?

No matter how dear, it’s so lonely. Can’t I cherish my memories and have someone to love, too? Why not? Well, why not? she questioned herself. Wouldn’t Paul want me to be free to love again? I’m sure he’d want me to be happy.

I’d want him to be happy if the situation were reversed. Corrine twined the rawhide thong about her fingers, holding the talisman in her palm.

I don’t want to lose Walter’s companionship, his touch, his quick wit, his laugh, his sparkling eyes. He makes me feel like a woman again. Like the legend of the eagle, my spirit has been lifted above the mountain to soar on the currents. Thank you, Paul. I am alive. I will be happy again, I promise.

Knowing that Sara wasn’t Walter’s wife altered her whole perspective, changed her dreams for the future. Corrine opened her hand, gazing at the tiny claw, its symbolism poignant within her mind. It represented freedom, strength, and the mystical power to overcome adversity. She snapped the box closed resolutely, returning it to the shelf.

Returning to the main room, she realized she must somehow express her newly discovered feelings to this man, this stranger, who had bewitched her heart. She stood on the hearth, warming herself, watching Walter, waiting, unsure how to proceed. She clutched the talisman tightly in her hand.

When Walter looked up and saw Corrine standing idly on the hearth, he rose without a word to pour her a cup of fresh coffee, carrying it to her. Corrine smiled her thanks, sipping reflectively, her eyes trailing Walter back toward the bed as he stiffly eased himself into it.

It was quite clear that no matter how unlikely it seemed, she had fallen in love with this stranger, this warm and tender man, who had been sharing her life these last few days. She already ached thinking about the days ahead, when he would no longer be there--longing for his touch, his smile, his warmth--and as yet, he hadn’t even left her.

Corrine continued to stand watching him, sipping absently at her steaming cup. She was reminded again that their remaining time together might well be measured in hours.

Suddenly, she knew just what she intended doing, yet she waited a moment longer, listening to her inner voice to be sure that what she planned would not violate her own conscience. Finally, she glided across the room to set down her cup. She turned off the lights.

Walter turned to watch her. The firelight made his face look young. It was obvious that her mood had changed. Their eyes locked as she slipped toward the bed. She stood suspended above him, the firelight playing across her features.

"What’s up, Fair Lady?" he queried, holding his hand out to her.

Corrine stood motionless a moment, not answering immediately.

Seeing her hesitancy, he waited, guessing that whatever it was about, she deemed it extremely important, but wasn’t sure how to express it.

Slowly, she opened her hand to show him what she had found. The leather thong uncoiled itself slowly, leaving a shadowed image in the palm of her hand. "I want to give you something," Corrine began huskily, her voice so low that Walter could barely hear her.

Curious, Walter examined her face, many transitions of thought seemed to alter her expression, but still she found it hard to speak. Intuition kept him from reaching for the mysterious object.

She still had not offered him the item, merely displayed it. "Two somethings, really," Corrine continued. "First." She held the talisman down for him to inspect. Walter sensed the solemnity of the moment and surveyed the charm without touching it. He waited for her to explain the token.

He looked at her questioningly, his hand cupping hers, turning her hand to better catch the light from the fireplace. Electricity mounted between them, crackling like a tangible thing. They both felt the sexual stirrings between them.

"Paul made this," she began with difficulty after a long pause. Her eyes glowed with pride. "The Indians believe that it has great magical powers. They feel that to wear such a talisman gives the wearer the attributes of the eagle." She paused again, forming the words in her mind before she spoke them aloud.

"I want you to have it. Not because Paul made it, but because... well because..." I can’t say because it’s our last night together and I want him to have something to remember me by.

"Because of what it meant to him. To both of us. He believed in its magical powers." Corrine opened her hand flat so that Walter could see the great fetish.

"Won’t he mind your giving it away?" Walter asked.

"No." Corrine swallowed hard. She wanted to tell Walter that Paul was dead, but the words seemed to jam in her throat. She swallowed again. "He’s been dead for three years now," she whispered. "He’s on the mountain." A long silence built between them.

"The Indians believe," she finally continued, "that a hero god named Wakiash, who rides the shoulders of the golden eagle, protects those who believe in him. The eagle carries this hero god to the sun where he delivers prayers to the Great Spirit. So if you were to..." Corrine began to fidget. "Oh well," she said, dropping her eyes. "Perhaps you think it’s silly."

"No, no! Please, continue," Walter coaxed, pulling her closer. "Tell me about it."

She looked at him shyly through her lashes, unsure now of sharing the legend or the legacy of believing. After a long pause she began again.

"Wakiash can grant you freedom, inner strength, wisdom, and the power to foretell truth," she continued slowly. "Walter, I want you to have this so that you can gain and posses the secrets of the Four Winds... have the keen sight of the eagle... its strength in adversity... his loyalty, and the... protection... of the eagle god, himself.

"So--please--plead your case with him. Ask his help. If you believe, he will hear you," she whispered. Without further words she drew the rawhide loop over his head, setting the miniature claw over his heart.

Walter’s hand hesitated before lifting the good luck charm for closer inspection. As he lifted it on the palm of his hand, a surge of power raced up his arm, flooding him with a strange sense of sureness. The fire suddenly leaped higher within the fireplace, unheard voices chanted the naming rite. He shook his head, quickly glancing back at Corrine.

"Wakiash!" she intoned. "Wakiash!" Her eyes were unreadable. "May you fly high and sure."

"Cory, you know so little about me," Walter began hesitantly. "You don’t even know who I am. At least let me tell you what I’m supposed to have done--"

Corrine placed a finger against his lips. "It doesn’t matter. I’ve already made up my mind. Nothing you say can change what I feel."

"I’m innocent, Cory." His eyes pleaded with her to believe him.

Corrine only tightened the pressure against his lips, shaking her head. "What I know about you is enough. You are gentle, kind, sensitive--"

"Reverent, trustworthy, and brave," he added impishly, his eyes twinkling.

"And you have a great sense of humor even when the chips are down. Yes, I’ve noticed that." Corrine smiled. "But you’re no Boy Scout!" She released her hold on his lips. "Plus you’ve made me realize that I’ve been throwing away my life instead of living and enjoying it.

"Here you are, trying to go to Sara because she needs you, and I’m hiding behind my three small boys rather than facing life. Just by being yourself, you’ve helped me realize that life goes on."

There was a long pause as electricity crackled between them. Corrine’s smile broadened. "The second gift is... now, I don’t want you to spoil it. Don’t say a word, please. Just accept it. Okay?" Her eyes grew soft as she spoke, her mouth slackened. She began to unbutton his shirt.

"But... Cory," he tried to protest. Walter began to drown in her wanton blue eyes; her mood was so passionate.

Corrine only laid a fingertip against his lips again, easing him back onto the pillows. There was no longer a reason to deny herself the feelings and the passions which had blossomed between them. She fully intended to express them during their last few hours together.

"This is my gift, please accept it," she pleaded in a soft voice. She slowly pulled his shirt free of his waistband and dragged her fingers lightly up his bared torso.

There was a catch in Walter’s throat as a searing sensation bolted through his body. He caught her hand urgently, struggling to say no, but his self-denial was short lived as his breathing quickened from her continuing caress.

Corrine’s eyes captured his almost hypnotically. As her fingertips touched his nipple lightly, passion began to stir, first in his heart, then his whole body began to catch fire.

"Be very sure," he whispered fearfully, his hand stilling her movements.

Gently she released his grip and pushed his hand down onto the bedding. It was as though she had been transformed into someone different. Her smile beguiling, she had become a mystical being who held his fate in her hands.

The fire crackled. A warm glow enfolded them as their minds touched. The firelight created a large golden aura around Corrine’s head, heightening the mystique of the moment. Leaning forward, she kissed him softly, repeatedly brushing her lips across his without seeking or demanding a return.

"This is my gift," she whispered again, her warm breath a caress against his ear, "to thank you for returning my womanhood."

She sat up and slowly unbuttoned her blouse. "My gift is of my own choosing," she continued in a whisper. "It is one we can both share with pleasure and carry the memory for a lifetime."