Author's note: The title of the last chapter "Leave the Living", comes from a line in the mini-series "The Thorn Birds" in which
a bereaved mother says, "Your God gathers in the good ones and leaves the living to those of us who failed."

-S. Cartwright.
p.s. I highly recommend "The Thorn Birds". It will change your life.

Disclaimer: All copywrights belong to their respective holders.

Chapter Eight:
Samuel

Samuel, lend me your ear,
This is the voice of your father here.
If I speak the words and no one has the vision
Can I count on you, my sweet child, to listen?
The whole world's in love with you, baby.
I am in love with you, child.
You are so meek and mild;
You are a holy child.
Samuel, lend me your ear.
-Jason Upton "Samuel"

The sun seemed brighter today than it ever had before. Clarke's heart felt lighter than it ever had before.
It had been five years since Charlotte died, but her daffodils still bloomed with the spring. The year after the children died, Clarke had planted beds of daffodils over the graves and they were diligently tended by he and Marleen. Mary could never bring herself to touch them, but she once told him that she loved the sight of them on a rainy day, that they seemed liked sunshine. Clarke never let anyone touch the flowers Charlotte had planted but him; they were his charge, he felt.

Charlotte and Emanuel's portraits (the ones he had painted of them) hung in the parlour now. It was a year before Clarke let Mary see them and another year before Mary could bring herself to look at them. He put them in a drawer, wrapped up to be carefully preserved, and took care to never mention them again. He couldn't lose Mary for anything. Then, one sunny day, Clarke came in from the garden and saw the portraits over the mantle. That's when he knew Mary had stopped crying.

The sound of laughter in the garden made him hearken back to a similar day four years ago.

Clarke had found Mary fussing with her dress, something she was wont to do; she didn't realise how beautiful she was.

"Ralph, will you help me please?" she had asked.

He hesitated, his mind flying back to that terrible day on board the Charlotte, the day he lost her for the first time.

When she repeated herself, he sucked in his breath and came up behind her, wrapping his arms about her waist to help secure her stays. She brought his hand to the swell of her stomach and held it there gently. He could feel the child kicking; he almost swore he could hear the heartbeat in that moment.
Neither of them said a word, but Ralph held her closely, thanking God with everything inside of him for this blessing.

Samuel: his son, his firstborn. He could still remember how he felt the first moment he took the screaming babe into his arms. When the children died, he thought he couldn't bear to hold another: that he couldn't bear to love and lose them. But when his son opened watery blue eyes to look up at him, Clarke knew he wouldn't exchange this utopia for anything, even if it all ended the same as it had the first time.

"He's beautiful, Mary," he had murmured, looking at his weary wife with tear-filled eyes. "He looks just like you."

The baby grew everyday and so did Clarke's love for him. This boy would never be a soldier, this boy was a born parson, a true one who loved God and who understood Him better than Clarke had ever hoped to in his youth. A tenderer child had not been born; Clarke sometimes felt that he learned from his son, rather than the opposite.

Watching him now, tend his patch of lilies on the other side of the garden, Clarke could see the man he would become; a strong man, a good man. And he wouldn't have to try or fight for it as his father had, he would just be.

He named the boy Samuel because of the Biblical prophet who heard God call him in the night. His mother had prayed for him with all of her heart and given him back to God as soon as he was old enough. Clarke had prayed for a life of purity and failed. He prayed for forgiveness and received it in the form of this child, now he gave thanks.

Clarke felt a touch upon his shoulder and looked up to see Mary standing over him, baby Rose within her arms. He stood and took the precious burden from her, feeling his heart swell at the sound of his daughter's sleepy sighs. He looked from child to mother, his smile increasing. Mary smiled back.

It was then that Clarke was certain: God had forgiven them, their punishment was over: He was calling them back to Him. Judgment had been tempered with abounding mercy.

"Papa!" called Samuel, running up to them. "Papa, can I teach Rose how to garden?"

Clarke caught the glint in Mary's eye before he turned to face the hopeful and eager eyes of his son.

So like Mary's, he thought for the thousandth time.

"Very well," he sighed, following after the boy with his babe in his arms.

He saw them carefully situated in the grass and reminded Samuel that his sister was in his charge, that he must be careful of her. Even as he spoke, he knew he needn't worry. Samuel knew Rose better than her parents did. The day the girl was born, Clarke carefully placed the infant in his son's arms and heard the boy proudly say, "Mine".

Mine, Clarke thought, looking at his children together.

Mary was well nigh laughing as he returned to the veranda. He hadn't seen her smile so since that day at the Equator. There had been so many days when he thought she would never again smile like that, that her heart had been through to much. In many ways, he felt much the same, but there she stood, flushed as the seventeen year old girl that had enchanted him all those years ago.

"Three months old and she's learning botany," she teased him, her eyes dancing.

When she smiled like that, Clarke felt like a young boy again. He still remembered those agonising years of watching her with Bryant outside their cabin, though the memory was no longer bitter. She would shriek giddily and Bryant would chase after her and catch her up in his arms. In those days, he had wished it were in his temperament to be boisterous, to act upon impulse. He was, by nature, very cautious and reserved with his feelings, even now. In truth, he couldn't bear to have
Mary pull away from him if he tried to embrace her so.

Yet the smile remained and his heart soared to realise that her eyes rested solely upon him. Before he could stop himself, he leapt onto the veranda and pulled her to him, kissing her soundly, deeply. When her arms wrapped around his neck and her fingers buried themselves in his hair, he could not suppress the sigh that escaped him.

They broke away tentatively and Clarke opened his mouth to speak, but, once again, her bewitching eyes stopped his words within his throat. She looked at him tenderly, warmly, as though the past had never happened, as though they had never been apart. –He had yearned for this moment!

Mary turned within his arms to watch the children, her eyes soft with maternal pride. Clarke thought he would never see them shine like that again, certainly not for his children. But Samuel and Rose were their children; his and Mary's. –How could they ever have deserved such mercy?

He sighed when he felt her body relax against his, her limbs seemingly content within his grateful embrace. When he was young, he had assumed that passion would fade from his veins, but Mary always seemed to keep the fire burning. She was the only one who could ever ignite it in the beginning, the only one he had ever truly desired, the only one he ever would desire. His wife: his love.

"I love you, Mary Clarke," he said softly, tremulously against her hair. It was the first time he had ever been brave enough to say those words out loud, the first time he thought there was even a chance that she wouldn't reject him.

"I know," she replied serenely, taking his left hand in hers.

When she didn't speak further, he pressed his brow to her temple, breathing in her scent with equal measures of sorrow and forbearance. He knew that a part of her had been buried on the beach with Bryant and the children; he knew better than to ask for what little she had left inside. He didn't say "I love you" to hear it back, after all. He said it so that she would know he did.

Mary had given him two children and, together, they had built a strong life, a stable one. He already knew that they would grow old together, that she would be beside him when he walked with a cane and had lost his quick stride. It was enough that she let him love her. He was content to stand beside her, even if he couldn't have her heart. It was enough.

"I love you," Mary breathed softly, her eyes glazing with tears.

Ralph reached out and cupped her face in his hands, drying her eyes with his thumbs. He wanted to say something, but there were no words that could speak for his heart, so he smiled warmly, letting his eyes communicate what his mouth could not. It was enough.