“Not yet,” she said. “Just . . . give me a few minutes . . . with you.”

He nodded and asked, “Water?”

“Just . . . a little.”

Henry carefully lifted her head and helped her drink, and he knew its purpose was more to moisten her mouth and throat than to give her body any fluid. The doctor had told Henry that Kat’s body had stopped feeling the need to take in any sustenance or liquids because it was slowly letting go. Henry found some comfort in learning that the lack of sustenance in her body seemed to actually reduce the pain. Oh, how he didn’t want her to suffer!

After helping make Kat comfortable again on the pillow beneath her head, Henry instinctively went to his knees beside the bed, where he could hold her hand and lean his face more comfortably toward hers. There was something he needed to say, and he knew his time was brief. Before he could form the words, she murmured in little more than a whisper, “Forgive me . . . if what I said earlier . . . upset you. I knew that it likely would, but . . . it had to be said.”

“I understand,” he said, even though he was, in truth, still only trying to understand. More accurately, he could understand why Kat needed to let them know that she was aware of the situation of his past relationship with Amala; her edict for them to marry was not something he felt pleased about. But she was dying, and he wasn’t going to argue with her. Whether or not he made the decision to honor her wishes was something he couldn’t even think about right now.

“I need you to know, Kat,” he said gently, “that once I committed my life to you, I never harbored feelings for Amala. Never! I need you to know that.”

“I do know it,” she muttered. “It’s one of many reasons . . . I love you . . . so much.” She took a long moment to try to catch her breath, as if the effort to say that much had taken all her strength.

“I will always love you, Kat; always. It breaks my heart to lose you this way.” He couldn’t hold back tears, but if a man couldn’t cry when his wife was dying, when could he cry? It wasn’t as if he’d ever been opposed to crying when he needed to, anyway.

“I know it, Henry,” she whispered, her strength waning, “I do. But you mustn’t pine for me. It’s my time; I know it is. I . . . feel peace . . . over leaving. You must find . . . the same peace. God will comfort your heart . . . if you let Him. Promise me . . . that you will let God . . . into you heart. Be sad for a time if you must, but . . . don’t be angry. Promise me.”