Joan looked down to her own fisted hands. How she hated feeling powerless! It was an accompaniment to death, she supposed. Feeling unable to mourn enough, or to comfort those who mourned as well—it was never adequate. A constant emptiness that would never again be filled, and her heart ached for Rowles. He stood so close beside her that his hands nearly brushed her dress. Joan’s fingers twitched, then slowly arched toward his, touching him slightly, then finding home as her hand was surrounded by his. Warmth seeped through her, and she squeezed softly, communicating with action what words couldn’t convey.

Rowles addressed her with a small, sorrowful nod of thanks.

She returned it with a tip of her lips, and glanced back to his mother.

“What…” Joan started, then hesitated.

“Go on,” Rowles urged.

“What would you wish to tell her, if she could hear you right now?” Joan finished, her voice soft and tender.

Rowles exhaled a mirthless laugh as he turned to Joan. “So much, but…” He looked to his mother. “I’d want to tell her I love her, and regardless of her condition, I’ve always loved her. But…I think even more, I’d wish to tell her about you.” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “She always wanted Robert to marry, but he didn’t, and now he’s gone. When she was healthy, she always wanted grandchildren and it is painful to think that now, when it’s too late, she would have had that possible future to look forward to.” He breathed deeply.

“Go on,” Joan encouraged.

He turned to her, then back to his mother. Kneeling beside the bed, he withdrew his hand from Joan and placed both on his mother’s frail one. “Mother, I want you to meet Joan. She’s to be my wife.”

Joan blinked back tears.

Rowles continued. “She is the loveliest, kindest, most honest and intelligent woman I’ve ever met, and through some miracle she has accepted me.” He gave a low chuckle of disbelief. “We talk for hours, and she continues to challenge my thinking, my opinions, and I’m a better man for it. She is good, Mother. Her heart is benevolent and selfless, and so much more. I…wish you could meet her. Yet maybe this is for the best. You’re not well. So I pray to God that you can hear my words even as you sleep, and that they comfort you.”

Joan reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek as Rowles stood and reached for her hand. She gripped it tightly. “What beautiful words.”

“It was nothing but the truth,” he answered and turned to meet her eye to eye.

She read the honesty in his expression, and it fed her soul. “I know. Yet another reason I am grateful to be yours.”