Out of Her Skin

By Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

“Is she an angel?” the little boy asked his mother. They sat on the shore playing in the sand. “She looks so… sad.”

High above them, a cliff jutted out over the water like the prow of a ship. At its edge stood a woman, her white dress and dark hair billowing in the wind.

“Hush,” the mother replied. “That’s Mairi. She waits for her betrothed to return.”

“Will he?” the child asked, sculpting his mound of sand.

“No,” the mother replied. “Declan O’Malley won’t be returning.”

Dark thunderheads rolled overhead, and waves crashed into the cliffs far below. The scents of briny sea and pine forest embraced Mairi, the twining beauty of land and ocean filling her heart with an all-too-familiar yearning.

“Declan,” she whispered, “you promised. Where are you?”

The sky opened. Rain poured down, but Mairi remained on the cliff, waiting until she could no longer ignore the shivers convulsing her body.

Wrapping her sodden shawl around her, she trudged home. When she reached the village, most of the doors were already shut against the storm, and she drifted down the path until she reached her own cottage. With one last, lingering glance back toward the sea, she crossed the threshold and closed the door to her prison.

The next morning dawned clear and warm. Mairi hung a basket over her arm and left the cottage. In spite of the gentle heat of the sun’s rays, her skin retained the chill of the previous night. But her discomfort did not diminish her smile as she greeted her neighbors and entered the market square. While she perused vegetables, a little boy with a shy grin ran up and pressed a bouquet of dandelions into her hand.

“I saw you on the cliffs last night,” he said. “You looked sad, so I picked these for you.”

“Thank you.” Mairi smiled as he dashed off.

“Declan!”

Mairi spun around, heart leaping to her throat. Could it be? Had he come home at last?

But no. It was just a mother searching for her son, who ran about the tables evading capture.

She knew the whispered stories. Declan O’Malley had died at sea. He was imprisoned in some far-off land. He’d fallen in love with someone else…

Pain lanced through her chest. He could not have forgotten her. He would not have abandoned her!

Mairi’s feet carried her down to the shore. The ocean glittered in the sun, calm and gentle. Little waves eddied about her feet as she waded, eyes fixed on the far horizon. Was that a ship?

She sighed. A cloud. Not a ship.

Another shiver engulfed her, and she sank to her knees. Where had he gone? Surely he would come if he were able?

She did not feel the tide rolling in, the waves lapping around her. The ocean whispered her name, begging her to return in her other skin. But it was lost to her, along with her beloved. She barely registered the sudden shouts or the strong arms lifting her, carrying her. Softness surrounded her. Warmth seeped through her, though it could not completely drive away the cold that clutched at her soul. Concerned voices clamored over her in a frenzy of words she could not decipher.

“Declan…” she whispered.

The weary traveler sighed as his feet thudded onto the dock. The glistening emerald fields and forests shone in the sunlight, welcoming him home at long last. Heaving his pack over a thin shoulder, he climbed the hill into the village, his heart light for the first time in many years.

The cottage was dark and cold as he tentatively pushed open the door. Irritated spiders glared at him from the thick cobwebs he disturbed with his entry. The bag fell from his shoulder and landed on the floor with a loud thump, raising a cloud of dust.

“Mairi?” He could not prevent himself from calling to her, even though in his heart he knew there would be no answer. She had left him, then. He did not blame her. He had promised to return long ago, a promise he had kept, too late.

How long had she waited?

“Declan? Declan O’Malley?” a creaky voice sounded behind him through the open door.

He turned to see an elderly man standing before him. “Yes?”

“I don’t believe it!” The old man grinned, then he peered into the traveler’s face. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember your best friend? Conall McGrave?”

“Conall?” Declan grinned and clasped the other’s outstretched hand. “I guess it’s been longer than I thought.”

“Thirty years you’ve been gone,” Conall replied. “She’s not here. She waited a long, long time for your return.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“Aye. In the churchyard.”

The meaning of his words pierced Declan’s heart. “When?”

“About a year ago. She caught cold one night about ten years back and never truly recovered. All that kept her hanging on that long was hope of your return.”

Declan swallowed against his constricting throat. “Thank you for telling me, old friend.”

“I’ll leave you alone for a bit.”

When his friend had gone, Declan went down into the cellar. The long years had not diminished his memory; the loose floorboard was right where he expected to find it. He pried it back and lifted out a soft bundle wrapped in coarse fabric. All this time, she could have been free. Guilt and grief pounded through him as he made his way to the churchyard.

He found her headstone. A simple block with her name and a brief inscription:

Mairi

Beloved by all who knew her.

Dropping to his knees, Declan placed a hand on the headstone. His tears fell into the dust as he unwrapped the bundle and laid it on top of the headstone.

“I’m sorry, Mairi.”

With weary, heartsick steps, he left the churchyard. On the headstone, warm beneath the summer sun, lay her seal skin.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jenelle Leanne Schmidt first fell in love with stories through her father’s voice reading books aloud each night. A relentless opener-of-doors in hopes of someday finding a passage to Narnia, it was only natural that she soon began making up fantastical realms of her own. Jenelle currently resides in the wintry tundra of Wisconsin —which she maintains is almost as good as Narnia — with her knight-in-shining armor and their four hobbits.

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