The White Stag Read Online Free PDF Page A

another party out here, but… but for those of you who remember my grandmother Elizabeth, you will know that she would have demanded a return to the old ways. She also used to say that hope trumps grief, every single time. And so, here we are.” His hands moved in a comical flourish.
    A few chuckles circled the room, and Jude looked up with that charming half-grin of his.
    “My mother spoke eloquently about our Christian heritage, so I find myself the inadequate spokesman for my father’s people.” His eyes flicked in my direction, so swiftly, so unerringly, that I blushed, knowing he was aware of my exact whereabouts.
    He smiled and continued his toast. “My grandmother was the kind of woman who sought hope and inspiration in the magic of the world around her, in the miracle of flowers blooming out of season, or a rabble of butterflies appearing from nowhere, or a white stag stepping majestically into a clearing. She knew how to read the signs of the world better than anyone I have ever known, and she used to tell me that no single religion could hope to contain the beautiful abundance of the natural world. For her, and for our family, the cycle of the world, the rebirth of the sun after the longest night of the year is a bountiful blessing and reason for celebration.”
    He raised his glass. “So wherever we may seek the signs and symbols of our faith, let us raise a glass to the season of hope.”
    A hundred glasses rose in response and a ripple of applause drowned out the first few chords of Noah playing “O Holy Night” on the piano. I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye and felt something softly tapping my shoulder.
    I turned to find myself staring into the face of a sleek black cat with shimmering eyes and twitching whiskers. She stared at me pointedly, and I felt dizzy for a moment, the image of a crescent moon shining suddenly before my eyes. She touched me gently on my cheek with her paw and then leapt off the mantel and disappeared through an open French door into the night.
    Without a thought, I put my empty wine glass down and followed her outside.
     
    *  *  *
    The terrace and the great oaks that surrounded the far side of the clearing shimmered and twinkled with thousands of blue and white lights. The pool lights shone blue beneath a blanket of floating white flowers. The patio and the broad yard beyond were deserted; the gentle breeze off the distant prairie blew through metal chimes that clanged somewhere near the tree line.
    I stepped out onto the slate and closed the door behind me, looking across at the black cat, sitting silently on a small stone bench on the far side of the pool. Her eyes glistened in the half-light. I walked around the pool, a strong but inarticulate compulsion driving me to follow her sleek black form.
    As I reached the far side of the pool, she dropped down off the bench and padded down a path bordered by ground-level lighting that twisted off between the trees. I followed her, glancing back at the lights of the house and the muffled sounds of laughter and music before plunging into the semi-darkness.
    The path twisted back and forth through the trees, taking me gently but inexorably closer to the edge of the prairie. The hooting cries of an owl and a sudden thundering of wings above me startled me.
    “Samantha?” I whispered. “Where the hell are you?”
    I stopped walking and stood looking around me, the forest now completely obscuring my view of the house. I shivered, telling myself it was the cool Florida night rather than my growing apprehension.
    The cat ambled back toward me down the path, appearing from the semi-darkness in response to my call. The low lighting shimmered off her coat as she circled my feet twice then meandered back the way she had come. I followed her deeper into the woods.
    We walked a dozen yards farther, and the path suddenly turned to the right, ending abruptly in a small clearing dominated by a tall stone structure. It was part fountain