The Frenchman's Slow Seduction by Flora Lanoux

the
manor, Syd stops at the parking lot. “This is where I take my
leave,” he says, shaking my hand. “The next time I see you, young
lady, I’m going to work on making you smile.”
    I laugh. “I think I’ll
have to work on that myself.”
    “Well stated. I’ve
enjoyed our meeting.”
    As he drives away in
his light blue Impala, I turn to Verna and say, “If you don’t marry
him, I will.”
    She gives a soft laugh.
“I’m seriously considering it,” she says. “I guess you’ll be off
now, too.”
    “I’m afraid so.”
    She frowns. “One should
never be afraid, Rachel.”
    Driving away from the
manor, I’m overcome by a sudden, frightening emptiness. “It’s
okay,” I tell myself. “Everything is perfectly okay.” My
life seems to hang on those words. Deciding that what I need is a
quiet place to sit where no one will bother me, I drive to a nearby
woodlot.
    Going down one narrow
dirt road after another, I admire the birds, the greenery -- the
primitiveness. Next to a boggy area with a beaver dam, I park the
car. Leaning back in my seat, I let out a slow breath and lift my
face to the sun. What’s wrong with me? Why did I drive here? Just
as I’m thinking about how desperate I’ve become, the feeling of
warmth on my face intensifies, and fleetingly I feel a connection
to some greater force. The experience puts me in mind of a book I
read years ago. During my first year at university, I sought the
meaning of life between the covers of a five dollar paperback
called Reclaim your Soul, Reclaim your Body.
    “All that is required
to make contact with your spirit guide is a receptive mind,” it
read. “Find a quiet place to meditate, state your desire, open your
brain to the possibility, and await your communication.
    “Your spirit guide --
guardian angel, positive energy source, soul teacher -- has many
physical shapes or energy forms to choose from to communicate with
you, and all are equally wonderful. Some choose light, while others
choose shadows or a human form. Just relax and dream. Listen
to the messages transmitted through your soul. The experience has
to do with the listener, the envisioner, not what is being
envisioned or heard. You are, after all, listening to your own
soul.”
    Closing my eyes, I try
to relax. Suddenly, the wind picks up, gently buffeting the car.
Breathing deeply, I inhale warm, earthy smells, and begin to feel
groggy, muzzy-headed, lighter. A vision floats through my
mind. I’m in a forest, sometime in the past. I’m a small Native
American girl of about six. My name is Sarah. When I look up, my
true father, my guardian angel, extends his hand. I take it and
smile. His name is Nathaniel. We walk through the woods and down to
a river where we sit on a rock and put our feet in the water. “The
water is part of you,” he says. “When it washes over you, it will
cleanse your soul. Whenever you feel you are lost in spirit, go to
the water and you will find me there.” I look up at him. “You’re
not going to leave me, are you, Father?” He smiles. “One day, my
physical body will leave this life, but my spirit will still
wander. If you need me, you have simply to call my name. I will
always be here for you. We are bonded.” Looking at him, I say, “But
I don’t want you to go.” He nods. “I know, but we cannot change the
laws of the universe; they are there for a reason.” I hold on
tightly to his hand as we look out at the river, and a wave of
relaxation washes over me.
    Opening my eyes, I’m
startled to see a doe run in front of my car. Stopping in front of
the hood, she faces me, and for moments we look at one another.
Then she bounds away. After she’s gone, I find myself wondering if
what I saw and felt was real -- but then decide that it doesn’t
really matter. I’m thankful for whatever happened.
    On my way to the
clinic, I stop off at a bakery for a kaiser roll and a bottle of
spring water. I don’t remember the last time food tasted