If someone had told me that there would come a day that I found Freya’s company to be restful, I may have laughed aloud. And yet between my training, patrols, and the nervous tension which is Alex’s constant companion, it is true that my quietest time is the time I spend with Freya.
I confess this with a certain level of guilt, because I should be working with her, as well. She is my charge as much as Alex is, and I am with her to keep her safe, not to find rest for my spirit. And yet there it is. She is now more like a friend whose spirit recognizes my own and takes joy in my presence. For that reason, no matter how wasteful my time with her may seem, I could never give it up.
The spring is a busy time for her at work—the company will be releasing several new books in a matter of days, and so often Freya ends up staying late with her coworkers to finish what needs to be done before then. She doesn’t much mind, and she does her best to make certain the others don’t, either. On Friday she ordered Chinese for the group, and the night before that she staged a race in the corridor, pushing each other up and down in the office chairs. “Race” is a generous term, I suppose—perhaps a more appropriate one would be “bumper cars”.
This evening she was planning a party for one of her fellow editorial assistants, who has gotten a job as a literary agent. Freya was always very fond of Nancy, and so she is determined to send her off in style. I kept her company while she researched bakeries and purchased decorations and made lists. Once she had put her plans into some form of order, though, her thoughts turned a bit morose.
“What is it, then?” I asked her, putting a wing around her shoulders.
She sighed and leaned back into the arm of the sofa—and into me. “So now,” she said, smiling ruefully down at her scattered notes, “I guess I’m allowed to be jealous.”
“You are allowed to feel anything that you like,” I answered. “But why jealous? You are happy where you are.”
Freya drew up her knees. “I do like things the way they are, but…” She sighed and shook her head. “I just know there are going to be people at that party who look at me and wonder what the hell I’m doing with my life.”
“I am all but certain that they will not be thinking that. Why are you thinking it?”
“Because what am I doing with my life?” she asked. “I’m thirty-two and still working as an assistant.”
There seemed an easy enough solution. “Could you not seek out a better position?”
“Of course I’ve had opportunities, but I turned them down because I didn’t want to leave Boston. But was that just fear of the unknown? Or am I just waiting for something to open up here? Because I’ll be waiting a while.”
“Patience is a virtue. And I have never known you to be a fearful person. There is nothing wrong with being content, Freya.”
She pushed to her feet and began to pace. “I’m too young to be sitting still, though. If I’m not reaching for something in my career or my love life—if I’m not making a difference somewhere, then what is the point of me?”
Then I understood, and I got up to take hold of her face and close my wings around her. She stopped short, closed her eyes, and took a breath.
“You are making a difference,” I told her. “You brighten the lives of those around you, both by your efforts and by your presence. By your very nature you draw people to the light. And that is enough, Freya. You don’t need any great victory of the world to call your own—only to be part of the Fight. We none of us can do it alone, and every small difference is a difference just the same.”
After a moment, she opened her eyes and smiled, and for a moment it was as if she were smiling at me.
It is a relief to me that I can still make some small difference with my words, and not just by force alone. It brings rest and solace to my spirit. Every day that I spend with Freya is a blessing, for we have come to the point where just being with one another helps both of us to find peace.