had swum and camped. Unfortunately, the rebirth of such memories sent Ian careening into black holes from which he struggled to escape.
They had left Japan two days ahead of schedule. Though he enjoyed the country as much as any he’d visited, Ian simply couldn’t stay in Kyoto. Staying in Kyoto was like setting himself on fire. And he couldn’t do that with Mattie by his side.
The next stop on their itinerary was Nepal, a land through which he and Kate had hiked and climbed, yet a place where his memories weren’t so crisp and common. They had only spent three weeks in Nepal, and though those three weeks had been wonderful, the Himalayas had overshadowed everything they’d done there. Ian didn’t fear returning to Nepal as much as he had Japan, though he did worry about taking Mattie to a developing country. He felt irresponsible for doing so, given her age.
Now, as they sat in the back of a well-traveled plane, heading deeper into the heart of Asia, Mattie opened her film canister. She didn’t know what to expect and was surprised when a diamond ring set in silver tumbled onto her lap. “What’s this?” she asked, picking up the ring.
Ian smiled. “I know whose it is, luv. But I’d rather have your mum tell you.”
“What?”
“Read her note.”
Mattie held the ring in her left hand and opened a rolled-up piece of paper with her right.
My Marvelous Mattie,
What you hold in your hand was your great-grandmother’s wedding ring. She wore it for thirty-nine years. When she died it went to my mother, and then to me, and now I’m passing it along to you. I know that it’s too big for you to wear properly, but someday it won’t be.
Your great-grandmother was a remarkable woman, as was your grandmother. They may not have made newspaper headlines, but they were extraordinary nonetheless. Do you know, my precious girl, that your great-grandmother aided in the war effort? She worked in a factory, painting jeeps, touching them up and adding white stars. And your grandmother volunteered her whole life, helping those less fortunate than she. I had planned on following in her footsteps, but this illness has derailed those ideas.
Someday, Mattie, you may have your own wedding ring. Choose it wisely, because I hope it will spend a lifetime on your finger. And choose your husband with even more care. Take your time. Pretend that you’re walking with your eyes closed. Love should be savored, not rushed.
Do you know why I fell for your daddy? Well, it wasn’t because he was handsome or powerful or rich. He was average-looking and as poor as a church mouse. But inside, Mattie, inside he glowed. He knew how to make me happy. From our very first encounter he made me happy. Think of all the times he prompted me to smile and laugh. Haven’t you always known how much he loved me?
There is a famous saying about love, Mattie. It says that we were given two legs to walk, two hands to hold, two eyes to see, two ears to hear. But we were given only one heart. Why? Because our other heart was given to someone else. For us to find. I found your daddy, and he found me. And the same will happen to you.
I wanted, so much, to talk to you about boys and love. But I can’t. So instead of those conversations I want you to have this ring. Remember who wore it, and what it means. And don’t be afraid to talk with your daddy about anything. He’s a wonderful listener, Mattie, if you need him to be, if you let him know that you’d like to take his hand. He’ll help you. So, please, always go to him.
Did you know that when your daddy and I were in Nepal, we made up poems for each other as we hiked? Most of them were funny, but a few talked about those two hearts. When you’re there, climb as we did, and be happy. Sketch something beautiful and smile at the sky. I’ll be watching, as always.
I love you.
Mommy
Mattie held the ring against her chest. She reread her mother’s words, then tucked the canister safely away in her pocket. She didn’t cry. Instead she studied the ring, imagining her great-grandmother painting white stars. “Maybe, Daddy,” she said, “I like to paint because my great-grandmother did too.”
Ian nodded. “I reckon paint . . . it gets into your blood and stays there. And her