by Hallie Lee
I dimmed the lamp on the end table, soothed by the sight of my bowie double-edged, my hot tea, and my Bible. For the first time since Peony left this world, I let my thoughts drift to our lives together.
We never knew our parents. The creek community told us they’d been killed by a drunk driver. Later Peony and I wondered if they’d been the drunk drivers, or if they’d ruined their lives in some other regrettable manner. We adapted to being shuffled from family to family, always nurtured, but never really belonging. We absorbed and practiced the unique mixture of cultures, good and bad, from the Creek People. We also inherited the resentment that festered among them. And yet Peony, much like Bella, never allowed herself to be tainted or defined by the bitterness. Instead, she used her skill with herbs as a tool to help others. She exercised her faith every day with her kindness, her thoughtful way with words, and her generosity.
Four years older than me, I’d never lived a day in this world without Peony. She’d been with me as a naïve child, as an angry young teenager, and more recently, as the middle-aged man I am now, finally at peace with God’s will for my life.
I opened my Bible, retrieving my most cherished pictures of my sister. I held up an old photo of us when we were young children. I must have been two, so that would have made Peony six. Her expression was a little afraid, unsure.
And then as we got older, the light in her eyes reflected confidence. She appeared poised. Happy even. Photographed beside her husband and true love, Axe, she beamed with well-being and hope. I grew sentimental as I flipped through the photos of my sister in the prime of her life, recognizing the same striking beauty in Meadow and Bella.
And then the faces in the photos changed. Missing was Axe, his kind and distinguished face now replaced with Madhawk’s, the bitterest among the Creek People. Large and angry, he’d barged into our lives, altering everything. He’d stolen the fire from my sister’s eyes. Replaced it with assent, submission, and ultimately, surrender. Once, when I’d been young and stupid, I’d meanly accused Peony of being afraid of Madhawk, and mocked her for giving in to him.
“No mon cher,” she’d said lovingly. “What you see is grace. And wisdom. I simply choose my battles, that’s all.”
I picked up my favorite photo of her, and held it close to my aging eyes, desperate to remember all the details. Peony with Meadow and Bella. Meadow, who’d been fifteen and beautiful—and disgraced, shamed, and haunted.
Meadow held Bella, her newborn baby, in her arms.
I considered the way Peony rested her arm firmly around Meadow’s shoulder, and her hand affectionately against Bella’s tiny cheek. There was nothing scared in my sister’s expression at all. I saw strength, ferocity, and defiance.
Yes, my sister most certainly picked her battles. She’d chosen the ones worth fighting for—and possibly, the ones worth dying for.
•
Perhaps the outrageous shirt I wore gave me the strength to get through the ceremony. My patch-shirt, as Peony had dubbed it, sported vivid greens, reds, and blue flannel squares, sewn together in hopes of creating eye-popping fashion for a special occasion. Peony had collected scraps for years, and finally, she’d said joyfully on the eve of my momentous event, “I can make you look like the prince you are.”
The occasion itself had been a life altering disaster. The shirt, however, had become one of my most cherished treasures.
As I now stood in front of the enormous congregation, I was pleased to see a kaleidoscope of festive, joyous colors. It seemed a fitting way to celebrate my sister’s vibrant spirit.
“I’ll close this afternoon,” I said to the mourners, “first with an old Cherokee saying, one that articulates how so many of us are feeling today. ‘When you were born, you cried, and the world rejoiced. Now that you’re gone, the world cries, and you rejoice.’”
“Amen,” someone said.
“That’s lovely,” someone else opined. “So true.”
“And next,” I continued. “With a prayer from Romans, chapter eight. ‘For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.’”
I resisted the pressure behind my eyes, only looking up when I was sure of my composure. My eyes landed on Desi, who stood next to Lenny and Luke. She’d become more and more like her flamboyant mother, Sunny, over the years, and wore a sparkling, red outfit that reflected her own colorful personality. She winked at me.
“And finally, a beautiful feast awaits you,” I offered with a smile. “Tout le monde mange, everyone. Bon appetite!”
The mourners dispersed in various directions, the majority to tables laden with gumbo, jambalaya, and potato salad. Others approached Meadow, Bella, and me with condolences. “Merci,” I thanked a tearful elder after receiving a heartfelt embrace.
As the three of us formed an impromptu receiving line, Madhawk’s mother passed, offering her sympathies. “Peony was good to him,” she acknowledged begrudgingly. “But who’s gonna take care of me now?” The old woman held a glint in her eye. “Find him.”
“I’ll do my best,” I replied. “I give you my word.” When she moved on, I let out my breath, unnerved by the intensity in the frail old woman.
“Wolfheart,” Redflyer approached tentatively. “Your sister was pure in heart, and kind.” He lingered. “There was a time, not long ago, when I got in some trouble.” He cut a glance toward Sheriff Rick, who chatted with Quietdove, Lenny, and Desi. “Your sister didn’t judge me. Instead, she nursed me back to health.” He discreetly lifted the cuff of his shirt, revealing a four-inch laceration on his arm. I recognized the stitching as my sister’s. “She used rose yarrow to—”
“Staunch the bleeding,” I said lightly. “I’m glad you are well now.” I leaned into him as if in thanks, and whispered into his ear, “I could use your help.”
“Anything.”
“Enlist some loyal men for a search of the mounds and the black lands. We must find Madhawk. For justice. For his mother’s peace. And for my family’s safety.”
He nodded, “Consider it done.”
“Hello Mr. Wolfheart,” interrupted a small voice. “My granny wants to say hi.” Fireman and his feisty granny waited expectantly. When Redflyer moved on, I embraced the woman and shook the young man’s hand.
“My name is Lacey,” she said. “And I slept well last night. Thanks to you.”
“I’m glad. I think you have a good and loyal servant in young Fireman here.” When Granny Lacey appeared puzzled, the boy looked mortified.
To exacerbate his embarrassment, a few young sprouts behind him snickered.
“Hurry up, Littlefry. You’re holding up the line,” one boy nudged his accomplice.
“Who is this Littlefry you speak of?” Bella strolled over and wrapped Fireman in a warm embrace. “I only see my boyfriend, Fireman, here. How was the soup I sent you home with?”
“It was delicious,” Granny Lacey said while the young jokesters watched in astonishment.
“Will you come and see me again?” Bella asked Fireman. “Promise?”
He nodded, his face alight with a goofy, dazed smile.
Once he and his granny wandered off, I was at last able to embrace my dearest friend. “Desi,” I hugged her tightly. “You and your red gave me courage today. Thank you for coming.” Micah dashed over to embrace Bella while I shook Lenny’s hand. “Good to see you, Lenny.”
“How’re you holding up, Brad?” Lenny wrapped me in a firm hug.
I squeezed his shoulder. “Okay, my friend.” When I turned to Luke, I followed his gaze, which led straight to Bella. “And Luke, how are you?”
“Good,” Luke reluctantly turned toward me, shaking my hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.” But De
si’s son was distracted, reading back and forth between Bella and young Fireman.
“Robin sends her love,” Desi stroked my arm. “She wanted to be here, as well as Petey and the twins.”
“Come this weekend,” encouraged Lenny. “They’ll all be here and we’re going to have food, drink, and music.”
“Music?” Bella piped up. “How nice it would be to sing and dance and be happy again.”
Desi enfolded Bella and then Meadow in a warm hug. “Please come. All of you.”
I glanced at Sheriff Rick, who stood behind Lenny, and listened to the whole conversation with a contrary expression. “I don’t know,” I wavered. “We’ll see.”
“I’ll come,” Bella grinned.
“Yes! And you’ll sing,” pronounced Micah as she put her arm into Bella’s. The two of them wandered toward the food table, with Luke heavy on their heels.
Desi squeezed my hand, “You did well today. Please come for the party. Robin will want to see you.”
As she and Lenny headed to partake in the feast, I was left with Sheriff Rick, who popped a piece of candy into his mustached mouth. “Desi’s right,” he said. “You did your sister proud.” He shook my hand, studying the crowd. “These people look up to you. You’re their leader.”
“Thanks, Sheriff. I get the feeling there’s a but in there somewhere.”
“I’ve given you a lot of leeway, Wolfheart. More than I would give most. Despite the fact you stood me up and lied about a lawyer.”
“I didn’t lie—”
“I know that was Desi’s doing,” he remarked with a snarl. “But my point is, I’ve had enough of this dilly-dallying. I don’t wanna have to come out here, in front of all your folks, and haul you in for questioning.”
An extended moment passed as we measured one another up, giving me the chance to home in on the flavor of his candy. Citrus, I determined, or maybe banana with a touch of grapefruit.
“Are you hearing me?”
“I’ll come in, Sheriff. And I appreciate your patience.”
Satisfied, he tipped his head, and then moseyed over to the food table. I watched as he heaped a big spoonful of potato salad onto a plate and struck up a conversation with a woman from the creek. Whether because of his respect for Peony, or his fear of Desi, Sheriff Rick was on his best behavior.
As the sun faded, and dusk befell Shady Gully, the homage to my sister passed easily. The buoyant chatter of fellowship soon replaced the somber tones of grief, as Creek People and town people mingled happily.
As if in answer to such remarkable harmony, a distinctive yowl rose from beyond the creek as the moon lit up the night. My heart leapt at the sound, and a hush came over the gathering. I sought out Meadow’s face. And Bella’s. There were tears in their eyes.
As another plaintive howl cried out to the moon and the heavens above, I could no longer contain my emotion.
•
Madhawk’s hand shook as he cut, and then removed, another strip from his clothing.
He wrapped the material first around his shoulder, and then his neck. And finally, his face. While he hadn’t seen a mirror, he knew his face had been ravaged along with the rest of his body. The skin around his jaw and his cheeks felt hot to the touch, and the rags he used to blot his ears came away streaked with blood and pus.
Pretty soon, he feared, he’d run out of clothes. Or he’d run out of blood.
He leaned against a river birch tree. Hot. He was burning hot, and his shoulder throbbed. And he felt nauseated.
He’d been a fool to think he’d escaped so quickly. He’d ignored his injuries, and now the pain burrowed inside him. Swirling, rising, swirling, rising.
Madhawk jerked his head to the side, and vomited all over the clay-like dirt around the tree. And then he heaved. Over and over, violent, dry convulsions racked his body. He thought they would never stop. Until at last, they subsided.
Mindful of the noise he’d made, Madhawk calmed himself, as Peony’s funeral continued on the levee high above him. Although he was safely hidden in an excavated swatch of brush below the burial levee, sometimes the echoes in the swamp carried farther than the hawk flew, and he hadn’t the strength for another battle.
Ricochets of the disgraceful spectacle wafted down to his position deep inside the bowels of the swamp. The thought of being cast away gnawed at him. What he would give for a feast. For drink. And yet, he was here. Bleeding, on fire, his own heart beating weakly beneath his soiled shirt, while the pretenders from town caroused with the Creek People.
No. He refused to die in the woods like an animal.
Suddenly motivated to finish what he’d started, Madhawk dragged himself to his feet. He needed food. Water. And healing medicine. And he knew exactly where to get them.
And he knew for a fact he’d have the place to himself.
He stumbled at first, and then lifted himself off the ground. Guided by the light from the moon, he took one step, and then another.
Madhawk stopped in his tracks when an insistent, mournful howl resonated across the swamp. The moon was visible, but it was much too early for the wolves to be…so active.
He shivered as a chill racked his body.
Madhawk hated wolves.
He moved with purpose.
•
I walked home alone, as Meadow and Bella stayed to enjoy the fellowship. I took comfort in the glorious celebration of Peony’s life, and knew the time had finally come for me to rest and mourn in my own way.
Despite the overwhelming success and tranquility of the evening, I felt a heaviness come over me the closer I got to home. My hand reflexively skimmed my back pocket, to my bowie, as foreboding spread in the pit of my stomach.
I stopped. Made myself still. But I heard nothing except the clucks of Peony’s homeless chickens. Not the usual clucks of contentment, but rather sharp, uneasy clucks. I quickened my steps, positioning my bowie defensively.
As I approached my home, the light on the porch illuminated the ghastly scene. Several of Peony’s chickens padded and fussed about the yard in alarm, while one of their brethren hung from a string on the awning of my porch.
Bloodied. Butchered.
My hand lingered close to my knife, as I soothed the chickens and removed the heinous carcass.
After a moment I moved to the door, and almost stumbled over the blue wolf I’d put on the lost one’s grave.
The stuffing overflowed from the seams—as if it had been cut from ear to ear.
PART II
Chapter Seven
Beaming Like A Music Aficionado
Luke
A
pparently, upon meeting Bella, I’d lost my pride, misplaced my dignity, and tossed my sense of caution to the wind. Like now, for example. Although my hands remained precisely at nine and three on the steering wheel, I repeatedly, and rather recklessly, stole glance after glance at Bella via the rear-view mirror.
Oblivious to my shamefully impaired driving skills, she and Micah sat in the back seat and chatted about their jobs. Micah still hated hers, while Bella hoped her temporary gig at the post office would turn into something more permanent.
“Yeah, I get it,” Micah said. “But you’d have to work with Claire every day, and that would totally suck.”
“Only in the morning. The rest of the day I’d be delivering mail across the creek. And I’d have health insurance and all kinds of benefits.”
I clicked my blinker, heading toward the airport in Alexandria. Micah had invited Bella to join the increasing number of revelers to welcome Aunt Robin. She insisted meeting her way cool cousins would take Bella’s mind off things.
“Just be careful what you wish for…” Micah trailed off with a warning. “Claire is a gossip who thrives on strife.” I recognized the mantra, word for word, as if it were coming straight from my mom
’s mouth.
“Bella is simply being optimistic, Micah,” I interjected. “If only some of her positivity would rub off on you.”
While my remark earned me a nasty eye roll from Micah, Bella grinned. This time, our eyes met through the rear-view mirror, and my navigational skills faltered.
“Watch out, you’re gonna miss the turn!” Micah screeched.
Fortunately, I recovered my senses long enough to turn before Dad rear-ended me. He and Mom followed in their luxury van, which was big enough to accommodate all the luggage and most of the company.
“What is that music you’re listening to?” Micah reached for the tuner dial. “Is it from the dinosaur age or something?”
“Hey, wait, that’s Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band,” Bella said enthusiastically.
“Yeah,” I grinned, beaming like a music aficionado. “I’m a big fan—”
“‘Night Moves’ is my favorite.” Bella bobbed her head, and her lips moved seductively as she hummed along. Or maybe that was just my perception.
“There’s their plane. It’s coming in now.” Micah urged me to hurry as we entered the airport parking lot. “I hate to admit it,” she said. “But I’m excited to see Petey.”
“Me too,” I answered, distracted by Bella’s musical performance in the back seat.
Dad pulled into the spot next to us, and as we climbed out of our respective vehicles, Mom waved cheerily. “Isn’t this exciting?” she gushed, as if she hadn’t seen us forty minutes ago.
She directed Dad as he unloaded bouquets of flowers and Welcome Home signs. He passed some of them to me, as if he weren’t quite sure what to do with them.
When I handed Bella a particularly beautiful spread of spring flowers, she smiled at me through dark eyelashes.
“I’m excited too,” she said, taking the flowers. “Is Sterling bringing his guitar?”
