Wildwood Whispers

by Willa Reece

  “You don’t have to learn to believe in the power of the wildwood. You’re already there whether you admit it or not. But you do have to learn to trust in its power and in yours. And that might take longer than we’ve got,” Granny said. “You’re a prickly thing. I’m surprised the wildwood didn’t send you a porcupine.”

  Outwardly I laughed, but inwardly I cringed. I knew my growly little mouse could be as prickly as me. I was wearing a belted cornflower blue sweater with huge pockets. I’d already placed the customer list in one. Now, I leaned toward the counter and opened the other. Charm finished cleaning his face and paused. He looked at me as if he needed to meet my eyes to understand what I wanted. Then, he scurried over to the edge of the counter and leapt into the hiding space I’d offered.

  It was both crazy and completely natural. As normal as anything else that had happened since I’d come to this town.

  Charm slept in my pocket all morning while I made Granny’s deliveries. Until I stepped into the beauty shop on my next to last stop and found it deserted. Usually, every dryer was occupied by women in rollers like this was 1965, but today, there was only one client in Betty Rutherford’s chair. The stylist most people around here referred to as a beautician was blowing out this particular client’s hair with a huge round bristle brush and a chrome hair dryer that was surely retro.

  “Oh, come on in, Mel. I’ve got to finish with Vee and then I’ll pay you for the moisturizer,” Becky shouted above the hot whir in her hands.

  Vee was as retro as the hair dryer. She was dressed in a polka dot dress with a fitted shirtwaist and a full skirt. Nipped around her tiny middle was a white patent leather belt that matched the kitten-heel pumps on her feet. A matching designer handbag rested on the table beneath the mirror. Her legs were that telltale too tan that indicated opaque hosiery. High above that her face was perfectly made up, but not exactly stylish, with nude gloss and pale eye shadow that washed out beneath the feathered bangs so frosty Becky must have just rinsed out the bleach.

  The capri jean bibs I’d made by whacking off the length of an old pair of overalls I’d found in the cabin’s attic were decidedly less of a put-together ensemble. She suddenly reminded me of a doll who had been dressed for this occasion. With a faded black T-shirt and canvas high-top sneakers on, I felt more comfortable than I had any right to be in Vee’s presence.

  But the woman, who appeared close to my age beneath the hairspray and lip gloss, smiled and I smiled back, more at ease. Her appearance might be a little plastic, but she was a person beneath it all. Suddenly, I had the impulse to give Vee a jar of the blackberry preserves I’d canned. I followed it, reaching into my basket and pulling out the jar before I could second-guess my instincts.

  “Biggest blackberries you’ve ever seen,” I said.

  “Oh. Th-thank y-you,” Vee stammered. She hesitantly took the jar I thrust toward her and cradled it in her hands as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

  “There. Now. Isn’t that nice?” Becky said, turning the salon chair so her client faced the mirror. The i in “nice” was longer than it should be, drawn out as if she too thought Vee would be more comfortable in jeans. Our gazes met in the mirror above Vee’s head and I blushed because there was a warning there. I might seem like someone who hadn’t been taught social graces. True. But I wouldn’t hurt someone’s feelings by commenting negatively on their appearance. Vee must have spent hours getting primped and “perfected,” but she leaned forward without commenting on her own appearance as if what she looked like didn’t matter at all to her. She fumbled open her purse and quickly shoved the jam inside, then she snapped the clasp as if she was in a hurry to hide the gift.

  While Vee was focused on putting the jar in her bag, Becky frowned down at her client’s hair. She obviously disapproved of her own work. So why hadn’t she suggested a different style?

  The answer opened the door to the hair salon and walked in behind us. I saw everyone’s reaction to the man’s entrance in the mirror. The buffer didn’t lessen the impact. Becky looked like she might vomit. Vee looked like she might faint. She pushed the handbag away, guiltily, as if the blackberry preserves were contraband she didn’t want to call attention to. I looked confused and the man… He looked as plastic and polished as the woman in the chair.

  “Time’s up. We have a luncheon, remember? Enough spoiling for one morning,” the man joked. No one laughed for the beat of several seconds and then Becky and Vee laughed in that high-pitched fake way that’s freaky and frightening at the same time.

  Why were they afraid of this man? Both of them. I tightened my grip on the basket and planted my feet. I’d had the same reaction myself too many times before to stay calm and detached. Every time I met a new foster parent. Every time a teacher took advantage because they knew there was no one at home who cared. Vee and Becky saw the man as a threat in some way. I was going to run with their assessment.

  “She’s all ready for you, Hartwell. Aren’t you, Vee? Pretty as that picture of Jackie O. in the old Life magazine,” Becky said. Her voice was oddly breathless as if she was in a hurry to appease him. I glanced down to see the magazine she referred to on her station. I hadn’t noticed it before. Was the luncheon some kind of cosplay event? But, no, the man’s charcoal suit was modern with small lapels and a single button paired with straight-fitted trousers that hit right above his polished black loafers.

  “Hello. I’m Hartwell Morgan. I see you’ve met my wife, Violet,” he said. He enunciated his wife’s full name as if Vee was presumptuous on Becky’s part. “And you are?”

  He reached out his hand and I froze, wanting to recoil, but somehow sure my distaste would hurt Violet Morgan. I followed Becky’s lead in some instinctive steps I didn’t want to dance around male ego.

  “Hartwell is the mayor of Morgan’s Gap,” Becky rushed to say. “His family founded the town.”

  Violet had gracefully risen from the salon chair on the opposite side without speaking. Her smile was gone and she stood, carefully poised, like a pretty robot waiting for programming.

  Hartwell looked down at the basket in my hands, but he didn’t curl his lip at my bibs in spite of the strict old-fashioned beauty standards he apparently had ordered for his wife. The lip curl didn’t happen until I spoke, finally tired of a tension in the air I could only partially understand.

  “I’m Granny’s apprentice, Mel Smith. I’m living at the old Ross cabin. Do you know it? Outside of town,” I said. I threw the information at him to see how he would react, but I felt movement in my pocket and a hum that indicated Charm was upset. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so bold, especially with a man who made the hair stand up on the nape of my neck. I was glad the woven material of my sweater muffled Charm’s growl. No need for both of us to antagonize the mayor.

  Violet flinched, but only slightly. I might not have noticed if I hadn’t been facing her and trying to decide if the strand of pearls around her neck was uncomfortably tight. Had she been the one who had been behind the movement of the curtain in the mayor’s house the day we’d planted the bee balm? Or had it been her husband? Something about the idea of Hartwell spying on us in the park sent a chill down my back.

  “Yes. I know it,” Hartwell replied. He lowered his hand. Either deciding I wasn’t going to shake his hand or determining he didn’t want to shake mine. “Apprentice? Potions and poultices? Salves and tinctures? Y’all wasting your time when there’s a pharmacy on hand.” Hartwell let out a bark of laughter that was way too loud for the empty shop now that the dryer was silent. No one joined him. He stopped laughing and jerked his head toward his wife. An unspoken order for her to titter nervously once or twice? Because that’s what the poor woman did and the sound was like broken glass against my ears—pained, sharp and nothing funny about it.

  “I was just telling Violet how much I like the moisturizer Granny makes. My skin is so smooth and it smells like peppermint,” Becky said.

  “My wife gets her moisturizer from th
e finest department stores. She doesn’t need that old hippy’s wares,” Hartwell said. Then, ever the politician, he caught himself. “Not that I don’t support small businesses because I certainly do. Isn’t that right, Violet?”

  “Yes, Hartwell,” Violet responded. She was a doll. A beautiful, miserable doll, and something about her eyes was hauntingly familiar, an expression I recognized but couldn’t place.

  “And we appreciate your support, Mayor,” Becky said. “You were missed while you were away.” To me, Becky continued, “He had a big energy conference in Richmond.”

  “And many important meetings before and after that,” the mayor interjected.

  Violet hooked her hand in the crook of Hartwell Morgan’s proffered elbow as if directed by some cue I hadn’t seen. Becky placed the white patent handbag over her client’s other shoulder. Violet grabbed the bag with her free hand and pressed it close against her hip. Something told me Hartwell Morgan would be angry if he knew I’d given his wife the preserves, but the way she clutched the handbag close made me think she was happy to have them in spite of his certain disapproval. I hoped she was able to enjoy the decadent, natural sweetness of them later when she was alone.

  Becky followed them out. The mayor kept his eyes on mine all the way across the shop and out the door until it closed and he finally turned away.

  “God. That man makes me a nervous wreck. He has to have things just so. I’m glad they had a lunch date. Sometimes he makes me rewash and style her hair until he approves,” Becky said. “I’m always glad when they go to a Richmond salon instead.”

  “She seemed nice before he interrupted,” I said.

  “She’s as nice as she’s allowed to be,” Becky said. “He keeps a close eye on everything she says and does. Even when he’s away, he has folks look after her. He wants to be governor someday.”

  “It’s not the sixties anymore,” I said. Charm had quieted and I was free to use both hands to fish Becky’s moisturizer out of the basket. The recyclable glass bottle was wrapped in brown paper tied with twine. No fancy packaging or labels for Granny. She was an old hippy after all. I chuckled at the narrow-minded description that didn’t nearly capture all that Granny was.

  “Haven’t you figured out that Morgan’s Gap is fifty years behind the times? Besides, Hartwell Morgan definitely doesn’t believe in women’s rights. He might be against Granny’s herbal wares, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he encourages Violet to take pills that keep her calm and quiet. There are times when she’s not right. Even when he’s not around,” Becky said.

  “Something stronger than valerian tea,” I added.

  My throat tightened and the room had gone suddenly cold because I’d realized what had bothered me about Violet Morgan’s expression. She didn’t wear a scarf or homespun clothes, but her eyes had been eerily like the eyes of the Sect women I’d seen with Reverend Moon—herded, kept, all their individual needs and desires unspoken and unseen.

  Eighteen

  I wasn’t ready to head back to the cabin when my deliveries were finished, but I was still nervous about CC in spite of what Granny had said. So, while she took a nap after a quick soup lunch that nonetheless seemed hearty and sweet for someone who had been eating alone a lot, I sat on the swing of her front porch. It wasn’t too cool with the afternoon sun still warming every spot it could reach and the occasional passing car was a nice change from seeing no one for days.

  Charm joined me, nosing in corners for dead beetles and squeaking with pleasure when he found a stray acorn. I read through the instructions for cultivating wild yeast and baking bread. Again. My dreams were good for learning; I wanted to get it right.

  For Sarah. For Granny. For Kara, Joyce and Sadie for that matter. I couldn’t bring myself to think for the wildwood but the words were there, a secretive whisper in my heart. Maybe grief had driven me a little over the edge. I was grasping at a belief system that had to be more folktale than reality. But, when a little tame mouse was nibbling an acorn several inches away from your feet, it was hard to remain a skeptic. Truth was, I wanted to accept what these women seemed to be offering me—a place among them. I’d never had a mother. Had never allowed myself to think of the nameless, faceless person who hadn’t wanted me. Now, I had four older women who truly seemed to care. About me. And that seemed more magical than anything found between the remedy book’s pages.

  When the turquoise Chevy pulled into the driveway, I closed the remedy book and stood to stare. Smoke poured from the exhaust and the engine roared in protest as the driver applied the brake. I knew who it was before he opened the door and jumped down. The rusted metal hinges screamed, but Jacob Walker slammed the truck’s door and walked around the hood as if he reclaimed junk trucks from wildflower fields on the regular.

  “Granny called. Said you needed a vehicle. Figured this one might do no more than you’ll need to drive it. Of course, I’d say it’s been ten years since she’s been down by that barn where it was parked. I had to clear out two hornets’ nests and an abandoned trove of hazelnuts some poor squirrel had forgotten and left behind,” Jacob said conversationally. He paused at the stoop and looked up where I stood. The porch gave me a height advantage for the first time since we’d met.

  “Sadie gave me a ride this morning before work. They were all going to decide who would get the chore of taking me back tonight,” I said.

  “I left my Jeep and toolbox out at your place so I’ll ride back with you, if that’s okay,” Jacob said. He wasn’t dressed in hiking clothes today. Instead, he wore a pair of jeans and a black canvas jacket. The tough, ripstop kind you’d see on a mechanic or a carpenter. A tight gray V-neck T-shirt hugged his chest beneath the jacket and square-toed work boots covered his feet.

  “So you’re a mechanic as well as a biologist.” I didn’t step back to invite him onto the porch. I didn’t step down to join him on the walk. I enjoyed the view from above and hoped Charm wouldn’t launch a growling attack onto Jacob’s upturned face from a porch rail.

  “I know the basics. Got it going and onto a flatbed tow truck and we brought it to the garage in town. Joseph went over it from hood to bumper. Replaced all the belts and hoses. New tires. Well, fairly new. Greased it up. Fresh oil and gas. He says it’ll run a few more years. I figure it’ll get you through the summer at least,” Jacob said. He’d eased back on his heels and jammed his hands comfortably in his pockets, seemingly in no rush to join me.

  “I can’t even believe it runs. It looked like nature had completely claimed it. How much do I owe?” I asked.

  “Joseph owes Granny. She saved his life when he was born. Breech. She used to midwife a lot back then. Delivered most of the town that age. Joseph figures he wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her expertise.” Jacob had taken a couple of strides forward. But he was still far enough away to be completely normal and not at all remarkable.

  “Maybe I’ll take him some cookies the next time I’m making my rounds,” I said. For some reason an unremarkable distance for others was notable with Jacob Walker. A few feet felt like a few inches.

  “Your mouse came with you,” Jacob said. Sure enough Charm had finished with his acorn and now he stood at the top of the stairs.

  “At least he isn’t growling,” I said, although I didn’t think we were in the clear yet. I noticed distinct tension in the creature beside me. His nose didn’t twitch. His body was still.

  “I could introduce you as a friend. You don’t smell like the wildwood today. He might be confused,” I said.

  “Probably smell like axle grease and engine oil today,” Jacob agreed. “Half a dozen of us worked on the truck all day. Joseph called in a bunch of favors. Then again, lots of folks around here would do anything for Granny. She’s backwoods royalty in these parts.” Then he smiled up at me and I saw nothing but mossy shadows in his eyes even if he was in town. “We are friends, Mel. You can tell him that.”

  I wasn’t sure if Charm would listen or believe me. I also wasn’t sure Jac
ob Walker was my friend, but he had definitely done a huge favor for me today. Or for Granny. But either way I was the beneficiary.

  “Be nice to Mr. Walker, Charm. The wildwood likes him. That should be enough of a character reference for you,” I said. Yet I knew my prickly familiar was taking the lead from me. I liked him. Couldn’t deny it anymore. And liking him made me nervous.

  “We’re having chicken and dumplings for dinner. It’s been simmering on the stovetop all day. You’re welcome to have a bowl before y’all leave for the cabin,” Granny said from the front door. “And you don’t fool me, Jacob Walker. I know you see me as more of a meddling vagabond than a queen.”

  In spite of Granny’s dig, Jacob accepted the invitation and was on the porch and through to the bathroom to wash his hands before I could note anything but a whiff of gasoline in his passing. It was Granny who paused in the hallway on the way to the kitchen. I’d scooped Charm up to pop him back in my pocket and followed the two of them inside.

  “I like him too. But he went away for a long time. Came back different. Like him, but wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him,” Granny muttered as if she could read my mind.

  After that, dinner was a subdued affair. None of us talked much. The food was warm and plentiful, savory as only butter-filled southern fare could be. The chicken was tender and the dumplings turned out to be flaky homemade biscuit dough Granny had dropped in the gravy, dollop by dollop, to boil. I wasn’t sure what Jacob usually ate, but he hadn’t forgotten how to do justice to a home-cooked meal.

  I ate what I could so I wouldn’t hurt Granny’s feelings, but my stomach was tight with nerves. Granny didn’t trust Jacob Walker. That shouldn’t have been a problem for me. I never trusted anyone. But I found it suddenly was. I might still be prickly, but I was drawn to Jacob for reasons way beyond his messy hair and his mossy eyes. I was afraid there was wildwood magic to blame for how I wanted to relax in his company—and Granny really wasn’t going to like that.