Mrs. Cronin waved her dishtowel. “Nothing but a local old wives’ tale about a young man who disappeared into the forest in the eighteen-hundreds on a dark and stormy night, that kind of thing. It used to be a big scare around here I suppose, now it’s more of a joke.”
“But it is in fact based on a true story,” put in Mr. Cronin. “The area historical society, back in the sixties, put out a little book on local history. They researched all the stories, and this one was confirmed. I got the book at the library and read it through, years ago. A few miles up Blackbirch River Road, there is a farm called that was owned by a prominent family over toward East Wentham, and records showed that their oldest son went out hunting and never came back. After that there were sightings, once every few years. Some of them by Wentham’s finest, including a selectman and the headmaster of the grammar school, I think it was—it was years ago I read that book, so I dunno.”
Violet actually managed a laugh—she did like the Cronins so much—and said, “Well, I don’t think it was him. Just some guy on a nature walk, I bet.”
“Well, that’s better than some drunken hunter, shooting guns at everything that moves. I’ll have to go make sure all the posted signs are still up. All these woods used to be open to hunters, and change comes hard in the country. You can only do whatcha can do, right?”
“Do you remember the son’s name? The one who disappeared?”
“Can’t say I do. Too long ago when I read about it.”
Violet smiled, not sure she was disappointed or relieved that her visitor’s name remained a mystery. Her stomach growled, but it was getting late in the day and she had a three-hour drive ahead; so before the growling became audible over Mrs. Cronin’s comfortable fussing, Violet said her goodbyes and headed for the car.
She sat on the seat, aware again of a body soreness that brought the face in the dark back to her awareness. His smile toward her had been unaccountably anxious and happy. Then he had said something—what was it? Something that made her feel that he was a friend, that it was right that he should be there; but it carried a warning as well. What they had talked about, Violet could not now recall in the green light of the rain. Like his frame in the moonlight, his voice seemed to be a shadow on her memory. But it was a voice she wanted to hear, whatever it was saying. Its silence left an aching void, her soul strained for the sound.
But it was gone.
What she had lost—had thrown away—was irretrievable. “Sorry, God. Sorry,” she murmured, and before she could begin to cry again, she started the car and drove the three hours back home, listening to her favorite songs and trying to forget her camping trip.
ANCIENT BITTERNESS
Willis had emerged into wild evening rain.
There was no sign of Violet; and no wonder. She had no shelter. Nor did he. The rain was not cold, but it immediately soaked his linen shirt and woolen waistcoat, and the wind lashed his skin. He sat on the spot where he had arisen. Occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the solitude of the camping spot. He remembered the warmth of her, the way his breath had quickened…
He knew that he was forgotten.
It was no different this night than a hundred years ago—not another living soul knew of his existence, of his loneliness, of his longings and the dreams he had once had; his stories and prayers. Nobody knew his name. God alone—and He seemed very far away just now.
But Willis prayed anyway. “Remember me, O my God,” he breathed.
The storm wind began to die down and the rain simply fell, colder and colder as night wore on. Willis shivered listlessly, living in his mind. As the rain tapered off, a wind of another quality came.
And with it, the silver ones.
They sang sweetly their silver songs. They wisped around him and caressed his arms and bowed head. There was bitter humor in it that grew to silver giggles like bells.
Gossamer hems floated around slender silver feet dancing weightlessly.
She’ll be the bride of shadows
And I will breathe her breath…
Willis stood at the words of the song, and spoke his own back to them:
When faith is greater than that fate
When love’s stronger than envy
When hope outlasts hell’s long hours
When grace will fill the empty
Then I’ll join the living…
He broke off. “I’ve waited a long time, and I’ll not lose patience now.”
False hope, the silver ones seemed to say. Long time? Just a few frail heartbeats. We began to fly the forest when the old ones, the great trees, guarded the hills and the river, and the red people skipped the mountains and lived and loved and died. So well they loved their lives among the great old trees that their hearts were broken as the old ones fell and their bitter cries hung on the wind, until the winds coalesced as the last of the great stands of old ones gave up their breath, and we began to hunger and to fly and to speak. Countless are the leaves that have fallen, countless even the trees that we watched die and the new that grew and were again slain and grew up again.
You, boy, are not the first of our fair young ones.
You know their stories for we have whispered them in your ears many a summer night. Wabinoah of the red ones, Philippe, Benjamin, our golden boy. And now you. They forgot who they were and they run with us now, they fly, but not you. You have stayed with us such a short while, we cannot let you go, our Willis. Not while you still walk, and refuse to fly.
Yet it has been a rare dance for you, as the white ones cut and clear and the next generation allows the trees to grow again. You have been wise to stay away from their verges. That is good, for we want you here with us.
You are the first to win us a bride, Willis Wood. We will take great pleasure in drawing her in to stay with us. Perhaps we will even allow her to take your place.
Willis began to walk, and the night people followed along, circling around him. “She will not be one of you. I will find her. She’ll come back. We will…” He trailed off because he didn’t know what they would do.
We will dance, we will fly!
The night people wafted away merrily into the night like bared teeth into the raw, blowing rain. Willis shivered, chilled bone-deep, but kept walking.
EARTH TO VIOLET
The weeks after Violet’s camping trip were a blur of working long hours for White’s Catering with her friend Kate, who had gotten her the summer job. Kate’s Aunt Caroline owned the business, which was booming with summer weddings, corporate picnics, and family reunions. She twisted her long dark hair into a clip every day, dressed in a white blouse and flowing black trousers and comfortable black loafers (“waitress chic”, she and Kate dubbed the style), and spent the day setting tables, serving food, and clearing tables again; bundling soiled napkins and tablecloths into huge laundry bags, and driving Dad’s old car home with sore feet, her ears replaying the repertoires of the local bands. She and Kate often slept at each others’ houses, but were usually too tired for much by the end of the evening after throwing their uniforms into the washer and hanging them, hot from the dryer, on hangers for the morning. Sunday mornings were for church. Any other few hours they had off, they shopped for things they needed for college. Long work hours with White’s Catering paid off in some ways.
For the first few days Violet wanted desperately to talk to Kate about what had happened to her. They had been through years of youth group in high school and gone to church retreats and Bible studies together. They had even traveled on two missions trips to Mexico together. They had talked deep into the night about spiritual things and their commitment to living their lives God’s way and making choices that honored the Lord… and crushes, and clothes, and music, and everything. So how could she tell Kate that she had lain down with someone she didn’t even know on a hot summer night in the woods? Days slipped by and after a while it seemed like it was too late.
Kate was talking about cutting her straight, red hair. In the middle of
placing wine glass number forty thousand on a round table in a sea of round tables, Violet froze.
July was over.
The natural rhythms of her body’s cycle were never perfect, but Violet was suddenly alarmed. The month of July had come and gone without a sign that those rhythms were in cadence.
Oh, God.
Kate was standing in front of her, saying “Hellooooo, earth to Violet, come in Violet?”
Violet focused on her friend’s face. “Oh, Kate. I am so stupid. I’ve done something—I don’t feel so good.”
Her boss, Caroline White, was passing by, micromanaging, and heard Violet. “Sit down for ten minutes, Violet. You look kind of pale. Are you staying up too late?” Caroline’s cell phone warbled and she was off weaving between tables again.
Violet sank into a folding chair, still clutching an empty wine glass. Kate glanced over at Caroline, who was several tables away by now, and squatted down at Violet’s knee. In a hushed tone, she asked, “Vi, what is it? You can tell me anything, you know that.”
“I know. I should have told you three weeks ago, but—I just couldn’t believe—and I thought, how could I explain myself—when I’m not even sure—aaggh!!” She plunked the wine glass on the table and put her hands on her knees, facing Kate squarely. “Remember I went camping a few weeks ago? At my grandparents’ old farm? Kate, I met this guy. I slept with him. I mean, I don’t know him, I don’t know who he is, and I don’t know what happened, I—I let him have his way with me! There, I said it, and I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner, because I’m no closer to forgiving myself and I could really use a friend.”
Kate’s eyes were wide, but her gaze was steady. “Did this guy force you?”
“No, that’s just it. I know I was completely willing and I just don’t get how I could have done that.”
Kate glanced around again quickly, and leaned toward Violet. “Violet, you made a mistake. I mean, I am surprised, but you’re not the first or the last to give in to temptation. No wonder you’ve seemed so down lately!” Kate glanced around quickly. “You can talk to me, Violet. But it’ll have to be later.” Kate rose and hugged Violet around the neck. “We’d better get back to work. Here comes Aunt Caroline.”
Violet sighed. The relief she felt from telling Kate drained away when she realized that there was so much more to be said, and forty thousand more wine glasses to be placed on a sea of tables with white cloths and burgundy napkins. Each one reminded her of a stain on a worn and dirty white sundress hidden at the bottom of her laundry hamper.
When Violet got home she went straight to the hamper and dug out the old dress. Her first thought had been to throw it in the trash. But she stopped half way to the trash basket. The dress had too many memories. The cloth was so soft and she loved the tiny tucks and details… Instead, she took it to the bathroom and scrubbed at the bloody stain with cold water and hand soap. To her surprise, it faded considerably. The more she scrubbed, the better she felt. She could wear the friendly old dress again. While she was at it, she soaped and scrubbed at the dirty hem, as well. Then she threw it in the laundry with her uniform shirt and some other things.
She listened to Switchfoot on the new music player she had bought for college and sat by the washing machine re-reading The Hobbit until the wash cycle was finished. She threw the things in the dryer and took a shower. Kate called and they talked for a long time. She read more of The Hobbit. About the time that Bilbo escaped Gollum’s lair with the magical ring, the dryer buzzed. Violet folded her clean clothes, went up to her room and changed into the white dress, which was pure and white again, if a little more frayed at the hem.
She hovered by her bedroom door. Sooner or later she was going to have to talk to Mom and Dad. Even if she wasn’t pregnant. In fact, she wanted Mom to help her take a pregnancy test. She wanted them to know what happened, maybe help her understand how she could have succumbed so easily. Was this what it was like? Life, love, temptation, everything?
“Jesus,” she breathed. It was a prayer. “Oh Jesus.”
Something made her know certainly that she was not pregnant. She ran back to the bathroom, sobbing like the heartbroken with both relief and regret.
WATER OVER STONES
After her crying jag in the bathroom, she discovered several calls unanswered on her cell phone from Kate. There was also one from her boss, Caroline White. She phoned her boss first.
“Hi Vi, how are you feeling? ‘Cause you sound like you’re getting a cold, are you? You sure? Good, ‘cause I actually really need you tomorrow at, like, six o’clock. A.M., that is. All right? Great.”
She called Kate, and they agreed they better go to bed and they’d see each other tomorrow.
That was how the few weeks of summer seemed to go. Then she was packing and shopping for college, which she was no longer excited for. She had never finished going through her old things—not that her parents needed her bedroom for anything, she just had wanted to leave it more in order. That there was unfinished business in her life was a feeling she couldn’t shake. And dreams continued to haunt her.
She and her parents wrote off her depressed state to leaving the nest.
So she found herself hugging them tightly and then waving goodbye at the parking lot of her dorm at Springfield Bible College. When they drove off she found herself thunderstruck at the loneliness that overwhelmed her, and she ran to the old car Dad had given her and ducked inside to cry inconsolably, fingering the small, worn wooden heart that dangled from her key chain.
When she could finally collect herself, she went back to her room.
Her roommate had put her things away while Violet was at a restaurant with her parents, but had apparently gone out. Violet opened the tiny closet and saw that the right half of the closet had been left for her; the left side was hung with black, long, lacey things of varying textures and fabrics. When she looked at them, touched the sleeves briefly before hanging up her own things; they seemed to speak to her mood, to echo it. She hoped that Susan was into sharing clothes. Closest to the filmy, dark things she hung the old white dress.
Susan came in with a waft of patchouli as Violet was lining up her new textbooks along the shelf above her desk. Violet was so glad she didn’t gush “Hey Roomie!” or something else equally high-spirited. Instead she seemed equally content to greet Violet and then leave her to her own thoughts. After twenty minutes or so of puttering and arranging, Susan came over to Violet’s bed with a photograph.
Violet glanced at it, and smiled up at her questioningly. “That’s him. Who I’m moping over. How about you?” Violet noticed how dark her lipstick was, how pale it made her face look.
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” said Violet, taking the picture. The dark-haired boy in the photo smiled slightly against a brick wall background. His arms were crossed. Violet looked closely and thought perhaps he was wearing an earring in his eyebrow.
“Really?” Susan took the picture back. “I would have thought…”
“What’s his name?”
“Tristan. He’s going to SUNY. Since last year. Mom and Dad didn’t think I was ready for the big city, and they don’t like him, so… here I am. What’s your story?”
Violet sighed. “I guess I’m just feeling bad for Mom and Dad. I was the baby princess of the family. Now I’m just another lame-o freshman. Even though I actually wanted to come here. Not a city person, I guess, and Mom and Dad met here, and they wanted me to go here, at least for a couple years, and maybe transfer when I know more what I want to do.”
“I know what I want to do. Be with Tristan. When he graduates. Actually, I’d like for it to happen a lot sooner. Anyway, what classes are you taking?”
“Basic stuff, English Comp, Psych 101, like that. I’m thinking of being a teacher. I don’t know, I guess I’m just a little overwhelmed. I can’t seem to get myself in gear lately, but I guess I need to now.”
“And there’s no guy, huh? You sure?”
Violet turned her head awa
y because her throat was unaccountably tightening. Susan looked at her for a moment, but decided to let it pass.
Both girls fell silent and continued arranging their things. A knock and a call at the door informed them that orientation was starting in 15 minutes. They walked down to the auditorium together.
Classes, and reading, and choir practice kept Violet busy and running for days, and she fell exhausted on her narrow bed. She welcomed the mind-numbing pace and activity. Susan slept longer hours than her so she had her time and mind clear in the mornings to have her quiet time of Bible reading and prayer.
A Friday morning in late September, she was rooting in her bottom drawer for a sweater against the crisp morning. Susan had risen early to pack for a weekend road trip. She came in from the shower, smelling of shampoo and steam, wrapped in her black satin bathrobe.
She stood before the mirror combing and tossing her dark curls and said, “You know you talk in your sleep a lot?”
Violet found the chocolate-brown sweater she sought and pulled it on. “Sorry, Susan, but you snore.”
“I told you I did that first night. Sorry. But I mean, you talk a lot. And Violet, I know you cry a lot too.” She opened her makeup case and began applying foundation. “I’m here, if you want to talk. I mean, right now, because we have class.” She turned and faced Violet.
Violet sat down at her desk and opened her bookbag. She had been going to load it for the day, but she just stared at the empty darkness of the open bag.
“Susan, I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with me. This isn’t me. I’m not… complicated like this. And I wish I could say what it is I’m crying about and talking about in my sleep, ‘cause I’d like to know.” Her throat tightened. “I feel like a piece of me is missing. Like there’s this hole in my life.”
Blackbirch Woods Page 9
