In the Heart of the Dark Wood

by Billy Coffey

  “We found her, Daddy,” Allie said. “We brought Momma home.”

  Epilogue

  It took weeks for the Commonwealth of Virginia to declare what the people of Mattingly had known all along. The bones Allie and Zach had found far in the wilderness of Happy Hollow were those of Mary Louise Granderson, missing and presumed dead since The Storm of 2012. Authorities were puzzled at how even such a powerful tornado could deposit her remains so many miles from town. Allie accepted their doubts with a shrug. She had come to think most anything was possible. All a body had to do was believe enough.

  That the identification took so long was just as well. Allie and Zach spent that Christmas and New Year’s as guests of the Stanley hospital, where a team of doctors, nurses, and motherly townsfolk tended their wounds. Both of them had suffered varying degrees of dehydration and hypothermia. Allie’s injuries—the physical ones, at any rate—reached no deeper than one sprained ankle, two frostbitten feet, and enough pulled muscles that the doctors joked her body was basically a piece of taffy. More cuts and bruises than anyone could count littered her hands and face. It took a week’s worth of hot showers to free her from a grime so concentrated it had formed a second skin. Her woman problem was gone, however, at least for the next thirty days. Based on that alone, Allie thought she’d gotten off easy.

  Zach’s injuries—the physical ones, at any rate—were far worse. The cut on his head had begun to heal before they’d reached town, making stitches impossible. He would wear a jagged scar above his brow for the rest of his life. The blow itself had resulted in a severe concussion. Doctors expressed astonishment that he’d woken at all. Zach told them he was a Barnett. To him, no further explanation was necessary. The cold he’d left town with had bloomed into pneumonia. Those same doctors wanted him moved to a private room. Zach refused. Even there, far from the bear and the woods, he would not leave Allie’s side. A man’s only as good as how he backs up what he says, after all.

  Allie honored that sentiment by refusing to leave the hospital until Zach could go home as well. By then, the nurses had begun whispering that a rental truck would have to be brought in to haul away all the gifts—stuffed animals and balloons and flowers and enough cowboy hats to last Zach until the Rapture. Get well cards from townsfolk and teachers and classmates were piled on the small tables by their beds. Even Lisa Ann Campbell and Touchdown Tommy Robertson made contributions. One stuffed animal in particular had become Allie’s favorite. The large, brown teddy bear with two dark, glassy eyes had come holding a card with only her name on the front. The inside had gone unsigned. Allie had no way of knowing for sure, but the smell of oil and the smudge of grease on the envelope made her believe it had come from Bobby Barnes.

  Among the townspeople who had greeted the children’s return that Christmas Eve night was Mattingly’s doctor, who had seen enough in his long years not to be surprised at all that a boy and girl could survive in such hostile conditions. Doc March was the one who had scooped up the unmoving ball of fur from the travois as Allie and Zach were rushed away. While everyone else celebrated, he carried his patient to his office and did what he could. Some would say the human anatomy is far different from that of an animal. Doc March would say that is true enough, though many of the parts are the same.

  With the help of a veterinarian from the nearby city of Camden, Samwise the Dog was waiting when Marshall and Grace brought Allie home. He’d been fixed with a chew guard that left him looking like a furry radar dish. Doc warned Allie that her dog would always walk with a limp. Allie didn’t mind; all three of them had left something of themselves in the Hollow. Sam licked her face for most of that day and all the days after. Allie spent much of that time telling her dog how much spine he had and how she loved him in his brokenness.

  Jake delivered the news that Mary’s remains had been returned. He and Marshall stood on the Grandersons’ front porch a long while that day. Much was shared between them. Had Zach been there, he would have discovered grown males can indeed cry and still be called men. They parted with a vow to mend what had been torn between them.

  The funeral was held that Friday. Mary’s grave was re-dug, the casket containing the pink tennis shoe removed. Resting atop two chromed rails and a rug of artificial grass was a smaller casket of bones. It was a sad moment, as all burials are. It was also a hopeful one, as all burials should be.

  Allie scanned the gathered for Zach. She couldn’t see him but felt his hand rest upon her shoulder. She heard him whisper in her ear, “You never turned ’round in your dream, did you?” Through her tears, Allie shook her head and smiled. No, she’d never turned around in her dream at all. That’s why she’d never seen Zach. He’d been too close the whole time.

  Marshall donned his best suit for the ceremony. He’d placed his daughter between himself and Grace that whole day, too weary to battle the guilt and warmth he felt for Allie’s teacher. Grace wiped her eyes as the last song was sung through sniffles and tears. Allie slipped a hand into hers.

  The next day—Saturday this was, one so cold that Allie’s toes itched as though remembering—she asked Marshall to drive her and Sam to town. They parked near the square and walked to the sheriff’s office, where Jake and Kate had coffee waiting. Talk was pleasant and warm. Marshall even laughed. Allie thought there would be more of that now, and for the both of them. She thought something always begins when everything else ends, and often what begins is better.

  She found Zach out back, sitting on a bench with his daddy’s old tomahawk in his hand. Beside him rested the same dinosaur book he’d been trying to impress Miss Grace with back in school. He patted the empty part of the bench seat like an old man welcoming his old wife. Allie sat and placed Sam in his lap.

  “Need to show you something,” he said. “You can’t freak out, though.”

  “Okay.”

  He picked up the book (Walking with Prehistoric Animals read the cover) and settled it on his lap, then settled on one dogeared page.

  One look at the picture convinced Allie it was a good thing she had agreed not to freak out. Had Zach not warned her, she would have screamed loud enough to send the whole town running to the back of the sheriff’s office. The artist hadn’t gotten everything right—he’d been good, but not as good as whoever had made her Nativity—but it was close enough for Allie to both smile and mourn. The beast in the picture was on its hind legs. Beside it was a rendering of an adult man. Drawn, Allie believed, for the sole purpose of communicating just how huge the animal was. The man barely reached the bear’s midsection. Allie thought that right.

  It was the same short snout, the same ears. The same massive shoulders and long horse legs, even the same patch of white on the belly. The only thing missing were the red-and-white eyes.

  “Arctodus simus,” Zach told her, and with a confidence that convinced Allie he’d been practicing saying that all morning. “It’s a giant short-faced bear. Used to be all over the country. Grew up to thirteen feet long, ran almost forty miles an hour, and could weigh a ton.”

  Allie read the words as Zach spoke them, trying to follow along.

  “They died out over ten thousand years ago, Allie,” he whispered. “Ain’t supposed to be here no more.”

  “Guess there’s one left.”

  “How?”

  Allie shrugged. “I don’t know, Zach. Maybe whatever light came through its eyes kept it going all this while.”

  Zach closed the book. Allie petted her dog. On the other side of the door, she heard her daddy laugh again. It sounded good, hearing that. It sounded fine.

  “I gotta go do something,” she said. “Won’t take long.”

  “I’ll come.”

  “No, I’ll be okay. You stay here with Sam.”

  “You sure?” he asked.

  Allie nodded.

  Sam whined as she went. Allie took the narrow path between the sheriff’s office and the hardware store, pausing before stepping onto the sidewalk. To say she and Zach had become cele
brities in the past weeks would be like saying The Storm had been a quick shower. Allie herself was convinced sooner or later someone would get the idea of bronzing Sam’s likeness and erecting it right beside Mr. Barney Moore’s, marking the beginning of some sad Mattingly Hall of Fame. She appreciated the attention (and in fact enjoyed it), but that morning she wanted time alone. Downtown was busy, the air clear and buoyant with calls of hello and good morning. It seemed to Allie the true beginning of New Mattingly. That wasn’t so bad. It felt so much like the old.

  She dodged cars and trucks as she crossed the street. Head down, hands shoved into coat pockets. Allie remained that way until she met the shadow of the town tree, still decorated for Christmas. From her pocket she pulled a simple wooden cross. MARY GRANDERSON was carved along the crossbar. A piece of the scarf that had accompanied them through the woods had been threaded through a small hole in the top. Allie looped the string around an empty branch in the tree’s center. Her eyes stung as she stepped back.

  A God with sharp edges still troubled her, and yet Allie knew her mother had died believing that very thing. Had maybe even spent her last moments reaching for Him as she fell from that green-black sky. Allie believed God had caught Mary Granderson at the very end, or at least the part of Mary Granderson that mattered most. The eternal part. Of that, Allie had no doubt. Nor did she doubt that what had fallen away in her own heart could be gathered up again.

  “I love you, Momma.” She felt for the gold cross around her neck. “I’ll find you again someday. I promise. Daddy’ll find you too. You don’t have to send word. We know where you are.”

  Marshall found her sometime later. The two of them stood arm in arm, staring at that small cross. Many in town paused in their coming and going to look. They smiled as their hearts broke and knew that mix of joy and sadness was perhaps the purest thing a person can feel. They let the Grandersons be. There is a great amount of healing that can come from others, but much of it can come only from yourself—and only when allowed.

  They turned back for the sheriff’s office when Marshall said he needed to leave for Stanley soon. It was the one thing Allie would let take them from that spot. Womanhood was teaching her many new things, and among these was that a person could never stop learning so long as he didn’t want to. Grown-ups had schooling for near anything imaginable, including how not to drink. Marshall made the drive from Mattingly to Stanley three nights a week to study just that very thing. Though he often returned red-eyed and sobbing, he told Allie it was the best thing he’d ever done. Often on those nights, Grace Howard would come by and sit with Allie. Miss Grace would often get red-eyed as well. Allie understood.

  Sam sat on her lap as Marshall drove them home. Allie rolled the window down despite the chill, letting her dog sniff the air. The wind swirled in Sam’s collar, making a whumping sound that reminded Allie of helicopter blades. She shuddered both at the memory and the feel of hard winter blowing through her hair. Marshall flipped the switch on the truck’s dash, turning the heat higher. He did not tell Allie to roll the window up before she caught cold, did not ask what she was thinking. Marshall knew. In the weeks since everything had ended and everything else had begun, he had come to believe once more that life could be a wondrous thing. There was pain in it, yes, and often more hurt than one could ever endure on his own. But there was a hidden beauty to it as well, one that ran like a river through the brambles and snares and dark places, and to keep to those smooth banks and follow that current wherever it led was enough to keep him going—to keep him found and never fallen away. Love would carry them through.

  It was such moments that Marshall Granderson longed for, now and always. Tiny bits of time like this one with his daughter, driving home after a trip to town so Allie could say something that felt more like See You Again than Good-bye, stealing glances to marvel at how the sunlight painted the contours of her face to an angel’s glow. It was a good ride that day. Marshall counted it among the three best ever, behind only the drive from church after his wedding and the drive home with his new baby girl.

  They met the neighborhood and their street. Sam woofed and wagged as Marshall waved back to those brave enough to dare the frigid January day. He pulled into the driveway and slipped the gear into park. The truck shuddered and wheezed before settling into a silence like death.

  They both sat quiet, knowing that sometimes there is so much to be said and shared that silence becomes the only proper thing. Allie stroked Sam’s neck and studied the scabs on her fingers and hand. She felt her father’s gaze and turned her head to him. Marshall met her with a smile.

  “Know what I’d like right now just about more than anything in the world?” he asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “Some of your special mac and cheese.”

  “Hot dogs?”

  “You know it.”

  Allie grinned back at him. “It’ll be a masterpiece.”

  They took the steps up the porch with a slow ease. Allie still favored her ankle and leaned on her father’s shoulder to help her along. Marshall held himself strong and smiled once more. He kissed the side of his daughter’s head where a pigtail once was, blinking his eyes as he did. There were times when it still hurt, looking at Allie only to find Mary looking back. It hurt more to deny himself that dark curtain to draw down over his pain. And yet, as they reached the door, Marshall gazed at her nonetheless, and with a pride that humbled him. Allie had taught him much in the weeks since she’d returned, both in the bits of story she shared and the long silences in between. She and Zach had walked through the darkness and found light at the end. Marshall would do the same. He would walk and not stumble. Baby steps, soft and sure, just as they’d climbed onto the porch. Only time can repair the heart. Only time and love.

  He went to his bedroom to put away his coat and boots (leaving the door open as he did; he hadn’t shut himself away in his room once since Allie had come home) while Allie carried Sam to hers. Girl and dog sat side by side in the center of a warm square of sunlight on the bed. Sam pressed his nose against the window. Allie leaned her cheek against the right side of the pane. In the distance, blue mountains climbed and fell in a gentle line that reminded her of a beating heart. Somewhere in that lost land, a bear so ancient it had no business living in this world curled to sleep in a cave that had once sheltered two children and a dog.

  Allie slid the side of her fist over the glass, wiping the fog left by her breath. Sam nuzzled against her. A smile worked its way to her lips—not full, but there just the same. Two plastic figures remained in the front yard. The babe lay in profile atop a bed of painted straw. Only a shock of false hair and the faint ridge of his nose could be seen. The father’s back was to the window. Both of his arms disappeared at the elbows, bent so his hands could join on bended knee. His right shoulder slouched a bit, mimicking the dip of his head. Two effigies pondering their blessings, one looking down in thanks, the other staring up in hope. Allie could not see their faces from where she sat, but she wanted to believe they would remain that way forever. She wanted to believe they were smiling.

  Reading Group Guide

  1. Much of In the Heart of the Dark Wood revolves around the search for a lasting happiness to sustain us in life. Allie in particular is intent upon leaving all the hurt she’s felt behind in the hope of embracing a future without emotional pain. And yet the book makes the point that “a life with pain means more than a life without it.” Do you agree? What do you think this means?

  2. What do you think Allie meant when she told Zach, “Believing’s not something you do, it’s something you are”?

  3. The struggle between doubt and faith is an important one in the book, especially with Allie. She’s known as someone who’s “fallen away” from her faith in God, a fact with which she readily agrees. And yet in many ways, she displays more faith than Zach through the darkwood. Do you agree with her notion that “people who get fallen away” can still believe? In what was Allie’s faith placed?


  4. What changes did Zach undergo to lead him from the beginning of the story, where he thinks it’s his job to protect Allie in the wild, to him carving both his name and hers onto the gate at the end?

  5. Do you fault Marshall for his feelings toward Grace?

  6. Have you ever felt God’s “sharp edges”? Did it lead you away from God or toward Him?

  7. Allie’s view of God is inextricably linked to the tragedy that befell her town in general and her mother in particular, so much so that she sees Him at the beginning as “like the moon, just sitting up there in the sky, watching all that’s going on.” The disadvantages of this way of believing might be obvious, but are there also advantages to believing this?

  8. How is Allie’s compass a metaphor for the faith we are all called to have?

  Acknowledgments

  It feels a little strange that I first said hello to Allie, Zach, and Samwise the Dog while mired in the deep winter of the Virginia mountains, and I say good-bye while overlooking the Atlantic on a hot June morning half a year later. Truth be told, I still think about them. I think about them a lot. If I’ve done my job right, you’ll be thinking about them for a while too.

  This story couldn’t have been written without the help of a talented group of people I’ve been honored to be a part of. Amanda Bostic and LB Norton are the finest editors a writer could have. Kathy Richards provided her usual welcomed guidance, as did my agent, Rachelle Gardner. Jodi Hughes did a masterful job of putting the manuscript to print. And thank you, Elizabeth Hudson, for the daily chore of getting a bumpkin like me out into the world.