She's Gone: A Novel

by Emmens, Joye

  Jolie’s smile faded and jealousy rose through her. Her mood eclipsed across her face. She wasn’t sharing him.

  “Don’t worry,” Grace said. “I’m not going after your man.”

  Jolie relaxed. Of course she wouldn’t. They were friends, weren’t they?

  A moon dance was planned on the knoll for the late September full moon. Preparations lasted two days. The men slaughtered a goat and roasted it. The woman prepared special dishes. It started with a banquet at the summer kitchen. Lanterns and candles glowed in the night. Joints were passed around and the air was pungent with smoke. Homemade elderberry wine flowed into glasses.

  Mark toasted. “To Free People. We’re all here because we embrace freedom. Freedom to live how we wish. Freedom to express our love for each other openly.” As he spoke of love, his gaze was intent on Jolie.

  Jolie inched closer to Will and watched the group. The mood was vibrant. Laughter and light-hearted conversation filled the air. They feasted on roasted goat, brown rice, and fresh vegetables. After they finished the last bite of Indian pudding, they streamed to the knoll in a small procession, following the drummers and guitar players.

  A circle formed, and a fire was lit in the rock ringed pit. Will and other musicians sat on the ground and began to play. Jolie stood alone and watched from the shadows as the dancing started. The gypsy sound of the tambourine wove together with the guitars. Jasmine and Grace whirled by with the others. The two toddlers twirled in and out of the dancers. The music was hypnotic.

  She was aware of a tall presence next to her. She glanced over. It was Mark. She looked back to the dancers. His hand found the small of her back. She didn’t dare pull away. She could handle him. He led her to the middle of the dance circle and held her around the waist. He pulled her toward him. They moved together slowly in the shadows. His hands were strong and warm. He began to caress her hips and her waist. His hands moved up her back.

  “I’ve been watching you these past weeks,” Mark said, pulling her closer. He was hard against her. “So innocent. Tonight you look like a moon goddess.”

  He cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her head so her eyes met his. Her throat closed, and she couldn’t speak. His other hand was on the small of her back, pressing her toward him. She held her breath.

  “I’m going to name you Moonchild.”

  He pulled her closer, leaned down, and kissed her on the mouth. Her body stiffened. His beard was soft, and he smelled of wood smoke and elderberry wine. She arched away, but he pulled her to him, their bodies pressed tight. He was Jasmine’s man. She wanted to get away.

  “She’s my woman, Mark,” Will spoke from behind her.

  Mark released her from his kiss but not his hold. “No, she’s her own woman here.”

  Jolie disentangled herself and moved toward Will. His fit body stood tall like a warrior.

  “I’ve been named Moonchild.” She exhaled the words, relieved by her rescue.

  “You’ll always be Little Wing to me. Come dance with me.” Will pulled her toward him and into the vibrating dancers.

  While she didn’t like Mark and his unwanted advances she did like the name. She felt like a Moonchild.

  Will kissed her and then leaned into her ear. “Just remember, you’re mine, all mine.”

  5

  The Moonstone

  The Circle of the Universe was started one day after lunch. Mark, Jasmine and Jade organized everyone into a circle.

  “The circle is the symbol of perfection,” Jasmine said. “We come together as equals. No one stands higher or apart from the others.”

  “There is no beginning and no end,” Mark said.

  “Our unity is more powerful when we clasp hands,” Jade said. “Alone we’re a single star, together we’re a galaxy.”

  Jolie stifled a laugh. They were serious. Will squeezed her hand. If she looked at him she would lose it.

  And so the weekly circle was born. It was used to discuss what had been accomplished that week and by whom. Crazy Bob started a list of what needed to be done and wrote down who volunteered to do it. “Who wants to cut firewood this week?”

  There were no takers.

  “We need to get another vehicle running,” Crazy Bob said.

  “How about it, Will?” Mark said.

  Will shook his head. “I don’t know anything about repairing cars.”

  Jolie fought back a smile. Will had a degree in political science not engine mechanics.

  “Put him on firewood then,” Mark said to Crazy Bob, “with Sky and River. We need to build up the winter stockpile.”

  Everyone’s weaknesses were exposed. Jolie volunteered for a number of chores, intent on pulling the weight for the both of them.

  One afternoon, Will found her in their shack at the wobbly wooden table. She had created her own herbalist notebook with a chart. She leaned over the notebook, meticulously recording every herb and root and its corresponding culinary, medicinal or cosmetic use. Will came up behind her and wrapped her in his arms.

  “You smell so good,” he said.

  “Lemon balm. I made a skin cleanser. I’m going to make some for all the women.”

  “You work too hard,” he said.

  At least he had noticed. “All of the women do. But this doesn’t feel like work and I’m learning.”

  “You’re learning more here than you ever would at school.”

  “Maybe.” She was careful not to complain or contradict him and set him off in a bad mood as she had when she questioned the ranch and their plans. He had been cold to her for two days. She had never felt lonelier.

  Every day after chores Jolie retreated to the stream or meadow to practice meditation. Meditating became a retreat from the commune, away from the groups and endless debates. At the start of each meditation her chattering thoughts were anything than peaceful. Her mind strayed to her parents. What were they doing? Would they find her? What would the ranch family do if they found out she was underage? Would Mark or another man make a move on her? How long were they going to stay there? She tried to bring her attention back to the rise and fall of her breath and silently chanted om. Eventually the torrent of worries slowed to a trickle. Meditating calmed her troubled mind and brought her some peace and strength.

  Jolie woke one morning in mid October with violent stomach cramps. She hurried to the outhouses near the main house. It started with diarrhea, and then she began to vomit. She couldn’t leave the outhouse. Did someone not boil the water long enough or not at all? Jasmine constantly reminded them about the risk of waterborne illness from the stream and her dad had taught her not to drink out of streams. But not everyone was diligent. Or maybe it was from undercooked food. Or was she pregnant?

  Two hours later Will walked down to the main house looking for her. She lay in the grass near the outhouse, weak, grasping her stomach.

  “What’s the matter Little Wing?” He bent down beside her and brushed the hair from her forehead.

  “My stomach.”

  She got up and went to the outhouse again. She emerged a while later and sank into the grass in a small heap, racked with severe cramps. Will scooped her in his arms and moved her away from the outhouse and the ever present smell.

  He stood over her, his eyes wild with concern. “I’m going to find Jasmine. She’ll make you a tea.”

  She didn’t have the energy to respond. Her head ached, her body ached, her stomach heaved in violent cramps. Another wave came. Will took off in a run toward the summer kitchen.

  He returned panting and wrapped her in a blanket. He sat with her on the grass, and held her limp body.

  Jasmine arrived with tea. “Drink this. It’s made with raspberry leaves, mint, golden seal, and Oregon grape root. It’ll fix you right up.”

  Jolie sipped the tea. Will held her and urged her to drink more. Nothing staye
d down and her cramps grew in severity. Late afternoon, when she had nothing left but dry heaves, Will and Jasmine moved her from the meadow to an upstairs bedroom in the main house. Will tried to cheer her and played the guitar.

  “Please stop.” The jangle of noise hurt her head. She closed her eyes and drifted in and out of sleep.

  Jasmine came back later. “The herbal tea doesn’t seem to be working,” Will said. “Is she pregnant?”

  “Not with these symptoms. Some newcomers get this, and it usually lasts about three days.” Jasmine laid a cold wash cloth on her forehead.

  She was burning up, and it was cool on her skin. “Thanks, Mom.” Her eyes remained closed against the searing light.

  “It’s me, Jasmine.”

  Her eyes fluttered open. Jasmine? She had been back in her room at home. Her mom had brought the cold wash cloth. “Oh, Jasmine,” she whispered through dry lips. She wanted her mom.

  She lay in the main house for days, dehydrated despite Will and Jasmine’s efforts to get her to drink. She couldn’t hold anything down and was not getting better.

  One afternoon she awoke to whispers. Jasmine and Will smiled down at her. “I think you have a waterborne disease because it’s lasted so long,” Jasmine said. “It’s probably cryptosporidiosis, a protozoan parasite, working its way through your body.”

  “Doesn’t that need treatment?” Will asked.

  “Hydration and the tea I’ve been making should help,” Jasmine said.

  Fatigued and listless, she felt like dying. She closed her eyes and floated off to sleep, beautiful sleep.

  When she awoke, Will was sitting in the chair by the bed writing in his leather notebook. “Are you writing a song?” she whispered.

  “No, just notes for the socialist revolution.” He set his notebook down. “How are you?” He moved to the bed, sat down and propped her up. “I’m so worried about you.” He held a cup of broth to her lips. She took a drink and lay her head back on his arm. He stroked her head and cheek.

  “I’ll be fine.” He leaned in to hear, her voice but a scarce whisper. “Go find your buddies. You don’t have to stay here all of the time.” She knew he thrived on the political debates and ranch camaraderie. Her eyes closed from the effort. He lay her back down.

  “You have to get better, Little Wing.”

  He kissed her on the forehead and then she felt a breeze wash over her face. Her eyes opened and she saw that he was fanning her with his notebook. She smiled faintly and closed her eyes. He was a good man. Sometime later she heard the door close.

  Jasmine and Grace stopped by as often as possible but they had chores. It was harvest time and the ranch women were in high gear canning vegetables in both kitchens. The upstairs bedroom was unbearably hot but she was too weak to move.

  The days and nights merged together. She had lost track of time. One day it seemed to be late afternoon. Murmurs and quiet laughter drifted up through the window. What was Will doing? She turned to look out the rusty screen. All she could see were evergreen trees. Was he talking with the other women? Was he off with another woman? He was the handsomest man at the ranch, and he captivated everyone. No, but he loved her and would be faithful. She wouldn’t waste energy on jealousy. Who could blame him for not staying in this hot room in the middle of the day with her? She longed to sit on the porch and watch the comings and goings of the ranch, but she was too weak to move. Everything had a dreamlike feeling. Sleep overtook her again.

  One evening, during the second week of her illness, she woke to find Will, Mark, Jasmine, Grace, and Crazy Bob standing around her bed gazing down at her.

  “How are you, Little Wing?”

  Was she dreaming? Will’s voice and his touch felt real on her cheek. “I’m a little weak.”

  “Everyone’s concerned about you,” Grace said.

  “After dinner tonight we had a family meeting,” Mark said. “We think someone should take you to the hospital in Shasta.”

  Jolie looked at Will. What did he think? What about the authorities? They were certainly looking for them. Her parents had seen them together on the news, protesting, and her friend Zoe would have told them about Will. By now they would have pieced together that she was with him.

  “Do you want to go to the hospital?” Jasmine asked, stroking her arm.

  Jolie probed Jasmine’s eyes. She trusted Jasmine’s knowledge of natural medicine. She’d seen her cure others. She tried to clear the fog in her mind. It would be a disruption for someone to drive her out in the Power Wagon and stay with her at the hospital. Since they’d arrived at the ranch, no one had driven out. There also could be a problem, a missing person photo of her and a wanted photo of Will. Neither of them had any idea what awaited them out there but she couldn’t voice those concerns to the ranch family. They were living there on a false pretense. She continued to probe Jasmine’s eyes while her mind swirled. “What do you think?”

  Will took Jolie’s hand. “No, it’s up to you, Little Wing.”

  She never wanted to burden anyone. “Give me a couple days,” Jolie whispered.

  Jasmine nodded. Jolie closed her eyes and heard them leave the room. Hushed voices murmured outside her door.

  “We can’t lose anyone here. Everyone keep a close eye on her,” Mark said. “I’ll drive her out myself if I have to.”

  “She has a strong spirit. She’ll pull through,” Jasmine said.

  Jolie felt like dying and was too weak to care. What if she died, there at the end of the road, at the ranch? Would anyone contact her parents? If no one did they would never know what had happened to her. Guilt washed over her. “Please forgive me,” she whispered in the dark.

  Will came back with broth and helped her sit up to drink. He stayed with her and furiously scribbled in his notebook as she floated in and out of sleep.

  Later that night, the door creaked open. Mark and Jasmine slipped in with tea. They sat on either side of her bed. Jolie was awake but listless. Will helped her drink and held the cup between sips.

  Mark handed Jolie a small leather pouch. “This is for you.”

  “What is it?” She struggled to open the pouch. Inside was a green, milky stone, the size of a nickel. She held it in her palm. It shone in the kerosene lamp light.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  “It’s a moonstone for our Moonchild. It’s associated with moon goddesses,” Mark said.

  “Its energy can ease illness and balance upsets,” Jasmine said. “It protects travelers from danger.”

  “Use it to draw in your desires. Moonstones can be used to extend the power of the moon into daylight hours,” Mark said.

  Jolie smiled at them for the first time in two weeks. She wrapped her hand around the smooth green stone.

  “Thank you.” Her eyes closed as she clutched the talisman and drifted off to sleep.

  6

  Winter in Two Moons

  Three days later, Will held Jolie’s arm as she wobbled downstairs. Will went to tell everyone the good news. Grace made her mint tea, and they sat at the kitchen table and ate goat milk yogurt with honey and blackberries. Grace filled her in with the ranch gossip.

  Later, Jolie sat on the porch outside the main house soaking up the weak October sun. She read Jasmine’s book, The Wisdom of Buddha. The moonstone, in its small leather pouch, hung around her neck on a thin leather lace beneath her blouse.

  That evening some of the group sat around the fire pit after dinner. It was getting colder as the days passed. Will and Jolie shared a log bench as Will strummed his guitar.

  “My vision is to create a higher culture, a true Shangri-La,” Mark said.

  Jolie could see Mark’s s face in the firelight. A Shangri-la? What would that look like?

  “But that won’t change society or our capitalist government,” Will said, impatience rising in his voice
.

  “This is our society and politics are not part of it,” Mark replied. “We don’t want to be part of the outside world.”

  Jolie shifted. She couldn’t wait to leave the ranch and join the outside world.

  Jade sat down next to Jolie. “Our Moonchild is back. Everyone was worried about you.”

  Jolie smiled and touched the moonstone in the leather pouch. “Thanks, I’m better now.”

  “Does anyone know when Allen and Haley are coming back?” Will asked.

  “They’d be crazy to come back now,” River said. “Winter is in two moons.”

  Two moons? Two months? The conversation livened. The group that had survived the previous winter, their first, began to share stories. River, Sky, Crazy Bob, Mark, and others told stories of being cold, extremely cold. They’d run out of basic supplies, delivered a baby, and watched record snowfall pile up four feet deep. They shared the tale of Mark and Crazy Bob’s heroic trek out by foot to get supplies.

  “A four-wheel drive is useless here in the snow. The road is too steep.” Mark said.

  The group started to plan for the coming winter. Jolie tried to imagine four feet of snow where they sat. How would someone get to the hospital in the winter? Staying in the miners’ shack was out of the question. There was no insulation, and the roof had holes. Did the main house have room for everybody? She tried to imagine Will stuck at the ranch all winter. It would be claustrophobic with so many egos.

  “We need to make a food run to San Francisco now that we know what to expect,” Jasmine said. “Maybe two runs.”

  The discussion turned serious. No one wanted to endure the bitter cold and meager food conditions of the previous winter. Now there was a baby, two toddlers, and two pregnant women that would give birth that winter. Mark and a few others started planning the trip to San Francisco to load up on supplies.

  Jolie glanced at Jasmine sitting between the two pregnant women. Why wasn’t she going on the trip? Wasn’t she screaming to get out of there for a trip to civilization to buy books and eat some decent food? And it dawned on her. The pregnant women needed her. Jolie looked around at the faces in the firelight, the ranch family. They really did care for each other. But aside from her friendship with Jasmine, she had never felt comfortable there. She inched closer to Will. Their visit had turned into a lengthy stay, and now winter was almost upon them. She felt trapped. A shiver went up her back.