Out of Innocence

by Adelaide McLeod

  Hank

  He hadn’t heard that Blackwell was alive. How she wished she could write and tell him--but there was no return address. He had sent along a piece of sheet music, one of his own compositions, titled “If the Rain Falls About You, I Envy the Rain.” Hannah had played it on her violin. There was love and longing in its tender melody.

  The train whistle blew as the train chugged through the bottom land below the garden. The desolate sound echoed her feelings. In all the years, she’d never met the engineer. He was nothing more than a distant, vague image without a face, like an unfinished thought. She wondered about him. Was he desperately lonely or did he have someone waiting for his return, someone who loved him?

  Suddenly, a cold blast of air took Belle from her reverie. A stiff wind came out of the blue and whipped the lazy day to attention. Looking down through the mouth of the canyon, Belle could see a sky full of heavy clouds like dappled grey stallions stampeding toward her, hoofs thundering against the silence, shaking the earth. In seconds, a cloudburst pelted down, hard as ice.

  She dropped her armful of beets and ran in the blinding storm toward the barnyard and the animals. Lightning flared, breaking the sky into jagged, cracked-egg pieces. Torrential rain pelted the hillside sweeping the fragile earth into the river. The swollen creek broke through its banks. Huge chunks of earth gave way to the force of the washout. It swept the spring lambs as they grazed into the swelling river. They bleated in terror. She must save them.

  Belle, soaking wet, shivering from the cold and fear, waded into a shoal at water’s edge. The five lambs that were washed into the turbulence, floundered. They struggled awkwardly attempting to keep their heads above water.

  Brandy stood on the jetty, alert, waiting for Belle to tell him what to do. “Come on, Brandy, we’ve got to save the lambs. Come on boy, help me.”

  The lamb furthest from shore looked pitifully at Belle just before it disappeared in the tumultuous muddy river.

  Belle’s long skirt and petticoats, filled with water, weighed her down. Her leather boots slid off the slippery rocks. She couldn’t get footing. Stretching her arms toward the lambs, she grasped only handfuls of icy water. Plunging forward, she managed to wind her clawing fingers around a lamb’s leg. Then another. She had two of them. Her wet hair dangled over her eyes, as she pulled the struggling wet masses of wool to her body and stumbled ashore.

  Back in the water with Brandy beside her, she went after the other two lambs. Brandy got beyond them, in dangerous water attempting to drive them toward shore. Lightning broke close overhead shattering her confidence. She was no match for the power surging against her legs. Belle grabbed a lamb that was being pulled away into the current just as her feet slipped again. She was caught in the mainstream. The other lamb disappeared. She struggled to keep her head and the lamb’s above the surface. The current swept her downstream and farther out into the river where her feet could no longer touch bottom. Pulled by an undertow, she felt the force of the water pushing her backwards into the bottom of the river bed. Her body grew numb in her tangled clothing.

  Finally surfacing and gasping for air, she realized she was in the middle of the river and Brandy was close beside her. The lamb hung limp as a rag mop in her arms; she had to let it go. She wrapped an arm around Brandy, careful not to drag him under as they were hurled down the river together. Exhausted, she gasped for air and got a mouth full of water. Pushed into the stiffer current, her shoulder struck a rock.

  Was this how she was going to die? Would she find a watery grave like her brother Tommy? How could this river she loved so much do her in? She closed her eyes and could feel Hank’s lips against hers, feel the strength of his arms around her. If only those arms could somehow lift her out of the swollen water. He would someday come back to her and she couldn’t disappoint him.

  Resurfacing at the bend in the river, she caught a glimpse of Brandy a few feet away. She could see the sandbar where she and Hank had picnicked. I’ve got to be here when he comes back, she thought. She mustered new strength she didn’t know she had. She lurched sideways again and again trying to propel herself out of the mainstream.

  Finally, her feet touched river bottom. She grabbed a handful of Brandy’s fur and thrust him toward shore. As her legs collapsed beneath her, she realized they had managed to reach the sand bar. She slumped in exhaustion.

  Rainbows flickered in Belle’s eyelashes as she grew aware that the room was abuzz with people.

  Doc Bumguard blustered, “A close call. Most women wouldn’t have made it. Her body is almost as strong as her will.”

  Someone was holding her hand. She squinted her eyelids part-way open.

  “What on earth was she doing in the river?” Colleen asked.

  Belle roused, trying to find the words to tell Colleen about the lambs but she could only think of Hank who surely spirited her to safety. She mumbled, “Hank, Hank,” and sank back into darkness.

  “A good swig of whiskey will bring her around.” Doc Bumguard’s guttural voice penetrated her cobweb limbo. The pressure of the bottle on her lips helped open her eyes. It was bitter, but she swallowed. She was bundled in blankets on the fainting couch. The room was filled with her neighbors.

  “Oh, thank you, sweet Jesus.” Colleen’s face came into focus. She was holding Belle’s hand where she had entwined her rosary.

  “Colleen. What are these folks doing here?” Belle’s voice rasped.

  “You almost drowned, dear. It’s a miracle you’re alive.”

  “Hank. Is Hank here?”

  “Oh, Belle--" Colleen sucked in her breath and rolled her eyes. “Hank’s been gone for years now.”

  Belle moaned as she closed her eyes and she felt herself sinking.

  What did it matter, then? Life had no meaning without him.

  Doc Bumguard’s booming voice assaulted her dark and quiet place. “She needs to rest now. I’ll drop by tomorrow and see how she’s doing.”

  “I’ll stay with her for a while, now,” Colleen said.

  “See that she takes a few swigs of the whiskey. It’s the best medicine. I’ll come by in the morning and check on her.” The screen door slammed jolting Belle awake. She opened her eyes.

  “Drink this Belle. It will help.” Colleen held the flask to her lips as Belle gulped a sip and then another, and another. “Belle, dear, you scared us spitless. Thank God you are all right. You are, aren’t you?” Belle managed to find a weak smile for her friend.

  The hot wind of midday blew through the lace curtains. Belle kicked free of the down quilt and rolled toward the wall. With eyes half open, she studied the wallpaper’s wild roses and the daisies and traced the graceful winding vine with her index finger. She was in a euphoria that might escape her if she opened her eyes all the way. What a dream it had been. If she tried, could she fall back into it? She often dreamed about Hank but never before had it been so vivid--she could see his face clearly. Maybe it was the whiskey.

  She needed to recount every detail before it faded into the day and couldn’t be pulled back. Grandma Ferguson told her once, “Only the dreams that you recall when you first awake are yours to keep.”

  As she freed her mind, it flowed back into her dream. It was night. A full moon, cradled between the mountains, illuminated the leaves of the locust trees and cast undulating lace patterns across her bedroom wall. She heard soft guitar music--sweet and clear as the night itself. It was a love song remembered from the past. The enchanting music compelled her to get up from her bed. In front of her dresser mirror, she reached into its drawer for the lavaliere her father had given her. As she fastened it about her neck, she could hear her father saying, “Love for a man will some day find you…

  Pushing against the screen door, she stepped out into the moonlight. He was there, smiling at her, holding out a bouquet of wild flowers. He wrapped her in his arms, whispering her name, over and over as though he couldn’t say it enough. He kissed her, and kissed her. The moonlight caught in his vi
olet eyes. Under the stars and to the music of the night, they danced. He took daisies from the bouquet, little daisies, and wove them in her hair, one by one. Caressing her, holding her…

  Suddenly, she grew faint. He gathered her in his arms and carried her to her bed where he held her, where he made love to her, where they became one.

  And then, and then--? That must have been when she was awakened by the noonday heat beating through the open window. Oh, how she wished she could dissolve forever into that dream, but it was gone.

  Belle’s thoughts drifted back to the cloudburst and her “swim” in the river. She’d survived. She’d not dwell on that. She looked at the calendar. Yesterday was the 28th of July. What a way to have spent her 30th birthday.

  Brushing her hair in front of the dresser mirror, she felt a warm euphoric glow. She realized that she was wearing the lavaliere. She’d slept in it. How strange she would have it on now when she’d never worn it before. “It was the whiskey. Heaven knows, it makes folks do peculiar things,” she mumbled to herself.

  She turned to straighten her bed covers. There on the pillow was a wilted daisy…and another…and another.

  Yes, she could smell coffee brewing. She could hear a familiar sound of boots tromping around in the kitchen. Yes, oh yes!

  -the end-