Thistle and Twigg

by Mary Saums

  “How terrible,” I said and shuddered. “That’s not a very happy story for right before bed.”

  “It’s the way it was,” Cal said. “It happened all over, not just here.” We sat a while without speaking before Cal finished the story. “The chief dug their graves himself. He laid his daughter and Charlie in the ground next to each other. In Little Wren’s palm, he placed an acorn and closed her fingers around it. He put a maple seed in Charlie’s hand and did the same. A year later, the chief and what was left of the tribe had a special ceremony of thanks when they saw the shoots of new saplings coming out of the graves. They celebrated because, to them, Charlie and Little Wren and their love for each other were still alive.”

  I brushed a tear off my cheek and the night slipped quietly away as we sat. We sipped the rest of our tea, looking out over my yard and across to Cal’s land. His thoughts became increasingly disjointed and slower as he tired, and he began to mumble strange things again. I could hear and remember only one such soliloquy, which sounded like another of his Cherokee poems. He translated for me: “In a dark moon, when the stars touch the earth, the Old Ones come down, to help the People.” We sat in the quiet as golden lights of fireflies blinked on and off in the dark as they hovered over my yard and the meadow across the road.

  Cal sighed and rose slowly from his chair. “I reckon Homer and I need to get on home. I do thank you for the tea and the kind hospitality. Been a long time since I’ve had such a good talk.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “You’re most welcome to visit anytime. And Homer as well, of course.” Homer had risen when Cal did. They both moved slowly down the porch steps into the yard.

  Cal looked up. “Would you like to come over to our place in the morning? There’s some things I believe you’d enjoy seeing. Things you’d appreciate.”

  I was stunned and overjoyed. “I’d love to,” I said before he could change his mind.

  “Good.” His head hung down and his voice trailed off to a whisper tinged with sadness. “Good.” We set a time to meet and said our good-byes before Cal and Homer crossed the road to go home.

  Cal was no longer in view but I heard the faint crunch of gravel as he walked toward home. His humming grew louder then he once again broke into song. A little farther on, I could hear the muffled cry of Homer, howling along as he joined in on the chorus.

  I took my time washing up the dishes. With a contented sigh, I walked up the staircase, pausing to look over my living room. I had left an old-fashioned desk lamp on in the far corner of the room. Its light shone softly over familiar chairs, tables, and the few decorative pieces I’d become attached to over the years. I sighed again and continued up to the bedroom thinking, So nice to be home.

  I tossed about in bed, turning my back to the alarm clock, when I heard a noise downstairs. It was a soft sound, like a single drip of a faucet. I lay still and quiet, but heard nothing for a long minute, during which time I convinced myself that I’d heard nothing at all in the first place.

  Weary deep in my bones after the long day, I could feel my body relaxing and my mind crossing over to dreams, then to sleep. I barely heard the second droplike tap downstairs. Just before I drifted off, I thought whatever it was could drop to its heart’s content until morning. I was much too tired to fix a leaky faucet in the middle of the night.

  six

  Jane Tours Cal’s Land

  The loud chirping of birds outside woke me very early Still tired from all the excitement of the previous day and late night, I got up nonetheless, anxious to have my breakfast and set out to visit Cal’s land.

  I looked out my upstairs window to see the sun rising over the treetops and coming gently to rest in my backyard. I hurried into my running gear and downstairs with only a quick stop for my morning ritual of water with lemon, then out into the fresh morning.

  Once again, a hint of fall hung in the air. I breathed in as much of it as I could, held it, and let it out slowly. Never have I enjoyed stretching into a sun salute so much as on this morning, the first in my new home. After a short series of more stretches, I set out on my morning walk.

  The Colonel saw to it that I kept in shape. He was something of a fanatic about it, actually and also when it came to teaching me self-defense. His favorite method of instruction was through sneak attacks to test my instincts and reflexes. If you’re familiar with the Pink Panther movies in which Cato does the same to Inspector Clouseau, you have the idea.

  Mornings are when I miss the Colonel most, for that was when we always ran together through the streets of whatever city we happened to be in. When his health began to decline and he was unable to accompany me, I found I ran less, opting for a run-walk combination. It was difficult watching age catch up with him. I thought of him as invincible. More and more, I slowed my pace until my treks became strolls. Age seemed to be catching up with me as well. Now at sixty-seven, I rationalized it was time to stop pushing myself, that I should be content to walk at leisure.

  This first morning in Tullulah, while watching the passing scenery of woods and fields, I felt young again. The sounds of early morning birds chirping with no competition from vehicles, machinery, or other aural assaults of city life absolutely invigorated me. I found myself wanting to step up my pace, to sprint out to a point up ahead as I had done so many times racing the Colonel. I quickened to a slow run. My body informed me straight away that this must be a gradual process, now that the old heart was a bit out of practice. I returned to the house, out of breath but happier than I had been in a long time.

  After pouring another glass of water and lemon, I set the coffeepot to brew and stepped outside onto the stone patio just beyond the back porch. It had been my intention to go through my Tai Chi routine there. However, once on it, I realized the surface was too uneven. I decided instead to try a small clearing between three oak trees near the edge of my lawn. It was perfect, just the right amount of space to do my moves comfortably. Once in the movements, my mind and body seemed to leave the world and drift among the high branches of the oaks.

  Time reversed. The cool breeze carried me back, the years flying past, as if it were the same breeze I’d felt many years before, learning the slow movements in a San Francisco park not long after the Colonel and I married, the beginning of my life. And here, in the fresh air moving over mountain woods and springs, my arms moved in circles, like everything in life, and came around to start again.

  On my return to the kitchen, I thought I might bake a pan of biscuits. I’d have a few with coffee then take the rest in a tin to Cal. After his night of drinking, they might be just the thing for a light breakfast. I turned from the stove and stepped toward the pantry where I’d put a new sack of flour.

  I’d reached the center of the floor when something crunched underfoot. With a quick step back, I looked down to find I’d crushed a tiny acorn. I couldn’t believe my eyes. In addition to it, another sat beside it, whole, having escaped its brother’s fate. I blinked and pushed my glasses up hard against the bridge of my nose for a clearer look.

  Surely these had not been here the night before. I’d swept the floor clean before Cal’s visit and afterward had gone straight to bed. Then I remembered the sounds I’d heard in the night. Could these tiny things have been the cause? A check of the faucets in the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom sink and tub yielded no leaks. As I returned to the kitchen, I surmised that a chipmunk or squirrel must have come inside while the doors were left open for the furniture to be moved in. Apparently, my visitor was thoughtful enough to bring a gift. I would have to leave the door open again so the little fellow could get out, if he was indeed still inside.

  With rich coffee and a couple of biscuits in me, I grabbed the tin of extras. I’d located my binoculars the night before and put them out so I wouldn’t forget them. I scooped them up along with a small wire-bound notebook and set out for my day’s adventure. To my surprise, Cal was there at his gate, waiting on me.

  We began to laugh and talk all at
once. Homer joined our conversation in barks and woofs that, on occasion, had an astounding resemblance to speech.

  “Hush, Homer,” Cal said. “You’ll have to excuse him. He gets to talking sometimes and don’t know when to quit.”

  Cal was remarkably sober and quite chipper. Both he and Homer gratefully accepted the biscuits. They didn’t last long after we set out, for both man and dog were typical males, always hungry. We followed Homer, who stopped and sniffed occasionally, on a path leading into the woods.

  While we talked, I could see quickly that Cal was not only well educated, but quite a gentleman. What a difference since the night before. Without the liquor, his speech lost much of its country flavor and he stood straighter, giving the look of a younger man.

  It made me wonder if his unkempt appearance and “hermit” ways were a ruse to fool me, and perhaps all the townsfolk of Tul-lulah. Perhaps, like myself, he too wanted only to be left in peace. If so, he had certainly gone to the extreme in order to accomplish it.

  Before we reached the trees, I saw two boulders in the field to our left. My first thought was of small standing stones, like ones I’d seen in England, those great rocks moved into place in ancient times for religious rites. On top of the boulders, each about three feet high, bottles and cans had been placed in rows.

  “That’s my practice range,” Cal said. “Do you shoot?”

  “Yes, but haven’t done in some time. I need a bit of practice now that I’m living out in the wild.”

  “Come out here and shoot anytime you like. Behind the rocks is the bluff. There’s nothing else around to hit by mistake.”

  I immediately thought of Phoebe. “Would tomorrow be too soon? I’d like to bring a friend, if that’s all right.” I took another look at the boulders. Phoebe had been so generous in giving me the blanket. Considering her new interest in bullets, I thought a shooting lesson might be a small way to repay her.

  He hesitated. “No offense, but I don’t usually let strangers wander around.” He rubbed his chin, thinking intently.

  “It’s quite all right. I understand perfectly.”

  Cal stopped and looked at me. “But if it’s a friend of yours, and you promise not to wander off the trails, I reckon it’s okay.”

  “Oh, thank you. We’ll not stray.”

  A grin lit Cal’s face. “Okay. Come on. Homer’s beating us.”

  We stepped into the woods where to either side of us stood fir and pines. Cal told me his family had owned thousands of acres around here at one time, and that his great-grandfather was one of Tullulah’s founders. After more and more immigrants settled in the area, and towns and cities sprang up along the river, the Prewitt family’s land holdings had dwindled to this relatively small parcel of one hundred acres.

  “Lots of folks have tried to buy this from me. I never budged. My granddaddy told me ever since I was a boy, ‘Son, sell down by the river if you need to, but don’t ever sell up here. Tsaluyi Udelida— it means Secret Forest. The Cherokee and Chickasaw, Yaquis, Shawnee, who knows what other tribes before them, came here for important ceremonies, not far from where we’re standing.”

  Looking to either side, I thought it quite an appropriate name. The white rays of sunlight filtering down to the leaf-strewn forest floor certainly had the look of secret enchantments to me. I half expected to see the wizard Merlin or some native shaman step out from behind a wide tree trunk.

  I breathed in the thick evergreen air from the cedars and pines as birds chipped from high above. Hearing their bewitching melodies, I thanked Cal’s forebears who gave me this moment by insisting the forest be preserved.

  We came out of the trees to a sloping flat area. I gasped, looking out over the bluff where we stood to the scene below.

  Far below, a bend of the Tennessee River flowed between rolling hills and the variant textures of crops and fields. The squares and rectangles of soy and cotton ranged in color from emerald to light sea green. Red patches of tilled land stretched out, waiting their turns next spring. The river sparkled in the morning sun, moving swiftly as it narrowed over jutting rock beds and white-capping before rolling out of view. I could see combines in the distance throwing dust up in their wakes, and beyond them, pastures with horses and cows.

  “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” I said feeling truly overwhelmed. I turned around toward Cal and the forest behind him when I was struck by a different beauty. Surely most people would say I was daft, that the sight of a poorly groomed, derelict-looking old man and his dog of mixed parentage was a beautiful one.

  But I tell you, it was. The outward gaze of a man who, according to Vince Murphy was considered “no count” by the locals, held much dignity in this place where he was able to be his true self. His dark eyes glinted as he stood surveying what was his but not his, merely his charge for one short lifetime. Nothing so grand comes without sacrifice. Cal had given up friends, comforts, and to a large extent, community respect that might have been his otherwise. What more, I wondered, to keep this sacred promise of the land’s stewardship to family and to nature?

  Homer moved to Cal’s side and sat, blinking his contentment as he, too, looked out over the bluff. Cal leaned down and rested his gnarled fingers between the Lab’s ears. A breeze blew past and rustled in the trees behind us.

  “I had a son,” Cal said softly. He paused a moment, then said. “He was killed in Vietnam.” Homer nuzzled the hand that petted him and inched closer. “My wife died not long after.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “There’s nobody else. Just me and Homer. And my time is coming on soon. I’m getting too old to keep fighting.”

  His choice of words mystified me but I didn’t interrupt. I assumed he meant his health problems were getting to be too much of a burden. His chest rattled. He had a dreadful pallor in his face. Several times during our walk, he had a coughing spell.

  We walked for perhaps another thirty minutes with Cal showing me so many beautiful paths. ‘That way,” he said, “is where we’re headed.” I followed the direction of his crooked finger. “That stream is the same one we crossed in the field near the house. It goes right into the heart of Tsaluyi Udelida. The ceremonial hall. Danitaga.”

  In the distance, I could see two very large boulders standing about two hundred yards away toward the center of the wood. A gap of perhaps three feet separated them giving the look of a grand entrance to an ancient temple.

  On the way to the huge boulders, we had stopped to watch two squirrels chase each other across the leaf floor when suddenly a noise in the woods jerked Cal’s attention away. Homer looked as well, then followed his master’s example, holding still and hardly breathing.

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Cal said in quiet, even tones. “Don’t like it at all. I’m sorry, Miz Jane, but I believe it would be better if you weren’t here right now.” He moved his shotgun up slowly. A few more moments of silence passed. Cal nodded his head ever so slightly. “That path will take you straight back to the main road. It’s not far.”

  “Don’t apologize,” I whispered. “I’m perfectly content to wait until later to see more.” I glanced around us but saw nothing. “Do be careful, dear.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” he said solemnly, then changed his worried frown to a big smile. “Me and Homer may just catch us a little supper.”

  With a nod, I raised my hand in good-bye and left them to their prey.

  It had been an act, of course. Had he lied to protect me? Perhaps there were animals here more dangerous than I knew. I quickened my pace down the road. It would be some days before I encountered them, creatures more deadly than I could imagine that first day in the woods.

  seven

  Jane Gets a Proposition

  After my morning trip to Cal’s, I spent the rest of the day cleaning, unpacking, and running errands. I was exhausted by nightfall. I sat the last dish from supper into the drying rack just as someone knocked on my door. I looked out to see Cal, already s
eated in the same rocker he occupied the previous night. Homer stood and watched my movements behind the blind.

  As the screen creaked open, I said, “So, did your hunting expedition this morning go well?”

  Cal gave me a puzzled look, then understood. “Fine. Just skunks.” The thick aroma of whiskey that already emanated from Cal’s vicinity grew stronger when he spoke. “You got to watch people, Jane. You got to watch ’em real good.” Ah, well. It was going to be another of those jumping conversations of disparate musings heavily laced with alcohol.

  “Right, then. I’ll just fetch some tea.”

  Once settled with our refreshments, including some nice dog biscuits I’d bought for Homer, Cal brought up something we discussed briefly in our walk. “Tell me again what all you did on the digs, you know, back when you’d go around with them archaeology people.”

  “Well, I was just a digger. Strictly volunteer. I didn’t have the college degrees necessary to be anything more. I was never in charge. Never a professor. Strictly amateur.”

  Cal turned toward me in his chair. “And you liked that, getting all dirty and sweaty and working until your shoulders and arms were wore out? Knowing you’d be doing the same thing again the next day?”

  I laughed. “Well, yes. I did it for the love of it. It’s true, most of the time you find nothing for your hard work. And yet, on the day when a buzz travels through the workers, when someone has uncovered something, I can tell you there’s nothing more exciting. If I am to be totally honest, I loved it just as much on the boring days. Just touching the earth, thinking that someone long ago, someone of a different race in a different country, or perhaps an ancient ancestor of your own, might have touched where you were working, just there where your hands lay. You think of their lives, what they thought, how they worked, whom they loved.”

  When some time passed without a response, I looked over at Cal. He rocked, lost in thought, then set straight into a new topic. “Miz Jane, I want to apologize if I scared you that first time, me shooting over Vernon’s car. He knew better than to do that.”