by Mary Saums
The tapping grew louder and its rhythm increased.
“It just don’t make sense to me,” Phoebe said. “Because I’d want to be where the action is. Somewhere fun.”
“Phoebe, dear, I’m sure that no matter where you are in the afterlife, in heaven or on earth, there will be no shortage of fun.”
She smiled. “You think?”
“I’m certain.” I reached over to the countertop to a package I’d wrapped earlier. “This is for you.” It was just a small gift, a jewelry box in pretty colors I thought she might like.
“What’s this for?” She leaned over and gave me a big hug around the shoulders.
“Just a little friendship gift. It’s been wonderful having you stay with me. I shall miss you.”
As I spoke, a movement in the air behind Phoebe’s head caught my eye. Something was floating down behind her. I looked closer at the strange sight, trying to understand the impossibility of it, wrestling with it and finally comprehending.
“I think these are for you,” I said. “Another farewell gift.” We stared at the floor behind her where a little mound of red rose petals had softly fallen and come to rest.
Phoebe left hurriedly. I hardly had time to scoop up the petals and put them in her new jewelry box. Her only comment was, “Jane, you need to check your screens, hon. All kinds of stuff is blowing in here.”
I followed her quick steps out the front to the porch, refraining from pointing out that all windows and doors were shut tight. Homer and I watched her car back out of the drive, and I waved goodnight as her headlights swept across the lilac bushes, the porch, and away down the road.
A STRAY RED PETAL LAY ON THE PORCH NEXT TO HOMER. I picked it up and touched the silky leaf to Homer’s nose. As the chair beside him rocked slowly, I became aware of the smell of cigarettes and whiskey in the air. Homer snuggled closer to the chair. I knelt and rubbed behind his ears.
I rose and walked to the small table and chair I’d set up at the end of the porch, similar to the way Phoebe arranged hers with a lamp and a potted geranium. The lamp’s light wasn’t very bright, but strong enough to read by if I chose to. I’d set a sketchpad on the table for when I felt like drawing plants or birds I’d sighted.
“Cal,” I said to the creaking chair, “I want you to know that everything is okay now. The land is safe. Rest easy my friend.” I looked again at the rose petal.
“Boo,” I said into the night air, “I’m very happy you’re here. I hope you don’t mind that I’m your new… house person.” I sat quietly, turning the petal in my fingers. “It was a lovely gift. Phoebe will cherish it, as I cherish the gifts you gave me. Perhaps I will make my own memento table after all,” I said, thinking of the acorn and red maple leaf.
The evening sounds of crickets and night birds comforted me. I sat there until late in the night, sketching things from the last few days, pondering all the new, odd, wonderful images in my mind. Star Rock. Phoebe in her princess wear. Homer, whom I’d come to regard as the most beautiful and noble of beasts.
I was right to come here. My lifetime fascination with history, nature, and archaeology had all led me to this place. The surreptitious training of the Colonel’s sneak attacks, shooting practice, my childhood ability in seeing ghosts, and the secret government work were all only practice for my real mission as caretaker of this forest. With a glance at my pad, I saw I’d drawn the carved reclining warrior, eyes half open, hand beside his knife.
After sketching a while longer, I looked up from my work. Homer had moved and now lay between the two rockers. And there, in the creaking chair, sat Cal. His head rested on the chair’s back, his eyes were closed. He sensed that I was looking at him and turned toward me. With a wave and a smile, he let me know he was fine, just as he had in our first encounter.
I had another guest as well. In the other rocker sat a young man perhaps in his late teens with short brown hair. His round face and the spray of freckles across his nose added to the look of perpetual innocence. He wore denim overalls with a blue shirt underneath. He was bending down to Homer to give him a back rub.
The boy looked suddenly to me, as if caught doing something wrong. “It’s all right, dear,” I said in a soft voice. “Very nice to see you. And thank you for helping me find Mrs. Hardwick’s note.” With a shy smile, he looked at the floor. “She was absolutely right. You are a beautiful boy.”
His cheeks flushed bright pink. He smiled and looked away again in embarrassment as his body shimmered, became shiny particles, and diffused into a rose tinted gold, like the evening sun sparkling on a lake, as he became transparent and vanished from sight.
Cal smiled in his bourbon-induced way, closing his eyes as his head leaned back again, and he disappeared as well. Both chairs continued to rock in a slow, steady motion. I wondered who else might stop by for an evening visit in the coming weeks and years.
“Homer, we shall have to invest in more rockers.”
He raised his head, blinked his eyes, and set his chin on his paws with a sigh of contentment.
It is mine. I closed my eyes and breathed in the clean, fragrant air of the forest. Soon I would have many questions to ask and many decisions to make. Who will help me keep it safe? Dare I confide in anyone? How can I reconcile its need to be kept secret with the joy it would bring to others, just as it had done for me?
Will I be remiss if I don’t allow any scientific studies or archaeological digs? Or was Cal right, that all should remain untouched and undiscovered? And most importantly, how can I ensure its future after my death? All must be carefully considered.
But not tonight. Tonight, I would smile as the mysteries on Cal’s list of treasures danced like sugarplums over my head. Tonight, I would revel in the forest’s quiet beauty. I would pray that peaceful dreams come to every creature, large and small, within its arms. And I would give thanks for the creation of all things, visible and invisible, in heaven and on earth, most especially this place, where the visible and invisible reside together, where my heart has found its home.
acknowledgments
Though there is no real Tullulah, many aspects of Jane’s magical forest are based on a real place, Dismals Canyon, in the wilds of northwestern Alabama. You can compare my fantasy with the reality at their Web site, dis-malscanyon.com, which tells all about the canyon’s history and natural wonders. My sincere thanks to all who have played a part in preserving it through the years.
Certainly all characters herein are entirely fictional, and any likenesses to parents, aunts, uncles, sisters, brothers, cousins, nieces, nephews, inlaws, friends, dogs, acquaintances, or complete strangers whom I may have passed on the street in Alabama or elsewhere in the South is coincidental and, thank goodness, downright impossible, considering. The ghosts are real.
Phoebe’s gun is named after a lady I used to work with. My thanks to Ron Harris for coming up with such a great nickname, to the rest of the Bellevue gang for perpetuating it, and to Lynette Jennings for being such a good sport, with a nod of sympathy going out to all exiled smokers.
Thanks to Brian Green for listening to my crazy ideas and for making weapon and tactical suggestions. Also thanks to Joe Collins and Mark Pfeiffer on the Weapons Info list for sharing their gun expertise.
Special thanks to Marian Young and Kelley Ragland for making Jane and Phoebe’s foray into the world possible.
