I grew nervous again, changing the topic back. “Anyway, I don’t know if I can wait until spring. I need to get back down the mountain before then.”
“Oh? What for?”
I swallowed. “Someone needs my help.”
“I see. What kind of help?”
“I, I don’t know…” My voice trailed off and I shifted in my seat. Thinking of how I ended up here and the darkness that still existed for me outside of this house made me feel like throwing up. I didn’t know if I was ready to say everything out loud yet.
“Who are you trying to get to?” asked Theory, very intently.
I ran my finger through my bangs, trying to ignore the mixture of fatigue and anxiety that tugged at my chest. “I don’t know. Just someone I haven’t seen in a while.”
“Is this someone in danger?”
Hearing Theory say it out loud scared me into confessing more. “Yes.”
“And how will you help them?”
I shut my eyes, trying to erase the images of blood, screaming, and fighting from my head. “I don’t know yet. I just know I need to get to her before He does.”
“Her?”
I opened my eyes and studied the old woman in front of me. She looked sincere. I was so tired from my journey that it started to feel pointless to hide anything else from her right now. I sighed deeply, finally giving in “Nova, my sister.”
“Your sister is in trouble,” she said firmly.
I swallowed the tears that surfaced at the mention of her. “Yes.”
My sister. The most important person in the entire world. She had been the one thing that had kept me alive and facing forward all these years. She was younger than me, more innocent than I was, and much more worthy of being saved.
I shook my head, trying to ignore her fate. “I got taken away from Him a few months back. He found me, even though I was placed at an anonymous address…and then tried to kidnap me. But I fought Him off. I don’t know how, but I got lucky, I guess.”
The bruise on my shoulder grew more painful the more I spoke about it. “But now that I’m not there, I know He’ll go after my sister next. She lives with our mom somewhere. I don’t really know where exactly, but I have to find her before He does.”
“I see,” said Theory.
As we sat talking, two cats sauntered in. They rubbed against Theory’s shins and she smiled. “Ah! This is Sage and Cadence.”
I smiled, not remembering the last time I saw house pets. It felt nice being in a place safe enough to have them around. Theory was quiet for a moment, then looked up at me. “It seems they’re ready for bed. I imagine you might be, as well?”
I was happy to be done talking about my sister. I had been struggling to keep my eyes open, but was still afraid to impose by asking to stay over for the night. “Yeah, sure.”
Theory rose to her feet and walked toward the library door. “All right then, come with me. I’ll show you your room.”
I pushed myself out of the chair, thrilled by not only getting to sleep inside tonight, but by having my own room as well.
“Are you afraid of heights?” Theory asked as she guided me through the living room and into the kitchen.
I wasn’t sure how to answer, never really having been exposed to heights before. “I don’t think so.”
“Wonderful,” she declared and pulled on a rope hanging from the kitchen ceiling, revealing a flight of stairs.
I looked through the hole in the ceiling and saw the night sky peek back at me. I took a step back, wondering if she was going to make me sleep on the roof of the tree house.
Ignoring my hesitation, Theory climbed the stairs until she disappeared into the night above us. Taking a deep breath, I set my foot on the first step and climbed up after her.
Once I poked through the ceiling, I could see that there were more stairs spiraling up the same tree I had seen in the living room. Theory was halfway up the staircase when I stopped to look at the shadowy tops of the trees below us. I could sense how high we were and immediately understood why Theory had asked me for my opinion on heights.
“Coming?” she asked from above.
“Yeah, sorry,” I said, trying to climb a little faster.
As I caught up to Theory, I could make out a much tinier tree house at the top of the stairs. I climbed into it from a door in the floor as Theory was adjusting the light of a metal lantern nearby. “This is the loft. You are welcome to stay as long as you’d like. It’s not much, but you can use the stairs to get back into the house to use whatever you need.”
I stood, grateful for her offer, taking in how simple and inviting the room appeared. A single mattress sat tucked into a corner, heaped with blankets. Next to the mattress was a small wooden chest with engravings of animals on it. A single window opposite the bed overlooked the forest. Above the room was a glass ceiling that exposed the constellations above us.
“Wow,” I whispered in awe.
“Yes, the view is quite nice from up here. I left a new cup of tea for you and these blankets should serve nicely. If you need anything, Sam, I’m just downstairs.”
I looked at her, unsure as to how to thank her fully. As if reading my mind, she reached out and patted my shoulder respectfully and climbed back downstairs. The door in the floor creaked shut and I was left on my own.
Tired by my travels and stunned by how I had landed here, I sat on the mattress and took it all in. Cutouts in the top of the lantern fed butterfly-shaped light onto the walls that flickered into imaginary flight above me. I watched the flame from the candle dance for a bit, wondering where Dodger was now and if he was okay.
Picking up my tea, I saw that Theory had left me a sandwich as well. I smiled, wondering how I went from wet and lost in the forest, to warm and fed in an old woman’s tree house. Grateful for my new situation, I took a few bites of dinner and laid back onto my new bed.
The stars sparkled above me, formally welcoming me to my room in the trees. It was the first time I had seen stars so bright in years. I had forgotten how beautiful they were.
Sinking comfortably into the bed, I thought of Lake Isabel, wondering how far off the first day of spring was. I thought of the plan Dodger and I had made, wondering if we could make it work. I thought of Theory, wondering if she had always lived alone. I thought of Him, wondering if He would eventually find me here, too.
Thankful for being safe for the night, and nervous that I might be on my own again tomorrow, I let my thoughts float freely. My mind wandered over people, places and things until it finally gave in to sleep.
“Asking for help doesn’t make you weak; it makes you an army.”
-Theory
CHAPTER THREE
I woke up the next morning and climbed back down into the main house to find breakfast waiting for me. Tomato slices sprinkled in salt and avocado halves seemed to smile as bright as the kitchen did. I sat in anticipation of Theory for nearly half an hour, but she never showed up. After eating, I decided to look around until she got back from wherever she was.
I walked around the house until I found myself at the head of another flight of stairs. Unlike the stairs to my bedroom, these went below the main floor of the house. Tip-toeing down the stairs, I was careful not to let the creaks of withered floorboards give away my covert expedition. The deeper I descended, the stronger the odor of old books and metal became.
My imagination clicked on and I began to contemplate what awaited me at the foot of the stairs. Was it another library? Perhaps a map room? Or maybe a make-shift museum filled with fossils and ancient field guides?
The chain of curiosities stretched so long that I forgot to mind my footing and nearly tripped on the last stair. My eyes strained to find a light switch as my nose organized the brewing notes of ink and wood shavings. Finally, my fingers fumbled over a dial on the wall and gradually illuminated the room.
As the ceiling warmed to light, my heart stopped and only a single word escaped my lips. “Wow.”
&nbs
p; The yellow lighting revealed a massive, vintage printing press. Hugging the walls were rows and rows of shelves that housed wood letters, foil scrap sheets, and different colored paper. An antique printing press sat in the center of the room and was capped with heavy wheels and iron plates. I swallowed my excitement, almost terrified of infringing on someone else’s magic. Even so, I couldn’t resist the pull to move further into the room.
As I explored the maze of mechanical stations and materials, my fingers lightly slid over the tops of tiny metal type pieces. From a dusty shelf, I picked up a heavy wooden handle and turned it over to see a rectangular layer of rubber fastened to the bottom.
A stamp.
Studying it from all directions, I could only make out that there were a few swirling loops. Scanning the other shelves nearby, I sighted a loose piece of paper and a bottle of ink. Popping the bottle into my hand and rolling it between my fingers, I searched for something with which to smear the ink onto the stamp.
Bending and bobbing between metal fixtures, paper silhouettes of animals, and giant rolls of material, I made my way to the back of the room. The smell of glue and suede were there to greet me.
A blue window spilled light over a corner desk, highlighting the open pages of a tired book. Setting the ink down on the desk, I reached for a page and was surprised at how thick and textured it was. Turning the pages, I was immediately impressed by neat lines of handwritten text. I flipped through the book until I reached the end and saw a signature resembling the stamp I’d been trying to decipher.
The ink of the signature crawled and dipped into the crevices of the paper. Bending closer to the book, I saw that the loops and swirls of the signature spelled out Theory.
“Interesting,” I muttered out loud.
“Is it?”
The words from behind me caught me off guard and I spun around. “Theory! Whoa, you scared me.”
My internal system worked to calm back down and I realized I still had the stamp in my hand. I hoped it was dark enough for her not to notice. “I’m so sorry I’m down here. I didn’t know where I was going and I just…” my voice trailed off from guilt. Afraid of being in trouble, I succumbed to my own defeat and lowered my eyes to the floor.
Theory stood still looking me over. She then gently tilted her head and offered. “Did you read any of that?” Her eyes motioned toward the book I had been rummaging through.
I was suddenly very grateful I hadn’t. “No, not at all! I just flipped through it to see what it felt like.”
She leaned past me, as if ignoring my answer completely, and picked up another small book from the desk. Without pausing, she placed it in my hand and turned around to survey other books on a nearby shelf.
I quietly set the stamp on the desk behind me and nervously held the book with both hands. I drew it closer to make out the title.
Grandmother Dove.
My brow furrowed, wondering who this person must have been. Before I could dream up her origin, though, Theory began to speak. “I collect people’s stories. They are written in all of the books you see here, and upstairs.”
Confused by what she meant by “collect,” but glad she was ignoring my intrusion, I ventured a guess to keep the conversation going. “Like, you write books about them?”
“Well, I don’t write their stories, per se, but I do record them.” She paused for a moment, smiling. “And then I bind them. You’ve stumbled on my printing press and library of lives from people I have worked with in the past.”
My palms began to sweat and I could feel myself growing worried, wondering if she’d start asking me about my story. I wanted to apologize profusely for trespassing and bolt out of the room, but instead I forced myself to stay. I felt my body getting anxious and decided I would keep talking in an effort to calm down. “So…, you’re a story collector.”
“Mm. And a healer.”
A healer? This sounded a bit more intriguing. “What kind of healer?”
Theory took a step back and looked over her book collection. It was almost as if she sensed I needed some space.
She placed her hand on a shelf while talking and softened her voice. “The listening kind. You’d be surprised what telling your story can do for the heart. In fact, it’s all anyone ever wants in this life: the opportunity to tell their story to someone who will really listen, and then have that person accept them fully afterwards.”
I scoffed and shook my head at the ridiculous notion of a stranger actually caring about what I’ve been through.
What was she talking about? Who in the world would ever sit around and listen to someone’s life story? Wouldn’t they get bored? And why would they care in the first place? Isn’t their own life more interesting? I wasn’t buying it.
Suddenly James and Anna popped into my head. I could hear them asking about my day and meaning it. I could tell when they were being sincere by their eye contact and voices.
Remembering them helped me understand what Theory was saying. I lowered my defenses a bit. “Like someone loving you even after you tell them your secret?”
Theory turned to me. “Precisely. Although love is a shorter word for what it really is.”
“What is it, then?”
“Validation.”
“Validation?” I asked suspiciously.
“Yes, Sam. People want, and need, to be validated. This can come in many forms. Through a loving partner that wants to spend time with us, or by listening to a friend vent, or by getting good grades. Winning an award is validation that we’ve earned something through hard work or talent. Graduating from school is validation that all of the annoying homework and nagging teachers you went through actually mean something. And a hug…” she tilted her head and smiled. “Well a hug can be validation that we are worthy of being cared for.”
Gripping the edges of the book, I do my best to take in what Theory is saying, but the pain of knowing I hadn’t been hugged in a real way for years hurt too much to focus fully. I felt like crying suddenly and the only response I could muster was. “Hm.”
I try to shake the sadness swelling up within me. Sadness over all of the things she listed that I’ve never experienced. Sadness about all of the validation I didn’t get growing up.
And then I felt the anger over all of the other things I did get instead. My mind wondered what a belt across the back validated.
“That book you have,” she continued. “That is someone’s story.”
My eyes dart toward Theory and then back down at the book. I refocused my attention and rubbed my thumb over the deep imprint of the book cover, saying the name out loud. “Grandmother Dove?”
Theory straightened her posture and explained. “Dove was her first name. She was one of the strongest women I have ever known. She was a fighter, despite the tremendously challenging hand that she was dealt.”
I opened the book and noticed the handwriting in this book differed from the book I had looked through before. Although her hands were tough as steel, her touch held the grace of a flower.
“Who was she?” I asked, now intrigued.
“She was a Spaniard who rode horses in the backcountry before migrating to the United States to raise a family. She’s since passed away…but those who were close to her say that they can still feel wild horses run through them when they think of her.”
I flipped to a random page in the middle of the book. He lunged at them again, but she embraced them in safety, sacrificing herself to shield them from any further violence that day.
Something in me stirred and I became concerned about a woman whose story I had just opened up to. “What’s this part about someone hitting her?”
Theory’s expression became serious and she gently took the book from my hands. “Every story has dark parts, Sam. As does yours, I’m sure. It’s part of the human experience. The dark parts make the light parts brighter. It builds resiliency and brings people together.”
“Brings them together how?” I asked, wondering how she
would justify some of the things I’ve been through.
“When tragedy strikes, people come together. It’s a phenomenon that has shown itself over and over again. We’ve seen it on a global level when a major event happens. We’ve also seen it on a smaller level, like a family coming together after not having spoken for years to collectively mourn the loss of a loved one at a funeral.
“Sad, scary experiences bring people together in a way that happy, enjoyable experiences wouldn’t normally. We become comfortable when things are good for too long. Sometimes a tragic event is a reminder that we need to reconnect over the things that really matter.”
I fidgeted, knowing I had definitely never gotten comfortable with being happy for too long. I didn’t even know if I had been happy for a short time. Wanting to ask her about the things I had been through, but not feeling ready to give away my secrets to a stranger yet, I did my best to stay vague. “If that’s true, then why does abuse happen?”
Theory looked directly at me. “Abuse shouldn’t happen, Sam. Nothing excuses someone hurting you or anyone else like that. Ever.
“Having the space and freedom to be happy is a basic human right. It sounds like that was taken from you early on, and that isn’t okay. But it has brought you here, to me.”
I shifted from leaning on one leg to the other, trying to adjust to someone telling me that the things I had gone through were an injustice. No one had ever acknowledged what had happened to me before. As exciting as the concept was of someone knowing what I had gone through, it was also incredibly threatening.
Theory watched me mull over my thoughts, then finally broke into my silence. “Is that what happened to you, Sam?”
“What?” I said, still lost in my own head.
“Abuse?”
I looked at her suspiciously, realizing I didn’t like that word much. “I don’t know.”
“Mm. Well, whatever we label it; it can hurt us in very deep and everlasting ways. But it doesn’t have to be our fate.”
“How so?” I asked, half buying into the idea of maybe being set free from the cage I had been born into.
Sam's Theory Page 3
