Harvesting Acorns

by Deirdré Amy Gower

  Harvesting Acorns

  Deirdré Amy Gower

  Copyright © 2011 Deirdré Amy Gower

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, be let, resold, hired-out, or otherwise circulated without express written consent of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Chloe turned up the volume on the radio and belted out the lyrics as she sang along to her all-time favourite song. The imagery it brought to mind of people with vision rousing a whole nation tugged at something deep inside her. The song was the internal soundtrack to her every waking moment. She remembered a time, not too long ago, when she still had a dream: A dream of touching lives with her stories, of bringing hope, moving a nation into action for things that had meaning. Now, disillusioned, she drove along this road, winding her way down the mountain path towards the ocean.

  She had packed her car with all the belongings she owned. She was leaving a life behind, but she had no regrets. She wanted to be as far away from her hometown as possible. Her failed career overshadowed memories of a beautiful carefree childhood.

  Chloe had been an aspiring journalist. She had been ambitious, full of hope, determined to change the world – she had been naïve. She wrote about environmental issues; how seals were slowly strangling in fishing nets. She wrote about children suffering in war torn countries; about the harmful effects of cell phone radiation; and reported on the devastating conditions and pitiful lives of circus animals; - but those were not what the masses wanted to read about. People wanted the shock factor. They wanted to know who was divorcing whom. They wanted to read about the twenty-five year old who put her wealthy eighty-two year old husband ‘out of his misery’ and was now looking for sympathy in her ‘time of grieving’. Celebrity diets and sex 101; fashion faux pas and glamour gurus.

  She could not pinpoint the exact moment that her career began to backslide, but slowly and steadily the need to produce saleable articles had started to sway Chloe’s writing style and research focus. Fortunately, she had not completely sold herself before she realised what she was doing and had opted out. If she could not write about what mattered most to her, the things that nudged at her heart, then she would not write. The only problem was that she didn’t have a backup plan. During the first few weeks after handing in her resignation, she still had hope that she could find another job in a company whose ethic aligned with her own.

  After two months, she started to realise it was not going to be easy; the industry was controlled by the public’s interest. In a small town, with a small-minded ethos – Chloe’s job had lost its edge. As the third month drew to an end and the rent due date approached Chloe realised she was out of money and out of options. She sold her luxury Mini Cooper and bought a beaten up station wagon, packed all her moveable belongings into it, sold all the rest and furniture to the corner buy-and-sell for cash for fuel and enough money for a few weeks’ groceries, handed over the keys to her apartment, and drove out of town.

  She had no idea where she was going; she just had to leave. She spent many hours in solitude over those last three months – either walking in a nearby forest, sitting quietly in the early hours watching the sunrise over the sea, or rowing down the river in the early evening. Through all the inward reflection she had found peace with her decision and felt the stirring deep within that something was calling to her from somewhere far away. There was somewhere that she needed to be - she just didn’t know where. She did not know what she was going to do; she just knew that she had to get out of that town and as far away from her career as possible. Chloe had been sad to say goodbye to her family and friends, but she had always been a bit of a loner and so she knew she would be all right.

  Her older sister, Julia, was working as a pharmacist. She was married to a psychiatrist and they had two small children. Chloe adored her niece and nephew but did not get to spend much time with them as the family had moved to another town when Julia’s husband had been invited into partnership in a large practice. Chloe’s younger brother, Byron was in his Grade 11 year. As a middle child, Chloe had always felt insignificant. Not the eldest child who had been an only, spoilt, child for the first seven years of her life, and not the baby who now had everyone’s undivided attention. A middle child left to find her own identity and mature independently and early in a confusing world that at times ripped her soul to shreds and at other times left her bewildered, frightened and lonely.

  When she left school she had volunteered at a shelter for runaway teens – she knew first hand their experiences of abandonment in an outwardly appearing supportive family. Her experiences and encounters there sparked her first story and her subsequent enrolment for a Journalism course at the university in her hometown. She had worked hard and had achieved distinctions throughout her studies. She had also worked part time during her studies at a game reserve leading hiking and horse riding trails. She had free accommodation there and had been very involved in helping raise orphaned wildlife, her favourite being a little rhino calf whose mother had been slaughtered by poachers for her horn.

  When she was twenty-one, she had gone to a circus with a university friend. They had sat up close to the side of the ring. While everyone had cheered as the animals performed, Chloe sat silently, wishing for their escape. She had stared into the eyes of an elephant as it raised its trunk to take an apple from its rider, and cried as she watched tears trickle down its face. Her article the following week raised supportive responses from animal rights activists, but she had also taken a great deal of written abuse and negative media from entertainment moguls.

  Her story on the Children of War had been written from inside a refugee camp in deepest Africa where she had been volunteering; bathing babies, feeding starving children and nursing bedsores of the bedridden injured and sick children.

  Chloe was hands-on in her stories. She was never just an idle commentator. Her experiences and involvement shone through in all her writing. Her compassion and devotion to helping others was etched in every word. She was passionate about her work. Not many in the industry could claim the same.

  Now it was all over. Three years of study and ten years of hard work and dedication now seemed such a waste. At thirty-one Chloe felt her defeat heavily, but had been able to walk away with her dignity intact. She had many awards behind her and knew one day she would be able to look back with pride, knowing she had gone down without diminishing her character or casting aside her values.

  As she wound down the hill towards the sea she opened her window and felt the sea air whip through her raven black hair. She wore her dark glasses, her blue eyes were very sensitive, but she could still pick up the sharp glint of the sun off the ocean. She could smell the kelp that had washed up on shore and could see a flock of sea birds hovering above the sea, every minute or so one diving in and up again with a fish in its beak.

  She had been driving for about six hours and was way beyond exhausted – physically, mentally and most definitely emotionally. She had no idea where she would sleep that night but her unrelenting faith told her not to worry. She had never been to this part of the country before. It was absolutely magnificent. Winding down she had the mountains on her right. To her left was the sheer drop to the ocean. On the mountainside beautiful, tall, proud pine trees formed a sparse forest and she saw a deer dart into its depths.

  She approached the town. Old buildings rose up to meet her, history proclaiming itself alive and prevalent in this picturesque seaside
village. Chloe felt an immediate sense of kinship and belonging to this town that seemed to say:

  ‘I have been around for so long… let me reveal my wisdom… I have what you seek.’

  As she drove through the town, each building seemed to call to her to visit, just to sit awhile on its veranda, enjoy a cup of tea and let it speak to her of all it had seen through the generations. The old railway station seemed to say:

  ‘I have watched all who leave to seek the grandness of the cities, and I have listened to those who arrive seeking the tranquility of a village – let me share their tales’.

  The battered post office called to her:

  ‘Let me tell you of the writings of those who are homesick for Catch ‘o the Day shared with loved ones at the diner on the pier’.

  That familiar stirring roused her from her reverie – this was exactly where she was meant to be, right now.

  A little café caught her eye – Tea for Two. That would be her first stop. It was a chilly afternoon; she had noticed the first few leaves had turned brown. Autumn had arrived. A steaming cup of tea and a butter croissant with strawberry jam and mature cheddar was precisely what she needed at that moment. She found a parking space close by, put on her jacket and went inside.

  “Ah, Bonjour Mademoiselle! Bienvenue! Welcome!” An elegantly dressed woman greeted her with a kiss to each cheek.

  “You are new here! We know everyone and we have not seen you around here before. Please, come sit; come enjoy your visit with us.”

  Chloe definitely was not used to such a warm and inviting greeting from a stranger. Again the stirring within, like another puzzle piece shifting into position. Something big was coming. Chloe ordered the croissant she had been craving – just her luck that the first place she chose was a French café! Chloe adored the synchronicity that frequented her life. She also ordered a bottomless Ceylon tea. When she had finished her croissant and was pouring her second cup of tea, the French lady came over and asked if she may join her for a chat.

  “Of course, it would be lovely to have company,” Chloe responded, trying to add a bit of warmth and return the welcome she had received on arriving.

  “We have many regular patrons, and I never forget a face. Yours I have not seen before” she said to Chloe once she had taken the seat opposite.

  “Yes, actually I have just arrived. This is the first place I have stopped,” Chloe replied cautiously. She was grateful for a friendly welcome and some company but she was not quite ready to share her story and her reasons for being here just yet. Especially as she was not too sure of those reasons herself. She took another sip of her tea and then continued:

  “I am making a new start and this is where I found myself. That is as much as I can tell you for now.” She smiled a little apologetically at the woman.

  “Oh, forgive me, my name is Chloe” she quickly added.

  “Yes, how rude of me! I am Phoebe, and it is a pleasure to meet you. Where will you be staying?” Phoebe asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” stammered Chloe sheepishly. “I planned to find a guest house as soon as I arrived, but I found myself craving croissants and stumbled across your café. I will go and make my arrangements as soon as I have finished here.”

  “It was serendipity that brought you to this café mon chere amie,” Phoebe replied, “as it so happens we have a guest house adjoining the café and we have an ensuite room available. We have the most reasonable rates in the village, but as you have been travelling and have not had a chance to see for yourself, tonight you may stay at no cost. If you are comfortable and happy, then tomorrow we can discuss further arrangements.”

  Phoebe’s offer was enhanced by the kindness in her deep jasper eyes. Her stylish dark blonde pixie cut accentuated her high cheekbones. She was an attractive woman, in her early forties but there was wisdom in her eyes that told of experiences way beyond her years. Chloe’s thoughts flitted over this briefly, but she was just too tired to ask any questions, let alone be courteous enough to listen attentively to the answers.

  “Thank you Phoebe. That is the kindest offer I have had in a long while and I am deeply grateful to not have to begin searching for a room immediately”. Chloe’s voice betrayed her utter exhaustion and a yawn escaped before she had time to mask it.

  “I am sorry! Wow, I didn't realise how tiring driving could be.”

  Phoebe smiled, dismissing the apology as unnecessary.

  “Let me show you to your room first and then I will call my husband to help you with your bags.”

  The room was enormous and luxurious. White curtains hung from dark wooden rails, tied back with chocolate brown silk tiebacks. A queen size bed stretched across the middle of the back wall, adorned in crisp white bedding, with a mountain of pillows and cushions in shades of rich brown contrasting boldly against the white. Chloe was so tempted to snuggle into the mound right away.

  The bathroom, also clean white, had a Jacuzzi in the corner and a glass-enclosed shower with chrome finishes. It took all her will not to turn on the Jacuzzi there and then. She just wanted to drift into oblivion under a cascade of bubbles and just let the fizz dissolve all the stress and memories of the last few months. She could not believe how this had fallen into place for her. It was as though a force was working ahead of her to pave her way to recuperation and release of all the negativity that had led up to this point. Chloe knew she was going to be all right.

  “Is this going to be all right for you, Chloe? I want you to be comfortable.” Again, that genuine kindness and concern gleamed gently in her eyes.

  “This is absolutely wonderful and beyond generous of you, Phoebe. I am going to sleep like a baby tonight,” Chloe answered gratefully.

  “I hope so; I can see how tired you are. Let’s turn on the Jacuzzi while we collect your things. It takes about half an hour to heat up.” Phoebe led the way back out to the street. She stopped at a door on the side of the café, knocked gently before opening the door slightly. She poked her head around the corner and Chloe heard her talking softly. A tall man came out and followed her over towards Chloe.

  “Chloe, this is my husband, Jean Pierre.”

  Chloe reached out to shake his hand:

  “Pleased to m…” she was cut off mid-sentence and gasped embarrassingly as Jean Pierre reached past her extended hand, put both hands on her shoulders and kissed both her cheeks. For the second time today this greeting surprised her. You would think being a well-travelled journalist she could not have been caught off guard. She just was not used to people being in her space or being exposed to genuine warmth, hospitality and being welcomed this way – by strangers!

  “My love, please will you help Chloe bring her bags through to her room. Chloe, I see your car is packed really full. Don’t worry, our village is very safe and so your belongings will be fine out here.”

  Phoebe seemed to be a woman who liked to organise and nurture. Chloe felt herself relax and feel that, even if just for one night, someone else could make decisions for her. All she could think about right now was the hot water of the Jacuzzi and how it would feel to her aching body. She made a mental note that she should take up yoga or Pilates. She was too young to feel this fatigued and stiff. She followed behind Phoebe and Jean Pierre to her room.

  “There is an intercom for emergencies if you need anything during the night. We serve breakfast at eight o’clock but I am sure you will want to sleep in so please don’t rush. There will still be cereals, muffins and fruit out until eleven o’clock,” Phoebe told Chloe as she walked towards the door after her husband.

  “Thank you Phoebe, I can’t begin to tell you what this means to me,” Chloe spoke softly, fighting back a stray tear.

  Phoebe turned, put a hand on Chloe’s arm and smiled.

  “I am glad you found your way to our café. I have a feeling we are going to be good friends. I felt it when I first saw you.”

  Chloe smiled back.

  “I really do hope so.”

  Phoebe a
nd Jean Pierre left and closed the door behind them. Alone, Chloe stood and looked around the room in amazement.

  Steam began to rise from the Jacuzzi. Chloe unpacked her nightclothes and toiletries onto the cabinet. She looked at her tired and ragged visage in the bathroom mirror, got undressed and immersed herself under the hot water. Bliss seeped through every cell in her body, rejuvenating her from her core outwards. She dozed off every now and then, jolting awake and then allowing the warmth to let her drift off again. The water cooled and Chloe climbed out and into her gown. There was no feeling on earth like a hot bath and a warm gown in the aftermath of physical and emotional exertion. She took a book off the shelf in the corner of the room, made herself a cup of tea using the meticulously set out self-service nook, and then wiggled her way between all the cushions and pillows on the bed. She sipped her tea as she read the first few pages of an adventure novel and felt the familiar drooping of her eyelids when she tried to read while tired. This was her sure win way of falling asleep when she was having trouble – much to her frustration the mornings after when she realised she had not even gotten through one chapter of reading. This time she didn’t care. She just wanted rest, her body was screaming for it.

  Chloe drifted off to sleep with the images and landscape she had seen along her drive filling her last few wakeful thoughts. She felt at peace. It was new to her. She liked it.

  Chapter Two

  She slept until 9 o'clock. When she woke, she found herself feeling like she had been sleeping for days. She did not realise how long it had been since she had had a good night's rest. She had been so stressed the last few months that her sleep was plagued by nightmares. A recurring dream of trying to run somewhere but the harder she tried the more firmly her feet were rooted to the ground and the heavier her legs felt. Kind of like walking in knee-deep water, only multiplied a hundred times. She knew dreams were supposed to mean something - perhaps this represented her pursuit of her dreams and the feeling that no matter how hard she tried to reach them she just had not been getting anywhere, not moving at all.