by Laury Falter
He opened his mouth to speak and then clamped it shut.
“What? What is it? What are you not telling me?”
His eyes dropped and he shook his head. “Nothing…there’s nothing more.”
I knew there was more. I felt it, and I felt him fighting to hold it back. “Okay, if you won’t tell me now just promise that you will eventually tell me?” I placed my hand on his, which I noticed was gripping his thigh tightly, evidence of his struggle. “Eventually…not now but sometime in the future?”
He sighed, but conceded. “I will,” he promised.
“Thank you…” I whispered, and then said more clearly, “What would you like to talk about instead?”
A gleam came to his eyes. “You.”
“Me?” I said, taken aback.
“Definitely you.”
“I have no idea why,” I told him, rolling my eyes.
“No? Then I’ll explain. But first, do you mind if we go some place more comfortable?”
“I don’t mind at all.” Anywhere with Eran would be just fine with me, though I was going to miss his leg pressing against mine.
He thought for a moment and then took my hand, standing to guide us a few steps. We drifted back to his private paradise.
The cabin was just as I’d seen it last, cozy and welcoming, though this time it was summer and fireflies flickered throughout the warm air. I heard Annie and Charlie barking in the distance as we stepped firmly onto the dry dirt path leading to the cabin.
“Better,” he said decisively as we approached the front porch.
He gestured for me to take a seat in one of the rocking chairs, as he sat down in the one beside it. I was still perplexed but genuinely happy he wanted to get to know me better.
“Alright, now are you going to explain?”
He stared back at me, content. “Yes…” His tone was teasingly sarcastic but grew more serious. “You see I’ve never gone this long without being with you. There is a void during the time you were born until I met you again in which I have no idea what you’ve experienced.”
“You want to know about how I grew up?” I asked, unable to see how that could be interesting.
He nodded, firmly. “Absolutely.”
“Okay, but if you get bored it’ll be your own fault.”
“I have complete confidence that won’t happen.”
He then eagerly launched into questions about my past, delving for details on Aunt Teresa and my life with her, what schools I attended, and the cities I lived in.
His attention was undivided and earnestly interested, asking questions attentively. At some point though, I grew tired of talking, and during that break, rested my head back against the chair.
When I opened my eyes I was back in my bedroom with the alarm beeping painfully in my ear. I’d forgotten to turn it off before going to sleep last night. Fighting the urge to throw it across the room, I settled for yanking the cord out of the wall.
Rolling back over, I pulled the pillow down over my face. If I tried, maybe I could still get back…
“Maggie!” Rufus called through the door, pounding on it. I’m sure it seemed like just a tap to him. “You up? Could I get a ride ta The Square? Felix left in a huff without me, the wanka’. Afta’ I joked about his olive pancakes. He he he…”
I groaned, shoving the pillow off my face.
Whatever divine intervention was keeping me from getting back to Eran, it was powerful. I gave in, telling Rufus to be ready in fifteen minutes, and started to prepare myself for the day.
CHAPTER NINE: LEGENDARY STORIES
All day at The Square I only offered proof and took payment from those customers I’d delivered messages for the night prior. I refused to take on any new messages for delivery, because I’d be in school tomorrow and unable to deliver them. This was my routine. Saturday: take messages. Sunday: deliver them.
It was a good thing I had a routine because half my mind was focused elsewhere, recounting my conversation with Eran. Even Rufus acknowledged it on the ride there.
He tapped my shoulder and shouted over the engine’s rumble. “Somethin’ on yer mind?”
“Yes,” I called back to him, not bothering to explain further.
When I parked at my spot, he removed his helmet and faced me. “Well? Ya gonna fill me in?”
I sighed, dropping my shoulders in response. I wasn’t ready. I needed time to understand it myself.
“Back in me home country, I was the one everyone told their problems to,” he began to explain, propping his helmet on the handlebar. “Hated it really, ‘cause I neva asked fer it. Turned out, they came ta me ‘cause I had a knack. Found I neva gave lousy advice. So, even if I neva got any bloody sleep n’ was always helpin’ others with their problems, at least they walked ‘way with some peace.”
I turned to pull my chairs from their hiding place and set them up, noticing Rufus didn’t move until the customer chair was set down. Then he took a seat and waited.
He wasn’t going to let me off without some feeling of having helped me. Realizing this, I sat too.
“What would you do if someone withheld information…details about your own life?”
“That it?” Rufus asked.
“Yes, that’s what is bothering me.”
Rufus threw his hands up. “Well, that’s easy enough.”
I felt instantly relieved. Rufus was going to give me insight, worldly wisdom on how to get the information I desperately wanted.
He leaned forward in his seat and said, “Mags, there ain’t a thing you kin do ‘bout it.”
I remained silent, not at all satisfied with his response.
“Yer at their mercy,” he added plainly, as he stood. I kept my focus on the cracks in the cement, internally debating Rufus’s outlook, until he spoke again.
“Ever think they’re holdin’ back on ya ta keep ya safe?”
“Huh?”
“That’s the main reason people keep things to themselves – at least when it involves someone else. Could be they’re refusin’ ta disclose anything to keep from gettin’ ya hurt.”
Rufus feebly shrugged his shoulders at me and left to start setting up his own spot. I spent the better part of the day trying to figure out what could possibly hurt me and returned repeatedly to one final answer: there were too many unknowns. Whatever Eran was holding back, I was at his mercy to tell me.
That night, I went to bed as quickly as I could – even skipping Ezra’s delicious coffee ice cream pie. Once asleep, I looked at the cabin but only found Annie and Charlie lounging on the porch. I also checked the clearing where I’d found him doing his training drills, but it was vacant. I even went back to the Hall of Records in hopes of finding him there but it, too, was empty. I also tried drifting my finger over his scroll in hopes it would send me directly to him, but for the first time since I’d learned that technique, it didn’t work. Everything I tried was fruitless.
If he was avoiding me – and I had the distinct feeling he was – I couldn’t figure out what I had done to deserve it. He hadn’t appeared particularly offended by anything I said the night before. In fact, the last thing I remember before waking up in my bed were his eyes, shining blissfully back at me. This was what hurt the most. I had gotten the impression – once again – that he had some interest in me other than his self-proclaimed responsibility to guard over me. He might have feelings he refused to acknowledge. Again, all evidence pointed to the fact that I was nothing more than an unpredictable part of his duties.
Eventually, my alarm clock went off again and I woke up in my bed back on Magazine Street in New Orleans.
I inhaled a bowl of cereal, without paying much attention to the taste, and got on my motorcycle, heading to school, before anyone else was even awake.
I needed something to keep my mind off Eran. Since I arrived before the rest of the student body, well before classes started for the day, I parked myself at a large table in the library. I had fencing class to study up on. We
were having a test and sparing today for the first time. When called on, I need to know what an Attaque au Fer and Prise de Fer meant. I hadn’t picked up my foil once to practice my footwork so I needed to ace the written part. By the end of my studying, I was desperately hoping that Eran would be right – that the skill would come back to me – and that it would return some time before last period. Feeling little difference in my physical aptitude, I knew this was a slim possibility.
When classes started, I resorted to hiding my fencing instruction manual behind other textbooks in each of my classes, doing my best to memorize all the terms. In fact, I was going to ask Gershom to test me at lunch, but he was interested in talking about something else far more intriguing.
He arrived early to our spot beneath the tree and immediately launched into his interrogation.
“Did you deliver the message to Eran?” he asked, before sitting down.
I cringed. The sound of his name left an ache in my chest.
“I did,” I replied, pulling out my muffuletta and a bag of chips even though I had no appetite.
“Did he say anything in return?”
“Mmhmmm…” I replied. Lots of things.
“Well? What was it?”
Gershom looked impatient. He clearly wanted an answer. Idle conversation would not suffice today.
“Sorry,” I said, between chews. “I feel a little scattered today. Nothing really. Um, Eran was surprised you’d sent him a message and asked who you were.” I said this rapidly, trying to get the conversation over with quickly. The thought of Eran was leaving a void in my chest where my heart had once been, and discussing him was only amplifying it.
Gershom leaned back, looking like I’d just pulled a black widow from my bag.
“What? What did I say?” I asked, confused.
“He asked about me? What did you tell him?” Gershom’s voice was strained, bordering on nervous.
“Nothing really. Just that you were a friend of mine at school.”
He watched me in silence for a moment and then an uneasy smile rose up. “You used the word…friend?”
“Yes. I consider you a friend.” I was surprised once again at how easy it was to say the word. I’d never really been comfortable using it, much less referring to anyone in my life with it. Then, to use it in front of the very person I was referring to was a very big step. This, I decided, was directly influenced by Ezra, Felix, and Rufus.
“Did he take the message seriously?”
“He seemed to,” I replied.
Only then did Gershom relax and pick up his sandwich.
“We both wondered though…how you knew of him.”
Those words made Gershom choke.
After I was done whacking his back and he was breathing freely again, I explained. “I mean…Eran died so long ago. How could you possibly know him?”
“Yes, that’s…that’s an understandable question,” he said, even though he looked like he was at a loss for words. He cleared his throat, giving me the impression it was to drag out the answer. When he did explain though, it made sense to me. “I’d heard stories about Eran from my family before…before we were separated.”
“Really?” I was instantly far more curious than I had been a moment ago. “What stories?”
“Well…” he said, relaxing and stretching his legs out in front of him before continuing. “As you know, he died at Gettysburg. But, before that he lived a wild life…and I mean that literally. He’d grown up on a Native American reservation with his parents – even though they were white - and as a test of courage he’d provoke mountain lions, bears, and other animals most people did their best to avoid. Eran did it simply to fight them.”
“No kidding?” I was impressed and didn’t bother hiding it. Apparently Gershom had just as much respect for Eran as I did because he spoke with wide eyes and exclamations as he recounted the story of Eran’s last life on earth. It was a side of Gershom I’d never seen before.
“Eran rejected his heritage and lived out his life in the backwoods. Most said he slept in caves or makeshift tents but others believed that he built a remote cabin far from any commonly used trails.”
“A cabin?” I asked, dazed and wondering whether I’d been to the recreated version of it.
“Right, somewhere near a lake.”
Yes…yes, I believe I had.
“He stayed mostly to himself, only going into town for supplies. Then the Civil War broke out and he volunteered. From what I heard, that was unexpected…because he was so reclusive. But, it turned out he was a good fighter. There was this one time during the war he told his commanders that their defense strategy was flawed. They refused to believe him. So, later that night, he gathered a group of men and went out to dig holes in the area where they were most exposed. Then they covered the holes with fallen leaves and branches. At morning light, just as they were heading back to their tents, they felt the ground begin to shake and when they turned they found a group of eighty men charging their camp. Eran and his five men – just five men – turned to face the challenge head on. But the traps worked. They captured every one of their attackers. Their camp was saved and no one died…that day, anyways.”
Eran had mentioned he was a fighter. This story alone proved it to me.
“I can see that in him…him doing that,” I said, trying not to show how seriously I had become attracted to Eran.
Gershom didn’t seem to notice. He simply nodded fervently and went on. “There is story after story of how he could never be beat in a fist fight, without ever striking his opponent.”
“Without making contact? How did he…win then?” I asked in earnest, reminding myself to contain my enthusiasm.
“He had some fancy way of fighting were he’d avoid punches, wearing down his attacker until they gave in. Leaning back just before the fist would land and jumping up on tables and chairs…to get out of the way…that sort of thing. They said it looked like he was fencing - but without a foil.”
So Eran was good at fencing, too. Figures…
“And he was liked by the woman too…” Gershom smiled slyly. While the words left his mouth my stomach writhed in knots.
“Oh?” I muttered, far less enthusiastic.
“They fawned over him,” said Gershom, taking a bite of his sandwich and nodding. “But he didn’t pay any attention to them. There was only one true love for him. They grew up together – on the reservation – went to school together, and eventually married. They were inseparable.”
Slowly, as Gershom’s words settled, an enormous lump rose up in my throat.
Eran had loved someone before, truly loved her so much that no other woman could pry his attention away. Inseparable was what Gershom had just said. Inseparable on earth so much that they went through life together and he never appeared to even glance at another woman. Instantly, I felt a wave of jealousy rush over me, which I subconsciously acknowledged was ridiculous. There was no way I had any chance with someone like him. I shouldn’t have been so upset to learn he found someone to partner with in a way that was more than business.
So where was she now? Not at the cabin, his private residence where he never brought anyone. And he’d never mentioned her. Not once! You’d think if she had that much importance in one of his past lives that he’d bring her up at least once!
Then it struck me. Maybe this was the secret Eran didn’t want to disclose. Maybe this was what Eran refused to tell me during that last night with him. He probably saw the unmistakable longing in me, which would make perfect sense as to why he was now avoiding me. He had his one true love, and he didn’t want to lead me on any further.
Jealousy was swiftly replaced with acute humiliation.
Gershom was still talking though I wasn’t paying any attention. I was trying to keep from blacking out.
“They said her name was M-something. Margo…Madeline…Margaret! Yes, that’s it! Margaret! Margaret Talor.”
My breathing stopped completely. I recognized t
hat name. “Are you sure?”
Gershom stared at me innocently. “Yeah.”
Margaret Talor…Margaret Talor…Margaret Talor…calm down, I told myself. Could it be? Was that the name I saw on my list of past lives? The one from Gettysburg, Pennsylvania? The one that died the same day Eran had died? Instantly, I thought back to the scroll, my scroll…but I already knew the answer. At the time, I hadn’t paid attention so much to the names as I did to the coincidence of the dates and places of death, yet some narrow part of my consciousness had caught it.
I had been Margaret Talor.
That was Eran’s secret.
It felt as if the world around me stopped. Nothing moved. There was no sound.
I had been Eran’s wife.
Gershom’s quiet, patient voice found its way into my numb world.
“Um…are you okay?” he asked, tipping his head toward my sandwich which was now nothing more than a blob of colors squished inside my fist.
At this realization I released my breath to laugh at myself. “I think so. At least I think I will be.”
“Wow…” Gershom muttered, watching me dubiously.
“It’s okay…I’m okay…”
He nodded though it didn’t look like he believed me.
“Here.” He passed me a napkin to wipe what used to be my sandwich off the palm of my hand. “Better get a grip. We have visitors.”
Just then a shy, high-pitched voice said, “Hello.”
I hadn’t even noticed the two girls approaching.
I glanced up to find them sheepishly staring at me.
It was Jenny McKintridge from my European History class. She had a friend with her who I’d only seen around but didn’t know. But it was the piece of paper in her hand that actually drew my attention. It looked like our school newspaper.
