Where the Forest Meets the Stars

by Vanderah, Glendy

  “They were friends until the day Arthur died.”

  “Then why did you hate this house?”

  He gazed pensively into the forest. “Have you seen the old graveyard between these two properties?”

  “What, did you think the graveyard was haunted when you were little?”

  His lips twisted into a wry smile. “Yeah, I’d have to say it’s haunted.”

  “Really? What’s the ghost’s name?”

  His smile vanished. “Get your flashlight and I’ll show you.”

  21

  Jo needed sleep, but she had to find out what had caused Gabe’s cryptic mood change. She checked Ursa in the living room and grabbed a flashlight, turning it on as she met Gabe on the walkway. “This way,” he said, leading her toward the forest. Little Bear followed, his tail wagging, game for a stroll even at that late hour.

  Gabe shined his light on the western side of the gravel driveway. “It’s been a while, but I think we go in here.” They pushed through thick vegetation at the edge of the driveway. But once they were deeper in, the woods opened up and were easier to navigate.

  “My parents and I came down here at least one weekend of every month during the school year, and we stayed most of the summer,” Gabe said as they walked. “George and Lynne—his wife—didn’t visit their property as often, but they were around a lot when I was a kid.”

  After a short pause, he said, “When I was eleven, I noticed my mom and George had this strange inside joke. My mom almost always started it. She’d use the words hope or love it when she was talking to him.”

  “I’m not sure I get what you mean.”

  “She would say One can only hope in response to something George said, or Look at that sunset—you have to love it. ”

  “Weird,” Jo said.

  “Yeah, it intrigued me.” He and Jo stepped over a log together. “It made me pay more attention to them. Most adults don’t realize kids are listening or how much they understand.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  He stopped walking and shined his light back and forth to orient himself. He steered toward a rock outcrop to the left. “So the more I eavesdropped on them, the more I saw that bothered me.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah, uh-oh. By the time I was twelve, I was convinced they were having an affair. That summer I was down at the creek looking at insects with George, and he mentioned that he was tired because he’d had insomnia the night before.”

  “So what?”

  “My mother often had insomnia, and she said the only thing that cured it was going for a long walk.”

  “That’s hardly proof.”

  “I know. But just a few weeks later, I explored a new patch of woods between the Nash and Kinney properties. I always took the road, usually on my bike, when I went over to the Kinneys’.”

  “You were here, in these woods?”

  “I was, and this was what I stumbled on.” He aimed his light left, illuminating a cluster of tombstones. “In the eighteen hundreds there was a small church here, and some people were buried in its graveyard before it burned down in 1911.”

  They walked to the graves, Gabe shining his light on the tallest marker. It was a cross made of worn white stone that immediately brought Ursa’s drawing to mind. It was scoured by time but still readable. The etched lettering in the middle of the cross read HOPE LOVETT , AUG . 11, 1881 – DEC . 26, 1899.

  “Hope Lovett ,” Jo said.

  “Do you see the connection?”

  “I do, but are you sure it’s a connection? Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

  “I considered that, but I decided it had to be linked to my mother’s inside joke with George.”

  “Was this . . .” She hated to say it.

  “Where they met?”

  “Was it?”

  “I was determined to find out,” he said. “George and Lynne arrived a week and half after I found this place, and as usual, they came over to the cabin for drinks and dinner. I kept George and my mother within earshot the whole night, but I didn’t hear what I was waiting for until George and his wife were leaving. My mother and George walked outside before my dad and Lynne. I slipped outside and sat on the porch rocker to listen. George said something about how hot it was, and my mother said, I hope it rains tonight and cools things off. George smiled but didn’t say anything. Don’t you love it when it storms at night? my mother said, and George answered, Yes .”

  “So you thought that was the code to meet at this grave marker?”

  “Of course.”

  “It all sounds too childish. Are you sure their affair wasn’t concocted by your overactive twelve-year-old mind?”

  “I staked them out.”

  “How?”

  “I set up my tent in the woods down in the ravine. By then, the cabin and tree house were too tame for me.”

  “You snuck out of the tent and came here?”

  “I didn’t have to sneak. My parents let me roam these properties as much as I wanted.” He shined his light on a pile of boulders nearby. “Those rocks were probably dug from the foundation when they built the church. That’s where I staked them out.” He walked over to the boulders, and Jo followed. “You see what a good view I had?”

  “I see. Tell me what happened. The suspense is killing me.”

  “I arrived here shortly after sunset and waited. I’d brought water and snacks and a book of crossword puzzles because I knew I’d have trouble staying awake.”

  “Crossword puzzles while you were staking out your mother’s affair?”

  “My dad and I loved crosswords. I was a major nerd.”

  “Tell me what happened!”

  “At five minutes to midnight, I saw a flashlight coming from the direction of my cabin. It was my mother. She was carrying a blanket and wearing a flowered dress I’d always liked.”

  “Oh god.”

  “She spread the blanket on Hope’s grave and looked toward the Kinney property. About five minutes later, another light approached from the Kinney side of the forest. My mother put her light on the ground so it reflected off the white cross. George Kinney came into view holding an old kerosene lantern. He put down his lantern and they kissed.”

  “Gabe, I’m so sorry.”

  He didn’t hear. He stared at the white cross. “My mother said, Hope’s ghost has missed us as she opened his pants, and old George showed about as much emotion as I’d ever seen in him.”

  “What did you do?”

  “What could I do? I was stuck. One move and they’d hear me crunching leaves and twigs. All I could do was watch.” He looked at the cross again. “I learned a lot about sex that night. They did pretty much everything you can do.”

  Jo held his hand. “Let’s go.”

  “You haven’t heard the best part,” he said in a sarcastic tone that didn’t sound like him. “Afterward they talked. At first they didn’t say anything that interesting. But then George said, Did you know Gabe and I sampled the creek again? His appetite for the natural world is insatiable. My mother said, The apple doesn’t fall far, does it? I’m so happy you can spend time with your son. ”

  Jo tried to hold him, but his body was wooden. He wouldn’t take his eyes off the cross. She tried to turn his face away with her hand. He wouldn’t move. “Turns out everyone knew,” he said. “I have his face. That’s why I grew the beard, so I wouldn’t have to see him in the fucking mirror every day. I haven’t seen my face since I could grow a full beard—since I was sixteen.”

  “Your father knew?”

  “He had to. Their affair was obvious. I’d figured it out at age twelve even though I knew nothing about things like that. And like I said, I’m a replica of George. The only person who probably didn’t know was Lynne, George’s wife. She wasn’t the brightest person, and I think that’s part of the reason George went for my mother. Katherine is smart but very devious. Lacey is a lot like her.”

  “Lacey knows?”

  Finally, he look
ed at her. “Of course. That’s why she hates me. She has our father’s face—the heavy chin and nose—and I got George’s even features. That night I figured out why she’d tortured me since I was a baby.”

  “I’m sure it’s about more than looks.”

  “It is. I’m evidence of Katherine and Arthur’s failures. Lacey revered her father, and she hated that he remained friends with George, even when he was screwing his wife. It was painful to see what a pitiful creature Arthur was.”

  “Have you ever talked to her about any of this?”

  “Tonight is the first time I’ve told anyone.”

  “You didn’t tell your psychologist when you had your breakdown?”

  “Why would I?”

  “To help you come to terms with it. Before you knew George was your father, you liked him. He and your mother never meant for you to see what you did.”

  “But I did see! Do you know when it was finally over I vomited? I didn’t get out of bed for two full days. They couldn’t figure out why I didn’t have a fever.”

  “So that’s when it started.”

  “What?”

  “Using your bed to shut out the world when something upset you.”

  He stared at her, his eyes “like thunder,” as Ursa said.

  “Maybe it all has to do with that night,” she said.

  “Right, and you never had cancer. You cut off your breasts just to make yourself miserable.”

  “Gabe!”

  “You see how it feels?” He walked away.

  “I’m not saying you don’t have depression,” she said to his back. “I was talking about the cause. Depression can come from genetics, environment, or both.”

  He kept walking.

  “I don’t believe this! You’re doing it again. Is that why you brought me here and told me this story—so you’d have another reason to push me away?”

  His body disappeared into the trees, the glow of his flashlight fading with him. She walked to Hope Lovett’s grave and shined her light on the cross. Hope had died at age eighteen—the day after Christmas, just before the start of a new century. It couldn’t get much sadder than that. The grave was a strange place to meet a lover.

  But maybe not. Katherine was a poet. She might have seen it as a metaphor—a renewal of hope and youth—after she’d given up many dreams for her marriage and children.

  Jo swept her flashlight over more faded grave markers, astounded by how many of the dead were babies and children, often buried next to the parents who’d watched them die. Maybe Katherine had been paying tribute to them. Gabe may have been conceived right there, with Hope’s ghost watching.

  Jo walked back to George Kinney’s house, Little Bear following. It was 3:40 when she arrived, and Ursa was in a deep sleep. No way Jo could get up in an hour. She didn’t set her alarm.

  When she tried to sleep, her thoughts manically cycled through everything that had happened in the last few hours. By four thirty, she was delirious. She desperately needed sleep and relief from her thoughts. Thoughts of the graves and Ursa’s buried woman overshadowed her intimacy with Gabe in the tree house. Everything was wrong. She shouldn’t have kissed Gabe. She shouldn’t have let Ursa stay. Why had she let such a mess interfere with her research?

  22

  “Jo?”

  Ursa stood over her, still wearing her pajamas. Jo picked up her phone and looked at the time. 9:16 a.m.!

  “Are you sick?” Ursa asked.

  “No,” Jo said. “Did you just get up?”

  “Yes.”

  “You must have been as tired as I was.”

  “Where’s Gabe?”

  “At home.”

  “He said he would stay.”

  “He can’t. He has to take care of everything at his house. You know his mother is sick.”

  “Will we see him today?”

  “I don’t know.” Jo got up and made coffee and breakfast. They didn’t get out the door until 10:20. She slowed the Honda when she saw Gabe standing in the middle of Turkey Creek Road. He had a metal rake in his gloved hands, and his clothes were soaked with sweat. He looked up, surprised when he saw them. Jo stopped the car, her eyes drawn to his shockingly white driveway, its dirt and ruts covered with a thick layer of new white gravel. She opened her window.

  “You’re getting a late start,” he said breathlessly, dragging a sleeve over his dripping brow. “I assumed you were out.”

  “I needed a little extra sleep.”

  “I know the feeling.” He gestured his chin toward his road. “What do you think?”

  “You did all of that this morning?”

  “The delivery guy did some of it. I raked it and trimmed back the trees.”

  “You need a new No Trespassing sign to keep up with the improvements.”

  “Or a Welcome sign,” he said, a quick glance at her eyes. He looked at Ursa in the back seat. “Hey, runaway bunny, how are you?”

  “Good,” Ursa said. “I like your road.”

  “You’ll have to try it out sometime.”

  “Can we have dinner with Gabe tonight?” Ursa asked Jo.

  Jo and Gabe’s eyes met. “I’m sorry I ran off,” he said, leaning closer.

  “Me too—for what I said.”

  “Don’t be.” He stepped back and set gloved hands atop his rake handle. “So, dinner?”

  “We’ll get back late because I have to catch up.”

  “I can eat light with my mother.” When Jo didn’t answer right away, he backed up farther. “Let me know if you want to. You’d better get going.”

  Jo nodded and put the car in drive. They worked the riparian edges of North Fork and Jessie Branch. Summers Creek was next, but a late-afternoon storm had darkened the western sky by the time they arrived. “It’s like the day we came here with Gabe,” Ursa said.

  “I know. They say lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place, but I’m not going to risk it.” Jo pulled the Honda out of the ditch.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Home. That storm looks ominous.”

  The storm hit while they drove back to Kinney’s. Jo had to pull over because she couldn’t see the road through the downpour. Ursa loved it. While they waited, Jo taught her how to count seconds between lightning and thunder to estimate how far away the storm’s center was.

  They arrived at Turkey Creek Road at quarter to five, just as the severe weather cleared. As expected, their approach to the Nash property elicited Ursa’s pleadings. “Are we having dinner with Gabe? He said we should let him know.”

  Jo stopped the car and contemplated the bright-white welcome of gravel in his driveway. He was sending a clear message. But the status of their relationship was far from transparent. And if she was to go further, she had to see her path at least a little better. She turned the Honda down the lane.

  “Yay!” Ursa said.

  The drive to the cabin took less than half the time it had with all the ruts. “Scrunch down,” Jo said before she stopped next to Gabe’s truck.

  “Why?” Ursa said.

  “You know why. I don’t want Katherine to see you. She might mention it to Lacey.”

  Ursa slouched below the window.

  “I’ll be back in five minutes,” Jo said.

  “That long?”

  “Stay down.”

  She walked up the porch stairs and knocked on the door. Gabe answered, releasing a redolence of roasting beef from the house. He was wearing the pink apron again. “Can I kiss the cook?” she said. He smiled but glanced anxiously backward before he let her peck his lips.

  “I guess the storm brought you home early,” he said.

  Jo nodded. “We were at Summers Creek when we first saw it.”

  “No wonder you came back.”

  “Have you eaten?” she asked.

  “I was just making dinner, but I can come over after.”

  “That sounds good. Do you like grilled mahi? I’m making it for Ursa to try tonight.”

  �
�I love grilled mahi.”

  “Is your mom in the kitchen?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I want to say hello.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said, blocking the door with his body.

  She pushed past him and walked into the house. His mother was seated at the kitchen table, and she smiled when she saw Jo. “How are you, Katherine?” Jo said.

  “Just fine,” she said. She studied Jo’s field clothes and messy hair. “How is your bird research coming along?”

  “Good. Did Gabe tell you he came out with me one day? He even found a nest.”

  “Really!” she said, looking at Gabe.

  Gabe made an evasive move when Jo reached for him, but she captured him around the waist before he got away.

  Katherine’s bright-blue eyes sharpened.

  “Can I borrow your son this evening?” Jo asked. “I’ve invited him over for dinner.”

  “Oh . . . yes . . . that would be all right,” she said.

  Jo kissed Gabe’s bearded cheek. “Can you be there around six?”

  “Sure,” he said tensely, very aware that his mother was scrutinizing Jo’s intimate gestures. When Jo let him go, he bolted to the stove and busied himself with a simmering pot.

  “I have another request,” Jo said, “and I hope it doesn’t sound too pushy.”

  Gabe turned around, his expression panicked.

  “Gabe told me you write poetry . . .”

  “Now, why would you go and do that?” she said to Gabe.

  “I’d love to read it,” Jo said. “Do you have copies of your two books I could borrow?”

  The tremble in Katherine’s hands worsened, as if by her agitation. “I think he’s made it sound better than it is.”

  “As a biologist, I’ll be completely nonjudgmental. I just like the idea of reading poetry that has its roots in this place. Did you ever write about the nature of Southern Illinois?”

  “I did,” she said. “There are even a few birds in my poems. One is about a nest I found.”

  “What kind?”

  “It was a yellow-breasted chat.”

  “I love chats. I found a nest last month.”

  “Well, that’s something, isn’t it?” She said to Gabe, “You know where the extras are. Get her one of each.”