by John Osborne
Leaves strewn along the path rustled under their feet. Chilly late October air promised many more would soon fall. Big trees abounded in Jones Woods, but Noah wasn’t looking at them. Willow’s charming figure held his eyes.
I’ve never met this woman before. No man could forget such a beauty. So why is she so familiar? Sort of like deja vu.
Willow Brown carried herself like a mature older woman. She should have been in her late fifties based on what he’d been told, yet she appeared close to Noah’s age. But for her eyes. Those dark little eyes were ageless.
They soon arrived at the truck. A pair of squirrels scurried from beneath the vehicle, chattering with indignation. Noah dropped the tailgate, slid the big camera case to the edge and lowered it to the ground with a grunt.
“Is everything in here?” Willow asked, pointing to the case.
“Yep.”
Willow grabbed the steel box by its handle and waltzed away at the same speed as before, carrying the load with one hand, despite the fact that the crammed-to-the-top case weighed an easy seventy pounds. Noah stood with his mouth open, and then slammed the tailgate shut and ran to catch up.
So much for deja vu.
About fifty feet down the path, Willow took a fork to the left. This second path twisted and turned, but led south, as near as Noah could tell.
After a few minutes walk, an old mansion loomed up among the trees. Noah slowed as they walked toward the enormous structure. Willow stopped to wait for him at a low wrought iron fence that blocked their path, impatience written on her face. She opened the gate, waited for Noah to come through, and then clanged it shut and hurried ahead. The fence encircled the house and its lawn, pierced on all four quarters by a gate opening to a path.
Towering old oaks presided over large expanses of well-groomed lawn. He guessed the house to be about seventy feet square. Four stories rose above its foundation, each ten or eleven feet high. Add another ten feet for the pitched steel roof and anyone perched atop the widow’s walk stood with his eyes sixty feet off the ground.
Noah took a detour and approached the front porch, stopping to stare.
So this is the Big House.
Willow stopped and sighed loudly. “I thought you wanted to photograph the pond, Mister Phelps.”
“I do,” Noah said, “but this place is fantastic. I just want a quick look.” Willow shook her head and plopped the camera case down. She stood with her hands in her back pockets, tapping her foot.
Despite its apparent age and obvious uninhabited state, the house looked in good condition. Paint appeared fresh, downspouts were in good repair, and he saw no broken glass. Noah climbed the porch stairs and contemplated the wide door, made of some dark hardwood with heavy straps and hardware. Shutters arranged on either side must be small windows, he assumed.
Large limestone blocks laid close together made the foundation; flat river rocks comprised the walls, with various sizes and colors mixed to achieve straightness, and mortared with white cement, like the front of Willow’s cottage. Noah descended the stairs and walked around the house on a small flagstone path. Willow followed.
White shutters with no visible locks covered the first floor windows. No drapes or curtains could be seen in the huge upper windows, save for a corner room on the fourth floor. Attached to the back side of the house was a smaller porch, less formal than the front one, he supposed near the kitchen area. Beyond the south gate, a broad path led off into the trees.
Altogether a dominating, intimidating place in the middle of nowhere, locked tight and shuttered against all but the most determined intrusion. Strangely, Noah sensed no forbidding energy.
Feels like home.
“Are you finished gawking?” Willow said.
The Princess grows impatient.
“Yes. Lead on. Please.”
Willow lifted the case and took the path that led south. Noah tried to reach the gate first so he could open it for her but she moved too fast.
The trees flew past. They came to another stone structure, smaller but of the same odd materials, and also shuttered. Tire tracks ended at a sliding door on the west side. Here the path branched; a narrow track continued south, but Willow turned west to follow the main path.
After several uncomfortable minutes, Noah broke the silence. “The Big House is impressive. Did I understand correctly that you and your parents lived there?”
“For a short time,” Willow said without turning, her voice tainted by irritation. Noah kept further thoughts to himself, lest he disturb Her Majesty.
The path ended at a broad rock shelf that overlooked the pond five feet below. About three hundred feet long and half as wide, the northern end was somewhat flattened where the water butted against the rock ledge, and the south end narrower, almost pointed. From above, it would look like an arrowhead, Noah noted. The woods grew close to the banks on all sides. Maples and cottonwoods stood here, but a fair peppering of white pines and hemlocks encroached on the shore in a few places.
Shadow bounded toward the water but stopped at the edge of the rock and looked at Willow. She shook her head and said “Not today.” He twisted his head to one side. Noah came alongside Willow as she raised her free hand toward Shadow and pointed her palm toward him. “Not today,” she said in a quiet voice. Shadow walked away from the pond, and plopped down on the opposite side of the ledge.
“You have him trained for hand signs, I see,” Noah said.
“Oh, uh, yes. He’s very intelligent. He loves to swim, and I didn’t think you would want waves on the water.”
“Thanks.” Noah reached for the equipment case. “I can take that now.” As they transferred the case, their hands touched for the briefest of moments, a quick brush, but a flicker of energy passed between them, the same that had haunted Noah all morning. Willow’s expression grew puzzled; she turned away toward the pond. So close, she smelled wonderful: sweet, but earthy.
Willow waved a hand toward the pond. “So what do you think?” she asked.
I think you’re the most mysterious woman I’ve ever met.
“It’s fantastic,” Noah said, gazing across the water. Louie had assessed correctly: this place was perfect. “This is a natural pond, isn’t it?”
“Yes. An underground spring feeds it. The water drains out to the south.” She pointed to the marshy far end. “From there it follows a little gully out of the woods and into the North Fork River.”
Noah would have preferred better light for this shoot. The clouds had hung on from yesterday, and the gray sky reflected on the pond surface, so he would have to be creative about his camera angle.
The Gremlin strikes again.
He put down the camera cases and pulled out the old Yashica. “Is there any other access to the shore besides this ledge?” he asked.
“Yes,” Willow said, who had stood with her hands in her back pockets surveying the pond and ignoring Noah. She pointed to a narrow gap in the trees at the west end of the ledge. “That path circles the pond. It stays close to the shore, maybe ten to fifteen feet most places.”
Noah turned his ball cap backward to be ready for shooting, which seemed to amuse Willow. “Any rule against straying from the path? I want to get right next to the water.”
Willow shrugged. “Help yourself. I’ll hang around here with Shadow.”
“Well, actually, it would be better if you came along, and Shadow, too.” Careful, Noah, she’s royalty. “Despite your charming appearance, my editor prefers none of what he calls ‘human intervention’ in his photos.”
Willow spoke to Shadow. “Hear that, Shadow? He thinks you’re charming.” She flashed a mischievous grin that Noah found quite appealing, even if she was making fun of him. She motioned to Noah to lead the way. Once Shadow saw their direction, he bounded ahead.
Noah stopped many times to view the pond through the old camera’s vertical viewfinder, from many vantage points and angles. Willow walked quietly along, watching Noah work, looking about the woods, or ke
eping Shadow out of the water.
This is awful.
Noah dragged his eyes to the viewfinder; he wanted to look at Willow. He kept glancing her way, cautiously, so she wouldn’t notice. He could feel where she stood, even with his back to her.
In this fashion, he had worked his way about halfway around the pond when Shadow began to bark and ran back down the trail with a satisfied “Look what I found!” expression. Willow had fallen behind, but now she strode forward and met the dog a few feet from where Noah stood. “What is it, boy?”
“A deer,” Noah said, pointing to a medium-sized doe walking toward them. The deer seemed unconcerned about the big dog, or Noah. Willow smiled at the animal and spoke to her in soft tones. The deer, without hesitating, walked up to her and bowed its head. She stroked the animal’s long neck.
“This is my friend Daisy,” she said. “I’ve known her since she was a baby. I named her that after I found her lying in a bed of daisies outside the Big House. Plus she has this white mark on her forehead.”
Willow placed a hand flat against the animal’s neck for a moment, and spoke in a quiet voice. Daisy raised her head, looked at Noah, and then walked rapidly away into the trees.
File that under “Dr. Doolittle Tendencies.”
Noah continued around the pond taking test views and jotting notes until he arrived at the rock ledge, with Willow close behind. Shadow had already flopped down on the rock, panting from his explorations. Noah set the Yashica down, opened the big case and pulled out the large digital camera and its tripod.
“What are you doing?” Willow asked.
“I’m going to take the photographs.”
Willow’s eyes narrowed. “What have you been doing?”
“I’ve been deciding what pictures to take. Taking light readings, checking angles. Now that I’m done analyzing, I’ll shoot the photos.”
“I thought photographers just fired away and did whatever felt right.”
“Some do. I don’t.”
I don’t care how royal you are, no one tells me how to do my work.
Willow frowned, crossed her arms and stomped off, wandering across the ledge. Noah attached the camera to the tripod, made sure he had spare batteries and memory chips in his pocket, and then walked to the path.
The Princess scowled at him. “I suppose you want me to follow you around again.”
“Yes. Please.”
“Come, Shadow.”
They proceeded down the path. Noah stopped several times to set up the camera, verify settings and shoot some images. Each time, Willow stopped a few feet away on the path and stood waiting with her arms crossed. Noah hated working under watchful eyes, especially when their owner didn’t want to be there.
You’re beginning to really piss me off, lady.
Forty-five minutes later, while Noah was shooting from a small sandy beach, a racket rose overhead. Four brown ducks swooped in for a landing.
“Oh, no,” Willow said. “I hope they don’t ruin the rest of your pictures.” The ducks maneuvered into a low-level circuit of the pond.
“Not at all!” Noah said. “This is perfect!” He rapid-fired the shutter. The birds flew straight toward the camera. Great stuff—his editor would love it.
With a flutter and a splash, the ducks landed, swam straight to the beach and shuffled out of the water. Noah stood still as they crossed the sand and waddled beneath the camera tripod. They marched in a row to Willow, where they stopped and quacked an apparent enthusiastic greeting. Willow’s face reddened. She leaned down to the ducks and spoke, again so low he couldn’t quite catch the words.
“Do they have names, too?” Noah asked.
Willow flashed a sheepish grin.
Stanley was right. You’re even prettier when you smile.
“No, they’re visiting, passing through on their way south.” She made motions to shoo them toward the pond. Her left arm didn’t move but pointed toward the ducks with the hand straight up and palm facing them. Maybe she did this for protection if they flew in her face, but Noah didn’t see Willow Brown as a woman who would be spooked by a few ducks.
The birds went back into the water, but not all in a flurry as one would expect. Better to say they obediently returned to the pond, though they didn’t swim far, and hovered close to the shore. Noah wanted to question Willow about what had happened, but she had returned to the main path and moseyed on. He hoisted the camera and tripod to his shoulder and followed. He had done enough here.
Noah reached the ledge about the same time as Willow. Shadow was there already, snoozing on the rocks.
“All done?” Willow asked.
“Yep. I think I have some good shots.”
“Good. Can I help you carry anything?”
Translation: Can I do anything to make you leave faster?
“No, I can manage.” Noah finished packing, slung the small case over his left shoulder and lifted the big case with his right hand, careful not to show any strain. “I can find the way out, I think,” he said.
“That’s okay, I’ll walk with you,” Willow said with a smile. She started down the path at a relaxed pace.
Despite her rapid-fire mood changes, Noah liked this woman. It was obvious she loved and respected nature. These woods were a part of her, her soul interwoven with every creature and leafy thing. Like Noah, she appeared fond of her solitude. And she was easy on the eyes. He felt comfortable with her, familiar, and she seemed at ease with him, too. She was alone deep in a forest with a stranger, a man twice her size, her protection a nosy dog that would probably do little more than watch if anyone attacked her.
“Ms. Brown,” Noah asked as they walked, “why haven’t you changed the name of this place? Jones Woods doesn’t seem right. I understand your two families … well, don’t see eye to eye on things.”
Willow stopped and turned around, a bitter look on her face, which melted into amusement. “I guess I could,” she said. “Brown Woods. Sort of plain. Woods are brown sometimes, though. Maybe … Willow’s Woods? Sort of rolls off your tongue.”
“Yes. I like that.”
Willow’s smile wilted. “If only it was that simple. The name of a place can stick pretty tight, especially when intrigue is attached. Feuding families, a disappearance, a deserted mansion, the weird reclusive daughter.” Her expression grew fierce. “I know what they say about me in town. Did you know I’m supposed to be a prostitute? Or a witch? And I like to have sex with the animals?”
Noah hesitated, then spoke in a soothing tone. “Anyone who says those things has never met you.”
A range of emotions crossed Willow’s face, gratitude most prevalent. Without saying more, she turned and walked on.
They passed the Big House and soon reached the truck. Noah slid both camera cases into the back of the truck while Willow watched, standing with her hands in her back pockets, which seemed to be her favorite stance.
I shouldn’t leave yet. Something’s unfinished.
Willow looked at him intently.
Do you expect something, too?
“Well, on to the next pond,” Noah said. “Thank you much for allowing me to intrude on your morning. I hope I wasn’t too big of a pain.”
“No, you weren’t,” Willow said. “Please forgive my bad manners. I’m alone most of the time and my social skills are rusty.” She smiled her repentance. Her voice had changed; the bossy edge had eased and the pitch was higher, more melodious.
“No problem at all. It was good meeting you, Ms. Brown.”
Willow extended her hand. “Good to meet you, too, Noah.”
The instant their hands touched, energy kindled between them. Willow’s eyes grew wide and locked on Noah’s. Not a romantic tingle or love-at-first-sight feeling, some unfamiliar force moved between them. They didn’t shake, but merely clasped hands for several seconds. Willow’s tiny hand radiated unnatural warmth.
Noah relinquished his grip and the moment ended.
Willow’s eyes flicked down to
her outstretched hand, back to Noah, and then she returned the hand to her back pocket.
What just happened? Something important. Something … intimate.
He took a deep breath and blew it out. Willow’s posture relaxed as self-conscious smiles crept over their faces.
“‘Bye,” she said, and turned toward the path.
Noah’s eyes followed her. She stopped at the edge of the clearing and looked back over her shoulder. “Call me Willow,” she said and then vanished into the trees.
You expect to see me again.
“It will be my pleasure,” he said to himself with a chuckle. He climbed into the truck, jockeyed it around in the small clearing and bumped along the forest lane to the county road. The dash clock read 11:50. A burger and a beer at Ruby Nell’s pub sounded great. As he pulled onto Route 9, Noah massaged his shoulder, which ached from carrying the camera case.
I wouldn’t have rubbed it in front of her for anything. Some serious muscles were hiding under that sweater.
Three
Noah spent the afternoon at two other ponds he found near Milford, neither of which excited him. The owners weren’t around either place, so he left his card and a small brochure about his project.
Concentrating on photography hadn’t been easy. His mind kept finding its way to the sights and sounds of Jones Woods. What he had found on the Internet after lunch occupied him, too.
Willow’s name had appeared when he searched the public tax records, as well as the fact the woods comprised 350 acres with a $40,000 annual tax bill, which had gone unpaid this year. The property was listed for the tax foreclosure sale, scheduled for November 12th, less than a month from now. Willow must be distraught to be in such straits.
Noah also confirmed what Louie told him about Chester Jones. While Noah found no evidence of direct participation in any business, it appeared Jones was behind several local establishments, including a bank, a real estate office, many rental properties and the farms surrounding Willow’s property. He maintained an office on the second floor of the bank building.
A rumble of thunder brought Noah back to the present. He packed his cameras and headed back to the truck. He would stop on the way to the motel at the grocery deli and pick up some food for dinner.
