by John Osborne
After he ate and watched the news, Noah checked email and the next day’s weather forecast, which looked fine, with clear skies expected. He lay back on the bed, remote in hand, ready for some mindless zapping. Instead, he pushed the power button and sat in the semi-darkness. Willow’s last words to him he replayed many times. Meeting her had only heightened the sense of mystery created by the Henning’s Gang.
“One thing is no mystery,” Noah said in a quiet voice. “She’s drop dead gorgeous. Doesn’t wear a bit of makeup. Doesn’t need to. Sure not like Liz and Jackie.” Noah imagined tiny Willow standing between his two previous loves. They would tower over her, tall and tanned, but they couldn’t begin to measure up to her.
Noah grabbed his calendar from the bedside stand. Tomorrow he had an appointment at 8:00 to shoot a pond near Bismarck, a small community fifteen miles south of Hoopeston, but he was free the rest of the day. He would visit the Hoopeston Public Library and search for any newspaper articles about Willow’s parents. He had to know more.
Intrigue followed this little person about. She must have been at least twenty years old when she inherited the property. She should be over fifty, but she didn’t look a day older than Noah’s thirty-five years. Up close, her face didn’t show a wrinkle or spot. Neither did her smooth, soft hands…
Okay Noah, get a grip. You’ve other things to think about. Like work.
He connected the cable between the camera and his laptop and downloaded the pictures of Willow’s pond.
“Doggone it! These are crap!” The photos had looked fine on the camera screen. He would not digitally retouch them: that wasn’t his style. He spent the next hour looking in vain for some good shots, sorting, comparing. These images begged him to hit the delete key.
“Damned Gremlin,” he muttered.
Of course, this gave him a good reason to see Willow again. Also to look incompetent. If he didn’t go back to reshoot, it meant cutting a beautiful scene from his article. Noah sighed and ran a hand through his hair then across his face. “Gosh, I’m tired. I’ll decide tomorrow.”
Later, as he lay in bed, Willow slipped into his thoughts. What was the thing with the animals, he wondered, as he drifted off to sleep.
The Hoopeston Public Library, as with libraries in many Midwest towns, had outgrown its 1904 Carnegie home and built a sizable addition. Noah had stopped in when he first arrived in the area to check the archives for old maps of Vermilion County, so he knew the reference section already. He pulled into the lot, grabbed his notebook and climbed out of the truck.
Ten minutes later, he sat at a microfilm machine looking over the Danville Commercial-News from July 17th, 1975. The day’s headline dominated the front page: “Prominent Hoopeston Couple Disappears.” An article and photos, meaningless negative images on the microfilm, accompanied the headline. Noah pushed the print button and soon had positive images. Willow’s father, Harold, stared out from the page, a pleasant, unremarkable businessman. Her mother, Rose, however, caught Noah’s attention: Willow aged thirty years, with the same round cheeks, the same small dark eyes.
The article was a typical sterile, dispassionate newspaper account.
A prominent Hoopeston businessman and his wife have been reported missing by police. Harold Brown, aged 61, and his wife Rose Brown, aged 56, have not been seen since July 12th. When Mr. Brown failed to appear at his office on July 13th, his employees became concerned and went to the couple’s woodland home in the rural Hoopeston area. When the employees arrived, they found the Browns’ vehicle parked outside but found no one at home. The Vermilion County Sheriff’s Department was called due to the remote location of the couple’s residence, deep in heavily wooded land known as Jones Woods. The Browns have lived in the area for some time but purchased the property just a year ago.
Accompanied by an employee who possessed a spare key, sheriff’s deputies entered the home but found it unoccupied. A thorough search for evidence showed no indications of forced entry or other foul play. Authorities have been conducting searches of the property, but have been hindered by the dense woods and heavy undergrowth.
“It’s like a jungle in some places,” said Deputy Ronald Stevens. The sheriff’s department underwater recovery team has been called in to search a pond on the property. They expect to begin operations tomorrow.
The couple’s only known relative, a daughter, was contacted today where she was visiting with friends in Kentucky. She is expected to return to Hoopeston later today to assist authorities with the investigation.
“Poor Willow,” Noah muttered. He changed to a new microfilm roll and scanned the next few days for any follow up articles. A short article appeared in the July 20th edition stating that the investigation continued and that an underwater search of the pond had yielded no results.
Noah searched further and found a third article dated two weeks after the first. “Daughter Urges Continued Search for Missing Parents” headlined this article. A negative image of Willow exiting the sheriff’s department accompanied the article. The story had moved off to the local news page.
A Hoopeston woman is urging local authorities to continue the search for her missing parents. Willow Brown, only child of Harold and Rose Brown of rural Hoopeston, met with Vermilion County Sheriff’s detectives today to encourage a continued effort to locate her parents, or otherwise determine their fate. The couple has been missing since July 12th and authorities are beginning to run out of leads. A thorough search of the wooded rural property and surrounding fields has not revealed any evidence. At the request of Miss Brown, the Vermilion County Underwater Recovery team last week completed a second sweep of the pond located on the property.
The article continued a few more paragraphs, repeating the original story. Noah punched the button to print the article and continued scanning the next few days’ film for more. Finding none, he unloaded the microfilm, picked up the paper copies he had printed and walked to the reference librarian’s desk to return the film.
Back in the truck, Noah threw the papers on the seat beside him and pulled out of the parking lot onto Fourth street southbound, intending to turn west on Main Street and pass The Broom Closet. He remembered the picture of Willow, and rifled the sheets to find it as he drove.
There she was, on the next to last sheet. The picture displayed most of her torso; she wore a tailored women’s suit of mid-seventies style. Her hairstyle was the same as she wore it now. The microfilm image was well preserved, and the photographer had done a great job with a moving target.
She was so cute.
A chill went down Noah’s spine.
Every bit as cute as today.
In fact, she looked exactly like she did today. He double-checked the date on the article: 1975, the year Noah turned four.
Noah’s cell phone began to play “Stars and Stripes Forever,” the custom ringtone for his editor at Outdoor Midwest, Richard Varney. He pulled the truck into the parking lane and rolled to a stop while he reached for the phone.
“Hi, Dickie,” Noah said, and smiled at the expected pause.
“You bastard,” Varney said.
“Good to hear from you, too,” Noah said, laughing. The disadvantage, for Varney anyway, to working with people who knew you as a kid was they remembered your kid name. “Dickie” had become “Richard” in high school but Noah still liked to put Varney in his place when he got uppity, which seemed to be most of the time of late.
“If you can stop laughing long enough to discuss business,” Varney said, “I would like to know when you expect to wrap up down there.”
“Wrap up? I just got here.”
“You’ve had nearly a week.”
“Try four days.”
“Splitting hairs. Can’t be that many ponds to shoot, and I guess I don’t need to remind you—”
“There’s a deadline to meet,” Noah interrupted. “I know. There are lots of ponds to shoot. In fact I found the best one yet yesterday.”
“Good, then you�
�re almost done.”
“Hardly,” Noah answered. “The pictures I took yesterday stunk, and the landowner wasn’t happy with me being there, so I’ll need to find some more good spots.”
“Well, go back when he doesn’t know,” Varney said. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“You know I don’t work that way,” Noah said.
“You work for me, Noah.”
Noah hesitated. “I’ll think about it.”
“Think about it hard because I’m giving you one week.”
Noah rubbed the phone across the truck seat several times, and smacked it against the dash. “Richard? What did you say? I’m losing my signal out here.”
“Don’t pull that shit with—” Noah switched off the phone.
Once at the motel, Noah laid the papers on the table, except the article with Willow’s picture, which he stuck to the wall with tape. “You’ll have to wait for now, mystery woman,” he said to her image. “As my boss reminded me, I have work to do.”
Noah downloaded the Bismarck pond photographs to his laptop, cataloging and analyzing them under Willow’s watchful eyes, which seemed to draw his often. The afternoon passed before he finished. He stood, stretched, and retrieved a Dr. Pepper from the refrigerator. After downing half the can in one swig, he returned to his laptop.
On a whim, he signed onto his Internet access account and brought up a high school reunion search site. As dumb as they might seem to most people, Noah found these sites to be helpful when locating old friends. He typed in Willow’s name, entered her age as thirty-five and began searching. No Willow Brown listing existed for Vermilion County. He searched further back year by year, each time with an older current age for Willow, stopping when he reached sixty-five.
“She can’t be that old. Maybe she’s not from Hoopeston.”
Noah’s mind returned to his conversation with Varney. He should go back to Willow’s pond for some good pictures. She had granted permission to photograph the pond, although she had insisted on being present. Still, a quick visit wouldn’t do any harm. He would park in the harvested fields west of the woods and attempt to locate a trail that led to the pond. The late afternoon sky was cold-air clear. He’d have time to get into position and take advantage of the soft early evening light.
His eyes strayed to Willow’s photo.
“Hope you don’t mind.”
Thirty minutes later Noah spotted the beginning of a path right where he had hoped. He rolled the Dakota to a stop on the grassy strip between the plowed fields and the woods.
The narrow track through the woods was hard to follow; it appeared to be a deer path, the quickest way to summertime meals in the cornfields. After about ten minutes, he saw light through the trees ahead as he neared the pond. He arrived on the west shore, where Daisy the deer had been. He worked his way up the shore toward the rock ledge, stopping when a hundred feet or so away from it.
Stunning light illuminated the dead calm surface of the pond. Clear, deep blue sky contrasted with the bright sun at treetop level behind him. Conditions would be perfect for the next thirty minutes as the sun sank. The woods’ vibrant remaining leaves glowed, but didn’t overpower. No twittering of birds disturbed the quiet, which Noah found peculiar. He took a long, deep breath, savoring smells of wet marsh grass and stone, and wished he didn’t need to work. He would like to just sit here and enjoy the peaceful energy.
Nevertheless, duty called. He extracted the big digital camera and the tripod from the case and assembled them. He started to follow a short path to a little beach, but thought better of it and dropped the tripod to the ground right where he stood, among some hemlock trees. For several minutes he studied scenes on the camera preview screen, changed angles, experimented with f-stops and exposures, until he arrived at the proper settings and view. As his finger sat on the shutter, ready to click the first picture, a commotion rose in the distance.
At first, there was a fluttering sound, and then something heavy rustled through dry leaves. Two blue jays shot through the trees and blasted across the pond, low to the water. A burst of barking exploded in the quiet, and then Shadow the black Lab ran into view, careened across the rock ledge and made a long, graceful leap into the water.
I’m in trouble.
Willow wouldn’t be far behind. The gloom around the pine trees would conceal him, but he stood in a pile of dry leaves that would crackle at his slightest move. He hoped Shadow kept thrashing the water.
Songbirds twittered and a sweet feminine laugh drifted across the pond. Gooseflesh ran up Noah’s back at the sound, and yesterday’s strange feelings returned. His heart beat a little faster, not from fear of discovery, but at the prospect of seeing Willow.
She appeared at the opening in the trees, with birds whirling in circles around her tiny form. Captivating, she wore a full-length white robe, her cheery face framed by a broad hood. The garment hung loose on her small frame, the belt carelessly tied. She glided over to the edge, revealing glimpses of bare legs. The white robe presented blinding contrast to the darkening trees; all else faded to drabness. The way her face reflected the robe’s luster, her skin seemed to glow.
Willow laughed again as Shadow paddled about, a relaxed, giggling laugh. “You sure stirred things up,” she shouted to the dog. He paddled his way to a stone beach below her and climbed out, following a narrow path cut in the rock. The dog shook from tip of nose to tip of tail, showering the ledge, the birds and Willow, who laughed again and threw back her hood, at the same time speaking over her shoulder. “How’s the water?” She reached for the belt, untied it and dropped the robe, revealing her nude little figure.
“Oh, wow!” Noah whispered.
Willow stretched unashamed in preparation for exercise. Noah’s vantage point was fabulous, except he couldn’t move. He didn’t dare try to leave.
Besides, he didn’t want to leave.
I should have warned her I was here.
I’m not exactly harming her … I guess.
Jeez, with her temper, if she catches me, I’m a dead photographer.
While the rational part of Noah’s mind debated what to do, another part of his consciousness watched Willow’s every move, spellbound. She had a gymnast’s physique, with broad, powerful shoulders and arms that displayed sleek muscles. Firm pectorals spread across her chest, giving perfect support to her broad breasts, which though as wide as the muscles beneath, protruded little. A long torso ended at her moderate waist and tight belly, which displayed a sweet womanly roundness. Hips that flared slightly fashioned a charming curved transition to sturdy thighs. Short legs with muscular calves emphasized her tiny feet. She was at once feminine, yet brawny.
She’s so perfect.
I should feel guilty about this. So why am I … lighthearted? Or is it lightheaded?
The beautiful image before him so enthralled Noah that he nearly missed a most curious anomaly. The robe lay in a pile at Willow’s feet on the rock ledge yet the white glow remained on her face, and the soft radiance spread down her neck and across her upper chest. It must be reflected sunlight. He turned toward the sun for a moment, missing Willow’s dive off the ledge. She swam a long time underwater, sank deeper for a moment, and then shot straight up and burst through the surface amid a shower of spray and a loud buzz—and continued into the air and hovered, facing Noah, ten feet over the water. Two pairs of gossamer wings had appeared behind her and vibrated with a soft drone.
Blessed be the Goddess!
Noah’s legs wobbled. Willow remained erect and lifted her arms straight out to her sides. The palms of her hands glowed with white light. She dropped her arms to her sides and then raised them again. The water below gurgled and large bubbles formed and burst, each releasing a glowing cloud of vapor that coalesced into a distinct luminous ball. She spun slowly in the air, turning full circle twice as the globes rose and spiraled around her. When her back faced him, Noah could see the wings were no trick or apparatus.
Willow’
s merry laugh sounded in the silence, and then she pitched forward and dove into the water, the wings folding flat against her back. She swam underwater this way and that for fifty feet or so. The balls of light followed every move, until she emerged from the water and soared into the air above the treetops with a loud buzz. She hesitated, looking across the forest for a few moments, and then twirled and plunged toward the water to sweep along inches above the surface, her body now held horizontal, arms at her sides.
Noah’s stomach lurched as he followed her roller coaster course through the air. His hands shook and grew clammy.
Please stop flying.
The lights and the birds formed a living escort that flew alongside, above and below Willow as she flew a circuit about the pond. Near the ledge, she slowed, shifted to an erect position and dropped feet first into the water. She swam quietly on her back, an occasional wingtip peeking through the surface. She spoke softly to the birds, which had landed on the rock nearby.
Noah was having difficulty breathing. He glanced at Shadow still standing on the ledge. The dog was looking directly toward Noah with his nose in the air, sniffing, ears erect. As he watched, Shadow’s tail drooped. He seemed about to bark.
Don’t!
Willow pulled herself erect in the water, her eyes scanning the banks of the pond. She tilted her head, listening. Noah held his breath as her gaze swept over his position. Satisfied, she whistled to Shadow and motioned for him to join her, which he did, hitting the water with a tremendous splash. That moment would have been perfect for Noah to turn tail and run, but instead he watched this mysterious woman and her dog paddle about beside the ledge. Each ball of light dissipated and vanished.
Damn! The camera auto shutoff! It can wake the dead.
