Willow Wood Road: Lavender and Sage

by Micah Sherwood

  Willow Wood Road

  Lavender and Sage

  Willow Wood Road

  Lavender and Sage

  Part Three

  Micah Sherwood

  First E-Book edition Copyright © 2016 by Michael Hallecook

  Willow Wood Road: Lavender and Sage, is a work of fiction inspired by true incidents and events. Names of people and certain locations in the story have been changed out of respect for the privacy of the persons involved. Names used which resemble the living or the dead are entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved, and no part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without the written permission of the author, his representative or publisher, except in the form of a brief quotation embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  As the purchaser of this E-Book, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. The text may not be otherwise reproduced, transmitted, downloaded or recorded on any other storage device in any form or by any means. Any unauthorized usage of the text without written permission of the author and/or publisher is a violation of the author’s copyright and is illegal and punishable by law.

  I left the world with the aid of another world;

  A design was erased by virtue of a higher design.

  Henceforth I travel toward Repose,

  Where time rests in the Eternity of Time;

  I go now into Silence.

  Gospel of Mary

  Jacques-Yves Leloup / Joseph Rowe, Trans.

  Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1: Flicker

  Chapter 2: Harry Benoit

  Chapter 3: Hide ‘n Seek

  Chapter 4: Al-Hallaj

  Chapter 5: Isabella

  Chapter 6: Tellus

  Chapter 7: May the Lord Bless You

  Chapter 8: Lindy

  Chapter 9: One Thousand Bushels

  Chapter 10: Ohiwaye!

  Chapter 11: Tandy’s Choice

  Chapter 12: Intruder

  Chapter 13: Song of the Celestials

  Chapter 14: Bugs in the Mirror

  Chapter 15: Guy Derocher

  Chapter 16: Trondheim

  Chapter 17: Seneca

  Chapter 18: The Shade

  Chapter 19: Mr. Bobo

  Chapter 20: Clan-Home

  Chapter 21: Letitia Derocher

  Chapter 22: Maria Sewell

  Chapter 23: Ich Habe Angst

  Chapter 24: Confessions

  Chapter 25: All-That-Is

  Willow Wood Road: I am With You Always, Forever

  Micah’s Ride: Imaginal Verses, Phantom Dreams

  Notes

  Preface

  Raggéd ran figure eights through the yard while Micah watched from the back porch. Spring was going to be late this year. A steady breeze came from the north, and the temperature was struggling to get above 40°. At the end of February last year, wild flowers were blooming and the Panhandle had seen its first 80° day. It didn’t matter to Micah, who loved the cold, the wind and the clouds because they made him feel alive.

  The last couple of months had been a struggle. There were few memories of that Saturday morning in December. He recalled sitting on Styx’s back saying good-bye and then the next thing he remembered was wakening in a hospital room far from the Panhandle with his mom and Mr. Dorsey by his side.

  His heart gave out, that’s what his momma said, but Dr. Reeves revived him. Then Millie called Tom Dorsey asking for his help, and 20 minutes later the old man was at the hospital holding the comatose boy’s hand as an airplane, nurses and Dr. Reeves were making ready for a flight to Lovefield in Dallas. Micah had no recollections of his first airplane ride. By Sunday afternoon, he was in a Dallas operating room undergoing risky heart surgery for a congenital heart valve defect magnified by episodes of Rheumatic Fever. A few years earlier that would have been a death sentence, but medical knowledge and therapies were starting to take-off and Micah was their beneficiary.

  He had been home for two weeks, and the Cowboy Clan came by after school to see him and to do his chores like they had done every day since December. Cory slept over at the barn more often than not. Mr. and Mrs. Krigsman came by every couple of days just to say howdy; they were beginning to feel more like family than just his friend’s parents.

  The weirdness mostly stayed away, “thank God!” His “animal” eyes still gave him the willies; and the halo that surrounded his body now shimmered with a vibrant yellow iridescence. The whispers disappeared, but the Shadow Choir serenaded him during the night. He still could read people even more so than before the illness. He knew that the otherworldly events were not over, that deep in his soul something mysterious shared his body and life with him. But it had been a nice break not having to worry about the strangeness.

  For the most part, Micah felt like a normal 10 year old boy, which is just what he wanted to be.

  Chapter 1: Flicker

  The prairies spread from horizon-to-horizon appearing bronzed in the early morning light. The clouds of yesterday were gone, and the giant golden sun slowly rose above the mesquite in the blue March sky. A jack-rabbit sprung onto the roadway and stopped. The wind blowing through the flatlands was chilly and tousled the animal’s fur for the few moments that it stared at the oncoming truck. It bounded out of the way an instant before the old Ford flew past.

  The auburn haired boy watched both the rabbit on the roadway and an eagle floating through the gust-chaffed air above. The bunny saw the truck, but in his effort to escape, failed to observe the raptor hunting overhead. Not ten foot beyond the highway, the eagle grabbed its feast and fled. Micah saw the hunt. It bothered him a little, but he knew that nature was no fairyland—nature and life are synonymous. Few people perceive that fact.

  When folks talk about the land’s majesty, they inevitably are talking about somewhere other than the Great Plains, but there is something peaceful about the grasslands, something simple and unburdened. The prairies lack the grandeur of the Rocky Mountains or the splendor of the canyon lands, but they have an unpretentious magnificence which doesn’t overwhelm the sun brightened skies, the breeze weaving across its surface, or the creatures that make it their home.

  Micah found a book called Marriage and Family that a visitor left behind at Children’s Hospital. It took him three days to read it completely. The textbook said that when a man and woman first meet, they go through a phase called “passionate love” which was like “going very fast on a roller coaster.” Over time, passion was replaced by a comfortable and satisfying friendship; the great highs and lows of romantic love evolve into something more lasting and real.

  Micah figured that the mountains and canyons resemble a youth’s passion, but the ancient prairies are most like a timeworn but happily married man—complete and content. He liked that analogy, but he wasn’t sure that his logic fit. Nevertheless, he had become part of the open range. He once wished to have been born and raised in the hills and woodlands of the Missouri Ozarks where his Poppi grew up and his cousins roamed and played. His outlook evolved over time, and he discovered that the tenor of his soul was much more attuned to the open and lonely steppe of the Texas Panhandle than the shrouded forests of his ancestral homeland.

  The three rode in silence, each absorbed in thought. The old man smiled as he held the steering wheel, driving down a road that was straight as an arrow. He looked at Micah and then at Cory. No two boys were ever more alike or more different than the cousins. Both were exceptionally bright and their appearances were mirror images of one another. But their personalities were contradictory. Micah was intr
overted, a little dark, driven, reserved and often aggressive. Cory was hyper, open, friendly, accepting and unmotivated. Both were fearless and protective of the other.

  Cory was a distant cousin; his mother was an Osage Indian and so was Micah’s grandmother. People who did not know them assumed they were twins; their similarities were uncanny. Micah recognized him as a brother like he accepted his two other friends as brothers.

  They watched the landscape fly by, mile after mile of barrens, cow pastures and newly planted fields of wheat, sorghum and soybeans. Micah and Cory held their black cowboy hats in their laps, a symbol of who and what they are. As if pulled by the same string, both turned their gaze upon the old man simultaneously; each seeing his gentle smile, each welcoming the affection radiating from his faded blue eyes. Tom Dorsey was not their blood kin, but they were kindred spirits nevertheless.

  The cab of the old truck filled with a fragrance vaguely resembling lavender and sage. The aroma seemed to follow Micah around, and Mr. Dorsey told him that he could always tell when he was contented by his scent. He loved the boy. From the moment the youth first walked onto his property seeking permission to cross his land, he had loved him. And Micah shared the same feelings.

  He was a ten year old, but his mind and intellect were old. His guardian told him that once, and Micah listened to and worshipped Tom Dorsey. The youngster loved his family, but he revered the old man. And for the aged landowner, it was strange to abruptly have a grandson, and even stranger to suddenly find his old ranch house full of rowdy 10 year old boys most of the time. But after all of his many years and many successes, his wealth and property, he was finally fulfilled—Micah completed him. It was inexplicable and he was thankful for it.

  “Boom,” the three travelers jumped and Mr. Dorsey pulled the truck over.

  “Dammit, I knew things were going too smooth,” he inspected the blown tire. “Glad I remembered the spare.”

  Before he finished speaking, the two boys had the tailgate down and were pulling the replacement tire and jack from the bed of the pickup.

  “Here, here, I will do that,” but the boys paid him no attention.

  “Sit down old man, we ain’t no idiots,” Micah grinned at Tom as he pulled the hubcap off and then loosened the lug nuts, while Cory situated the jack and started pumping the rear of the truck off the ground.

  “That’s enough,” and Micah removed the lugs and the tire, but Mr. Dorsey hosed his way in and lifted the spare into position.

  “And I ain’t decrepit,” Tom smiled and muffled the boy’s hair. Now hand me the lug nuts and the wrench and stay out of the way.”

  Micah complied and rested on the blown tire. Five minutes later, they were back in the cab and heading south on Highway 287 toward Dallas.

  “I figure we’ll pull over in Wichita Falls for gas and to get something to eat.” The rancher turned his eyes toward Micah for a moment. “You’d better eat plenty because after 11:00 you can’t have any food or liquids so says the doctor.” He paused for a moment. “You’re not worried are you?”

  Micah shifted in his seat. “Nope, I feel fine, better than ever. I’m alive. I’m happy.” His eyes twinkled as he sighed. He remembered how he felt last November and December, when he sensed something was very wrong, but he hid it from himself and from his family and friends. Cory also knew things were not quite right back then, and it frightened him as much as it did Micah.

  Cory stared into his pal’s eyes, at the boy who freed him and took away his afflictions, who helped him toss them aside. Micah told him that it was okay to be the person he was born to be and to celebrate who he was. When his buddy got sick, Cory felt that he was wilting and dying too.

  On the outskirts of Wichita Falls, they pulled into a service station and café. The boys ran to the restrooms while Tom handed the flat tire to an attendant for repair and to have the truck serviced. He met the boys inside the restaurant. Micah and Cory sat in a booth, each wearing his black-felt Stetson and western clothes. A young girl, maybe 14 years old, stood at the table talking with them. In a few years, they would be chasing something more than rabbits and quail. And the way it looked, it was going to be easy hunting for the boys. But they were sensitive and compassionate and respectful, and the old man was not too worried about their future affaires of the heart.

  “What you fellas having?” The young lady left when Tom took his seat.

  “Guess,” Micah said in a jovial manner.

  A waitress came to the table, and Tom looked up at the chubby middle aged woman whose nametag spelled-out Doris. “The two young’uns will have T-Bones, warm and bloody, and eggs over easy with orange juice. I’ll have the same except make my steak medium rare.”

  “Well, did I guess rightly?” Mr. Dorsey smiled.

  “Like that was hard,” Micah responded. “That’s what we always have.”

  “Thanks for letting me come, Mr. Dorsey. You know I’ve never been to Dallas,” Cory was looking at the old man. “My mom gave me some money. I can pay for my own breakfast.”

  “That’s not necessary, bud. Look at all the work you did for me while Micah was sick, and you wouldn’t take my money for it. So it’s only fair that this trip is my treat. We’re square. But I’m not sure how you talked your mom and dad in letting you come on a school day. How’d you manage that?”

  Cory thought for a moment. “I haven’t missed any school except for the week I was suspended, and my grades are okay. So why not?”

  Micah smiled, “’So why not?’ Well because you were suspended from school. That’s a pretty major thing, ya’ think?”

  “Shut-up Bucky or I’ll kick your ass and send you back to the hospital for a while,” Cory’s eyes twinkled as he teased his friend, calling him the name his dad, Bill Sherwood, used for him.

  “You’re daydreaming again, because there is no way you could ever whip my ass. Even when I had a hose down my throat and barely conscious, I could still clean the stables with your weenie body.” Micah watched Cory’s face as he spoke. The boys shared a silent exchange, the meaning of which could not be verbalized. This was a common occurrence between them. It was something deep, unique and unifying.

  Tom Dorsey picked up on this nonverbal communication long ago. He believed that they spoke more often eye-to-eye than vocally. And it was the same with the other two cowboy friends, Dane and Tandy. The four of them would look at one another and share a smile or a grimace; they would shake their heads yes and no; yet not one syllable parted from their lips. At first it was a little freaky until the old man himself starting picking up on the silent conversations, hearing with the gut and the heart and not with the head.

  Tom believed that Micah was the engine of his clique. Everything circled around Micah. The other boys were not dependent upon him; each was his own person. Micah was more of a repository of their common history and knowledge; and when he became sick, the Cowboy Clan suffered alongside him. They would gather in Micah’s bedroom, the old foreman’s suite in the barn, and ponder their missing brother; it was a blend of prayer service and wake; that’s the only way he could describe it. Mr. Dorsey kept the room unlocked so the boys could come and visit Micah vicariously whenever they wanted. Tom would often join them.

  The three were quiet for several minutes as they shared each other’s vitality. Mr. Dorsey left for a moment but soon returned with a pouch full of prescription bottles. “Here you go Bucky. We almost forgot your medicine,” and the old man counted out the pills and handed them to the 10 year old.

  “How long do I have to take this stuff?” Micah looked at Mr. Dorsey.

  “A long time, a very long time,” the rancher was serious. “We don’t want the infection to come back. We don’t want to mess up your heart. If the doctor says forever, then you will take them forever, even if I have to hogtie you while Cory stuffs them down your gullet.”

  “Can’t we stuff them down his gullet anyway? Sounds like fun.” Cory’s whole demeanor shimmered.

  The waitress b
rought the food, and they ate their meal silently. Then they were back in the truck and heading south.

  “How long to the hospital?” Micah asked.

  Mr. Dorsey looked at the boy, who appeared a little nervous, a little pale. “Two hours depending on the traffic. You okay? Nothing wrong is there?”

  “No sir, I’m fine,” but Micah dreaded this day. It had been almost a month and a half since he left Children’s Hospital in Dallas, but he had been out of the hospital in Amarillo for a little over two weeks. And the thought of returning to such a sterile and controlled environment set the boy on edge. He had physical therapy to help keep his muscles toned, and Sister Bernadette was always looking over him and teasing him and playing cards with him. She even helped with the little German that his dad taught him. What he hated was being managed, caged. That was maddening.

  His momma called him a free-ranging boy, and that was not by design. It infuriated his mother. But Poppi accepted it as normal since that was how he was raised. For Micah, he was created to ignore boundaries, and that spelled trouble at home and in school. But as his mother always said, “A turnip cannot become a rabbit,” and after a long and painful process, she finally accepted his independence.

  Traffic in Dallas at noon was horrendous. Tom knew how to get to the hospital, but he spent some time touring around the city. On the west side of downtown, they pulled over and took a short walk along Main Street. “Okay boys, you know this place?” Tom waited for a response.

  Micah studied the park area and the buildings surrounding the Plaza. It looked familiar somehow. He stared at Cory, who looked serious as he returned his gaze. “Kennedy died here,” Micah muttered. For a few moments the boy did not see the traffic and pedestrians of 1965 Dallas; rather, he heard many voices; saw countless people lining the street; and then there was rifle fire and tragedy. He stood in Dealey Plaza, and it was 22 November 1963 again.