Willow Wood Road: Lavender and Sage

by Micah Sherwood

  Micah was quiet and unsure. “What do you want me to do about it? Even if it’s mine, the family still profits from it. I didn’t ask for it. Want me to bring it up with grandma; maybe she will reconsider?” His tone was aggressive.

  “Don’t get upset with me. I understand. That’s the way it is. Only one boy from each of the brothers gets inheritance rights. You’re Uncle Bill’s choice. It could just as likely been Greg or Eddie. But grandma wanted you to have it, and Uncle Bill agreed. The cousins will get over it, especially when Lester’s inheritance is passed on. Only one of his boys will get interest in the family property. No one will ever really own it. It will always be held as a family asset.”

  “But they hate me in the meantime.”

  “No, they’re angry at grandma, and if she finds out, they’d be in for a rough ride, and they know it. You never want to piss grandma off. She has her favorites, and there ain’t anything anyone can do about it. David will get Lester’s land, and I’ll get pappy’s. This is the way it’s been for a hundred years, and I don’t see it changing. It works too good for everyone.”

  “But I got Uncle Earl’s land. Where is my dad’s property?” Micah questioned.

  “The land where grandma’s house is located is your dad’s portion. So that will become your land too. Grandma’s house is your house.” Jerry smiled as he educated his younger cousin.

  Cory said not a word but listened totally fascinated by what he heard. He studied Micah, who looked at the land as something sacred and needed to be protected. But Cory saw it as wealth, and he envied his friend’s good fortune.

  Chapter 18: The Shade

  “No, you don’t understand,” Micah explained to Cory as they rode the bus from Joplin to Amarillo. “I have an interest in the land. I can farm it and live on it, but the family owns it. Uncle Vernon said I have a Life Estate. You see the difference. When I die, the land reverts back to the family and will be reassigned to one of my children. That’s how it works.”

  “But it’s still your land and that makes you wealthy,” Cory argued.

  “Only in what I can produce from it and even that must be split with the rest of the family.” Micah looked across the open prairie as they talked and headed west on Route 66, passing the radar arrays at Amarillo Airforce Base, and in 20 minutes they would arrive downtown where Tom Dorsey waited to greet them. It had been a long three weeks.

  The evening sun was dropping toward twilight as they pulled into the debarking lane of the bus terminal. The pavement was wet from an earlier shower. The Santa Fe Building stood tall against the clearing sky. Micah saw Tom’s red pickup parked on the street. The boys waited in queue to get off, anxious from sitting hours and hours traveling the nearly 500 miles from Missouri.

  They hopped off the bus and headed into the terminal. Mr. Dorsey stood facing them; smiling at them; glad to see them. “My boys, God, it has been forever.” He hugged Micah and then Cory. The old man grieved when they left on their trip, something that surprised him. He felt abandoned without Micah and his friends stirring things up. And he didn’t fully appreciate the amount of work his ward accomplished around the place. That made him better understand how burdened Micah had been those last few weeks before his European trip. He did the work of an adult, went to school, ran track and had boxing practice. Throw his friend’s death into the mix, and it was a wonder that the youth had not broken down completely.

  “You’ve grown,” he said to Micah. “I’ll have to start calling you shaggy till you get a haircut. Let’s go eat. I’m starving, and you guys have to be famished.” They headed for the nearest steakhouse.

  The wind was constant and brought in the rugged smell of the open range tinged with dust. The three sat at a table in the lonely restaurant, and the boys told Tom of their adventures in Norway except for their night stay in a Swedish jail; he wouldn’t understand that.

  “Did you know that Micah is rich?” Cory spoke, and Micah reached over and punched his shoulder.

  The old man grinned for a moment. “You mean the Life Estate? Yes, I notarized the paperwork for his dad.” He looked pensively at Micah. “I didn’t do it behind your back. You weren’t here, so don’t get upset with me.”

  Micah smiled at his elderly friend and then felt sad, which the old man noticed. “I intended to stay in Texas. I want to work on your ranch. That was my goal. But I love Missouri too, all my family. It is problematic,” Micah liked how the word rolled off his tongue.

  “It’s not something you need to figure-out now. You have years for that.” Mr. Dorsey responded.

  “You know I will get my dad’s land too. Altogether, that is almost a section of meadowlands and forests. And grandma’s house is on Poppi’s land, so that’s mine. I feel bad for Greg and Eddie.”

  “With such a large family whose wealth is in the land, those riches would soon disappear as the property is split over and over again as people die. Your great grandad saw that problem, so he placed the property in a trust with a board of directors made up of his children and their descendants. When they give life estates, they encumber the land for the natural life of the recipient. That restricts the ability to sale the acreage, thus the land is held by the family in perpetuity. Your grandma, your dad and your uncles decided that you would be on the board of trustees in the future. That says a lot about their confidence in you.”

  “As far as Greg and Eddie, well, your family had to choose someone that loved the land and would continue their legacy. You and a few of your cousins will ensure that their legacy will endure. Do you understand what I am trying to say?”

  Micah looked at Mr. Dorsey and shook his head yes. “But I would miss the prairies,” Micah responded.

  “Well Jesus Christ,” Cory jumped in. “For someone who is so smart, you can be such a dumbass. Who says you can’t live in both places. You can run both the ranch and the farm. Hire a cousin to oversee the property. God, you got about a million of ‘em so that shouldn’t be a problem. You can do all of the planning and someone else can take charge of it from there. Spend a couple of months here, and a month there. That’s what Tom does. He has property all over the Panhandle. Do what he does.”

  Micah looked across the table and concluded that Cory had a very practical mind while his was more abstract.

  They continued to eat and chitchat. “How about St. John’s?” Tom asked. “It’s getting time to say yes or no. And if it’s no, you have to tell Mr. Malvern whether or not you’re staying at Tierra Verde or going to Camino del Rio.”

  “St. John’s!” Micah said in a matter-of-fact manner. “But I don’t like the idea of taking catechism classes or being baptized, or….”

  Mr. Dorsey jumped in, “You’re baptized. Didn’t we already have this conversation?”

  “No I’m not. I’ve only been to church a few of times, and only twice to a Catholic church, and both of those times were in the last couple of months. So whoever told you I was baptized is wrong.” Mr. Dorsey’s statement perplexed him.

  “You were baptized at the hospital at birth. Your father requested the chaplain at St. Anthony’s to do it. He and your grandmother Sherwood witnessed it. It seems that is the custom in your family, but your mother was absolutely opposed to it, but the priest only needed your dad’s permission. Bill told me this when he signed your application for St. John’s. I thought you knew.”

  Micah was quiet momentarily as he absorbed the information. In the end, it changed nothing he decided. “I still have to learn catechism, which is still a waste of time.”

  “If you’re having so many problems with it, why are you going to St. John’s?”

  “Track and Coach Britt.”

  Tom was taken aback from his answer. “Not the quality of the education? I find that incredible.”

  Micah looked puzzled at Tom. “I can learn most things on my own, but track in different. The school gives me the opportunity to compete. I could never run at Camino del Rio with Terry as the coach. I have no respect for him, and he
has little for me. Plus Monsignor Mathias seems interested in me; but, you know, I think Mr. Malvern is too; that’s the only negative thing about leaving.”

  “So you’ve thought it out, and you’re sure about what you’re doing.” Mr. Dorsey asked. Micah nodded his head yes. “I’ll call Monsignor Mathias and Mr. Malvern tomorrow.”

  “Now let’s talk about your chores.” That got Micah’s attention. “Since you’ve been gone, Dane and I have been doing your work. I didn’t realize the amount of effort and time you put in. I apologize; I should have been more aware. Now I understand why you are so worn out all of the time. I am going to do two things: I am raising your wage to $1.25 an hour; and we need to work on your schedule so you have more private time. With you going to St. John’s, it will be harder getting time for yourself. So before you sign up for track and boxing or whatever, I need to make sure you’re not overloaded.”

  “I don’t want your money. I live with you. If I were your son, would I get a salary? I don’t think so.” Micah was thinking about all of his cousins working for nothing, and then taking money while he was living under Mr. Dorsey’s roof seemed wrong.

  “I don’t remember asking your permission. And yes, I would pay my son a fair wage.” Tom studied the boy.

  “Jesus freaking Christ, you need to shut up and take the dough,” Cory looked at his friend as if he were nuts and then looked at Tom Dorsey, “Adopt me, please. I’ll take whatever you give me and never complain.”

  All three laughed and then sat quietly for several minutes.

  “What’d you get your girl?” Tom resumed the discussion. “I assume you got something for Lindy.”

  Micah reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box and handed it to Tom. “A gold St. Olaf’s medal I bought in Trondheim. The big cathedral was built around his grave, you know?” Tom opened the blue case and inside was a brilliant golden medal and chain, 18 karat gold. “I spent a $100 for that sucker. Feel how heavy it is. I hope she likes it.”

  “Oh Buck, her father may not let her accept it. That is much too much for a gift. You need to think about it before you give it to her.” Tom was very serious.

  “If I don’t give her this, what will I give her? I got nothing else.” Micah was a little panicked.

  Cory reached into his shirt and pulled a silver St. Olaf’s medal and chain over his head. “Give her this one. Save the gold one for when you get married.” Cory smiled.

  “You sure?” Micah reached for it. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Just $8,” and Cory held out his hand, “which gives me a $5 profit.”

  “You’re such a buddy. I’ll give you $4, and you can wait until I get paid?” Cory smiled and shook his head yes.

  “What are you going to do with the gold one,” Tom asked.

  Micah answered by placing the gold chain over his head. “It’s mine, so I’ll wear it. I am Catholic you know,” and he smiled.

  It was just past twilight when Micah finally arrived at the old ranch house. He stood in the bedroom gloom alone save for Raggéd, who was dancing and prancing around his boy, glad that he had returned. The barn smelled organic and wholesome. He took deep breaths as he headed to greet Nellie, Styx and Puckers. Aloneness was a sweet feeling. He stripped off his corduroys and replaced them with running shorts and then slipped out the door and headed toward the playa on a solitary run. By the time he was at the pipeline, the coyote family was following him. The sky was overcast and a meager drizzle fell, hardly enough to wet the skin. The air was filled with the aromas of ozone, sage and mesquite. Micah loved the High Plains because they felt eternal and forever.

  He diverted from the trail and ran up to the old hospital, what was left of it. The bulldozers had done a good job, and only the foundation remained, the rubble gone, even its basement was empty of debris. In the dark, the cellar appeared more like a crypt, a mammoth open grave waiting for its cadaverous occupant. Micah walked down the steps into the murky precipice, his coyote friends waited for him in the long grass that circled the remnant, howling every now and then to remind him of their presence.

  But the cries of the canines sounded distant and faint, while the song of the Shadow Choir thundered. The boy stood in the center of the open basement: cool droplets of rain falling on his skin; wind messaging his face and hair. Micah thought back to his dervish-like dances while standing skyclad atop the hospital’s old chimney. In contemplation, he began twisting and spinning as the high priest of the shadow-world—his domain—his devotion—his being. In the obscurity of the abandoned cellar, as Micah spun and imagined, a Shade watched, a silhouette, a black hole of nothingness save for his silvery eyes which pierced through multiple dimensions of space-time. Micah stopped to study them, eyes that rippled like mercury or molten silver. But the boy was not afraid, and he held out a hand in welcome to his companion.

  “I know you,” Micah thought.

  The Shade answered by gazing more deeply into the youth’s passions but never speaking, at least not in a language easily explained, but rather in images that resonated within his awareness; a consciousness which Micah recognized as fragments of the collective that made-up his own being. The Shade’s flowing eyes became metallic seas whose waves lulled Micah into tranquility and sleep; where he beheld once again the lavender sun erupting with coronal storms, seeing himself standing on the shiny shores of an alien world, alone yet never really alone. Gigantic butterflies fluttered through the violet skies, their bodies shimmered silver, gold, black and vermillion with quivering wings that resonated a subtle psalm which blended into the melody of the Shadow Choir.

  Cory, Tandy, Dane and Tom Dorsey lay on the ruddy colored sand, sleeping and unaware; while Micah stood guard over them, watching them, protecting them. The air filled with the smell of jasmine and roses; and strolling above the Mercury Sea, the Black Earth Mother, Tellus, observed him. Her love surrounded and nourished him. She was joined by the Shade, and each simultaneously pointed toward a spot behind him. Micah turned. Coming at lightning speed were two gigantic black horses; whose names, Ignorance and Fear, echoed through his brain.

  Spontaneously he ran from the malignancies, but the pounding of their hooves grew louder with each of his strides. A second seemed like an eternity as the steeds overtook him. Micah tumbled to the ground, and as he fell, he grabbed his switchblade, slinging it open as he righted himself; slashing as he turned to face the monsters, slicing one’s neck open, its blood spewing outward as Micah jump away. He immediately turned as the first horse fell to earth, and with a single stroke of his left hand, he skewered and gutted the other stallion, dumping the beast’s innards onto the gritty land.

  He was covered in blood, and he felt like he was drowning from the gore flowing out of the quivering carcasses. Micah could not catch a breath. His muscles tingled and he became dizzy, falling into unconsciousness.

  Micah jerked awake, lying in his bed still dressed in his running clothes. “Was it all a dream,” he wondered out loud. He lay pondering the night’s fantasy. The sun was up and the clock read 8:00. He sprung out of bed and pulled on the dirty clothes he wore during yesterday’s bus trip, and then dashed out the door and to the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry I overslept.” Micah looked around for breakfast and found nothing, which was unusual because Tom always made a big morning meal.

  Tom sat at the table smiling. “I’m sorry for not telling you about our doctor’s appointment this morning.”

  “Oh, okay. When do we leave?”

  The old man looked confused.” What, no arguing? No throwing a fit?”

  “Naw, I wouldn’t do that.” It was Micah’s turn to smile. “Doctor or hospital?”

  “At Doctor Reeves’ office, but you have time to do your chores.”

  Micah didn’t notice the night before that Jax inhabited a stall at the far corner of the barn. He walked up to the horse and petted his head. It sort of broke his heart a little knowing the pain Dane was enduring, and it grieved him more that h
e didn’t know how to help. He commenced his routine. Work was always an act of introspection and recuperation. It centered him and gave him time for thought. Even when there were others around, it was still a time of solitude.

  He was deep within his mind when someone came from behind and jumped him, pushing and laughing. Dane was bright eyed and seemed happy. Micah tackled the boy and after a few moments of roughhousing, the boys stared at one another.

  “I’ve been sleeping in your room most of the time you were gone. Mr. Dorsey said I could stay as long as I wanted. Is that okay?” Dane was smiling and full of joy.

  “Good,” Micah pronounced. It appeared that he needed to find an alone time place somewhere other than the barn, but he preferred having Dane around rather than worrying about him and his torment. The two boys finished the chores together.

  Micah sat on the examination table cold and uncomfortable. Mr. Dorsey and Dane leaned back in chairs next to the door. The nurse had taken his vitals: blood pressure, temperature, weight and height. The physician came in a few minutes later. “Still growing,” Dr. Reeves noted as he studied the chart. “Your blood pressure is low, and you’ve had a little weight loss. Any problems?”

  He shook his head no as the physician pulled out some vials for blood, but then Micah mentioned, “I think I had a seizure last night. I had some trouble breathing and an aura, and then I blanked out. But I’m not sure it wasn’t a dream.”

  “I don’t understand that, you’re not sure it wasn’t a dream?”

  Micah shrugged his shoulders, “Just what I said. It may have been a dream.”

  The doctor took blood and then told the boy to lay down for an EKG. Thirty minutes later, the doctor stood by Micah. “The heart looks good,” he paused. “Low blood pressure can be a sign of a cardiac problem or an infection. And you mentioned losing consciousness. Epilepsy is a strange thing. Seizures can happen any time. You probably had a little episode.” The doctor took a step back and looked both at Mr. Dorsey and his patient. “Call me next time you have a seizure whenever it happens. I want to make sure the condition is not getting worse. I’ll check to make sure that the infection is under control, and I also want to look at your sugar levels.” He wrote in the boy’s chart. “Overall, are you feeling okay, any anger issues?”