We Went to the Woods

by Caite Dolan-Leach

  “Exactly!” Louisa crowed. “Look, we share the same water table. If they’re using pesticides and God knows what else, it runs off directly into our irrigation, into our ditches. Ultimately into our land. It precludes our ability to make our own decision on whether or not to farm organically. Surely there has to be something there?”

  Rudy frowned thoughtfully and rubbed his chin.

  “Mack!” Louisa said, spotting me. “Hey. You remember my dad, Rudy?” She waved in his direction. “And this is—damn, I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”

  “Ryan,” the stranger answered.

  “This is Ryan. He works with the cooperative extension—you know, at Cornell—and he’s going to do some tests on the groundwater and soil out here.”

  “Is this about the field out behind the hives?” I asked.

  “Yes, this is about the fucking Larsons,” she answered, her expression darkening. “They think we’ll just ignore them or, I don’t know, not even notice. They think they own this whole fucking county, and I’m not going to let them just get away with this.”

  “Louisa, we need to be smart about this. There’s no point in running off half-cocked—”

  “I’m not half-cocked!” Louisa snapped. “This is our land, and we’ve made a commitment to use it sustainably. What they’re doing is unacceptable!”

  “Agreed. Of course I’ll help you,” Rudy reassured her. “Why do you think I’m here? I just— We’re going to get the information we need.”

  “Okay, good, I just want us all to be on the same page,” Louisa said, smiling too brightly. “Are we ready? Shall we hike out back?”

  “Let me grab my kit from the car,” Ryan said, looking relieved for an excuse to duck out for a moment. Louisa swung towards me.

  “Wanna come, Mack? You’re not too busy right now?”

  “The rabbits are all in hiding today. Sure, I’ll come,” I said.

  “Great, the more the merrier! And it can’t hurt to have an extra witness, if we need one!”

  At this comment by Louisa, Rudy looked like he was tempted to say something, or correct her, but he stopped short.

  Ryan returned with a bag and we set off into the woods, walking along the trail that had begun to emerge from our frequent excursions farther onto the property. Argos sped merrily ahead of us, periodically loping back to rub his bristly fur against my abdomen, just to verify that I was still coming at my disappointingly human pace. The ground still squelched from the spring rain. But I glimpsed the mayapples and ferns poking up from the layer of half-rotted leaves on the woodland floor and felt another seasonal frisson. Louisa and Rudy talked intently as Ryan and I trudged behind, unsure what to say to each other.

  We emerged into the flower field, passed Chloe’s hives (I was gratified to hear the manic thrum of a colony gearing up for the season), and walked through the break of creaking pines to the next field.

  “You’re right, Lou, I’m pretty sure this is our land,” Rudy said with a shake of the head. “Unbelievable! I cannot believe the nerve of Chuck Larson.” He crouched down, getting impressively low on his substantial haunches. “Corn, you say.” He squinted at the furrows stretching out across the whole field, gripping a fistful of soil. “Right, Ryan, this is where you get to work.”

  “Absolutely, Mr. Stein. Let me just get a few things out….” Ryan tossed his things onto the ground and began his preparations.

  “I mean, this is definitely illegal, right?” Louisa huddled conspiratorially with her father.

  “Pretty damn sure. I haven’t signed anything that leases them the land, so they’re essentially squatting here.”

  “And pumping our land full of toxic chemicals.” Louisa kicked at the ground.

  “I’ve finished up here,” Ryan announced after a few minutes, packing away his things. “I’ll take some samples of the soil in your vegetable garden, and from the irrigation ditch near the road, when we get back.”

  “Good. Let’s head home, then.” Louisa led us back through the woods to the Homestead. I could see the cogs working in her head, the plotting growing ever more complex and serious.

  * * *

  —

  We found Chloe and Jack sitting at the picnic table in front of the big cabin, drinking from one of Jack’s jugs of honey mead.

  “Hallo, the house!” Louisa called, racing towards them. “We return from our mission, bearing confirmation of the nefarious goings-on of our neighbors.”

  “You were right? It is on our property?” Chloe asked eagerly.

  “It sure is.” Rudy nodded. “We’re looking into it.”

  “And we’ve tested the ground and the water, thanks to our pal here from the cooperative extension.”

  “You work at the Coop?” Jack asked. “I’ve got a friend who works over there—her name is Becca. You know her?”

  “Yup, she works in the food education program, right? With the kids?”

  “That’s her. Jack,” Jack said, extending a hand.

  “Ryan,” Ryan responded, doing likewise.

  “Hey, Ryan, would you like a jam jar of honey mead?” Chloe asked, smiling at him. I could tell from his expression that he was not terribly invested in the honey mead but he wouldn’t mind a little more time with Chloe.

  “I probably shouldn’t…but as long as it’s a small, uh, jar,” he said, bobbing his head. “Thanks, yeah.”

  “And what about me, young lady? Will you so neglect your elders?” Rudy asked, feigning offense.

  “Never. Certainly not when our elders are our benefactors,” Chloe answered, skirting the table gracefully and giving Rudy a peck on his pink cheek. “I’ll bring you a large jar.”

  “That’s a good girl,” Rudy said. Remarkably, he managed to avoid making this sound lascivious, which it definitely would have coming from almost anyone else.

  “Has anyone seen Beau?” Louisa asked, scanning the clearing, one hand shading her eyes. Having already done the same thing, I knew that Beau wasn’t just lurking at the far end of the pond or driving in more stakes for the fence he was building around the edge of the orchard.

  “Haven’t seen him all morning,” Jack answered.

  “Or last night,” Chloe answered rather casually. I thought this was probably an unnecessary detail.

  “I’ll try his cellphone,” Louisa said. “I want to give him an update.”

  “It’s off,” Chloe said.

  Louisa said nothing.

  “I’ll be right back,” Chloe promised. “Got to grab cups for our guests.” She breezed off towards the big cabin after smiling widely at Ryan and Rudy.

  Louisa held her cellphone in her palm, her brow knitted in irritation.

  * * *

  —

  Ryan stayed for a while, and Rudy stayed even longer. The lengthening spring day faded slowly, and the temperature dropped. We scampered to our cabins to gather sweaters and gloves—all but Jack, who merely draped one of Louisa’s scarves around his shoulders.

  “I can’t stand to put that winter coat on one more time,” he explained. “I’d rather freeze.”

  We were all desperately sick of the cold, desperate to put away long johns and extra socks and frolic outside without boots. I wondered darkly, though: If this was how we felt after just a couple of months on the Homestead, how would we feel by this time next year?

  Beau returned later that evening, just as Ryan was heading off—Chloe walked him to his truck. We saw a flash of headlights at the end of the drive, and Beau sauntered up. Louisa’s lips were still pursed and silent, and she said nothing until Ryan had pulled onto the road. Jack clapped Beau on the back and recounted the afternoon’s adventures, clearly unaware of the tension.

  “Will you help me build a fire?” Chloe asked after a few minutes, trying to draw Beau away from the crowd. It was the wrong move.
>
  “Actually, could you come help me with dinner?” Louisa asked him curtly. “I could use a strong, capable pair of arms.” Her cheeks were worryingly pink, a shade that signified either serious tipsiness or fury. Judging from his expression, Rudy knew this look all too well.

  “Sure, Lou-my-dear,” Beau answered, unconcerned. Louisa spun and headed towards the cabin, Beau following at his own smooth pace.

  Once the door of the cabin had shut, Rudy whistled.

  “What did that poor boy do?” he asked.

  “He failed to report for duty,” I answered. “Been AWOL. And General Louisa likes to keep track of our whereabouts.”

  Rudy chortled heartily. “She can be a domineering thing, can’t she?” he said, though with a tinge of pride. “She’s like her mother that way—always the boss.”

  “What’s her mom like?” Chloe asked. “She never really talks about her.”

  “High-powered lawyer. High-strung. High-maintenance,” Rudy said. “But brilliant. Capable. A little cold.”

  “I think Louisa tends to run warm,” Chloe answered, smiling. From the big cabin we could hear her voice, though not her words. In the brief pauses between her irritated exclamations, I could imagine Beau’s responses: “You don’t own me, you know” or “You’re being foolish, you” or “Does it really matter where I go?” Chloe sighed. The conflict set her on edge, and I could see her trying to determine whether she should go involve herself in the squabble.

  “Well, perhaps I should head off,” Rudy said. “I, for one, don’t want to get in the middle of that.”

  “You should come say goodbye, though!” Chloe said. “Louisa will probably want to set up a time to come to your office, make a plan of some kind.”

  “I expect you’re right.” Rudy sighed. He shifted his bulk from the picnic table, moving ponderously in preparation for bidding farewell to his offspring. He and Chloe lumbered off towards the cabin while Jack and I sat with our mugs.

  “Think anything will come of this crusade of Louisa’s?” Jack finally asked.

  “I really don’t know. I guess it would be nice, if it worked out. It’s hard changing the world one potato at a time.”

  Jack snorted.

  Everyone emerged from the warm light of the cabin then, Rudy chuckling and boisterous. Chloe walked him to his car, as she’d done with Ryan, though now that it was dark this was a necessary courtesy. I hoped he hadn’t had too much of Jack’s mead. Once Rudy had hoisted himself into his seat with a bit of puffing and a dangerous-looking teeter, Chloe scampered back to us, and we five stood waving him off.

  “Come, sweet girl,” Beau finally said to Louisa, draping an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t be mad. I’ve been making a surprise for you, and I think you’ll like it. Don’t get huffy.”

  Louisa glanced at him sidelong, but I could see from her crossed arms that she was softening.

  “Let’s celebrate the new spring,” he continued. “Drink some wine and tell a campfire story.” He leaned down to kiss her, looming over her.

  She met his eyes, finally, and I could tell he had won.

  “You too,” he said to Chloe, giving her a kiss as well. “And you.” He moved on to Jack, who looked surprised but not at all unwilling, and Beau held his cheeks and gave him a sound, lengthy kiss on his mouth. Jack looked a little dazed. And when Beau bent to give me his own kiss, I knew why.

  “What’s for dinner?”

  “Pasta with garlic and arugula and that ‘Parmesan’ Beau obtained for us,” Louisa said. “But it’s too fucking cold out here. Let’s go inside.”

  From the diary of William Fulsome

  Summer:

  Today, Tragedy has visited our modest enterprise. Though we all dwell in close proximity with Death, and hold the promise of Life Everlasting close in our breast, the loss of a child cannot but elicit the depths of Grief in any feeling person. And for a mother to lose a treasured son!

  Annabelle’s wailing has not abated since we found the body of young Josiah in the pond this morning; she has keened and shrieked with a fervor that makes me fear for her mind, if not her very health. Her Suffering fills us all, and there is no one among us who has not walked around carrying the Grief of this loss from this dark morning’s sun to its disappearance over the Horizon. Initially, she was unwilling to relinquish the boy’s lifeless body, but instead clutched at it in her cabin, brushing its hair and stroking its face. I left her to her mourning with a shiver of Horror.

  We suspect that poor Josiah awakened before his parents, and crept down to the pond, whether for sustenance or amusement we will never know. Being scarcely three years old, he was not yet a strong swimmer, and, finding himself entangled in the pond weeds, he only succeeded in thrashing deeper into the water, where he met his End. I pray to God that his dying was merciful and brief. I have no doubt that his young, untarnished soul will be accepted into Paradise by our just and loving Lord.

  For the sake of her living child, I hope that Annabelle can find a way to live with this loss, and continue in this undertaking with us. The cost of our Venture feels heavy today, I am afraid. Living here, off the land, we are ever aware that death lurks at the edges of each long winter, each careless mistake. And yet, we hold out hope for the promise of a more perfect Afterlife, a balm to salve the pain of Loss.

  But perhaps there is a sliver of Promise to be found in this horror; Mary approached Annabelle in her Vigil and, leaning down to her, whispered something in her ear. Annabelle shortly thereafter deigned to let Jeremiah take his son from her, and remove him to the stable, where Elizabeth has been helping to prepare him for Burial. These were the first words Mary has uttered since she broke with Elijah. After, she met my eyes and, for the first time, smiled at me. I could not interpret her Expression, but it felt to me like an invitation: to help her return to herself. Let me be worthy and able to help her.

  Tomorrow morning we will bury the boy, and Life, however cruelly, will return to its normal routines.

  We are awash with Bounty. Our gardens overflow with food, and my own heart with Gratitude. I suspect that I will at any moment turn into a tomato or squash, which seem to grace our table morning, noon, and night. Praise God for this Life, and this land, and the gift that is my family and friends! We are blessed.

  Money is sparse, however, and I have “borrowed” from our friend Thoreau: I have not paid the county taxes which were due last month. Though I was in no way afraid of this demonstration of Civil Disobedience, I couldn’t help but feel Trepidation as the bailiff summoned me to the jail. How would my small Flock fare without me?

  In the end, I passed only a few evenings in the jailhouse; Jeremiah was able to collect the necessary funds to pay our fine. He seemed angered, however, by my actions, despite my efforts to elucidate my motivations. At home, I discovered that Elizabeth shared his irritation. They do not understand our dilemma: How to subsist here, on our own property, while also undertaking a comprehensive Project of Social Change. I lay awake at nights grappling with these two horns, unable to reconcile the two Duties.

  Annabelle is once again with child; while I try not to judge Brother Jeremiah, we had agreed to continue our practice of Male Continence here, so as to spare our wives the complications and difficulty of Labor until we might be better settled. Still, it is not for me to judge my Friend, especially when he has made this paradise a reality through his Generosity. Annabelle’s last pregnancy was difficult, and I pray that this one is less arduous. After the loss of her child, though, I cannot begrudge her another.

  I continue to fear for Mary and her Soul; some days it is as though she is truly Lost to us. Her continued silence unnerves the children, and while we have all tried to draw her into conversation, she refuses all but the most basic gestures. She has a way of gazing into one’s eyes in these moments of frustration, and I will confess to several instance
s of Impassioned Discourse—anything to make her speak a word, to speak to me! I cannot help but feel that she is asking something of me, that these baleful stares and long moments of intensity are her manner of requesting my aid and my protection. She must feel so Alone, a single woman here amidst two families. I have yearned to make her feel truly a part of our family, and, if we were still within the Community, I would have asked her for an Interview, perhaps to put her mind at rest that she is truly wanted here. But I must banish such thoughts instantly; we have forsaken Complex Marriage. Mary will have to come to me in a traditional manner, and convey her wishes in language, even while it might be more expedient to converse in the wordless and sacred manner in which a man and a woman may Communicate. I could prevail upon her to come to me…but no, I shall wait for her to approach.

  Ah, Mary! An angel of Goodness and Beauty. How grateful I am to have her here. Surely, with her by my side, we will be ready for the Resurrection. And how Grateful I am that she has opened herself to me.

  Elizabeth seems not herself, but I suspect this is because of our daughter’s sickliness of late; she fears for the child, as do I. Our lives seem wholly bounded by our preparation for Winter, the need to put aside enough food for the season of snow that lies ahead. I trust that once the cans are in the pantry and the vegetables in the cellar, Elizabeth will once more be merry, and join me in our room for an Interview.

  The households seem to crumble without firm Authority, a single voice that serves to remind each and every member what needs to be done. I find myself forced into the role of Patriarch; with the three women seemingly distracted by matters of the heart and the hearth, it is essential that there be a voice of Reason which commands us all to do God’s work and prepare for the coming season of cold. Poor shepherd though I am, I am best equipped to Lead.