Little Whispers

by Glen Krisch

  “And so, not nearly as haughty an aspiration as Darwin’s discoveries in the Galapagos, I do hope you take it upon yourself to follow this map and resolve a question I’ve long harbored. I need to know the answer found at the end of the enclosed map before I can find peace. If you can do this for me … if you can maintain our shared silence on the subject, the power of our secret will grow, will manifest in its preservation.

  “I hope you take heed and collect the necessary supplies for this journey …”

  Clara stopped reading, her heart beating rapidly through waves of adrenaline.

  Heidi rolled over in her sleep, destroying the letter’s disembodying effect.

  The list of supplies wasn’t long, but it only sharpened her curiosity.

  The last page in the envelope was—joy-of-joys—another one of Poppa’s maps. Similar to the one she followed on her first adventure into the woods, this map was different in that it was considerably more extensive. Before Poppa’s request for her to collect Nan’s favorite flowers, Clara would’ve never given a second thought to go on this next challenge. Now she almost couldn’t contain her excitement. A secret. A map leading to answers to a long-held question.

  After hastily gathering a fresh set of clothes, Clara tiptoed to the bathroom to change into a lightweight blouse and tan denim shorts. She slipped on the sneakers her mother had bought her for vacation. The shoes were dingy with streaks of mud, but they felt so much more comfortable than when they first arrived at Little Whisper Lake.

  Clara cracked open the bedroom door, saw with some relief that Heidi still slumbered, and tossed her pajamas near the bed. She eased the door closed and made her way to the kitchen.

  Poppa, her parents, and her Aunt Leah were all sitting around the table on the deck. Poppa noticed her, raised his bushy gray eyebrows. He looked gaunt and exhausted, even though he’d just woken from a full night’s sleep. No one else noticed this small gesture, and no one else noticed her appearance into the kitchen just feet away.

  Clara held up the letter, now stashed inside its envelope.

  Poppa nodded and smiled. He turned his back to her and gesticulated at a robin hopping along a branch in the nearby pinewoods. This sly gesture drew everyone’s attention while Clara hustled to gather—in a plastic shopping bag—a bottle of water, a sleeve of saltine crackers, an apple, and a nearly brown banana.

  She backed away from the kitchen, feeling a sense of pride in her subterfuge. After stashing the bag of food outside the entryway to the kitchen, she hurried back to the balcony doorway. Everyone turned her way when she opened the door. Everyone appeared surprised to see her, including Poppa.

  “You’re awake,” her mom said, turning in her chair.

  “Yeah, I woke up a little earlier. I wanted to let you know I’m going for a walk.”

  “You’re letting us know?” Her mom crossed her arms and shifted to face Clara directly. “Shouldn’t you ask first?”

  Poppa held up a hand and everyone looked at him. “I think it was implied, Krista.”

  “I’m sorry,” Clara said. She looked at her feet. “I figured it would be okay …”

  “I think it’s a great idea to get outside,” her dad said.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Just don’t be too long.” Her mom’s lips tightened. “And don’t go far.”

  “I won’t.”

  Clara hurried to close the door before her mom could say anything more.

  Poppa caught her eye as the door closed. She gave him a thumbs-up. He did likewise. He looked happy, but also on the verge of tears … tears driven by sadness rather than joy.

  ~

  The next step in Poppa’s list called for her to retrieve a leather satchel from his office library. She removed the letter from the envelope, rereading the particular section, though she had already committed it to memory:

  “This pouch accompanied me on plenty of my own adventures. From the dense forests of northwestern Canada, to the enormity of Patagonia, and every backroad place in between. It’s a trusty pouch. Good for taking the weight of a day’s supplies from your shoulders.”

  She smiled at the thought, picturing Poppa as a daring contemporary of Indiana Jones instead of a staid environmental conservationist.

  She found the satchel where Poppa’s letter indicated she would, tucked in the forgotten small space behind the door. The leather was dusty, and when she brushed it with her palm, patches of dried mud remained, varied colors, possibly from different countries, or continents even. She touched the mud lightly with her fingertips, not wanting to scrape it free.

  The bag had a long strap that she slung vertically over her shoulder like a purse. It hung too low and felt awkward. She considered for a moment, and then slung it so it hung diagonally across her chest. Just perfect, like slipping on a worn pair of slippers.

  She gathered her bag of food and opened the satchel’s top flap to slip it inside. The bag was a maze of spaces within spaces for every need and happenstance. Among them she found a leather-bound notebook, several pens, a sketchpad and pencils, a long-bladed pocket knife, and a heavy-duty flashlight. She pressed the flashlight’s button and found that it worked. She almost jettisoned it to save weight, but the bag was strong enough to hold all the supplies when worn correctly.

  After cinching the belt-like strap closed, she considered fetching her rain poncho, but she didn’t want to risk anyone seeing her departing with so many supplies on hand. She didn’t want to answer anyone’s questions. Well, at least not anyone’s questions but those tormenting Poppa for so many years, the questions he needed answered in order to find peace.

  Clara stopped by the front door at the sound of someone making a shushing noise behind the couch in the den. What sounded like a one-sided conversation piqued her curiosity.

  “Please, just another second, okay?” a whispered voice called out from the den, followed by another shush.

  “Trev, is that you?”

  “No …” the boy called out.

  Clara heard the fleshy slap of Trev’s palm against his forehead. His head bobbed up above the couch.

  “What are you doing in there?” she asked.

  “Nothing. I must’a … I think I was sleepwalking.”

  “You look wide awake.”

  “You’re not supposed to wake someone sleepwalking.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s just a myth,” she said, wondering about his growing look of guilt.

  His brows bunched and he stood to his full height, still in his pajamas. The buttons didn’t align with the buttonholes and his hair stuck out in garish sleep-horns. He could’ve been sleepwalking, she supposed, but his eyes were fully alert.

  She heard a scratching sound, almost frantic in its intensity.

  Trevor looked down in surprise. He shushed again and rolled his eyes in frustration.

  “So …” Clara entered the den and walked around the couch.

  Trevor shifted his feet, trying to hide a shoebox behind him. The box jutted away from him a couple inches. He placed a bare foot, streaked in fresh mud, on top of the box. He coughed, attempting to cover up the scratching.

  Clara continued, “What do we have here?”

  “Nothing.” He sounded defeated. “Just a whole lotta nothing.”

  The shoe box shimmied under his foot, followed by a frog’s throaty ribbit.

  “Nothing? Okay. I figured you had a frog in that shoebox, and looking at your filthy feet, I’m guessing you just caught him.”

  “I met Mr. Wartly the first day here.”

  “Mr. Wartly?”

  “Yeah, a frog needs a name, and he’s ugly with warts, just stupid ugly with ’em.”

  “How did you two meet?”

  She couldn’t help grinning.

  “I heard him out near the woods, all throaty-like. But when I tried to ca
tch him, he hopped away, like big giant leaps.”

  He cracked open the box and peered inside. Mr. Wartly greeted him with another ribbit.

  Clara hadn’t seen Mr. Wartly, but he sounded big.

  “I heard him again this morning,” he said. “That’s what woke me up. So I went out, and I don’t know. Maybe he’s slower in the morning. Kinda like my dad is slow and all headachy most mornings? But I caught him.”

  “Well, that sounds like a fitting name. What are you going to do with him?”

  “With you knowing? I probably gotta put him back out in the grass by the woods.”

  “What would you have done if I didn’t know about Mr. Wartly?”

  Trevor looked confused, as if Clara was setting up a trap.

  “No, seriously. What if I hadn’t come into the den just now?”

  “Well … there’s a window in the garage. Flies get caught between the two pieces of glass. I was going to catch them and feed them to Mr. Wartly.”

  Clara adjusted the satchel on her shoulder, ready to begin her own adventure.

  “Okay, then do that.”

  “For real? You won’t tell?”

  “Mr. Wartly sounds hungry. Make sure you catch him the fattest flies you can find.” She headed for the doorway before stopping in her tracks. “Once you feed him, you’re not going to do anything stupid with him, are you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You wouldn’t hurt him, would you?”

  Trevor’s eyes widened in shock. “No, no, no! I would never hurt Mr. Wartly. Or any animal. Swear to God!”

  “Well, okay then. This will be our little secret. You know that secrets are important, right? And a secret has power as long as the secret isn’t given away.”

  “Sure. Yeah.” Trevor turned an imaginary key between his lips and threw it over his shoulder. “I like secrets.”

  Mr. Wartly chimed in with a throaty ribbit.

  Clara smiled, feeling a trace of emotion left over from her dream; it felt like joy, but stronger, perhaps even jubilation.

  She opened the door and stepped out into the already humid sunshine, a dense heat full of promise and expectation.

  CHAPTER 19

  Krista didn’t like how the color had gone from Poppa’s face, how his eyes bulged from their sockets as he wasted away.

  Poppa leaned back in his deck chair. “I sure don’t bounce back like I used to.” He stretched his arms and gave off a groan.

  “Are you tired?” Krista said. “Would you like to go lie down?”

  “I hate to be rude—”

  “Don’t think anything of it, Pierce,” Neal said and got up from his chair.

  Poppa gave a wan smile, relieved. “Okay, I guess I can doze for a while.”

  “Doze as much as you want, Poppa,” Leah said.

  Neal went over to Poppa’s side and helped him slide back his chair, then hooked a hand under his arm to help him gain his feet.

  Krista opened the sliding door, waiting for him as he shuffled stiffly. She found herself nodding encouragement, making her recall the stressful moments of Clara’s first steps. Poppa’s foot caught on the threshold, and she gasped. Luckily, Neal was there to support him, otherwise he would’ve fallen over completely.

  Poppa paused to steady his feet. “Children, do yourself a favor and never get old.”

  His skin looked pasty and gray, even though the sun gleamed in the cloudless sky. He chuckled dryly. It felt morbid to do so, Krista considered, but she and the others joined in. She followed on Leah’s heels into the kitchen and she and her sister exchanged looks of concern.

  Leah removed her cell phone from her pocket. “I’m going to call the doctor.”

  “No, you’re not,” Poppa said. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure, Poppa?” Leah wrung her hands together.

  “How about some tea?” Poppa said, to give Leah something to do, to help her feel useful.

  “Sure, but we’re all out,” Leah said, “but I’ll go get some.”

  He continued to shuffle, leaning on Neal. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “Nonsense.” Leah followed like an obedient puppy, anxious to please. “I’ll jet over to the Peterson’s Corner Mart. They have the Earl Grey you like, right?”

  “Sounds wonderful. And some of those mint candies. The hard disc ones?”

  “You got it.” Leah kissed his cheek and glanced at Krista. Her older sister looked as scared as Krista. “Anyone need anything else?”

  “I don’t think so,” Neal said.

  Krista shook her head in agreement.

  Leah headed for the doorway. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

  “Don’t drive like a fool,” Poppa said. “I’m not dying today.”

  Leah laughed on impulse, but it quickly morphed into an agonized wince.

  “Real funny, Poppa,” Krista said. She went to the side opposite Neal, and between them they helped Poppa to his room with no other stumbling incidents.

  Poppa sat heavily on his bed and groaned as he rubbed his abdomen. “Where is that brother of yours? I worry about him.”

  Krista looked to Neal.

  Jack had passed out in bed, still wearing his clothes from the day before. After Neal found him in such a state, he’d asked Krista if they should do anything—something—to help him with whatever he was going through. She’d told him to let time deal with his troubles, that time would help him get past his rough patch. Until then, they would support him however they could.

  “He’s … I think he took the fishing boat out for a spin,” Neal said, none-too-convincingly.

  “By that, you mean he’s sleeping off another late night?” Poppa said and rubbed his thumbs across his eyelids.

  In a quiet voice, Neal said, “Or something like that.”

  “You know Jack,” Krista said. “He’s sensitive. Even when he’s being an asshole, he feels deeply. And to tell you the truth, I think it’s something of a chicken and egg thing.”

  Poppa chuckled. “You’re probably right. I guess this is a little much to ask of all you kids. It’s a bit selfish, isn’t it?”

  “Nonsense,” Krista said.

  Poppa tried to lift his legs onto the bed, but he didn’t possess the strength. Before frustration settled in, Neal lifted Poppa’s legs and helped him swing around to ease back on his pillows.

  “Here you go, Pierce. And don’t worry. We want to be here. All of us.”

  Poppa patted Neal’s forearm. “From the moment Krista brought you home, I knew you were right for her, right for the family.”

  “Thanks, Pierce. It means a lot.” Neal didn’t look like he knew what to do with himself. “Can I get you anything? The newspaper? Some water?”

  “This is good. Good and fine. I’ll doze for a bit, have some lunch with you kids later on. When Leah gets back with the tea and candy, tell her there’s no rush if I’m sleeping.”

  Neal nodded gravely. “I can do that.”

  Krista met her husband’s eyes. She often didn’t need to speak aloud for him to understand her. This was one of those times, so when she said, “I’ll be right out,” all he did was offer a slight lowering of his chin, then left the room.

  “Well, my dear,” Poppa said, “what do you have to lecture me about?”

  “I wasn’t going to lecture about anything—”

  “But …?” he cut in.

  She paced the length of his bed, wringing her hands. Her eyes settled on his bedside table and the photo of Nan from her early twenties. She looked like her beauty could carry a Hollywood film.

  “Honey, what is it?”

  She picked up the photo, brushed away dust from the edge. “I always liked this photo.” She returned the photo to its rightful spot.

  “Me too.” Emotion tightened his words.


  “I expected to see a dozen pill bottles on your bedside table.”

  “You would’ve a few weeks ago. When I made my decision, I cleared them all away. Made me depressed, when that’s the last thing I want right now.”

  “Yeah, but … are you in pain?”

  “Every minute of every day.”

  “But …” She paused when his eyes steeled despite his fatigue. “I guess you’ve thought this through.”

  “I have. I’m dying, sure, but I’m dying under my own terms. I don’t want to slip away doped to the gills.”

  “So … no doctors?”

  “Not anymore. I have the non-emergency police number written down inside this drawer.” He pointed to his bedside table. “There’s also the number for the medical examiner. When the time comes, that’s all I want from you kids. Just two phone calls. Everything is arranged. I’m going to be cremated at Piedmont Funeral Home. I want my ashes scattered over the lake.”

  Tears formed in her eyes, trailed down her cheeks.

  “Leah explained her situation,” he said, “about her and the kids needing a place to stay. I’m willing the lake house over to the three of you kids. I’ve bought up over a thousand surrounding acres. It’s all yours.”

  “Poppa—”

  “You could sell off the house, but I wish you wouldn’t. The remaining land is set up in a conservation trust, so it’s essentially off-limits to development, thank God—”

  “Poppa?” Her voice caught in her throat.

  “But I think Leah wants to set up here. At least until she gets her feet back under her. Which is fine by me.”