by Alex Flinn
A ruined tower.
It was made of wood, shingled most of the way up, and appeared to be very old, too old for someone so beautiful to live in. It rose high among the trees with only one window at the very top. From that window hung a golden rope that reached all the way to the ground.
“Are you a ghost?” I asked. She wore a gown of white, ghostly, as if from another era.
But she shook her head. “I do not think so. At least, I do not recall dying.” She reached forward and touched her hand to my cheek. “Do I feel like a ghost?”
Suddenly, the sun came out and shone upon her golden hair. Her eyes were bright blue.
Her hand, though cold, still warmed my own cold face like fire. She was the one who’d been singing. I heard her from so far away. This was why I had come here. I reached up and touched her cheek with my own hand. “No. But I don’t understand. How are you here?”
“I knew you would come, that something would happen, that there was a reason. Destiny, or what have you. Every day, I waited, and every night, I dreamed.”
“Of someone coming to rescue you?”
She raised an eyebrow. “It was I who rescued you. And now, I do not know how I will get back to my tower.”
“You want to go back?”
“It is where I live. Where else would I go? Besides, Mama will worry if she finds me missing.”
I gaped at her. When you rescue a girl from a tower—even if she rescues you—you’re supposed to take her with you. Though, come to think of it, I didn’t know where we would go. I couldn’t exactly take her to Mrs. Greenwood’s.
Still, I tried again. “But you can’t go back. I want to talk to you, to know you. And what about my destiny?”
She looked uncertain, and as she did, she shivered. “I’m not sure. Maybe it was only my destiny to save you.”
“Do you want one of the blankets?” It would be hard to give it up, considering it was freezing out, and I had just been dunked in water, but it seemed like I should offer.
She shook her head. “I should go back. But I don’t know how to get up there. It was so much easier to come down. Can you help me?” She gestured to the sad tower.
“The thing is,” I said, “I came here for a reason too. I didn’t know what it was, but ever since I came here, I’ve heard something, something beckoning to me. That’s why I came. So I couldn’t just be here to fall through the ice so you could rescue me. There must be something else.”
Man, she was beautiful.
She looked up at me, then down, as if she didn’t want me to see her looking. “Maybe. But I do not think I’m supposed to leave. Not yet, anyway. Maybe someday.” She glanced up again, out of the tops of her eyes. “But if Mama finds me like this, my rope hanging, she will know I tried to escape. And then, she will make it so I can never come down again. Can you help me back to my tower? Please?”
Her voice became higher at the end, not hysterical but worried. I said, “Isn’t there a door?”
She brightened a bit. “There must be. Mama comes through a door to get inside. But she always locks it. I can hear her keys, and the turning of the mechanism each time she comes.”
“Maybe we can jimmy it.” I’d never jimmied anything in my life, but the tower looked old, so maybe the lock was too.
She took off, walking around the side of the tower. I could tell she was cold by how fast she walked, and how stiffly. I followed her. When we reached the door, it had not one, not two, but three locks on it, and they looked pretty solid. Still, she pulled at the handle. I did too. But without tools, there was no way to open it, and I had no tools.
“Can’t you climb back up?” I asked. “You climbed down.” I didn’t want her to leave, but it was cold, so cold that I worried I might freeze to death if I stayed there much longer.
She shook her head. “I am amazed I came down. You needed to be rescued, so I did. Suddenly, I felt a rush of strength, as if I had drunk a magic potion.”
“Adrenaline. I read about that. Like, once, I read about this woman who lifted a car off her father, when he was being crushed.” It was weird. She was such a delicate flower, yet strong enough to slide down a rope and rescue me. It was sort of hot, both that she’d saved me and, also, that she needed my help. I could use someone needing me right now.
“I just knew I had to do it.”
I thought about climbing ropes in gym class. Or about a hundred rock-climbing birthday parties. This wasn’t much higher, if at all. I had no doubt that I could do it myself, but could I lift her? Maybe if I simply bouldered up, I could use the rope to help her, sort of a hip belay? Not that we had any equipment. But if you didn’t fall, you didn’t need a harness, right?
If I brought her up, could I come see her again?
“I just need more time. More time to understand what it is I’m meant to do.” Her yellow hair fluttered around her face.
I decided. “I can pull you up. Is the rope strong?”
“I think so.” Her face seemed calmer now. At least, she smiled. “And there is a fire in the fireplace. You could get warm and allow your clothes to dry.”
“If I help you, can I come back to see you again?” One of the trees by the tower, its branches weighed down with snow, was shaped like a dragon, its green head crooked toward me, staring. A dragon to be slain.
“I would count on it,” she said. “But you have not told me your name.”
“Wyatt.”
She gazed at me. The sun was fully out now, and her eyes were the color of the sky. “Prince Wyatt,” she said.
21
Rachel
Wyatt first attempted to show me how to climb up. He told me that everyone learned to climb a rope in something called gym class at school. I knew about school because of schools in books—David Copperfield, Jane Eyre, Little Women . . . even Ebenezer Scrooge went away to school. Yet, none of the books I read made the slightest mention of rope climbing as a skill learned there. Clearly, this was another instance, one of many, in which my education had been deficient.
After several failed attempts, I said, “Wyatt, I wish, more than you can imagine, that I had gone to your school and learned how to climb a rope. However, it seems that this is not the skill of a day, particularly a frigidly cold day such as this one. Is there perhaps another way you could get me up there?” I was growing worried, not to mention cold. I needed to be in my tower, after all, to keep me free from the dangers of the world. I had managed to persuade myself that Wyatt was safe. After all, he probably hadn’t even been alive when my mother was murdered. And he had kind eyes. But what if someone else came? What if someone had followed him? What if Mama came earlier than usual and saw me on the ground?
“Yeah, I was thinking it wasn’t going to work,” he admitted. “You’re not really dressed for it.”
I smiled at his attempt to make me feel better. “Yes, I am certain it is merely my apparel that is preventing me from scaling the height!”
“Well, that could be part of it. Anyway, girls as pretty as you don’t usually have massive biceps, and I’d like to get to that fire.” He shivered.
I smiled a bit more at his comment on my beauty, for it was similar to my thoughts about his. But when he mentioned the cold, I realized he was right. He was wet and cold, and it certainly wouldn’t do for him to freeze to death, right when I had just rescued him. Rescuing him was the first definitive thing I had done in years.
Besides, I liked him.
“Perhaps you could climb the tower yourself, then hoist me up?”
“Do you think you could hang on that long?”
I nodded. I felt a bit inadequate about not being able to climb, but just holding on seemed safer. “I hope so.”
“I mean, you wouldn’t have to hang. There are a lot of footholds on the way up, those shingles. Watch me as I go up. Plus, I have leather gloves on. I could throw them down when I’m up. They might help you grip.” He examined the rope. “What kind of rope is this? It’s really static.”
<
br /> “Oh, that.” I looked down, not knowing what he meant. “It is hair.”
His eyes widened, somewhat comically. “Your hair?”
“Um, yes. I have been here a long time. It grew; I cut it. One makes do with what one has. Do you not think we should try to climb instead of talking? I’m cold.” Probably, the less said about my hair, the better. He probably thought I was so strange. I was strange. I could not believe I was actually here, talking to someone, a man, anyone other than Mama. I knew I should be afraid of him. Yet, I was certain he would not hurt me, no matter what Mama would think.
“Sure,” he said. “It’s just . . .”
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s just . . . cool. And, man, your hair is . . . something.”
“Thank you.” I thought that was a compliment.
“And it will hold you?” He stared at it.
“It held me, when I came down.”
“Good point. And hey, I’ve already fallen through the ice today. What else can happen? Here’s what we’re going to do.”
He took the rope, the length that coiled on the ground, and wrapped it firmly around my waist several times. Then he tied it very tightly. He was so close to me and his hands were very strong.
Now, I was tied to the tower. But what was he doing?
“It’s a sort of harness. You’ll have to hold on too, because it’s not very good. I mean, it should really be separate, not the same rope. But it’s better than nothing.”
“What will you do?”
He looked up the height of the tower. The wind whistled through the trees. “Watch me. Do what I do.”
He placed his foot on one of the shingles, testing it. Apparently finding it adequate, he grabbed a higher shingle and pulled himself up, then finding a knot in the wood, on which to put his other foot. He repeated this process, climbing higher. “I’ll try to lift you,” he said, “but you should try to climb too. You’ll be tied to me, so you won’t fall.”
I nodded, shivering. I was cold too. Yet, despite it, I felt a thrill of excitement, watching him, rather the way I imagined it felt for ladies at court to watch their champions at a jousting match. His wet shirt clung to his muscles, which flexed with each new grip upon the tower. He was so handsome!
Higher and higher he climbed, and when he chanced to look back, I waved and smiled.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he reached the windowsill. He threw his leg over, bobbling slightly. I gasped. He caught himself and climbed inside.
“You made it!” I yelled.
He said something I could not make out.
“What?” I yelled.
He stood there, breathing heavily. He must be tired, too tired to lift me up right away. I nodded, to show I understood. He pointed to me, then threw down an object. His glove. Then, the other. I slipped them on to my hands. They were big on me, though they had probably shrunk some from being in the water, and they were cold.
They were his.
I studied the rope around my waist. He yelled something else, but it was lost in the wind.
“What?” I cupped my hand to indicate I couldn’t hear.
“Try to climb up yourself. If you fall, the rope will catch you.”
“I will try.”
Remembering what he had done, I searched for a foothold. I found one and stepped on it. It held me. I pulled myself up with my hands on another shingle. I found another foothold and stepped upon it.
I was doing it.
From above, I felt the rope around my waist go slack. I looked up to see Wyatt holding the rope, making it taut so that, if I fell, I would not fall all the way.
“That’s good!” he said. “Look up at me! Don’t look down.”
Of course, as soon as he said that, I looked down. But the ground was not so far below me, and the snow looked soft.
“Rachel! Up here!”
I looked up, but he was still so far away.
“Come on! You can do it.”
My foot began to feel uncomfortable. I searched for another foothold and found one. I pulled myself up, then my other foot. I shivered, fearing I would lose my grip. Yet, the exertion made me feel warmer. I found another foothold and pulled myself up again.
“Good for you! Keep going!”
I was closer. At least, I could hear him better. I was doing this! I was doing it!
The rope was taut above me. I took another step up but lost my grip on the tower. My tower. I clung to it with both arms but felt the rope holding me tight. I was worried I would end up hanging like a spider. But no, my tower was angled.
“Careful!” His voice was closer. “You can do it.”
I found a handhold, and then, another foothold. The cold air rushed across my dress. I heard birds. I smelled the snow and almost tasted it. I was cold, yet sweating too. I pulled myself up.
“Do that again! All at once!”
I did. It was getting easier, though I was tired. First one foot, then the other, pulling myself up with my hands. I saw him, reeling in the rope, my hair. I heard his voice. “Come on, Rachel. You’re doing great!”
It occurred to me that I was doing great. I was, for he wasn’t lifting me. I was climbing. It was like something from a book, but this time, I was the heroine! Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I found another foothold, then another, going much faster than before.
Ouch! A rough piece of wood jabbed my arm. I cried out, but my cry disappeared into the woods.
“Almost there!” he said. “Come to me!”
I had to go on. Ignoring the pain in my arm, I took two more steps, pulling myself up. I felt his hand, reaching out for me, but I was afraid to take it. I wanted to climb inside by myself.
I reached for the windowsill, and found one last good foothold, a tiny outcropping. I pulled myself up. I lifted myself inside. My heart felt as if it might burst, but good.
“I made it!”
“You did. You’re okay!”
I saw, now, that we were tied together. If I had fallen, would he have tumbled out the window as well?
I was breathing hard, my heart pounding. I threw my arms around Wyatt and felt his heart throbbing beside my own. “You saved my life,” I said.
“Did I?” His voice was in my ear. “That’s perfect. You saved mine, so I owe you.”
We stood there a moment, both panting, both shivering. I knew he was the man I had dreamed about. How could he not be, for he was the only one who had come? But did he know?
Finally, we broke apart. I said, “Perhaps you should warm yourself by the fire. I’ll get a blanket. Then, you can tell me what you are doing here.”
He walked to the fireplace and sat beside it, then took the poker and used it to rearrange the logs. His shirt was wet and clung to him. I thought, perhaps, I should suggest that he remove it, to hang it by the fire. But would that be too presumptuous? Yes. I noticed him touching it, and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. Yet, there was nothing I could do, nothing but gaze at him with the fire’s light caressing his face, unable to believe he was actually there.
“Will you tell me what you are doing here as well?”
I came out of my trance. “What? Oh, the blanket. I forgot.” I rushed to the closet and took down the bright green blanket. I returned and draped it over his shoulders.
“Thank you.”
“Perhaps . . .” I stopped.
“What?”
I looked away. “Perhaps now that you have the blanket to cover you, you should . . .” I felt my cheeks grow warm. I spit it out. “Your shirt would dry more quickly if you draped it by the fire.”
He didn’t respond for a moment. Then, he said, “Oh. Oh, I suppose it would.”
“I will not look,” I whispered. I crossed the room, back to the window. Outside, the air was cold, so I closed it up, to keep the heat in. Then, I gazed out. The hole in the ice had filled with snow, so it was barely visible.
“Rachel?”
The sound o
f my name startled me. Yet, I loved it. “Yes?”
“Since you saved my life, and I saved yours, I feel really, like I’ve known you. Like we’re sort of closer than other people who’ve known each other an hour. Will you tell me how you got here? I’ve been hearing you, or something. A voice from the woods. I’ve been hearing it for days. But I don’t think anyone else can hear it. I didn’t know if you were real.”
I turned to face him. He was wrapped in the blanket, his shirt draped on the mantel, warming. He had removed his shoes, but he still had on his pants. The green in the blanket brought out the green in his eyes. I walked closer.
“I think I am real,” I said, though I wondered. Could you be real if no one saw you, if no one knew you were there?
He reached out his hand to me. “I think you are too.”
And the next thing I knew, I was sitting beside him, and his lips were on mine. Mine were on his, and all the loneliness of my life was over, evaporated, as if it had never been there at all. He tasted like the breeze, the snow, the pine trees, and I worried that I would wake to find that it was all a dream, all a lovely dream. But his hands on my hair, his lips on mine let me know he was real. He was real.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just . . . I feel like I was meant to come here, to find you.”
I kissed him again. “I feel that way too.”
22
Wyatt
I had been shivering. Now, I was warm, warm from the fire in the stone fireplace on one side of the room, warm from the girl in my arms. This was it. This was why I was here. To find her, this strange, unearthly, beautiful girl, locked in a tower yet so brave that she slid down a rope and fished me out of the ice. Seeing her, I realized that I was like that too, in my own tower, a tower of the mind, enchanted and unreal. Would I be as brave as her, given the opportunity? Could I save her as she saved me? This girl was different from anyone I’d ever met. She made me feel like a hero.
