Out of The Woods (19 page)

“Fortress?”

Eden didn’t reply. After finishing the last of the four hooves, she stretched up high on her tip-toes, and grabbed hold of the horse’s mane just above the withers. Jumping, she swung her leg over Athena’s broad back. She smiled broadly, ear to ear, and made a gentle clucking sound to encourage the horse forward.

Halley walked along beside.

So
, Eden thought, reflecting on the eagle’s stor
y, that’s why she’s afraid of horses.
She felt the gentle rhythm of Athena’s walk shift her back and forth.
That’s why she never rode Sampson again. I remember – she kept working at the stable, because she didn’t want to tell anyone she was scared. But the horses knew – she got bad around the horses.
Eden reached down and massaged Athena’s withers.
You didn’t like the jumpy way she handled you, did you? You wanted to make her go away, so you bit her and kicked her and ran at her. You were scared too, weren’t you? Her fear scared you.
Eden rubbed Athena’s wiry mane between her fingers.

Eden knew: Halley was going to have to face what had happened that terrible night with Nick. She was going to have to remember.

The grass muffled the sound of their feet. Halley breathed the green scent of crushed grass stems and wildflowers, and Eden rode bareback at a gentle walk.

“Do you remember how to ride?” Eden asked, after a long while had passed.

“Of course,” Halley said, feeling a chill though the day was warm. “It’s just…I’m a bit scared. It’s been a long time.”

It hurt her neck to look up at Eden on the horse.

“Come on.” Eden reached down a small hand. “I’ll help you up.”

Halley took a step back, crossing her arms in front of her chest. The sudden movement made Athena toss her head in fright. “No. I’d rather walk.”

“Okay.”

They walked in silence for some time, with much unsaid between them. Later, they came to the first of the foothills at the base of the mountains. They followed the gentle, flat path that was carved low on its flank.

“Tell me about Nick,” Eden said.

“Nick? Why?”

“I just want to hear about him.”

“He was everything to me,” Halley said. “He was my first love.”

She stopped speaking and looked at the ground.

“Was he very handsome? Did he look like Shaun?”

“Sean?”

“Shaun Cassidy! You know, silly. Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ronnn,” Eden sang with a giggle.

Halley smiled. “No. More like Dirk Benedict from Battlestar Galactica. He had this softness around his eyes when he smiled.”

“Did you love him?”

“Mm.”

“Why? Why did you love him?” Eden gripped Athena’s mane more tightly.

Halley thought about it. “He was very gentle. He took his time.” She smiled, remembering. “There were these beautiful love poems he wrote me. He used very thin, soft paper. It was baby-blue. I scotch-taped them to the wall by my bed, and when we weren’t together, I would just lie there and read them, over and over. I liked to run my finger over the paper and feel how soft it was.”

“Did you…?” Eden giggled. Her pause and her lifted eyebrow filled in exactly what she was asking.

“Eden!” Halley’s face reddened.

“I’m not
that
little. I’ve read about it.”

“Well…yes…eventually.” Halley’s gaze shifted to the upper left as she remembered. “That was the other thing that made me love him. I was very shy. All the other guys wanted to touch me too soon. I was always having to catch their hands before they touched me somewhere I didn’t want them to touch me. They wouldn’t listen.” She made a face. “Nick was different. He was patient. He waited a whole year for us to be together that way. I guess he taught me that love didn’t have to hurt, that I didn’t have to be afraid.” Halley shuddered.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I just felt really awful inside. Let’s talk about something else.”

But they didn’t. They rode on in silence, and Eden kept thinking about what the eagle had told her.

When they came to the other side of the small foothill, they both stopped and stared. Standing close to the edge of the path was a small wooden house, the first dwelling they had seen on their long journey.

“Wow,” Eden said.

“That’s an understatement.”

The house was under siege. It was built on a foundation of rough-hewn grey stone blocks, giving it an air of would-be sturdiness. But in the binding concrete between the stones, small plants had taken root, turning the concrete to dust with their fine, searching roots. The planking boards, which would have been painted once, showed only scar-like patches of flaking pink paint-primer. A porch encircled the house, but its seeming welcome was negated by the thickly spider-webbed boot scraper at the base of the front steps. The garden was long overgrown, dandelions gone to seed peppering the front lawn with yellow and white. The honeysuckle had sailed beyond its lattice, and now hung over the edge of the roof, cascading wildly down the opposite side.

It must have been the mountain retreat of a small family. But they had given it up, had abandoned it to the wolves long ago.

“I’m just going to take a look,” Halley said, climbing the wooden steps and crossing the weathered porch. Her eyes were fixed on the windows. With a musical crash of metal on metal on flesh, she ran right into a wind chime, hitting it smack into the center of her forehead. “Ouch! Stupid thing!”

It too was encrusted in spider webs. She pulled a few long lengths of them from her face and hair. When she tried to shake them off, they clung tightly to her hands as if unwilling to let go. Disconcerted, she rubbed her hands together briskly, balling the webs, and then plucking them off with her fingers. The wind chime continued to sing. Halley breathed out forcefully, and gave it a hard look.
I hate the webs
, she thought. It only took a moment to pull them off; the movement set the wind chime to ringing more loudly. The melody ill fit the scene. Halley reached up and quieted it with her right hand. Then she stepped around it, towards the house. With the heel of her hand, she rubbed dust from a window and peered inside. Light streamed in from several other windows. It was empty. Encouraged, she knocked gently on the door. It swung open with a gentle creak, and she smelled weathered wood and mildew.

On Athena’s back, Eden shook her head. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” she said to herself. “In fact, it may be the worst idea ever!”

She dismounted, leaving Athena to graze, and followed Halley into the house.

It took a moment for Halley’s eyes to adjust to the change in light. When they did, she quickly held out a restraining arm to stop Eden from walking beyond her.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think anyone was here.”

The young woman she had addressed leant against the deeply mildewed wall. She didn’t seem to have heard Halley; at least, she didn’t answer. Alone on the uncarpeted floor, writing fast in a spiral notebook, her posture was hunched and forlorn. On the floor around her were other notebooks, pens empty of ink and pieces of paper crumpled in tight balls. The young woman was talking to herself.

“If only I could decide,” she said. “Then this torture could end. But how can I decide…how can I choose, when I love them both?”

She let the notebook drop to her lap, sighing heavily. Tiny writing filled the entire page.

She looked up, first at Eden, and then at Halley, where she let her eyes rest. “What should I do?” the girl said. “You’ll know – you’re old. I love them both. I can’t decide. It’s agony.”

She chopped her sentences short, as if she had forgotten how to speak to people with any grace. Her appearance validated her words: dark circles under her eyes; lusterless skin; bones sticking out through too-thin flesh. She continued speaking but Halley barely heard the words.

“I’ve been trying so hard to do what’s right, to not hurt anyone. But I don’t know what to do…” She picked up her notebook and pen, and began to write again.

It took a long while, but the young woman eventually tired, and held the notebook out as if to re-read what she’d written. The movement revealed the white skin of her inner arms.

“What happened to you?” Eden asked.

Eden was pointing to the young woman’s right arm. Halley looked where she indicated. Three deep parallel scars ran its length, from the inside of her elbow all the way to her wrist.

Halley swallowed heavily.

The young woman didn’t answer.

“What are you writing?” Eden asked.

The young woman looked down at the closed notebook. “The pros and cons,” she said.

“The pros and cons of
what?
” Eden said. Her voice betrayed her growing impatience.

“Of Nick and Andy, of course. It will help me choose between them. It hasn’t yet, but it’s got to, eventually…”

She opened the notebook again and continued to write.

Eden and Halley looked at each other, and then at the young woman sitting on the floor. Outside, the sun slipped below the horizon. Light fled the room.

Eden touched Halley’s arm. “How come she doesn’t ask who we are or what we’re doing here?” she whispered. “That’s weird.” Eden looked back at the young woman, who had kept talking to herself softly the whole time.

“I don’t know,” Halley whispered back.

There was something in the room that filled it to the edges of the windowsills, and left no room to breathe. Halley felt over-whelmed, and sank down on her haunches near the thin young woman sitting on the floor.

“You’re so young,” she said, looking into the girl’s down-turned face. “I thought you would’ve been older. I remembered you older.”

She started then, her own words confusing her. It wasn’t possible that she remembered the girl; she’d never met her before. Suddenly she wanted to move, to get away from her. “You must be hungry,” she said. “You’re so thin.” Halley straightened. “Come on, Eden,” she said. “Let’s see what there is to eat around here. We’ll make her some dinner.”

The girl didn’t move, and didn’t answer. Eden shrugged one shoulder, and followed Halley into the next room, letting the door swing shut behind her.

The sight of the kitchen made them stop short. Eden reached for Halley’s hand. Like the wind-chime on the front porch, the kitchen was absolutely covered in spider webs. Some hung from the fridge, and others drooped heavily off the cupboards. Others coated the windows with frostlike patterns. The spiders sat in their webs and didn’t move; their stillness in the face of strangers suggested a certain boldness. It was clear they had learned not to be afraid of disruption. There were no dishes, no evidence of recent meals. Just spider webs and silence.

“This is wrong,” Eden said. “This is all wrong.”

“The spider webs are awful,” Halley agreed.

Eden looked at her strangely. “Not just the spider webs. It’s this room – this room is wrong,” Eden replied. “In winter, Dad used to put my clothes on that radiator in the corner to warm them before I got up.” She pointed. “And on that shelf…the one just behind you that’s all empty…that’s where we kept the jars of grape jelly we made from the summer grapes.” Eden ran past Halley and pulled a small tin from the counter closest to the door. The metal lid made a catching sound as she pried it off with her fingernails. She turned it upside down, and stared inside. “Empty…it was never empty…”

“What did you keep in there?”

“The bayberries…” Eden held the tin to her nose and sniffed. “I can still smell them.” She looked far away, lost in memory. “We picked them from the neighbor’s bushes. Dad melted them into candles for Christmas each year.” Eden looked at Halley with a question in her eyes. “Don’t you remember?”

“How could I remember?” Halley said. “I’ve never been here before.”

Eden couldn’t find anything more to say. She put the cover back on the tin and replaced it on the counter. She was breathing fast, like she might cry.

“Well, look…I guess we’ve got to fix it,” Halley said. “No one else is going to.” With resolve, she reached for the broom, grimacing when her hand grazed a spider web.

“Wait – let me get an empty jam jar and I’ll catch the spiders first,” Eden said, opening the cupboard door next to the sink. The cupboard was full of dusty jars.

“Good idea,” Halley said.

Eden swept the spiders, one by one, into the empty jar. She was careful not to harm their long spindly legs. When the first jar was nearly full, Eden capped it, and took a second from the cupboard by the sink.

“You take them out and set them free,” Eden said. “Make sure you do it quick – I didn’t make any air holes. I’ll catch the rest.”

Halley opened the back door. It groaned with protest, like it hadn’t been opened in years. The glass jam jar felt cool in her hand, the metal cap that read
Smuckers
in faded letters, even cooler. At the bottom of the steps, she set the jar down on the ground, and opened it with a turn of her wrist. She pulled her hands back quickly. It took a moment for the spiders to figure out where the sudden fresh air came from, but once they did, they scrambled over one another to reach the opening. Halley retreated to the top step and watched the spiders pour from the jar and then scuttle off, freed from their imprisonment. All their legs were intact.

It took five jam-jars to empty the room. After setting the final jarful of spiders free, Halley lingered outside a moment. She stared up at the full moon; its white roundness gave her courage. When she went inside, she left the back door ajar. The cool evening air stirred the dust on the counters. There was still much to do.

With the broom in hand, Halley cleared the cobwebs from all the surfaces.
I wonder how long they’ve been here,
she thought. She was dirty from the dust and sweat-streaked from their long day. There was only one broom, so Eden sat on the nicked wooden chair at the heavy pinewood table and watched. Every now and then they heard the girl in the next room talking softly. It was a confused mumble, solving nothing. When the spider webs were cleared, and all the surfaces had been wiped down with two damp sponges, Halley and Eden sat across from each other at the pinewood table. They were silent for some time.

“What’s going on here?” Halley finally said. “You know, don’t you?” She rested her hands flat on the table. “Tell me. Who is this girl? Why is she so familiar to me? And how do you know this house so well?”

Eden got to her feet.

“I’m thirsty. Real tap water will be great after drinking from rivers and canteens! I know – I’ll make some cocoa.” Eden flicked on the kitchen light, a bare, dim bulb that hung from the ceiling over the kitchen table. It did little to light the room, but it was better than the gathering dark. She opened a door and pulled two brown mugs from a low shelf. From another cupboard, she retrieved the cocoa powder.

Without thinking, Halley stood up, opened a drawer and picked out a silver spoon. She fingered the flower pattern on the spoon’s handle, liking its feel. Being imitation silver, the spoon had not tarnished, even after all these years.

Together they stood at the kitchen sink, drinking cold water first, quickly, mug after mug, until their thirst was quenched. Then, letting the hot tap run until the water steamed, they filled the brown mugs again, and stirred a teaspoon of cocoa into each. They remained at the sink a moment, staring out the window into the back garden. Athena’s white coat shone in the moonlight.

“The moonlight makes her look like a horse angel, doesn’t it?” Eden said. “Like she should be up in the clouds…”

Halley let her eyes rest of the broad flat sweep of the mare’s face. There was something heavenly about the horse, about the calm way it watched them through the kitchen window, as if this scene had been enacted a thousand times. “Like a guardian angel,” she concurred.

“I think that girl in the other room could use one,” Eden said, looking towards the kitchen door.

They sat down at the pinewood table, and drank their cocoa. There was no milk. Neither of them spoke until the mugs were drained dry. Halley set her mug on the table, and leaned back in her chair to look at Eden. Eden wasn’t smiling or giggling or even looking at her. She was fingering a scratch in the surface of the table, running her forefinger over it as if to heal the scar it made.

“What’s wrong?” Halley asked. “You look so sad.”

“It’s worse than I thought,” Eden said quietly. “Halley, you’ve got to help her. You’ve got to help her see the truth.” Eden got up to rinse her mug at the sink, and pointed to one of the spiders making its way in through the open door. “Look. They’re coming back. They all will, unless you help her.”

Halley watched the spider move. She’d never feared spiders, but the way this one lifted one leg after another, as if nothing could stop its slow progress into the kitchen, filled her with aversion. Putting her feet up on the support beam under the pinewood table, she pondered what Eden had said. “I don’t understand,” she said. “What truth do I have to help her see? She’s very sad and very strange, but I don’t see how I can help.”

The spider treaded across the clean kitchen floor, and began to climb up onto the cupboard. Others were following.

“It’s not just her.
You’ve
got to be brave enough to face the truth,” Eden said. She stopped. The look on her face said she’d gone too far.

The kitchen door swung open suddenly, and the young woman stood there, a wraith, swaying slightly on thin legs. She wore a crumpled grey t-shirt and shorts, and she was carrying one of the notebooks.

“Can I come in?” Her voice was weak. “You didn’t answer the question I asked. About who I should love and who I should leave…”

Eden stood up. “You can have my chair. I want to check on Athena.” She slipped quickly through the back door, before Halley had the chance to say a word. Eden decided she was not going back into that room with that crazy, skinny girl, not for anything. She would make herself a camp outside, under the moonlight. It was warm, and she’d slept on this back lawn lots of times.

Through the long night, Athena stood watch over her protectively.