Summer In Iron Springs (9 page)

Phoebe followed him to the living room. She took a seat on the couch and he settled into a leather recliner and faced her.

“You look really pretty today, Phoebe.”

“Thanks,” Phoebe said, feeling her cheeks heat up. “I thought it would be nice to wear something besides work clothes for a change.”

              “Well, you look good in those too,” Billy said, giving her a flirty smile before spoke again. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out to dinner with me tonight. I mean, if you don’t have other plans.”

             
Phoebe let out a giggle. “Well, I was planning to stay here and shoot the breeze with Norm but I guess I can put that off for another day.”

             
“I’m sure he’ll understand,” Billy said and they both laughed. “I’m just gonna go change and then I’ll come pick you up, okay?”

             
“Sounds good,” Phoebe said. She smiled at Billy and forced herself to stay calm despite that her heart was pounding in her chest.

***

              They went to a steak house in town and after dinner Billy suggested they take a walk. It was getting chilly out so they walked to his truck and he grabbed their jackets. He held Phoebe’s so she could slip it on and then he pulled his hoodie over his head. “Tell me if you get too cold, okay?” Billy said, taking her hand and leading her along the stone walkway.

             
Phoebe liked the way it felt to have her hand in Billy’s—it was like she’d found the lost piece of a puzzle and had snapped it into place. As they walked along the walkway, she welcomed Billy’s familiar fragrance into her senses. He was wearing the same cologne he always wore—it was a simple, gentle scent that was just so . . .
Billy
.

Billy led her along the walkway until they came to a dirt trail. “This trail runs the entire perimeter of town,” he said, pointing to the ground. “It used to be a railroad track and after those were removed, the town made it into a walking path.”

They walked on the path in silence and Phoebe found that she didn’t mind them not talking. She was enjoying just being with Billy. It was just the opposite of spending time with Jaxon. He never stopped talking and everything he said was about himself. He didn’t try to get to know her or spend time walking silently beside her. He was too focused on himself to think about anyone else. Billy was different than any boy she’d ever known. He was calm and deliberate. He was sweet and gentlemanly. He was interested in her life and took the time to learn about her. When she was with him, she knew he was focused on her and she liked that . . . a lot.

“Let’s go up here,” Billy said, leading her off the trail. “There’s something I want to show you.”

“What is it?” Phoebe asked, scanning the area up ahead.

“You’ll see.”

Billy led her into the foothills and up the mountain until they arrived at a clearing. It was full of tall, beautiful aspen trees—there had to have been thousands of them. And the ground was covered with foliage that looked like a green carpet had been put down in the forest. “I love it here,” Billy said. “It’s so beautiful and peaceful.”

Phoebe took a long look around. “It really is.” She admired the snow-white trunks of the soaring aspens as they glimmered in the moonlight. Amongst the aspens, there were groupings of pine trees and one, lone willow tree. Billy led her to the willow tree and they stood beneath it.

“I’d love to do a painting here.”

“You should do it, Feebs,” Billy said, brushing a strand of her hair off her shoulder. “You have too much talent to let it go to waste.”

Phoebe looked Billy in the eyes. She was thankful for his support—the words he’d just said were the very words she’d waited her whole life to hear from her father. And she was still waiting.

“Thanks, Billy,” she said, studying his eyes as her heart thundered wildly. She was sure Billy could feel the throbbing in her chest and she didn’t care. She was dizzy and excited and weak all at once. Despite the soft breeze, she wasn’t cold at all. She was exactly where she wanted to be.

Billy ran the back of his thumb along her cheek as he gazed into her eyes. He lowered his head until she could feel his breath on her face and gently pressed his lips to hers. He kissed her once, then again, and again. Her knees went weak and her breathing slowed. In that moment, nothing in the world mattered. She was aware only of Billy and of the smell of his cologne and the feel of his lips pressing against hers. When the kiss was over, she leaned into him and he held her until her dizziness subsided. Then they sat beside each other on the soft ground beneath the willow tree. Billy pulled her close to him and she rested her head on his shoulder.

Six

“It works easier if you do this
,” Stephen said. He used the larger clippers to cut away the excess branches from the tree where Phoebe was working. “Them are too small.” He pointed to the shears Phoebe was holding.

             
“Thank you.” Phoebe watched Stephen as he demonstrated how to use the larger clippers. Norm had asked the two of them to remove all the fruit from the small trees and discard it so they could grow strong. Phoebe had no idea how many baby trees there were and she didn’t want to ask. She was sure there were thousands, probably tens of thousands.

             
As he worked, Stephen glanced at Phoebe and studied her face. “You look like your mom,” he said in his soft, child-like tone. “She was real pretty.”

“Thank you,” Phoebe said while she watched Stephen as he became distracted by a tiny caterpillar that was inching its way across the branch Phoebe was trying to remove.

“Hold on a second,” Stephen said. He leaned in until his face was only inches away from the caterpillar. “It’ll be okay.” He spoke to the insect as he urged it to inch its way onto his finger. After it did, he climbed the rungs of the ladder. When he reached the top rung, he held his finger out and let the caterpillar climb onto the tree’s top branch. “You’ll be safer there.” He smiled and waved goodbye to the tiny insect before heading back down the ladder.

“Your mom liked caterpillars,” Stephen said when he joined Phoebe again.

“She did?”

“Uh-huh.” Stephen looked back toward the branch and Phoebe knew he was checking to make sure the caterpillar was okay. “She liked butterflies too. She said they were miracles from God.” He stopped talking for a moment and glanced around the orchard. “Did you know that caterpillars turn into butterflies?” His eyes lit up as he talked. “It’s magic. Your mom taught me that.”

Phoebe turned away from Stephen and blinked hard at the tears that filled her eyes. Her heart swelled when she thought about the kindness Bessie had shown to Stephen. “I didn’t know that,” she said. “But, now that you mentioned it, I guess it really is magical.”

The rest of Phoebe’s work day was spent thinking about Bessie. She thought about the beauty Bessie saw in the world and the beauty she gave back to the world. Phoebe wanted to be a part of that. She wanted to become like the woman Stephen knew.

***

             
After work, Phoebe took a shower, put on some clean clothes and removed the painting of the old country church from her wall before heading to the balcony. Bandit, who had become her constant companion and was never far behind, followed her to the balcony. She set the painting on the table and knelt down before him and ran her hand along his back. His tired eyes glanced up at her and she thought he looked worn out. “Are you tired, Bandit?” she asked, giving him a scratch on the top of his head. She put her arms around his neck and nestled up close to him. “You just rest, okay?”

After sitting in a balcony chair, she propped her feet up and examined the painting. For some reason, she was drawn especially to this painting. It was a tiny wooden building. The weathered boards were covered with white paint that was chipped and faded from age. It had a smaller than average, bright red door and, on the very tip of the pointed entry way was a tall metal spire. Behind, and to the right of the church, a rectangular sign hung from two wooden pillars and stood guard over the entrance to a rural cemetery. After studying it for a while, she turned it over. Handwritten on the back, it said: 26 Old Creek Way - August 23, 1990. Phoebe stared at the writing. My mother
wrote that
.
She felt an aching in her heart that yearned to know more about the painting.

             
She jotted the words down on a piece of paper, replaced the painting in its spot and hurried downstairs to Anna’s office. She logged onto the internet and searched for directions to 26 Old Creek Way. She crossed her fingers as she waited for the search to return its results. Within seconds, she had printed directions from Anna’s house to the address of the church and she and Bandit were on their way.

It was a perfect summer day; fluffy white clouds floated slowly across the light blue sky. The sun was shining fiercely and yet, there was a light breeze in the air that cooled the air and put Phoebe in an exceptional mood. She walked for over an hour before coming to a fork in the road. To the right was Dodger Lane and to the left, Old Creek Way. Phoebe turned and hurried down the road. A short walk brought her to the front steps of the old church. As she studied the old building, she imagined Bessie standing in the same spot. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she knelt to touch the pebbles at her feet. Bandit moved close to her and lowered his head to sniff her hand. “My mother was here,” she said to Bandit. “She had to have loved this place a lot to want to paint it.”

              She walked to the front door and tried turning the knob but it was locked. Cupping her hands on the sides of her eyes, she peeked in a window. A pulpit stood in the front of the small room. As Phoebe glanced at the wooden pews that lined either side of the room, she imagined her mother sitting there, listening to a sermon. Was she religious like Anna?
Phoebe felt bad for not knowing. There was so much she didn’t know. She walked around to the back of the church and read the sign that led to the small cemetery;

“Iron Springs Cemetery”

              And beneath that, in smaller letters:

“Honoring our Past, Present and Future.”

              Phoebe considered the words for a moment as she passed through the arched entry way that stood guard over the tiny cemetery. An elderly man was kneeling before a grave, clearing grass and leaves from a headstone. Phoebe watched the man and wondered whose grave he was visiting. She admired the tender way he touched the headstone, the softness in his eyes as he arranged flowers in a glass vase and the loving way he spoke—saying words Phoebe couldn’t hear. She took a seat on a wooden bench beneath a large tree that would shade her from the sun. Bandit sat on the ground beside the bench and Phoebe rested her hand on his back. After a time, the man became aware of her presence and he walked over and sat down beside her.

             
“It’s a hot one today,” he said, running the back of his arm along his forehead.

             
“Yeah, it sure is,” Phoebe responded, letting out a sigh for effect.

             
“That’s my wife, Helen.” He motioned his arm toward the white marble headstone where he’d been kneeling. “She died ten years ago. I come here every week, bring her flowers and tidy up.” The man looked at Phoebe and smiled. His eyes were happy and full of life and his voice was kind and cheerful. Although she did not know him, Phoebe was relieved that he was able to be happy, despite his loss.

             
“What are you doing out here young lady?” he asked, swatting at a fly that was buzzing around his head. “You got family buried here?”

             
Phoebe shook her head. “No, I don’t. I saw a painting of this old church and I wanted to visit it in person,” she looked over her shoulder and admired the building from a new angle.

             
“It’s a special place, that’s for sure. Not many like it. Been here close to a hundred years and it’s still used for Sunday services,” the old man replied. “Where’d you say you were from?” he asked.

             
Phoebe hadn’t said, but she answered anyway. “I live in Seattle. But I’m spending the summer here with my aunt.”

“Well welcome to Iron Springs, young lady.” The old man extended a hand to Phoebe. “I’m Howard Collins, and you are?”

              “Phoebe Levick,” Phoebe said, shaking Howard’s feeble hand.

             
At the mention of her name, Howard shifted his attention from Helen’s grave to Phoebe’s face. His stare was so intense that Phoebe became uncomfortable—like he was studying her. He was silent but Phoebe sensed that there was something he wanted to say. “You say Levick? Levick’s your last name? And you’re visiting your aunt? Would that be Anna Peterson?”

             
Here we go again.
Anna told the little old man about me? What did she do, take out an ad in the paper?

             
“Yeah, Anna’s my aunt,” Phoebe said. She was irritated at the way everyone in Iron Springs seemed to know her but she chose not to show her irritation to Howard.

             
“So, Seattle, huh?” Howard said. “Quite a switch for you coming to Iron Springs, I’d imagine.”

Phoebe’s eyes followed his as he gazed off into the distance. A brilliant red sun gleamed down on the tiny cemetery.

              “Yeah, it is different, that’s for sure,” Phoebe answered. She felt like Howard was studying her a little too closely. “But, I like it here.” When Phoebe heard herself utter those words, she was happy to know she meant them.

             
“That’s good. It’s not much fun being somewhere you don’t want to be.” The man looked up, thought for a while and then shook his head gravely. Phoebe considered asking him if something was wrong but she didn’t want to pry. Instead, she sat quietly beside him and decided that he was probably thinking about his wife. Finally, after they’d been sitting on the bench for a long while, Howard sat up straight and cleared his throat.

             
“Come with me Phoebe. I want to show you something.” He choked on his words as he stood from the bench.

             
“What is it?” Phoebe asked, looking into Howard’s eyes.

             
“Follow me.” Howard’s words were solemn and for a moment, Phoebe considered running away. But, even though she didn’t know Howard at all, she also didn’t feel like the frail old man was dangerous. And, despite his age, Phoebe was sure Bandit would protect her if anything happened.

She stood up and followed him as he crossed the lawn and led her to the far side of the small cemetery. They walked along a narrow dirt pathway and into the center of a group of headstones. Howard stood perfectly still before a grave without saying a word. He glanced kindly at Phoebe. Slowly, almost knowingly, she looked down and read the words that were engraved upon the stone:

Bessie Anna Levick – Wife, Mother, Artist.

June 16, 1970 to October 29, 1995.

              A sharp ache shot through Phoebe’s stomach. Her heart raced and her hands started to tremble. Hot tears tumbled down her cheeks. She knelt down and rested her head on the gravestone and sobbed. Howard put a hand on her shoulder and left it there.

             
“I thought you should know,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “I hope I did the right thing.”

             
Phoebe glanced up at him. “Thank you,” she stared at Howard through red, wet eyes. Her mouth quivered as she spoke. “Thank you for showing it to me.” She put her arms around Howard. “I have to go now,” she said through her tears. “I have to get back.”

Howard gave her a kind nod and she ran from the cemetery. Even though she knew it was painful for him, Bandit ran right alongside her all the way. When she got to
Anna’s, she ran up the porch stairs past Anna, who was sitting on the front porch, and hurried to her room where she collapsed on the bed. A minute later, there was a knock at her door. Phoebe ignored it and after a few more seconds, Anna entered the room. She sat on the side of the bed and looked at her niece through worried, anxious eyes.

             
“Phoebe . . .” She said softly. “Will you tell me what happened?”

             
Phoebe’s shoulders heaved as she sobbed into her pillow. Anna caressed her back in small circular motions. “Whatever happened, I’ll help you through it,” Anna said.

“I saw my mother’s grave,” Phoebe said. She lifted her face from the pillow, her hair, wet from tears, stuck to her face and she brushed it away. “My dad never told me where she was buried. I can’t believe I never asked. I didn’t know her at all. I know nothing about her. She was my mother and I don’t know anything about her!” Anger welled up and flooded Phoebe’s eyes with tears. She was angry with herself for being selfish and angry at her father for not talking to her.

              Anna reached out and touched Phoebe’s shoulder. “I’m so very sorry Phoebe.” She ran her hand softly over Phoebe’s back. “I should have told you. I didn’t know . . .” Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I should have told you.”

             
Phoebe shook her head. This was not Anna’s fault. In her heart, she knew it was her own fault for never finding out—never caring enough to ask. An awful combination of anger, sadness and guilt filled her soul. “How could I not have known where my own mother was buried? How could my dad have not told me; especially since he was sending me here?” She buried her face in the pillow again and cried.

             
“I don’t know why he didn’t tell you, sweetheart,” Anna spoke softly. “I think he wanted to protect you from pain.” After a long moment of silence, Anna stood up and headed toward the door. “I’ll be right back Phoebe.”