Wynn in the Willows (8 page)

Wynn slid the photo into her shirt pocket. Next she found her birth certificate…Mother Ruth O'Malley Baxter and Father Steven Wallace Baxter. Roxie's elementary teaching certificate and her diploma from the University of Minnesota. There was a passport. Wynn turned the pages to see it had expired without a single stamp. Last, she took out a small brown envelope. A piece of paper had the name and address of an Egg Harbor Bank along with a safe deposit box key. There was also a password: TheCove. The contents of the envelope were pocketed.

She checked her wristwatch. More than twenty minutes had passed. Quickly, she put the birth certificate, the diploma, teaching certificate, and passport back into the box in the reverse order of how they had been removed, scattering the silver dollars on top; just as she had found them. At last, the box was placed back in the drawer which she softly closed.

It was past time to go. As she passed the basement, she stopped. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She swallowed hard.

It was too soon for Roxie to get home yet. They were just finishing up with lunch. It would take fifteen minutes to make the drive. There was a bit of time left—if she hurried.

Wynn heard a vehicle pull into the drive. Panicking, she slammed the basement door and went for her purse. Where was it? Where had she left it? Wynn darted from room to room searching, but it was nowhere to be found. Out of time, Wynn scrambled down the outside steps. Just as she rounded the corner of the house near the hollyhocks, she came face-to-face with Doug Reed.

“Whoa!” He took a step backwards.

“Pay attention where you are walking and driving. You nearly ran me off the road the other day.”

“I know—I'm sorry about that. I was looking down at my phone when it happened.” He pulled the red straw from his mouth.

“Do you know how dangerous something like that is?” She tried to steady herself with a deep breath. “If you're looking for my aunt, she isn't home.”

“It doesn't matter. Roxie has a dead tree. She hired me to take it out when I had the time.”

“Well, then I won't keep you from your work.” Wynn hoped Doug didn't sense her guilt. To her relief, the purse was on the floor of her car. She drove around to the Tree House.

Racing up the stairs, Wynn gathered up the cards she'd scattered this morning in her rush. She gazed at the greeting cards, remembering how, after her dad's death, she used to hover around her mother. Wynn squashed the cards against her heart in a big hug.

She had thinking to do. She carried the cards outside and sat in the shade of an oak. A dragonfly with translucent wings buzzed over the red wheelbarrow glassy with rain water. Bees hummed at the edge of the woods.

Meticulously she arranged the cards in order of receipt. This was the only contact she had from her mother in nearly two decades. Other than the sympathy card for her dog, there was one card for each birthday and one card for every Christmas. In between there was nothing but loud silence.

The feeling of rejection by someone she needed never went away. Wynn wiped at her eyes. She still loved her mom and missed her. The cards could not replace the longing. The letters mattered.

Wynn slipped the first card from its envelope. Inside she stared at the birthday cake scene: A group of giggling girls in party hats holding brightly wrapped packages. Inside the card was the blue ink scroll of her mother's words;

 

Happy Seventh Birthday, my darling. I am thinking of you all day today. When you hear the sound of laughter, think of me. All my love, Mom.

 

Could one of the cards hold a clue as to why Ruth left?

Although Wynn had read them many times, she might have missed something. It just might have something to do with Aunt Roxie. Had her college tuition been about guilt?

It was then she remembered the tin container.

The rumble of a truck made her look up.

“Are you all right?” Doug pulled a bandanna from his back pocket and handed it to her.

She stared into his handsome face.

“Are you all right?” he asked again as moisture dripped out of his hair.

“Yes.” Wynn blinked the tears away, dabbed at her eyes and handed his bandanna back.

Doug sat too close and stretched his legs out, making her slide down a few inches. He made eye contact and smiled. “It's just that back there,” he said pointing over his shoulder, “you seemed upset and after cutting apart a few logs, I thought I should check on you. And here you are saying you are all right, but not acting it.”

Wynn tried to find the words to tell him that she was just having a moment.

“Pretty cards,” Doug said, looking in her shoebox.

“Thank you. It's been an emotional morning for me.”

“Are they from your boyfriend?”

“They're from my mom. I miss her.” Wynn hated that her voice cracked.

“You two are close, then?”

“Not really. That's the problem.”

“Maybe she will send you another card and everything will be better.”

“That would be nice. But…she doesn't know I'm here on the island, and you see, there's no mailbox.” She pointed to the top of the drive.

“Huh, no mailbox. Imagine that.” He pulled a red straw from his back pocket and began gnawing on it.

“Roxie picks up her mail from a post office box in town.”

“Oh.”

“Why do you chew on those things? I don't think I've seen you without a straw in your mouth.”

He pulled it from his mouth with a sheepish grin. “Oh, this. I gave up smoking a few months ago. Was up to a pack a day. Now I'm on straws. Down to two a day of these things.”

Wynn laughed. “I'm sorry about earlier. I was pretty angry and took it out on you.”

“No problem. Hope it made you feel better.” He gave an adorable smile.

She fiddled with the cards and stole a look at him.

Doug smiled as if inviting her to say more.

“A week after my dad died, my mother and I left the island—the only home I had ever known. We moved across the lake to the outskirts of Egg Harbor where we lived together with my grammy and gramps. Mom met missionaries at church and soon her life was consumed by their overseas stories. She flirted with the idea of going herself—wanting to test the waters—and I could see it bringing her back to life. Just when I thought she was coming out of her grief, I woke up one morning to find her gone.”

“And your only link to her is through the cards.” His voice had a consciously meaningful tone.

She felt her world was made of quicksand and she was sinking down, down, down.

He took her hand in his own calloused ones. ”It's not hopeless. It's important to keep hope tucked away right here.” He touched his chest.

“Hope, huh?” Wynn drew a shaky breath but managed to keep her voice steady. “Mine ran out a long time ago. I need a fresh supply. Where would I get that?”

“I get mine in prayer.”

“Now you're sounding like my aunt's Bible study women.”

“I suppose it's because we all have the same source.” He watched her steadily with big gray eyes.

“I never expected you to be the kind to read a Bible. But it's kinda nice to learn that about you.”

“Well, thank you, I think.”

“These cards are all I have of my mom. I still don't know why she left me.”

“Maybe you answered your own question about why she left.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

He sat silently with her for a few more minutes before getting to his feet. “I am in the middle of cutting up Roxie's dead tree.”

“And I should let you get to it,” she remarked. She decided Roxie was wrong about Doug—she found him totally likeable.

Doug walked towards the truck, and then turned around. “There's a coniferous bog on the north side of the forest preserve that you may find interesting.”

“I'll check it out. Thanks.”

“Take the last road into the Preserve.”

“I will do just that.”

Something had taken place between them.

As though sensing it too, a satisfied smile lifted his lips at the corners. Doug stepped up into the truck and backed down the drive.

 

 

 

 

11

 

Wynn decided to drive by her childhood home before starting her day in the woods. She turned down the narrow road and drove beneath the canopy of shade offered by the aged sumac trees. At the crest of the driveway, a perpendicular road intersected, generating a cross. A shaft of light spiraled from the sky culminating center to where Wynn now sat. A divine center? Was it a sign? She closed her eyes.

“God, are You really there? Because if You are, I could use You right about now in my life. Talk to me.” She leaned her head back on the seat and held up her hands. Nothing. “I thought not.” Disappointed, she drove onward. The lake shimmered below—blue and dazzling—the surf spilling onto the sand, and then chasing itself back. “Ah, this is where I connect with my own spirituality.”

At the dip of the hill, there was an ocean of parrot tulips right next to a frost of trillium—which she remembered planting alongside her parents, so many years ago. Then Wynn caught sight of the roof of the ochre-colored house. Home. The all-consuming feeling of being here at last was intense.

She had forgotten the smell of honeysuckle that grew along the line of the woods, and the sound of waves echoing off the cliffs in the cove. The joy was overwhelming. The pull to get out of the car and walk around was all-consuming.

The driveway was empty of vehicles. She longed to saunter around the property, peek into the windows and pick a flower from the garden. Trembling, she was torn between embracing the memories of the past, or running from them. Her bedroom was at the front of the house, just at the top of the widow's peak which faced the sea. Were the curtains still lace? The ache inside her grew.

 

****

 

Dad helped Wynn paddle through the mid-sized waves and they floated in the vast sea. She heard the water shushing and she stiffened with fear. Her dad caught her, allowing the waves to carry them back to shore.

Her mother had been watching them through binoculars. When she and her dad arrived home later, Mom was waiting for them in the yard, hands on her hips. Her hair was auburn and generous with thick curls circling her face, a face with sharp features—not rounded features like her redheaded twin sister, Roxie.

Wynn was sent inside while her parents talked in the yard. Side-tracked by the amazing colors of the shells they had collected that morning; it was a while before she walked outside with a Popsicle in each hand, a cherry and a lime. Her dad was at the far end, digging at the foot of an oak. Seeing Wynn, he walked towards her, crossing from shade to sunlight. The corners of his mouth turned downward. His eyes had a blank look.

“Is everything OK, Daddy?” Wynn held up both popsicles for him to choose.

He took the lime. “I'm fine.”

“What were you doing over there?”

She cupped her hands above them and saw sorrow.

“I wasn't doing anything.”

“Yes, you were. I saw you, right over there.” Wynn pointed. “And, look, your pants are all dirty.”

“You caught me. Remember when we planted the bulbs last year?”

Wynn nodded as a glob of red ice fell onto her shirt.

“This time I was planting something different. It was hope. I planted hope.”

Right before the sunset had completely evaporated for the night, Wynn snuck out of the house with a trowel to unearth her dad's hope, wondering what it looked like. Wynn lifted the dark earth until deep red appeared. It was so pretty. She touched it with her hand. Hope was red and fluffy. She picked it up. It was a cardinal with a broken neck,

She screamed and dropped the bird and the trowel. Wiping tears with muddy hands, she wondered how a dead bird meant hope.

As the sun continued with its descent, streams of gold reflected off the cove. In the distance, a great egret broke from the trees and elegantly skimmed the waters, scattering the light. Then she knew. Those were her jewels.

When she climbed into bed that night, her dad asked her about the bird she dug up in the yard.

“How did you know?”

“You are never far from my sight. I watched you from the kitchen window.”

“It's sad. But you said you buried hope. There was no hope.”

“Ah, you are wrong. There was plenty of hope. You just didn't know it.”

“I don't understand.”

“You know what a sparrow is?”

“A plain bird.”

“Right. It's very small. All brown. Just a little of white on it. It's not rare or endangered. But if just one sparrow falls from the sky…”

“and dies…”

“And dies, God knows.”

“And that is hope?”

“Yes, that is hope. God is concerned with even a small sparrow. He is much more interested in you, and me, and your mom, and Aunt Roxie.”

 

****

 

What made her remember after all these years?

The wind whispered and carried a long ago message. A face came into focus. There was desperation in her dad's eyes. Fear made her afraid to listen, afraid to look, afraid to know the truth. Wynn pressed the bridge of her nose to hold back the tears.

No, she couldn't walk around the house to look for the lace curtains in her bedroom window. It would be wrong to snatch a flower for pressing. Her time had passed. It was someone else's turn to make memories here.

A tune began to play in her head. Once she knew the words by heart, but now they eluded her. The last few words came; “true to death, true to death, true to death.” Why would she know this song?

Wynn put the car in gear and turned north. She'd go where the woods and bog were thick enough to hold her together. There was work to do. Look ahead, not back. Maybe Roxie's words were right after all; her life was in her future not her past.