The Weaver

by Heather Kindt

  Nineteen steps led up the hill to the front of the dormitory, its wood slick with rain. Jason counted the stairs whenever he ran up and down them for his preseason lacrosse workouts. In high school, he played football in the fall and lacrosse in the spring. Madison didn’t have a football team, but the college recruited him for his lacrosse skills. He’d play on both the fall and spring teams for a scholarship, which helped him afford school.

  The lounge brimmed with freshman back from the Boston trip, hanging all over the tired-looking furniture. Jason tightened the drawstrings of his hood to avoid the stares of a group of girls playing cards. His actions backfired as a fit of giggles echoed behind him. He took the stairs two at a time, ready to just crash.

  When he got to his room, he reached for the doorknob, but stopped. A new name was etched into the gold nameplate just below his own — William. Jason frowned. He was so not ready to be social. All he wanted to do was sleep off this day of mixed emotions. Seeing Laney lying unconscious on the concrete floor stirred something in him. He wanted more. More with Laney, more out of life. The crowd he ran with in high school saw him as the partier who was fun to be around. They didn’t even know he was going to college to become a doctor. Jennifer was part of that crowd and he knew she’d expect him to make an appearance tonight with the group of friends they’d already made at Madison. Following the same crowd, same scene, just a different setting. Laney saw him as something more.

  What was William like? Another partier? No thanks. Jason had his share of those. As he removed his hand from the knob, faint music drifted under the door. Something classical.

  What the hell? Jason turned the knob.

  Laney stared out the window of her hospital room at the streetlights below, wondering if Jonas was staring back up at her. Even with the book stowed safely in her nightstand, she was still in danger. Words had never been so dangerous as they were to her now. She had always known that the power of the written word could change the world: Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech, The Communist Manifesto, and the Bible. She never thought she’d have that power. Of course, as far as she knew, Jonas could only harm her and wasn’t a danger to anyone else.

  Her parents had left for the night, but promised to be there in the morning to check her out of the hospital and bring her back to Madison. Laney pulled her book from the drawer of the nightstand and propped herself up with the pillows. She handwrote her manuscript, paying special attention to the ebb and flow of her flowery cursive. Her soul was old. It belonged in an earlier time, not in the fast-paced present of computers and iPhones.

  She ran her hand across the cover, inspecting it for damage. The tattered leather was perfect. The original pages had long since fallen out, so her father had taken it to a binder and had fresh pages enclosed. Tears came to her eyes the day she opened the gift, and she wondered to whom it had originally belonged. She made that her charge. In a series of journal entries, Laney created the character of Anne Lewis, a young woman living in colonial Lexington, Massachusetts.

  She ran her finger over the dates until she reached the one she was looking for:

  October 29, 1774

  A gentle wind blew through the tall oak and rustled the pages of my book. Several pages flipped, but I barely noticed. The crisp, fall air filled my lungs with the musky aroma of the fallen leaves. In the distance, students mingled on the steps of the schoolhouse. They seemed amused by a young man. I did not have to be close by to know how his light brown hair caught glimmers of the sun and his eyes were the same color as the grass after a rainstorm. I watched him every day in the schoolyard, from my desk in the second to last row, and in my dreams at night.

  William Clarke moved from Virginia to Lexington two months ago. He was a year and a half older than myself, and that fact made me keep my distance. I tried not to stare, for it was unladylike and disgraceful, but at times my thoughts consumed me.

  As I watched him today, I caught him looking back. He inclined his head in my direction, hopped down the steps, and walked toward me. I pretended to read my book as my heart skipped more beats than I could count. Glancing down, my ankle was bare, so I pushed my skirt hem down. Moments later, his tall frame cast a shadow on my page.

  “Good afternoon, Anne. Are you reading for class?” At the same moment, he plopped down next to me.

  “No, this book is for pleasure.” My eyes stayed glued to the pages as I tried my best to hold my voice steady. “It is . . . my journal.”

  “Why are you reluctant to join the rest of the students in the school yard?”

  I could feel his stare on my downturned face.

  “I like to keep to myself.” I raised my eyes. The thought of spending time with the other students terrified me.

  William played with a small stone on the ground next to him, tossing it up before catching it in his palm. “Would you like me to walk you home today?”

  My smile answered his question.

  “Good.” He held the stone in his hand.

  The bell rang from the schoolyard. William jumped up, turning to hold his hand out to me. I took it and he helped me to my feet, the warm strength of his hand emanating through me.

  “I will meet you here by the oak tree.” He turned and rushed off to class.

  William looked up from his book as Jason entered the room. His new roommate’s brown hair was tied back at the nape of his neck and Jason recognized the music playing on the guy’s phone as something by Mozart.

  “You must be Jason.” William smiled, stood up and held out his hand. “I’m William, but you can call me Will. I arrived a couple of hours ago. I’m sorry if I surprised you.”

  “Not a problem.” Jason lied. He wished admissions had warned him before he hung posters of his favorite ballplayers and a couple of supermodels all over the room. Even though Jason was an only child, he shared a locker room with tons of guys on the football team.

  “So, did you go to Boston on the freshman trip today?” Jason lifted his hoodie over his head and flung it on the end of his bed.

  William’s eyes darted to the window as he opened his mouth. “No,” he shrugged. “I’m a junior.”

  Great. He had offended his roommate on day one.

  “Why aren’t you on the harbor cruise?” William sat back down on his bed.

  “Damn,” Jason muttered more to himself than to William. He’d hear the wrath of Jennifer for missing it. She’d even gone into Boston to buy a dress at some fancy shop.

  The older boy put his glasses back on and picked up his book, something about understanding today’s youth. Assuming that his roommate was just weird, Jason grabbed his toothbrush and went to the restroom to wash up.

  When Laney’s parents dropped her off, her dad made certain that she knew where the medical center was on campus and that her roommate, Missy, knew the doctor’s instructions. Despite Laney’s objections, he bought a small first aid kit at the local drug store. There wasn’t a single item in there that could help her internal head injury, but she kissed him and thanked him anyway. She hugged her parents and watched them leave as she stared through the window.

  Melissa Vines scared Laney to death when she arrived at school a week ago. Back in July, the college had a summer open house for incoming freshman — a perfect opportunity to meet other freshman and her roommate, but Laney settled on a phone conversation.

  “Hi, is this Delaney Holden?” Her voice sounded very chipper, like someone trying to get you to sign up for a new credit card or take some exhausting political survey.

  “Yes,” Laney replied. Since turning eighteen she had received an onslaught of telemarketing calls.

  “This is Missy Vines!” she literally squealed on the other end of the line.

  Laney pulled the phone away from her ear. “Hi.”

  Missy scared her more than a telemarketer. It’s a well-known fact that the introverts of the world greatly fear the extroverts.

  “I can’t wait to meet you. We’re going to have so much fun.
Do you like pink? My mom and I just went out and bought my bedspread.” Missy paused to take a breath, which surprised Laney more than the fact that her favorite color was still pink.

  “I can’t wait to meet you either.” And believe it or not, Laney meant it. College excited her, and Missy’s enthusiasm was contagious.

  It disappointed Missy when she found out that Laney couldn’t come to the summer open house. It also disappointed Laney because, with Missy’s energy, she’d surely have several new friends before Laney even walked in the door. Missy was a cheerleader and student body president at her high school in Maine. Laney’s extracurricular activities consisted of running and writing; they were her only two outlets. The story she wrote in her notebook absorbed her life. Because she often isolated herself to accomplish perfection in the two disciplines, she was not what one would consider a “social butterfly” in high school.

  Missy wanted to make sure that she took her role seriously as Laney’s caregiver. The whole floor got together and made her a giant card, which was hanging on the door when she returned. Laney had no doubt that the whole thing was Missy’s idea. After Laney’s parents left, Missy made her lie down and brought her a dinner consisting of a cheeseburger, French fries, and a soda — all tasting a hundred times better than hospital food.

  With her dinner in hand and the television on, Laney assured Missy it was all right for her to go to the dining hall with her friend Morgan. When she finished up her last bite of burger, Laney clicked off the TV, and took her journal from her backpack. William and Anne’s first official date spread like a blank canvas before her.

  October 29, 1774

  The fallen autumn leaves crunched beneath my boot as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. I traced my finger along the bark of the tree glancing up at the schoolhouse again. What was I thinking? What was he thinking? Surely, he could walk Susan home, or even Elizabeth. They were closer to his age and laughed at his childish jokes. But he did not make fun when he was around me. It must be all in my mind, but I sense an undeniable connection when William was near.

  “Anne.” William woke me from my thoughts. In his hand he held a large red apple. “My wish was to bring you a flower.”

  I reached out to take the apple from his palm. Our fingers brushed, causing my face to flame, so I withdrew the apple and quickly placed it in the pocket of my dress.

  William leaned against the tree, his gaze on the schoolhouse. Susan and Elizabeth jostled each other down the stairs. Before I could protest, he reached out and took my hand, leading me toward the forested path — the long way home.

  “Perhaps I am beginning to understand you.” William still held my hand as we ducked below a low-hanging branch.

  “And what makes you believe that?” I did not want him to think that he had me all figured out. I enjoyed remaining a mystery to him.

  William released my hand and held back a thicker group of branches blocking our path. “You find the characters in those books you read of higher value than ordinary flesh and blood folk.”

  I grinned, opening my book to a well-worn page. “Why, of course. The world between these pages is of much more interest.” I traced my finger along the words. “Take Romeo and Juliet. Love like that does not exist in this world.” Juliet’s words were poetry to me, and I held no fear in sharing them with the man in front of me. “‘Give me my Romeo, and, when I shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night, and pay no worship to the garish sun.’”

  I sighed and closed the book. “Can you imagine a love like that?”

  A stray beam of afternoon light illuminated the space between us. William stepped closer to me, taking my hands in his, leading me into the light with him.

  His voice lowered. “Yes. I can.”

  January 15, 1775

  My walk home with William that day progressed into many walks home. I truly enjoyed his company. He loved English poetry and we often read together under the oak tree. William’s friends did not understand our friendship or connection. They often held looks of contempt. I did not let this bother me because I knew that William wanted to spend time with me. If this were not true, he would still be entertaining his friends.

  One afternoon, William and I trudged through the ankle-deep snow in the woods. A silence grew between us. I knew he was withholding something from me.

  When his words came, they cut through the air like musket fire. “I have been meeting with others in Lexington.” He paused both his words and steps to look at me. “We meet to discuss the English occupation.”

  William jumped up on a rock. His eyes gleamed. “Anne, the burden they inflict on our colony is beyond what we should bear. Action needs to be taken, or they will continue to control us.”

  The occupation was a way of life. You did confront with the crown. “What can we do? They have guns, it is not safe to resist.” The thought of William standing up to the Red Coats that patrolled the streets was unthinkable.

  “Of course it is not safe, but we must do something for our families and our people, or we will never be free.” His eyes did not waver from mine and the veins on his forehead became more pronounced.

  “The meetings are treason under British law. You could be . . . killed.” I scanned the woods even though I knew we were alone. “Patriots are not tolerated.” I did not understand his passion, all I cared about was his safety.

  “Yes, I know the danger. I do not want to scare you, but I need to do what is right. How could I do anything else and look you in the eyes each day?” The hurt in his own eyes was difficult to bear.

  As we rounded the corner past Turner’s rock, we saw Jonas Webb hefting a load of firewood onto his family’s cart. Seeing William, his countenance turned to one of brooding anger and darkness. I stared at my feet, trying to avoid a confrontation. Jonas had always been friendly to me at school, and this new look made me fearful. As one of the older boys, his muscular form was evident even through his loose shirt. Everything within me told me to turn around and walk in the opposite direction, but William guided me on a steady course towards town.

  “Good afternoon, Jonas.” William kept the conversation light.

  The glare on Jonas’ face deepened. What had we done to garner this strong of a reaction from the older boy? I moved closer to William, feeling goosebumps creep up my arm.

  “We will see you tomorrow.” He continued his casual tone as we passed the Jonas.

  I did not dare look back.

  When I thought he could no longer hear us, I whispered, “What is wrong with Jonas?” I will never forget his look.

  “His brother was injured last week and my father could not to save him. That is why he has been out of school. He needs to help out at home.” William kept our path straight, never slowing his pace.

  “But why did he look at us like that? I could feel the hatred in his eyes.” The thought brought back the goosebumps on my arms.

  William recognized this and put his arm around me.

  “He believes that my father could have done more. This is a difficult time to be a doctor. Jonas’s family is loyal to England. He knows about my family. There have been reports that one of the Sons of Liberty killed his brother. The hatred divides our colony.”

  Laney put her pen down, thinking about the problems she imposed on William and Anne. Moments later, the door opened. Missy stuck her head in to make sure that Laney was awake.

  “You need to stop exerting brain power. Put that notebook away and watch some mindless trash.”

  “Whatever you say, Doc.” Laney tucked William and Anne in her bag for the night.

  Chapter 3

  A picture of a woman in her fifties flashed on the TV screen, as the male anchor reported about some type of police investigation. Laney rummaged through a drawer to find the shorts and t-shirt she wore to bed.

  “Rose Stevens is missing. I love her books!” Missy threw her pillow at the
television and pouted, drawing Laney’s attention back to the screen.

  * * *

  “I think she still hasn’t finished Married by May. What am I going to read?” Morgan lay on the floor with one of Missy’s fluffy, pink pillows.

  “Maybe a textbook or two?” Laney smirked before turning her eyes back to the anchor.

  According to the reporter, Rose was a romance hero throughout the book community. She had been missing for a week, and images of her legions of fans holding vigils outside her Chicago home flashed across the screen.

  “Rose never left her apartment, but when her agent came to check on her, she was gone. Police are considering her disappearance suspicious.” The shot of the anchor changed to more pictures of the romance novelist.

  “Well, I’m sure she’ll turn up sooner or later. Probably a publicity stunt.” Laney was sure several famous authors disappeared for a few months at a time, avoiding the spotlight.

  An hour later, when some C-list celebrity had just finished her cha-cha-cha, the phone rang, waking Laney from her comatose state. Morgan scooted out of the room with a not-so-subtle door slam.

  “It’s for you.” With a wide grin plastered on her face, Missy handed Laney the phone.

  Laney grabbed the phone from Missy’s hand, already knowing who was on the other line. She knew Jason would call, but she didn’t think this soon. “Hello?”

  “Can I come see you?” His voice sounded ragged and desperate.

  Missy appeared to be reading a textbook at her desk, but the page never moved. Her roommate would probably never let her out, so she agreed to have Jason come over.

  “Sure. We’re just hanging.”