Wildwood Whispers

by Willa Reece

  “Walker. Huh. So it’s like that, is it? That’s just your nerves talking. In my experience, there’s always one who does the asking and one who has to deliberate. Just don’t deliberate too long.”

  I made a noncommittal noise in the dark.

  “I haven’t been drinking Granny’s valerian tea,” I said to change the subject. “I’ve still been dreaming Sarah’s memories. I think there are things she knew that I need to know too.”

  Lu had stopped rocking. I felt her stillness beside me.

  “You’re going to wear yourself out,” she said. “You’re tough. I’ll give you that. But even you need sleep. Have you told Granny?”

  “I don’t want to worry her any more than I already do,” I said. “I’ll be careful, but I’m sure this is what I need to do.”

  “Stubborn,” Lu replied, but her rocking had resumed. She wasn’t wrong. And I couldn’t help feeling it was good to be known so well again, warts and all.

  I’d enjoyed my time with Lu too much and I’d waited too long to head home. It had been hours since the last firework had lit the sky and no cars had passed May’s house in a long time. The town had only a few streetlights, so Lu loaned me a flashlight. It wasn’t far from May’s bungalow to Granny’s house. I carefully carried the birdhouse under one arm and aimed the beam of light on the sidewalk. I’d traveled less than a block before I noticed the tall, lean silhouette of a hatted man following me. He kept his distance, but he didn’t skulk or hide. His strides were lazy and slow, his long legs easily keeping up with my paces, which increased in rapidness the farther I traveled from Lu.

  My phone was in my pocket. I could have called Lu. I could have called Granny. But I didn’t want to worry either one of them. And I most definitely didn’t want the man behind me to know he had scared me.

  He had.

  And I was certain the distinctive figure following in my footsteps was Reverend Moon.

  He had a gangly way of walking, his long arms thrown out in front of him, then falling back behind. His boots scraping on the ground. Swoosh. Scraaaaape. Swoosh. Scraaaape. His swinging arms combined with the length of his legs created a spidery gait, made even more disjointed by shadows thrown oddly from widely spaced streetlamps.

  I didn’t run.

  I forced myself to walk as normally as I could.

  I passed the fire station. In the dark, its bunting was less festive. I knew there were volunteers who would rush to the station at a moment’s notice from all over Morgan’s Gap. There was a single hook and ladder truck housed in the station that they took great pride in keeping polished and prepared.

  But the station was deserted and quiet now. No one was nearby to help me.

  Moon was worse than all my other Sect stalkers combined. Because we were all alone in the dark heart of the night surrounded by a sleeping town. How long had he waited for me to leave May’s? Had he listened to Lu and me share our secrets on the porch? I hated the idea of him listening to her talk about her Calliope Jane. I hadn’t yet met the harmonica player, but if Lu loved her then I loved her, and I didn’t want Moon anywhere near either one of them.

  My flashlight threw a meager halo in front of my shoes. I longed for the families with sparkler-waving children I’d seen earlier in the evening. At the edges of my consciousness, I thought I could almost sense Lu settling down for the night and Walker threading his way into the nighttime wildwood. But that was wishful thinking. I wasn’t Sarah. I wasn’t special in any way. I didn’t really believe in a mystical connection between the three of us. I was alone. If Moon tried to do anything other than intimidate me, I would have to handle it myself.

  I tightened my grip on the flashlight. It was nothing but plastic beneath my fingers, its housing flimsy and light. Not a weapon by any stretch of the imagination.

  Finally, Granny’s house was in sight. I experienced a rush of relief until I glanced back and realized that Moon had closed the distance between us. For a second, he was perfectly illuminated by a neighbor’s porch light and his gaunt face was contorted into a grimace of such fury that I almost dropped my flashlight. His expression didn’t match his eerily graceful insectile movements. Had he gotten angrier as I hadn’t acted afraid? I hurried then. Toward Granny’s house. Toward a door I could slam and lock against the hatred that seemed determined to hunt me down.

  I thought Moon would stop. Surely he would stop. At the corner. Across the street. At the curb. At her front stoop. When I finally made it to the door, I didn’t look around. I imagined him at my heels, his spidery arms reaching to grab me from behind. I fumbled one-handed with the knob and as the door opened I dropped the flashlight. I didn’t take the time to retrieve it. I rushed in and closed the door behind me. The flashlight rolled, its beam of light making crazy flashes across the front windows. Then, it stopped. Perhaps it had come against a rail or a flowerpot. Or maybe Moon had followed me all the way up onto Granny’s stoop. It was easy to imagine the rolling flashlight had come up against his booted foot.

  As I locked the door, I could have sworn I sensed Moon’s presence. We stood there, me on one side of the door and him on the other, for a long time. This wasn’t a face-off. I knew that I wasn’t the one keeping him at bay. This was Granny’s house. She would wake up. She would come downstairs and send him away. He was waiting for that.

  But if he was, he waited for a banishment that never came.

  Granny had been more and more tired lately. She’d been sleeping in and looking worn.

  I don’t know how long I had stood there, but eventually I forced myself to place the birdhouse on the entryway table. I made myself walk away from the door. I went to the front room and moved the curtain aside, slightly, carefully.

  The flashlight’s beam had dimmed, but I could see the front porch was empty. If Moon had actually been there, he was gone.

  Jacob left his Jeep hidden behind a copse of mountain laurel. There hadn’t been any fireworks in the distance for some time. Even the teenagers with illegal rockets had gone to bed. He’d often used the natural tunnels created by the winding branches of laurel to make his way into the wildwood, undetected by man or beast. Tonight, he did the same. Crouching down, crawling at times, silently progressing toward the interior of the woods. The ground beneath his feet was worn smooth by the padded paws of bears. They also liked the cover of the laurel tunnels, so he kept a keen ear alert for any hint of shuffling, snuffing sounds that might indicate he wasn’t alone.

  Intent on his mission, he was taken by surprise when a sudden overwhelming urge to backtrack, jump in the Jeep and head back to town claimed him. The need to go back was so strong as he exited the mountain laurel thicket he had to grab handfuls of the leathery leaves on either side of the “tunnel” opening to stop himself.

  Several deep breaths later the compulsion was gone as if it had never been.

  Jacob was a man who trusted his instincts. Without letting go of the mountain laurel leaves, he dropped his head back, loosened his focus for a few minutes and opened himself up to whatever his intuition might have to tell him. Stars winked above him. The forest was silent around him. The earth was solid beneath him.

  And whatever had caused the urge to go back to town was definitely gone.

  But the problem of Mel Smith was still very much on his mind. When he’d left her and Lu, they’d been watching the stars come out from rocking chair perches on May’s front porch. Lu Rey was downright sneaky with her interrogation technique. She’d used the dark front porch and the mesmerizing movements of those chairs on him once or twice since he’d been back in Morgan’s Gap. Just imagining her and Mel having a heart-to-heart made a nervous sweat break out beneath the curls on his forehead. He’d managed to come out of those conversations with Lu with his secrets intact. Would Mel be able to do the same? And why couldn’t he tamp down the thrill that maybe, just maybe, one of her secrets was how she thought about him?

  He had a job to do. And it didn’t include making Mel smile. The need to do that wa
s entirely personal. In the pitch black of the wildwood, broken by only the familiar mating dance of lightning bugs all around him, he could admit that he was already addicted to the way she’d freeze, and her hazel eyes would go wide and her lips would curl. When she was caught off guard, she would warm—for him—for those few surprised seconds. Her mouth plumped and softened like a mirage. Eyelashes came out of nowhere. Then, her face would stiffen as if she’d remembered the world and everyone in it wasn’t to be trusted.

  He was a professional. He wasn’t here to make friends. But it had happened. Charles was definitely a friend now. So was Lu. He hadn’t told her much during their porch conversations; he wasn’t free to converse, but he had listened to all of her stories and many of her songs. They’d shared an easy camaraderie that might survive the summer.

  Mel was different.

  They couldn’t form an easy friendship on a foundation of lies. She was too damaged and he was too driven. There wasn’t any room in their lives for connection. And yet, addiction didn’t really leave a man room for common sense. That curl of her lip. Those startled eyes.

  Most of all, his stupid ego. He wanted her to know him. Really know him. And he wanted to get to know her, damage and all.

  And that wasn’t okay.

  He had grim work ahead of him. There was no time for anything else. He only wished the instincts he’d always trusted didn’t place Mel Smith’s face in his mind every time he tried to listen to them.

  Eleven

  Strangers might have seen the trio converge on Granny’s house with baskets and bags full of ordinary things only to think they had been invited to tea or a sewing circle that Monday morning.

  Sadie would have chuckled if the situation was less dire. Her lover, Kara, had an aversion to needles, and their best friend, Joyce, would surely bring a bottle of her famous dandelion wine. Most folks from Morgan’s Gap would be familiar with the odd comings and goings of the only active trio since 1973. They’d know something was going on besides steeping and stitches when they saw the three of them gather. Especially at Granny’s house. Wasn’t a soul in the county who didn’t know about Granny, and most had been helped by her at one time or another.

  Sadie parked her red truck on the street, leaving Granny’s driveway open for Kara’s van. She grabbed the gallon jar of dried beans that had ridden shotgun beside her and carried it, cradled in her arms, toward the house.

  “Not like a baby shower, is it?” said Kara. She lifted a basket from the back of her van and Sadie couldn’t help but smile even though her earlier chuckle had died before it could bubble up from her chest. She’d given Kara the basket at least ten years ago and in spite of constant use it was still beautiful and strong. Fitting for the strong, beautiful woman who used it.

  The trio was often called in “for luck” at showers. Both for babies and for weddings. They were invited for blessings at birthdays. And for housewarmings and graduations. Some saw it as harmless mountain tradition, and besides, a wisewoman or three lent gravitas to important occasions. But some folks were superstitious enough to feel some truth in their little rituals and in the singsong poetry that often accompanied them.

  “It’s all serious business. We’d best not forget that,” Joyce said. She’d pulled her newish sedan in behind Kara’s van and they’d waited for her so they could go in together.

  “She didn’t sound good, did she?” Sadie asked.

  They had promised to help. And they would. To the best of their abilities. But an ailing Granny didn’t bode well. Kara reached for Sadie’s arm on one side and Joyce did the same on the other. They would cross the threshold in one stride. They fell silent while the entry was accomplished. One stride. One intent. Together.

  For luck.

  To bless.

  To grow.

  And this time to heal.

  “And the bees seem more industrious than ever,” Sadie said as she took her turn washing her hands in the bowl of herb-infused water Joyce had prepared. Granny was worse off than they’d expected. She was already in bed when they arrived and the house had been chilled—nothing baking, nothing steaming to welcome them in.

  After they cleansed their hands, Joyce pulled a dark green glass bottle of the expected wine from a grocery sack dotted with a cheerful ladybug print. She uncorked the top with practiced ease and poured them all a juice glass of wine. They drank to fortify their nerves. A slightly bitter, slightly alcoholic brew, the wine tasted like summers past—grassy and fresh.

  “Mel was embarrassed. Not accustomed to asking for help,” Granny said from her place on the bed. She’d declined her portion of wine, which immediately made them all look at each other as they quickly drained their own glasses. “But she has the remedy book. All the help she needs can be found there.”

  “So many dead bees,” Sadie said. Her throat tightened. When she closed her eyes, she could still see the piles of writhing bodies on the grass. “But I think she felt their sacrifice.”

  Kara stopped her own preparations to softly grip Sadie’s shoulder in support. They’d grown up together. Ever so slowly and naturally becoming more than friends when they hit their thirties and realized the reason they’d never married and started families with anyone else. Joyce had known long before they had that they were a couple within the trio. She’d been giddy when they had shyly made it official.

  “There’s great strength in her. Tremendous potential. But so much anger and pain. Sarah got through to her. But now that Sarah’s gone it’s up to her to reach out. To want to connect,” Granny said.

  “You’re expecting a lot from the girl. To bring us all together when she’s been determined to be on her own her whole life,” Joyce said.

  Sadie blinked. Joyce’s mistake had instantly dried her eyes. Mel was a tough young woman but Sadie had seen the hidden hunger buried deep in her eyes. She was lonely. She trusted no one. But she longed to be able to. Her rapid connection with the bees proved it.

  “She doesn’t want to be alone. She just doesn’t know how to be together,” Sadie corrected.

  Granny nodded. “She cared for Sarah but she didn’t know how to accept care in return.”

  “And you’ve worn yourself out trying to reach her,” Kara guessed.

  “We can’t do this without her,” Sadie said.

  Kara and Joyce already suspected her concerns. She could feel their worry. But, in spite of the connection they shared in their minds, she needed to finally voice them aloud.

  Promise or not, they were only aging aunts more used to blessing babies than fighting murderers and corruption. They were more tapped into the energy of the wildwood than anyone, but even she hadn’t been able to save the bees. That, more than anything, made her worry about what Granny was attempting to do. It was one thing to wish a newborn well and nudge a little success and happiness their way. But the Sect community had been a kingdom unto themselves for so long with Reverend Moon as their dark prince. How could a wisewoman’s stirrings and whisperings really change that?

  “We aren’t alone. Even without Mel, we aren’t alone,” Granny corrected.

  “But there’s still time for her to come around.”

  For weeks, I’d found Granny in the kitchen when I returned from deliveries. Today, she wasn’t there. Then again, I returned later than usual these days because I always made a detour by the park. At first, it was to bring water to the bee balm, but after finding it flourishing and the soil damp, I returned out of curiosity. This morning, I’d finally caught someone watering the plant and I was still pondering the discovery. He hadn’t seen me. I’d kept far enough back behind the crooked lichen-covered trees to avoid his notice.

  Walker had poured a small bucket of water around the base of the bergamot and then he’d crouched down to sit on his heels. I couldn’t tell if he said anything. I could only watch as he reached out to touch one blossom after another with gentle hands. Jacob. I held my breath. All the way across the park, it was as if I felt the petals that trembled after h
e brushed them with his fingers. After a few moments, he rose and walked away. I had waited until he disappeared around a corner before visiting the plant myself. It had obviously taken root. And a fat bumblebee had even landed on a vivid red flower while I was there.

  Caring for the bee balm he’d helped me plant was such a simple gesture, but it threatened to make me feel even warmer toward the man. His care. His concern. The tattoo of the tree I’d glimpsed so like the one on the cover of the remedy book. He’d been at the apiary. Maybe he understood a little bit of why I’d needed to apologize to the bees.

  After that, the entire park had seemed greener. The grass less patchy. Even the poor trees had seemed less stunted than before.

  When I returned to find Granny mysteriously out of the kitchen, her cat was on the counter, but even his usual the-world-owes-me-more-than-kibble manner seemed rattled. His tail twitched aggressively and an aura of floating hair showed all around his body as if his unsettled demeanor had caused him to shed more than his regular copious amounts. I’d recognized Sadie’s truck parked outside, along with Joyce’s sedan and a van I wasn’t familiar with.

  “What’s up, Cookie Cat?” I asked. Turns out, Granny never called him by name. In fact, she’d changed the subject whenever I brought it up. So rather than trying to play Rumpelstiltskin I’d opted for CC. He didn’t seem to mind any more than he minded anything and everything else. I sat the nearly empty delivery basket on the counter beside the huge disgruntled tabby, but before I could risk life and limb to soothe him with a pet, he jumped down and fled the room. Since he usually dodged my attention by hiding behind Granny, I assumed he’d gone to find her.

  “Where has she gone off to, then?” I grumbled. The old cat had seemed to settle around me recently. His rejection stung even though I’d never admit it.