Upon a Time

by R. L. Stedman

  Bernice set down her bedroll. “So we’re not going today after all?”

  Controller shook her head. “Give us time to get what we need from Dylan. Plus, we can get supplies ready for you: packs, food, and maps. If this works, you could take the … cure … further. Upstate, maybe?” She put her arm around Christine’s boney shoulders, and this time the guards didn’t move to stop her. “You know, we’re real lucky. Without you, anyone traveling to a colony wouldn’t stand a chance. But having you …” she shook her head. “Your mother was some amazing woman. I sure would have liked to meet her.”

  Dylan tugged on Controller’s arm. “Cookies?”

  “Young man,” said Controller to Dylan, “the cookies are still in the oven.” She smiled at his annoyance. “But while we’re waiting – you want some breakfast?”

  Dylan nodded enthusiastically.

  Relief washed through Christine. Dylan would be safe, and they would take his blood carefully, just as Mom had planned. And then they could try and rescue more Vay. Christine’s eyes pricked. She rubbed them with the base of her hands. Didn’t want to start crying.

  Hunter came over to the girl. “You look pleased,” he said gently.

  Wordlessly, Christine nodded. Hunter smiled sympathetically, and felt surprised by the sudden wash of feeling. Been a long time since he’d felt anything.

  Bernice looked at Hunter. “Hey, can you teach me how to drive?”

  “Drive? What?” Hunter asked.

  “The motor bike?”

  He laughed. “Hell, no.”

  Part Four

  The Woodcutter

  From the Diary of Rosalie Delaney. PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL.

  A transcript of my witness statement, mixed with my own thoughts

  Keep out!

  Officer: Witness statement of Rosalie Eleanor Delaney. Thirteenth July Twenty-Thirteen. Okay, miss. Tell us, in your own words: what happened the other night?

  Witness: You want the whole story?

  Officer: Yes, please, Miss.

  Witness: Okay. I can try.

  [Witness pauses]

  Officer: Miss? I know this is hard.

  Witness: I don’t know where to start. [Sounds of witness sobbing]

  Officer: Just start at the beginning.

  Witness: All right. [Takes deep breath. Long pause.] Because of the initials in my name: Rosalie Eleanor Delaney, R-E-D, everyone calls me Red. Not Rose or Rosalie.

  Officer: Red. Cool.

  Witness: Thanks.

  Officer: You all right Miss? You’re doing well. Take your time. There’s no rush.

  Witness: No. It’s okay. So. We moved to Nebraska three years back. I was real badly bullied at the new school. Don’t know why, it just was. It was Gramps who helped me. I miss him.

  …Dear Diary: But this is what really happened….

  Ever been bullied at school? I hadn’t, not until we moved to Nebraska and then it was like —well, kind of hard to describe. Olivia Newfield started it. She’s one of those types, you know? The cheerleader, prom queen, all long golden hair, perfect teeth and skin.

  What does she have to do with what happened? Nothing. Not really. But you wanted everything. And this matters. This is important.

  Okay then, so I was bullied, and it was Olivia who started it, so of course all her friends joined in. Name-calling, texting, sending photos. They even threw food at me! Food! Like I was a piece of garbage. Sometimes I felt so sick I spewed on the school bus.

  I don’t know why I was bullied. I kind of think bullies smell fear. It attracts them or something. I tried to hide: sat at the back of the class. Went to the library at lunchtime. Avoided eye contact. I was afraid. I hate being afraid.

  Officer: Gramps?

  Witness: My grandfather. Two years back Mom lost her job in NYC, right? Global Financial Crisis. Guess you didn’t have it in Colorado. We moved to my grandparent’s house in Nebraska - that’s my Gramps and Granny. You’ve met Granny. Mom did a “return to nursing” course and got a job at the health center. Didn’t pay as well as the bank, I guess, but at least it was a job. I didn’t have anyone my age to just hang out with, you know? Because of the bullies and stuff. So mostly it was just the grandparents and me. I had to do chores. They lived very Little House in the Prairie style.

  Officer: That must have been a shock after NYC.

  Witness: Yeah. But not all bad. I mean, I didn’t mind it too much. Gave me something to do, you know?

  …And this is what really happened...

  Gramps spent a whole week teaching me how to cut wood. I hadn’t known there was so much to it. In the movies a guy lifts an axe, brings it down, wood splits. Still, I liked splitting logs. There’s something ferocious about it. Holding the smooth shaft of the axe and bringing it down hard. Once my blisters healed, I enjoyed the chores.

  Gramps liked watching me. He’d sit on the back of his pickup and offer advice. “Does me good to watch you swinging that axe, Red.”

  Sometimes he’d chat. Small talk, like something about the church, the priest, the neighbors. He told me stories about hunting. He told me about different kinds of trees, about forests, and how all the trees were interconnected.

  Gramps loved the woods. He talked a lot about bears and wolves, said how he loved watching them. How they weren’t nothing to be afraid of. Just part of nature.

  I didn’t talk much; log splitting is hard work, but I liked to listen. It took my mind off the bullies and the bus-ride torture.

  Gramps was no fool. He could tell there was something wrong. He’d chat away, tell me about his hunting buddies, about the Colorado woods, about forests, until I’d calmed down. Then, wham! Out came his questions. “What’s up, Red? You’re all pale, but when you step off that bus, it’s like the biggest weight’s come off your shoulders.”

  He leant over the side of the truck and spat. Real charming.

  “It’s them girls, isn’t it? That Olivia Newfield.”

  I set down the axe. How did he know?

  “Her daddy was the same. And her granddaddy. Whole family of assholes.”

  I laughed. A wrinkled old man, spitting and swearing. Kind of funny.

  “That’s better.” Lifting my bangs, Gramps peered in at my face. His eyes gleamed. “You know what to do? Only one way to tackle them Newfields.”

  “What?”

  “Kill them.” His tone was flat.

  “What?”

  “Not real kill them. Pretend. Look.” He got down from the pickup and, with a grunt, set a log on the chopping block. “You know what they used to do, in the olden days?” His finger drew a line across his throat. “Off with their head!”

  “Like Anne Boleyn?” (I’d been reading a book about Henry the Eighth and all his wives.)

  He nodded. “And the French Revolution. Long and noble history to beheading folks.” He pushed the log into position. “Let’s say that log there is Miss Olivia Newfield.”

  “Gramps. It’s just a log.”

  “Come on, girl. Pretend.”

  The block of wood had a lumpy end, kind of like a head. Sort of. “Okay.”

  “Good. Watch!” He brought the splitter down with a thud that shook the block. He might be old, but he knew how to handle that axe. The log that (sort of) resembled Olivia split into two.

  He punched the air. “Off with her head!” Gramps stroked a thumb along the blade. “Cold iron. Causes harm to evil spirits and fairies. Bullies are only cowards, Red. You look at them with courage in your heart and they’ll back away. Nothing like iron to give you courage.”

  I picked up the wood-splitter. It felt heavy, like a weapon.

  “Good girl. Swing it high, yes. Like that.” He made me practice bringing the heavy splitter down, thump, into the chopping block, until I laughed and asked him to stop.

  “All righty!” He rubbed his hands together. “I think we’re ready. Let’s see. Where’s a likely looking log? One that looks like a snotty girl?”

  I giggled, and poin
ted to a piece of wood. “That one.”

  “Good choice.” Gramps laid “Olivia” on the chopping block. “Here you go, Red. Remember, one hard blow.”

  Actually, it took three blows, because on the first one the blade stuck in the wood and twisted sideways. But on the third strike Olivia’s head cracked from her shoulders and fell into the dust. Gramps and I cheered.

  Next morning on the bus, Olivia glared at me. “What are you looking at, Red-dit?”

  Olivia kneels by the block. I raise my axe. Her head splits from her neck.

  “Nothing.”

  She must have caught something in my gaze, because she looked away.

  And that was it. Suddenly, I no longer felt scared of her. With that loss of fear, Olivia Newfield lost her power. Each time she laughed I just thought of her head falling.

  To keep in practice I continued the beheading.

  I had a whole scenario played out: Olivia screaming, pulling at the guards to get away from my axe. Sometimes she prayed, sometimes she begged. Once, she tried to haggle. But it was no use; I was relentless. Each afternoon I brought the splitter down, thump! It got so I could kill her with a single stroke. Red, Master Axewoman.

  Olivia began to walk the other way when she saw me. Must have been something in my face. Eventually she stopped taking the bus.

  Officer: Miss? Rosalie? Red?

  Witness: Sorry. I was remembering … Anyway, Gramps taught me how not to be afraid of Olivia. Next winter I joined the ice-hockey team, and I was busy after school. When we first moved to Henderson I couldn’t even skate, so that was amazing. Olivia and me were in different classes. And then in spring, I joined the choir, and made some friends. So school started getting better.

  [Long pause]

  Officer: I’m sorry, Miss. Can you continue?

  Witness: Oh. Yeah. Sorry.

  [Witness sniffs]

  Witness: Yeah. School was going well. Until …

  [Witness sighs]

  Witness: Gramps got sick, real sick. Pneumonia. Mom made him go to the doctors, and the doctors made him go to hospital. One night they called to tell us that he had, you know, passed. Peaceful, they said. I remember watching the moon and listening to Granny crying.

  Officer: I’m sorry for your loss. Take your time, Miss.

  [Witness sniffs]

  Witness: Anyway, that’s why we’re here. Gramps wanted his ashes scattered in the forest. He loved the Colorado woods.

  …And this is what really happened...

  I dreaded this whole ashes-scattering thing. It seemed so final. So I played with Mom’s phone and read the reviews for Fir Tree Cottages. She’d booked them online, without checking the reviews first. I mean, who does that?

  “Mom, seriously. These reviews. They’re all terrible. Listen: ‘Upon entering I could smell the most awful smell.’ ‘Manager unhelpful.’ ‘Staff creepy. If you value your safety, do not stay here.’”

  Mom laughed. “Do they say anything about hygiene? Bed bugs? Air conditioning?”

  I scanned the reviews. “Um, no.”

  “Well then.”

  “Mom! It only gets three stars.”

  “So then it’s average. That’s not too bad,” said Mom cheerfully.

  It wasn’t great, though.

  Gran wanted me to recite a poem when we scattered the ashes, but I couldn’t think of anything that would be right. Gramps liked trees and rivers and gardening. He loved snow and sport, and came every week to watch me play ice hockey. He loved the Red Sox and baseball and the NBA and shouted at the television when his favorite team, the Denver Nuggets, was losing. I couldn’t think of any poem about sport.

  “You okay, Red?” Mom asked.

  I nodded, wiped my eyes.

  She touched my knee. “I know. I miss him too.”

  Granny wrapped her arms around the urn on her lap. She’d hung Gramps’ rosary around the lid. I wondered how Gramps would feel about that. He’d been a Catholic, yes, but I’d never seen him with a rosary in his hand.

  We drove in silence for a while. I looked at the trees. There were an awful lot of them. I could see why Gramps loved this place.

  Granny picked up a magazine, flicked through pictures of celebrities. I checked the phone again. The weather forecast said a storm was expected later. And the reviews for Fir Tree Cottage really sucked.

  Mom parked in front of the office and went in to get the key. In the twilight the trees rustled quietly. I opened my door to hear them. The air smelt of pine and water.

  “Are there animals near here, Granny?”

  She set down her magazine. “Of course.”

  “I mean, like bears and stuff?”

  “Oh yes,” she said offhandedly, as though it meant nothing. “Bears, coyotes. Wolves, too, or so I’m told. Plenty of times your grandfather asked me to come with him on his trips. And I always said no, I was too busy. First with the children, and then, I don’t know, church activities or something.” She paused. “And now it’s too late.” Her voice trailed off into the silence of the trees and setting sun.

  “Well,” I said brightly, “how about I see how Mom’s getting on?”

  A bell over the door jangled as I pushed it open. Mom stood at the desk, hand cupped around two large metal keys, talking to the man behind the counter. They both looked at me when I came in.

  “Hello, Miss.” The man’s voice was soft, almost girlish. “You must be Red. Such a lovely name. Your mother’s been telling me all about you.”

  His face was pale and shiny and his eyes were an intense blue, the kind of shade that’s hard to look away from. He had no hair, none at all. No stubble, not even eyebrows or eyelashes.

  “Um, hello.”

  A black-framed document with an official seal said “Fir Tree Lodge. Licensed by the State of Colorado. Prop: Frank R Wolfe.” The certificate was way more attractive than its owner

  Puffing slightly, Mister Wolfe moved about the office, gathering towels and stuff. He passed them to Mom, then handed me a navy and silver toiletry bag. His fingers felt clammy and he gave this sickly smile. “Complimentary, my dear.”

  “Well now, isn’t that nice?” Mom said. “What do you say, Red?”

  “Thank you.”

  Mister Wolfe smiled. Even across the desk I could smell his breath: old socks and rotten eggs. “A pleasure to have you, Red. And your mother and grandmother.” He lowered his voice. “Your mother tells me you recently suffered a loss. May I offer my condolences?”

  Mom put on a false smile. “That’s very kind of you.”

  “I’ve put your grandmother in the special needs cabin, very modern, everything wheelchair accessible. The elderly, you know?” Mom nodded in agreement, as though yes of course, Granny was bedridden. “And you and your lovely daughter are in the nearest unit. Of course, Red,” and he looked at me with his freezing blue eyes, “is welcome to use either unit. Your mother may wish to have a younger person nearby.”

  “My mother will be fine by herself,” Mom said.

  “Quite. Each unit is self-contained, of course, quiet and private. Our customers like that. But you can walk to your mother’s unit in just under five minutes. There is a short-cut through the forest.” He pulled out a map, drew a circle around two small cabins, and a line in between. “Just here. I have placed a fruit basket in your room. Complimentary also, of course.”

  Mom picked up the keys. “Lovely. Thank you. Mister …”

  “Wolfe,” he nodded at the certificate. “Frank Wolfe.”

  “Well, thank you very much, Mister Wolfe. You’ve been most kind.” She turned to go.

  “Not at all. Enjoy your stay,” he called after us.

  Inside the car, Mom wrinkled her nose. “Phew!”

  “Are you alright dear?” Granny put down her magazine.

  “Yes, Mother.” Mom looked at me in the mirror. I could almost read her mind. The reviews were right.

  “We’re only here for two nights.” I reminded her.

  Gran
ny seemed surprised. “Don’t you like it here, Red?”

  The trees formed dark silhouettes against the sky. “It’s fine, Granny. Really.”

  Mom started the car. “I’ll take you to your cabin first, mother.”

  “It has wheelchair access,” I said.

  “Wheelchair access?” Granny frowned. “Why would I need that?”

  Officer: Miss Red? You seem awful quiet. You sure you’re okay?

  Witness: Sorry. I’m fine. Mister Wolfe put us in separate cabins. Mom and I had a double bedroom place and Gran had a studio. After we got settled in, Mom sent me over to check on her.

  … And this is what really happened …

  The cabins were classic Forest Cottage décor: wooden furniture, stone fireplace, gingham curtains. Mom passed me the fruit basket. Apples, pears, a few oranges. “I can’t possibly eat all this. Can you take it up to your granny, Red?”

  I pulled on my coat – red, like my name – and tucked the hood over my head.

  “You know the way?” Mom asked.

  I waved the map at her. “Of course. Five minutes, the manager said?”

  She looked out the window. “The storm is supposed to come later. If the weather’s too rough you could always sleep over in your grandmother’s cabin.”

  “Mom! It’s like five minutes.”

  The track wound through the tall pines and the moon shone, clear and white. In the distance, a river trickled over rocks. I paused midstride. A bush rustled. I held my breath. Was it a bear? But the moment passed and the night grew still.

  Granny’s cabin lights shone through the trees. Of course it had no stairs, just a gently sloping ramp. Wheelchair access.

  When I knocked on the door it swung open. “Granny? Hello?”

  Inside was a four-poster bed and a rocking chair set beside the stone fireplace. Gran’s magazine lay open on the table. Perhaps she was in the bathroom.