by Dallis Adams
She opened the cover to discover picture after picture of her mother, the trapeze artist. Several of the pictures were of her mother standing high on a platform, ready to jump off with only the slender bar of the swing between her and the hard ground below. More daguerrotypes showed her hanging from the swing in various poses. Still others were of her and Doc Elroy. One depicted her mother standing with Doc Elroy in front of his former caravan. She supported a wooden sign with a painting of a trapeze artist that resembled herself and the words Venus Elixir Viribus in scroll lettering — the name of the medicine that had ultimately killed little Tiffany. Next to her mother’s likeness were the words, “Approved by trapeze artist Suzette Stark.”
“You can keep the book, if you would like,” Doc said tentatively.
“No,” she said, pushing it away, not liking that her mother had unknowingly advocated for medicine that proved to be poisonous for her stepsister. “I don’t want it.”
“Ah, I understand,” he said, his eyes sad. He took in the daguerreotype that she had been viewing. Again, he ran his hands against fabric, this time his trousers. “Do you … can you ever forgive me? Can we eventually … become friends?”
It was too soon. The hurt of losing Tiffany was a deep scar, and had been there for years. Uma had blamed Doc Elroy for so long that she found it difficult to let go. “I … Let me think about it.”
Doc sniffed and rubbed his nose. “Will you let me know what you decide?”
“Yes.” That was all she could say as she fled his caravan and ran off into the Redwoods to absorb this new information that altered her beliefs that colored her past.
Eight
A light purple-gray mist wrapped its fingers around the craggy-looking trunks of the Redwoods. Pine needles crunched beneath Uma’s lady’s boots. Below the pine needles were layers of fern that cushioned her feet, giving her a bounce as she walked. In the canopy of the trees, the roar of waves hitting the cliffs sounded muted, as if their boughs hugged her in protection.
She figured she’d wandered a couple of miles north of Cryptic Cove, and still no decision as to whether or not to forgive Doc Elroy came to mind. Forgiveness wasn’t something to arrive at logically. The decision came more from the heart. She decided to let her mind wander so that her heart could lead. Then her mind would know what her heart wanted.
She loved the Redwoods because they really did seem like sentient beings. Merely standing there, she could swear she heard the pop and fizz of tiny air bubbles bursting in their plumbing deep within their live bark. Could the Redwoods communicate with each other? Could they connect with the insects and animals that lived among them?
She thought of Orchilo and Lala, and how they believed in so many things that constituted magic. If she asked, she was certain her gypsy friends would tell her of a so-called ability that a cousin or aunt had that allowed them to talk to trees, and other vegetation. Come to think of it, Catalina probably believed in such an ability, given her compunction to utter incantations. Uma never considered that Catalina might be talking to the herbs in her mixture when she said her so-called spells. Talking to herbs. What a chucklehead she was to even think up such a notion! She laughed at herself.
“Hello, trees,” she whispered on impulse and felt silly for doing so.
A crack of wood echoed in the brush. Was somebody there? She listened. To her right, a crumpling of leaves broke the silence. She looked toward the sound, but saw nothing. It was probably only her imagination, generated by her paranoia that somebody would see her acting foolishly that caused her to hear things. Nobody was there. The sounds were caused by the settling of debris that the giant trees had sloughed off.
She was alone and could do whatever she wanted. It didn’t matter if she talked to the mighty Redwoods out here because nobody was around to witness her odd behavior. She could cut loose. Do whatever she wanted to do, and nobody would be the wiser.
“What do you think?” she asked her tall, roguish guards that surrounded her. “Should I forgive Doc Elroy? He has suffered from remorse. I can see it in his eyes and the manner in which he told me he’d come to regret his actions. He even tried to rectify his actions by studying more about pharmaceuticals, plant life and the human body, with all of its organs. The move to England and then Scotland emphasized his determination to learn and to train in his profession.” She chuckled. “Too bad he hasn’t learned how to communicate with all of you because I bet you could teach him things very few doctors know.”
Another rustle of leaves sounded. She stilled, looking once again in the direction of the sound. When the mist cleared to reveal a deer, she giggled in relief, glad the animal couldn’t gossip to the residents of Cryptic Cove about her talk with the trees. Then everyone would say Jack’s wife was a lunatic.
The deer, or more precisely, the buck, looked majestic with its impressive rack. Dark, liquid eyes stared at her with intelligence as it tilted its head, as if telling her that yes, she really should forgive Doc Elroy. He was sorry. His soul wept over his mistakes and past wrongs … especially his treatment of Tiffany. But there seemed to be a warning glinting in the buck’s eyes. Hurry. She felt a chill walk over her heart.
Suddenly the stag bolted, swishing its black tail as its strong hind legs bunched and lengthened to pump with powerful thrusts as the deer ran away. A hush enveloped the whole area for several moments. Then she could swear that once again she heard the sputter and effervesce of the surrounding Redwoods. Talking trees. Telepathic deer. She shook her head and grinned.
What a nut she was! If it were true — that trees could talk, that there were such things as witches, warlocks, seers, elves, shapeshifters and other magical creatures, and that deer could be empaths that helped one see inside another’s soul, such as Doc Elroy’s — wouldn’t that be fantastical? Wondrous?
As she turned her feet toward Doc Elroy and the caravans, she suddenly felt free, unburdened. Maybe then she could find out more about her mother, what her mother liked to do as a hobby, what she was like as a person. Obviously she was athletic. Uma liked to think that she was, too. Although Uma hadn’t had any training as a trapeze artist. But she had been given training in jujutsu. She was good at certain moves, such as the elbow strike, back fist and the roundhouse kick. Not that those moves had anything to do with flying through the air, doing flips and what not. She walked the two miles, back toward Cryptic Cove, enjoying the bounce of the pine needles beneath her feet, feeling as if she were almost flying.
Who knew forgiveness was so liberating? She stepped out of the trees and into the camp.
“Uma! Wait!” Lala called out.
She halted and glanced over her shoulder to see her friend rushing to catch up to her. “Hello, Lala.”
“Hello, yourself,” Lala replied as she reached her. “Where are you going? Did you talk to Doc Elroy? Or the better question is … is he still alive?”
Uma had been walking in the forest for at least an hour. She hadn’t gone back to town because she hadn’t wanted to see anybody until she’d made her own decision about Doc Elroy. She didn’t like that he’d taken advantage of his position as a medical professional to treat so-called feminine hysteria by giving women what the French called la petite mort. But he had promised not to perform the practice again, not on any woman.
“Of course he’s alive.” She continued walking toward Doc’s caravan. “In fact, I’ve decided that I’m going to tell Doc Elroy that … well, that I forgive him.”
Lala hesitated for a moment, as if Uma’s proclamation took her by surprise. “Wow. Really? What about your stepsister, Tiffany? About him being responsible for her death?”
With a heart-felt sigh, she lifted her shoulders in a fatalistic gesture. “Tiffany had a bad reaction to the echinacea he had put in her elixir. At least that is what he believes, now that he has attended that apothecary school in Scotland. He said that if he’d known what he knows now, he would have tested the echinacea by rubbing a small amount onto Tiffany’s arm to see i
f she broke out in a rash before having her ingest it.”
Lala cocked her head as she studied Uma. “So, you’re going to actually say you’re sorry for making his life miserable?”
“Me? Sorry? Are you delusional? Nope, I’m not going that far. It was because of me and the fuss I made that opened his eyes and caused him to realize he needed to become more educated in the field of medicine.” She slowed, wanting to talk a little more to Lala before her upcoming visit with Doc Elroy. “But, he does want to be friends. He asked me that, I think because he used to court my mother. He showed me a book of daguerreotypes; some of my mother and some of him and my mother.”
“Then, what?” Lala said, her brow knitted in apparent confusion. “Are you actually going to befriend him?”
“Maybe. Eventually. But please. Let’s not get too impetuous.”
“Too impetuous? You? Naw.” Lala grinned.
“What? I’m not impetuous. I think everything through.”
“Yeah, right. And I’m Bigfoot.”
Uma sniffed and raised her chin. “I happen to be a very methodical person. And I always know my position before confronting anybody. As far as being friends with the reformed doctor, no, I don’t know if I can go that far, at least, not yet. Maybe someday. But, for now, I can forgive him, and let him live in Cryptic Cove. For now.”
“Whoa. I’ve got to see this,” Lala said, beaming at Uma. Lala sidled up to walk beside her as they headed for Doc Elroy’s group of caravans.
“You don’t think I can forgive someone?” she asked, frowning. Was she that unbending? She didn’t want to think so.
“Maybe,” Lala said cautiously. “But it isn’t in your nature. You like it better when you can browbeat people into thinking your way.”
“You don’t have to go with me.”
Oh, I’m not missing this for the world. See?” Lala replied with raised brows. “Forgiving him is hard for you to do. You need me to go so I can bear witness. Too, I want to get his opinion about a rash on my ankle.”
“You don’t need him for that.” She waved the suggestion away. “Go to Catalina. By the way, what happened to that cute fellow you were holding hands with? I believe his name is Cyril?”
“I do need Doc Elroy for another opinion,” Lala corrected. “And I wasn’t. Holding Cyril’s hand, that is,” Lala replied with a frown. “I was giving him a palm reading. And for your information, that man is not my type. He’s in love with Angela. Which makes me feel sorry for her.”
“Why?” Uma slowed to look at her friend.
“Because he’s too much of a perfectionist,” Lala shrugged, her expression troubled. “His problem is that he puts his woman of choice on a pedestal. He imagines certain traits in her that just aren’t there. If he ever sees Angela, or any other woman he desires, for what she is, the relationship will turn ugly. From my readings, he is not a man who takes disappointment well.”
Uma widened her eyes. “Really. Do you think he will become violent toward Angela?”
“Maybe. I wouldn’t be surprised. I can warn Angela, but she’ll probably think I’m off my rocker.”
“Hmm. No hurt in trying to warn Angela.” Uma shook her head. “I wonder if he has felt this way with any other women.”
“Who knows?” Lala bit her lip.
“Back to your rash.” Uma resumed her walk toward Doc Elroy’s place. “Catalina is better than he is with soothing skin irritations.”
Lala moved up beside her. “Well. Maybe. But I still want to see what Doc Elroy has to say about it.”
Uma never knew Lala to be dissatisfied with any of the concoctions Catalina created. As an herbalist, she knew about scads of creams and tonics for multiple cures. And Lala frequently recommended Catalina. “What’s wrong with going to Catalina?”
Lala shrugged. “Can’t I get another opinion?”
Uma studied her friend, who avoided eye contact. Her suspicions suddenly kicked in. “Jack asked you to find me, didn’t he?”
“Jack? Why would he do that?” Lala leaned over to look at her ankle, slightly lifting her skirt, and then she scratched. “See, it itches.”
Uma tilted her head, watching Lala’s antics. The fact that Lala fidgeted and continued to avoid Uma’s gaze was telling. “Admit it. Jack sent you to find me and then monitor me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because. You’re answering my questions with questions. Which means you’re avoiding answering me.”
Lala shook her finger at her. “You are the most paranoid person I have ever met.”
“Lala?”
“Alright. Fine,” Lala retorted, crossing her arms and sticking out her lower lip. “Yes, Jack asked me to find you. He was worried. He would have come to find you himself, but he was called out to the copper foundry to intervene in another dispute. Which makes it twice in one day that he’s been summoned there. Something about Creed and Chuck fighting. But, yes. Jack asked me to find you. Satisfied?”
“I am,” Uma answered with a smirk. “See? I have a right to be paranoid. Well, come on. Let’s go. I’ll apologize, you can witness this monumental event, and then we can leave so you can tell everybody about it.” She turned to march onward toward the caravans belonging to Doc Elroy.
Both of Doc Elroy’s vardos stood in an eerie stillness. His was nearest the forest full of towering Redwoods. Deep shadows wove their fingers around the vardo. A creepy moan whispered through the trees. A sense of foreboding swept through Uma. She had a feeling she should visit his medicinal vardo first. His presence emanated from there.
“Why are you stopping?” Lala asked, her voice quivering. “Do you feel the same foreboding that I do?”
She shook off the feeling of doom, telling herself she was being a ninny. “Maybe. But it’s silly. Come on,” she said with a grim press of her lips. “Let’s get this over with.”
The door was now closed. A caduceus was painted on the barrier. The two snakes had yellow, slitted eyes with their mouths open, their teeth sharp and wicked-looking. The wings were barbed. Gooseflesh erupted across her skin.
Shaking off the sensation, she stomped up to the door and knocked on it. “Doc Elroy, I’m back. And … and I’m here to forgive you. And to give you another chance.” She turned to Lala. “There,” she whispered. “I did it.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Lala replied warmly.
She turned toward the door again. “Just don’t blow it. If you do, I promise to chase you across the ocean and never allow you into America again.”
“And there it is,” Lala commented, rolling her eyes.
“What?”
“Your backhanded apology, that’s what.”
Uma frowned in confusion. “What does that mean?”
“It means that you don’t want to be wrong about him. That you had to end the apology with threats if he angered you again.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. At least I have set up a backdoor to protecting Cryptic Cove and can run him off if he resorts to his bad practices.” Uma knocked again. “Doc Elroy?”
Nobody answered.
“Is he home?” Lala asked.
That she’d decided to forgive the scoundrel, only to be thwarted by wasting her heart-felt words, irritated her to no end. “Doc Elroy. I’m here, just like I said I would be. I’ve thought over what you said and have come to a conclusion. If you want to talk to me, it has to be now, or else you can come and find me for a change.” She knew she was probably being unreasonable, but that was just the way she was. “But this isn’t open-ended. If you wait too long, the forgiveness might expire.”
“What does that mean?” Lala asked, exasperated.
“Just what I said. I’m not going to say words of forgiveness indefinitely. My heart might change its mind.” Why Uma felt so stubborn all of a sudden, and was questioning her ability to forgive, was a mystery even to herself.
“You are so ridiculous,” Lala exclaimed. “How can your heart change? Once you forgive him, i
t should be permanent.”
“Not if he doesn’t care about my forgiveness. If he’s not here, that suggests he was playing me all along.”
“Maybe he’s sleeping,” Lala suggested in a loud whisper. “Have you thought of that?”
Impatience bubbling inside her, Uma used the side of her fist to pound once again on the door, this time harder. The top half flew open. An acidic, vinegar-like smell engulfed her, caused her to gag. The inside was not nearly as colorful as Lala’s, the painted interior more of a blue-gray. Tinted glass medicine bottles leaked out onto the gray and red Aubusson carpet. But that wasn’t what caught her eye.
She took in the scene before her with a grim twist of her heart. “Oh, he’s sleeping, alright. In the kind of sleep that’s incurable.”
“What do you mean?” Lala asked, her tone full of trepidation.
“The endless slumber. Forever sleep. The one where waking up isn’t possible.”
Nine
Uma stared at Doc Elroy, the dead man she’d blamed for Tiffany’s death. His face was an unnatural shade of blue-gray that nearly matched the walls. His tongue — a dark purple — had swelled so much that it protruded from his mouth in a grotesque fashion, reminding her of a garish clown mask.
He was shirtless. Blood soaked through a bandage on top of his left shoulder. A bloody shirt laid below empty bottles at his feet.
“Uma? What’s with all the weird, poetic talk? Endless slumber? Incurable sleep? What’s wrong?” Lala asked before she nudged Uma aside and emitted a sharp squeak. “Good heavens. How … what … I mean, I can’t believe he’s dead. I mean, my premonition indicated somebody would soon die, but I didn’t know it was him, or that it would be this way. I mean, because so many times my premonitions aren’t literal. Like, I thought maybe the death part meant somebody’s love for another would die. Or an ideal would die. But I never thought it meant actual death. Have you ever seen a dead corpse?” Lala laughed a little hysterically. “Of course that’s redundant. The word corpse indicates the person is dead.”