“Your mother calls you Joooo-seph!”
She laughed and leaned back against the grass, shaking her hair out under the warmth of the sun. Joseph wanted nothing so much as to lay down beside her and press his nose into her hair, to breathe her perfume in so deep that he’d never forget it.
“Knock it off or I won’t tell you my secret.” As she quieted down, he added, “It’s a doozy, too.”
“Secret? What secret?” Bethany Ann prodded his ribs with her finger. “You know I love secrets. Tell me.”
Relaxing, Joe smiled and motioned for her to sit up. It was hard to focus when she was lying there, sprawled out on the ground. He began a low soft whistling.
“I don’t know whether I should tell you or not. You made fun of my name and a man’s name is his pride.”
“Please...I’m sorry.” Bethany tugged on his sleeve. When he didn’t respond, she frowned. “You came over here fast enough, so what’s the big deal?”
Joe grinned. “Do you really want to know? What’s it worth to you?”
Bethany sighed. “What do you want? I don’t have any money.”
“Well...” Joe’s voice cracked and he suddenly felt quite shy. It was now or never. Praying she wouldn’t slap him, he said, “I...you could...give me a kiss.”
As he blurted out the last word, his pulse began to race and he felt clammy and sweaty. She’d probably smack him, but then, she’d been acting odd all summer. He gazed at her, looking her up and down. She was beautiful, with hair that shimmered red under the sun, and small tight breasts, and curving hips. Bethany Ann was growing up. She wasn’t a little girl anymore. He held his breath and watched her through half-lidded eyes.
She stared at him. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.” He tried to sound casual, but his voice quivered and he bit his lip raw. He waited for her to laugh at him.
Bethany regarded him carefully. “You mean it, don’t you?”
“Well I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t!” Now Joe regretted ever saying anything and he started to get up but Bethany Ann rested a light hand on his shoulder.
“This secret better be a good one,” she whispered.
As her lips brushed his, he took her in his arms. She was warm and smelled like wildflowers. Feeling rose up, warring within him. He wanted her, bad. He wanted to take her here, and yet, he wanted to protect her. But more than anything, he wanted that kiss to continue.
After a moment, she pulled away, blushing. “Now tell me your secret, if there really is one.”
“Oh, there’s a secret, all right. It’s out in the meadow. I found it this morning. I think the Devil’s Wind caused it.”
“The meadow? You went up to the meadow?” Bethany stared at him with wide eyes. “Weren’t you scared?”
Joe shrugged. “Nobody goes up there much, I like the quiet. Anyway, this place is hidden. If I hadn’t been looking for Indian Paintbrush I never would have found it.”
“But the meadow...” Bethany murmured. Riva, an old witch-woman, had lived in the meadow long ago. Her house burned down one night and they never found her body. It was rumored that she disappeared into the woods surrounding the lea, and that her spirit lived there still.
“Promise me that you won’t tell. It’ll be our secret, just ours?” Joe waited until she nodded. “It’s a willow tree.”
“A willow? So what? There are willows all up and down the streets of Painter’s Peak! A willow?” Bethany shook her head and began to laugh. “I think you’ve been out in the sun too long.”
Joe frowned. “Damn it...it’s not worth telling girls anything. Do you think I’d come rushing over here to tell you that just any ordinary willow was growing in the meadow? I’m not stupid, no matter what you think.”
Bethany bit back her laughter. “I’m sorry. What’s so different about it?”
“I think you better come see. Can you go now?”
Bethany shook her head. “After dinner. Mom needs me to help her with the beans. I’ll meet you at seven by the school. Okay?”
“Okay. Wear pants. It’s thorny out there.”
“And haunted...” Bethany whispered.
Before they left their long-time hiding place, Bethany Ann had managed to quickly plant another kiss on Joe’s lips. Then, cheeks flaming, she disappeared into her house. Joe followed more slowly, his hand lightly caressed the skin she had touched. Her smell lingered around him and he walked home so preoccupied with the new, emerging feelings that he didn’t notice the change in the air.
The wind was rising.
The meadow had just been called the “meadow” for so many years that nobody remembered who named it that. The land surrounding it was grassy, with small clumps of flowers dotting the sea of green. Partway up the slope of Painter’s Peak, a grove of trees crowded thickly together. A stream flowed down from the top of the mountain, through the woods, where it meandered along until it hit the gully by the village.
Bethany and Joe followed the dusty path up the slope. As the sun lowered in the sky, the birds began their Evensong. The cooling sunlight hit Bethany’s hair and transformed the auburn tangles into red tongues of flame cascading down her back.
Joe stared at her. She seemed different than last year. Or was it simply that she had kissed him? Whatever the case, he shook his head and led the way off the trail, under the canopy of trees.
The light filtered through the branches and created shadow-play on the forest floor. Most of the village refused to come here. Riva had planted the grove and watched over the village but when her house burned, it was whispered that Jenkins’s mean old great-grandpa had been the cause of it. His family had been in trouble—in one form or another—ever since. Nobody ever found Riva’s body, though there was some question of how hard the searchers had actually tried. Parts of her house still remained, even a century later, and superstition kept her memory alive.
Bethany shivered as the temperature dropped. It was cooler in the woods than on the slopes. “Do you think it’s true that Riva planted the trees?”
Joe pushed his hands in his back pockets and squinted. “I think so. I wish I could have met her.”
Bethany stared at him as if he was crazy. “You’re kidding. She was a witch.”
“So what? I still think she would have been pretty damned cool. I’ve been out here in the meadow dozens of times and nobody’s ever tried to hurt me. Now come on, are you game or not?”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Bethany grumbled quietly.
They walked in silence for awhile and then Joe veered into a patch of briars. They crept through the brambles, shaking off the fat eight-legged orb-weavers that built their webs all through the tangle. Joe jumped as one of the striped spiders crawled down his shirt. Bethany laughed as he brushed it off and, as her laughter echoed in the twilight, high and clear. He reached for her hand. She gave it to him and they went on.
The shadows of the approaching evening closed in as they came to a clearing in the center of the bramble patch. Bethany caught her breath. The wind had risen, whipping the ferns growing under the tall oaks. In the center of the clearing stood the ruins of Riva’s house. Stone blocks were all that remained, a foundation with stairs leading into blackness below ground. In front of the house stood a young sapling.
It was a silver willow.
Silver as moonlight. Silver as the tea tray in the china hutch. Silver, with silver leaves it grew. Even with the rushing wind, its leaves were still and steady.
Bethany took a step towards it, then jumped back. She turned to Joe. “How long has it been here?”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t here last week. I come here a lot. The day before the Devil’s Wind, I was up here poking around. It wasn’t here then. Two days ago, I came up here and found it.”
“What do you do up here?” Bethany sidled closer to the tree.
“Think, mostly. What do you suppose it is?”
Bethany took a step forward, then another. She squinted at th
e leaves. “I don’t know.” She reached out one hand, stopping as Joe cried out.
“Don’t! We don’t know if it’s safe.”
“How can something so beautiful hurt you?” She reached out again and laid a gentle finger on one silver leaf. A shadow of a big cat streaked by as the wind howled.
And just like that, Bethany was gone.
“Bethany!” Joe stared at the empty space beside the tree. “Bethany!”
The wind died as swiftly as it had risen, and as he watched, Joe saw the silver sapling grow into a young tree. There was a face in the bark, formed of the cracks and knots and gnarls. The face seemed familiar, and when Joe looked closely at it, Bethany smiled at him. He turned and ran like the Devil’s Wind was at his back.
The talk of the Devil’s Wind died down as new gossip filled the ears of Painter’s Peak. Bethany Ann McAllister had disappeared while out with young Joseph Greenly. Mr. and Mrs. McAllister accused him of raping and murdering their daughter, and burying her up on the slopes of Painter’s Peak. After all, that sort of thing was in the papers every day, and on the news, and everywhere you looked. And Bethany was a pretty girl and Joe, a wild thing.
So, even though Joe had never had a bad reputation before, now accusing stares followed him around town. His own buddies, pals from school, began to pick it up and throw it back in questions that ranged from a mild “How far did you ever get with her?” to the outrageous “Hey, you the next Green River Killer?”.
Finally, after the Sheriff and his men had combed the mountain and come up empty, after Joe stuck to his story that Bethany went off for a drink from the stream and hadn’t come back, the talk lowered to whispers and one more mystery was added to the meadow of Painter’s Peak. Parents warned their children to stay away from the meadow, and fewer people went up the slopes of the mountain.
Joe’s parents stood by him, though they felt their son had slipped away from them somehow. Mr. and Mrs. McAllister moved away a year later. They were sure Bethany was dead. A young couple bought their house and kept to themselves.
Joe found himself with no friends, even though the talk had died down. It seemed that nobody really believed him. He took to going for long walks after school, and sometimes he would get up early, fix his own breakfast, and walk out on the slopes of Painter’s Peak to eat it. He did not go back to Riva’s house for a long while.
He thought about Bethany’s disappearance every day and the one thing that he kept coming back to was this: How could the search parties comb the meadow and not see the strange tree? He always ended up with the same three possibilities.
The Sheriff really hadn’t searched the area. Or the tree had vanished along with Bethany. Or maybe Joe had imagined the whole thing, and if that was true, had he really done something awful to Bethany Ann? The more he thought about it, the more nervous he became until one day he couldn’t stand it and he knew he had to go see if the silver willow was still there.
He left early, taking his pack with him, and before anyone was up to see where he was going, darted up the mountain into the trees. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Joe became aware of the breeze playing around him. It was stronger, more alive here, and he remembered how it had gusted up before Bethany Ann touched the willow. He wound through the woods, listening to the crows and robins and swallows. He wandered further into the grove until he reached the clearing.
The tree was still there. He could see it plain as the nose on his face.
The willow had grown taller since he had been here with Bethany, and now it stood lean and graceful, long supple limbs arching over the ground below.
Joe hesitantly stepped closer, ready to run. He looked at the face in the tree. It was Bethany, sure enough, and then she smiled at him, the knots and cracks moving to form her welcome.
Bethany...her name crackled on the wind.
Bethany...her name sparkled in the grooves of the silver tree.
“Bethany? It’s me, Joe. Can you hear me?” Joe watched the face in the tree carefully. The shining eyes followed his every move. “Bethany, everybody thinks I killed you.” He knew it was crazy, talking to the tree, but he didn’t know what else to do.
The breeze picked up and prodded him closer to the tree. He looked closely at the image staring back at him. The lips began to move and he stumbled back again, afraid.
“Jo-s-s-e-e-p-h!” The tree breathed. Its mouth spoke and the wind rushed through its lips to give it voice. “Jo-s-s-e-e-p-h!”
The ground rumbled and shook as Joe tripped, falling on the thick mulch of leaves underfoot.
“Come here.”A command, not an invitation.
Joe crawled forward to the base of the tree, waiting expectantly.
Silver eyes stared down on him with pity. “Are you so afraid of me? You kissed me. You were my friend.”
Joe swallowed. “Bethany? It’s you? You’re alive?”
The tree exhaled slowly. “More than you can imagine. I am your wildest flight of fancy. I can be the woman you will love forever...but not just yet.”
“You’re really in there?”
“Yes. Joseph?”
He placed his hand lightly on the trunk and a tingle of magic ran through his fingertips. “What?”
“You must do one thing for me, if you ever want to see me free again.”
He stood, wiping his weeping eyes on the tail of his shirt. “I’ll do anything, Bethany. It’s all my fault. I’ll do whatever you tell me to.”
Bethany’s smile froze him from marrow to blood. “You must go away.” The wind whistled through the tree-face. “Go away until you are grown. Come back then, and I’ll be here, waiting. When you return you are to bring no one and nothing with you. Then, and only then, will you be able to free me.”
Joe nodded. “How long until I’m grown?”
“When you are a man. When you have tasted love, your love will set me free.”
The face melded back into the tree and once again became immobile. Joe strained, looking for the slightest movement, but the willow remained silent. Bethany was sleeping. Joe turned and quietly walked back to the village of Painter’s Peak.
When he reached home, he went into his father’s study and asked to be sent away to boarding school. After a quiet discussion on the advantages and disadvantages of the idea, Joseph found himself on a train bound for New York. He would not return to Painter’s Peak for ten years.
Time ran slowly for Bethany Ann. Or rather, it did not seem to run at all. When she first touched the leaf of the silver willow and the spark of electricity raced through her, she knew that she had either made the greatest mistake or the best decision of her life. Her body ceased to feel, her senses would not work. She was encased in a warm, shining light and in this light she floated, enjoying the gentle rocking sensation.
When she thought to ask Joe what happened, she tried to open her eyes but they would not respond. It was impossible to worry, however, so she drifted again. And then, however long after she could not tell, someone was beside her. As she began to understand more about where she was and who she was becoming, she learned to open the eyes of her new mother’s womb and stare out into the world. One day, as she was listening to the bees and discussing the weather with the grass, she opened her eyes and saw...
Joey.
Joseph.
Joe. Who had run away, leaving her to her prison.
Joe. Who had been the first to call her name...the first to kiss her lips...the first to caress her heart with his brown eyes and shocking black hair.
Joe. Who was crying as he looked at her face etched in the bark of the silver tree.
Bethany told him what he must do and he left the meadow. And so she fed on the drone of insects and sucked nectar from the earth and watched the seasons pass as she waited for the day her beloved would return to her, for she knew in her heart that was no longer a heart, that he would return.
Painter’s Peak looked almost the same as it had the day he left. Joe stepped off the bus and cran
ed his neck, striving to notice any change, but apart from a few new shops, nothing had moved, nothing had altered. Ten years can make a difference in a man, a town, a life...but it seemed that Painter’s Peak had been frozen, and the meadow still stood tall on the side of the slope with the sun grazing the top of the peaks.
The man, on the other hand, had changed. Joe was taller and stronger than the wiry kid he had been when he left. His eyes were darker, with a gaze that might frighten you if you looked too long. Most people glanced away quickly, fearing that he might see right through them. Joe held his suitcase securely as he slowly climbed the porch steps. He knocked on the door and as it opened, his father peered out. Joe dropped the bag and finally smiled.
“Pop!”
“So you’ve finally come home. After all this time, you’ve come back.”
“I’ve come to stay.” Joe stepped inside. The same wallpaper stared at him, faded and pale, rolling back the years.
“No jobs in town, son.”
“I don’t think I’ll need to worry about that.” Joe carried his suitcase into the living room.
His father nodded and, when the door closed the world away behind them, he leaned close to Joe and whispered in his ear. “I know why you came back, boy.”
Joe looked warily at his father. “Oh?”
“I’ve been up there. I’ve seen the tree. I don’t know what it is, or what happened that day, or why nobody else ever managed to see it, but she’s still there. She’s waiting for you, isn’t she?”
Joe leaned against the arch and brushed his hand over his eyes. “She’s really there? It wasn’t a dream? Over the years I’ve been afraid it was all a dream...that when I came back, there’d be nothing up there but brambles and rubble and...maybe her body.”
“No, you didn’t imagine it. Son, I had to search those hills myself. You’re my blood but I had to know whether you were telling me the truth. You’d better go see her tomorrow. Spend tonight with us, then before sunrise, before anybody knows you’re back, go up to meadow and do what you need to do.”
Mist and Shadows: Short Tales From Dark Haunts Page 5