by Eric Smith
“Wow, you will call him Milford or nothing at all,” Landon said, looking at the owl and giving it a scratch under the chin. “Give the old man some dignity.” Milford nibbled at Landon’s finger.
“Look, are you going to help me or not?”
Landon turned his attention back to Leila, this time scratching his own chin with a curious expression. His fingers made an audible scritch-scritch-scritch against his rough, short beard. He looked down at the ground and then back up at her, nodding his head.
“I’ll be honest,” Landon said seriously. “If you’d come in here babbling about these voices of yours saying anything else, I would have probably left, or better yet, called someone. ’Cause no offense, but if someone came after me about Milford and the wing because you said something, which by the way I don’t think you would, you don’t seem the type.” He paused for just enough time to let Leila roll her eyes.
He was right. She wouldn’t have turned in that owl.
Landon turned to the small, shed-like building behind him and opened the door, the old wood letting out a loud squeak as it swung. Milford swayed about as he moved.
“I’d just deny it up and down. But there’s something in what you said.”
He grew quiet and sighed.
“I actually think I know what you’re talking about, oddly enough.” Something clattered inside the shed. “But you should still probably talk to someone. I mean, hearing voices? That’s not really, you know, a normal thing.”
“Yeah, um,” Leila started. “I’ve ignored it all for a long time. The voices. I have a system. I don’t want to get into it. It’s complicated.”
“I’m sure it is,” he said after a beat. “I won’t pry. Not my business.”
Landon stepped out of the shed with a small map and two park ranger jackets. He placed Milford on the ground, and the owl looked up at him in confusion as Landon swung one of the jackets on. It was the same coat Leila had seen him wearing the day before, bits of dirt here, a soft tear in the leather there. He tossed the other jacket to her. It was thick and heavy.
“It’s a little cold today,” he said, shrugging as he picked up Milford, placing the owl back on his shoulder. The owl dug its talons into the leather, kneading the fabric like a cat getting comfortable on a blanket. “And if we’re going deeper into the park, you’ll need that. Shade is nice, but not when it’s chilly. Besides, fewer people will ask questions if they spot two park rangers digging around back there. People aren’t really supposed to trespass in that section.”
He took a step forward and Leila pushed her hand against his chest. He stopped and took a step back, looking at her, and she felt herself blush. She’d brushed against what were no doubt pecs under his open jacket and thin t-shirt.
“I, um,” Leila started. “You haven’t said where we’re going.”
“Oh,” Landon said. “You mentioned these, er, voices saying something about an old mansion that I’ve supposedly been trying to keep safe?”
“Yes, with your brothers or something.”
“Yeah, whatever that’s all about,” Landon said dismissively. “The day my brothers actually come outside and experience the fresh air is the day I set this whole forest on fire.” He sighed, and Leila took in the new information. So he had brothers, a family. “Look, there’s this mansion deep in the park. The Thomas Mansion. I think I brought it up when I met your group. It’s a bit of a hike, but you’re up to it, right?”
“Sure.” Leila shrugged as Landon started walking, clearly keeping his pace slow as he stepped alongside her.
“Are you sure, though? Your head.”
“I’ll be fine,” Leila scowled.
“Okay, okay. I mean, it isn’t that far, but still,” Landon said, his hands going into his pockets. “Whenever anyone in my family, or any of my hometown friends, decide to visit and I take them on a walk like this, I have to be very clear about distance. They aren’t walkers. For me, around the corner means like, a mile away. For them, it actually means around the corner. Whatever corner is nearest. Even if it’s the corner of like, a table.”
“I actually think my . . .” Leila searched for a word that would work but came up short. “Parents,” she winced and kept going, “my parents said something about the mansion.”
“Oh yeah?” Landon asked as they walked forward, heading down a small trail surrounded by brush.
“Yeah my, my da—” Leila struggled again. “Ah, hell. So, look, I’m adopted, okay?”
“Okay,” Landon said, his tone indifferent.
“It’s just, it’s new, and talking about the two of them, my parents, it’s hard without using those kind of words. Like the D word and M word, without going into all that backstory nonsense.”
“D and M?” Landon questioned.
“Rhymes with ‘rad’ and ‘bomb.’”
“Ah.” Landon nodded. “I understand. I think. I won’t ask, unless you want me to.”
“I don’t,” Leila said curtly, silently cursing herself in her head for immediately closing up with Landon. At the same time, it felt good to keep that bit hidden, especially after the drama with Shawn. “And I just wanted to put it all out there before you start asking who this person is and that person is, and what was it like, or if I’ve ever thought—”
“Leila, I’m not gonna bother you about it,” Landon said, his tone final. “It’s obviously not my place. I’m not even sure I know your last name yet.”
“Oh,” Leila said. “Uh, it’s Hetter. Well, I guess Hetter-Kline, now.”
“Great. Mine is Johnson, though I may have brought that up before. I’m sorry, I just give a lot of those welcome-to-the-park type of talks. Now, what is your social security number? And where are you from? Not like, from, but you know, from, from?” Landon turned around and grinned at her. She smirked, and he turned back. “See? I get it. It’s okay. You’re not the only one with some family stuff, or who gets asked those kind of questions. Here, I’ll put some of mine out there. My parents? Doctors. And they would kill me if they knew I was studying environmental science and not preparing to pursue some Ivy League education post-community college. They think this,” he waved around at the trees, “is just a hobby.”
He sighed.
“Basically, I’m saying I get the family issues and share a mutual loathing of people who ask too many questions. You share when you want to. Or don’t.”
They walked on. Leila trailed a little bit behind him, small sticks and branches crunching under her feet as they pushed farther and farther into the park. Milford’s head swung about as they walked, his eyes seeming to take in everything. It was as though the more they pressed forward, the denser and thicker the entire place got. Less like a park, and more like a small patch of wilderness that had been slightly swallowed up by the city, tucked away like a secret and forgotten by time.
She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in deep, half expecting to hear something on the wind. A whisper. A voice. A suggestion.
Nothing.
“You okay?” Landon asked. Leila opened her eyes and took in a quick breath, surprised to see him right in front of her, his light-brown eyes alight with concern. “Was it, you know? The voices or whispers or whatever? Are you tired? Are you—”
“You don’t have to fuss over me,” Leila grunted, walking past him, trying to shed herself of the momentary flush of embarrassment. How long had she been standing there with her eyes shut for him to notice, stop, and walk over and nudge her out of whatever moment she was having? “I’m okay, I’m . . .”
She stopped, looking at the trail, which split into several smaller trails.
“Uh,” she said as she looked at them, each as identical and leading-to-nowhere as the last. Landon stepped up next to her, his boots crunching against the trail.
“We’re going right,” Landon said, leaning down a little to talk to her. Le
ila felt her heartbeat quicken as a gust of wind pushed through the trees, carrying the smell of the forest and Landon. A mixture of sandalwood and sawdust, an earthy smell.
“Right. Got it,” Leila said.
Landon shrugged and walked forward, the trail narrowing to the point that only one person could fit, shrubs and trees pushing their branches and twigs at Leila. She dodged them as they walked, and a few scratched at the thick jacket Landon had let her borrow.
A small branch sliced across her face and she winced, taking a step back, only to open her eyes and see a number of the branches and brambles pushing themselves back, inching ever-so-slightly away from the trail in front of her and behind Landon. She continued to walk, listening for anything on the wind, as the gnarled, thorny vines and shrubs seemed to bend away from her.
She shook her head lightly, ignoring it all. Was Landon seeing this? This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
They approached a cleared section of the path where the thorns and vines weren’t as close to the trail. Tired of the silence as they walked, Leila stared at Landon’s shoulder and down to his arm, the jacket worn away a little where Milford no doubt landed and scratched. His talons were gripping into the leather hard.
“So, why Milford?”
“What?” Landon asked, his head quickly turning to Leila and then back to the path in front of him.
“Milford. The owl. Why that name?”
“Ah,” Landon said. “I always felt like owls need old man names. Names that sound wise beyond their years, no matter how old they are or what they’ve done with their lives. Milford just felt, I don’t know, right.”
“What other names did you consider?”
“A handful. Wallace. Barnabas. Engelbert. Percival. Humperdinck.”
Leila laughed, surprised. “Those are good. Bonus points for The Princess Bride references there.”
“You like that movie?” Landon asked, turning around for a moment in surprise.
“Um, I like that book. The movie is great, too. Why shouldn’t I?”
“It’s just an old movie, is all,” Landon said, and she could see his broad shoulders shrug as he pushed a large branch out of the way on the path, carefully navigating around the plants. He looked back towards her, his hand still clutching the tree. “Watch out. Here, walk on by.”
Leila squeezed by Landon on the narrow bit of trail, brushing against him as she did. The smell of sawdust and sandalwood mixed with the scent of the urban forest: wet leaves, dried wood, the cold, crisp air. She felt herself blush again, though she didn’t know why, considering how relatively cold Landon was about everything. He seemed closed off, but a warmth swirled in her chest, and the trail suddenly opened up to a clearing.
She gasped.
“I know,” Landon said, walking up next to her. “Welcome to the Thomas Mansion.”
The wind picked up and rustled around her. Milford suddenly sprung to life, flapping his one wing wildly. He started hooting loudly, something Leila hadn’t heard once since she’d been around the bird.
“Whoa, calm down, buddy,” Landon said, brushing a hand over the owl, who angrily shook his one wing. “Sorry, he’s never like this.”
You are here.
The voices.
Leila closed her eyes, speaking to herself, hoping Landon wouldn’t hear her.
“Trees. Forest.”
The voice. It was here. Carrying itself on the wind.
“Wind. Soil.”
And it spoke loud and clear.
My daughter, welcome home.
WithouttheY15m
Fairmount Park
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WithouttheY Taking the road not taken. #nofilter #trees #forests
sarikathepaprika Whoa where IS that even?
XII
Leila froze, her heart beating madly.
Those words. The voices. The voice. Why would it say that?
“What is it?” Landon asked. He looked at Leila, and then up and around at the trees. Milford seemed to have calmed down a bit, though he was still looking about, his eyes wild and wide. “Are you . . . are you hearing them right now?”
“Shh!” Leila shushed, closing her eyes.
In the grove. Beyond the house.
Leila opened her eyes to see Landon bending over a little and looking at her intently. Milford sat quietly on his shoulder. Landon’s hands were out and open, as though he was about to grab her.
“What are you doing?” Leila asked, taking a step back.
“Sorry, you just,” Landon stood up and brushed his hands on his pants, as though they hadn’t just been stretched out to shake her. “You zoned out for a minute there. Is everything okay?” He reached for the little walkie-
talkie on his belt. “Did you . . . should I call someone? Or are they saying anything?”
“Yeah, it . . . she,” Leila stammered, shaking her head. The headache pounded where her scarf wrapped around her forehead. The realization there, that . . . that pronoun she suddenly felt like saying, that felt like it fit with the voice. She. There was more to the voice. It belonged to someone, someone who sounded like a woman.
And daughter?
Home?
“She said something about welcoming me here,” Leila said. “The voice. It, it sounds like an older lady.”
“Did it, she, say where she is?” Landon asked. Milford looked at Leila as if he was just as curious.
“No,” Leila said, shaking her head. She closed her eyes, hoping to hear something, anything. “Wait! Yes. A grove beyond the home?”
“Hm,” Landon huffed, nodding, and looked up at the decaying house in the woods. “You sure you’ve never actually been here before?”
“Yes, why?”
“It’s just, sorry, but you just keep talking about things only a few people even know about.” Landon shook his head. “Like, the rangers make it a point to keep people away from here, with the building falling apart and all. This voice of yours say anything else?”
“Not yet.” Leila shrugged. Landon stared at her, his eyes set and focused. It wasn’t the sort of look she’d expected to get after admitting to all this. She’d expected . . . well, she wasn’t sure what, exactly. She’d only spent a little time with him at the Trust, and now this hike, and all along he’d been mostly standoffish, a bit cold. She thought he would be afraid of her. Stare at her like something was wrong.
The way she feared Jon and Lisabeth would look at her.
But here was this boy who she hardly knew, looking at her as though he believed and understood her. Maybe she didn’t need to hide anymore.
“Let’s keep going,” Landon said, nodding ahead.
Stretched out in front of them were the remains of the Thomas Mansion, a tall, once-beautiful, old building that resembled a lot of the older, larger homes found in the historic district of Philadelphia. It was made of large blocks of stone stacked together, sealed up with plaster and concrete, the lines since aging into brown and black. The stones were dark gray, and all the spaces where doors and windows had once swung open and closed were just empty, hollow spaces.
Leila squinted, spotting holes in the roof, and what looked like branches starting to peek out the top. Thick coats of ivy curled up the stone façade in a way that made it seem like they were the only thing holding the building up.
“Any ideas?” Leila asked.
“One,” Landon said, still staring at the house. “Here, let’s walk around.”
Leila followed Landon as they skirted about the side of the giant home. When she peeked inside, Leila spotted the ruin of the interior: Floorboards with gaping holes, a break in the second floor that let you see straight up through the roof, plants and moss growing out of everything. Beams of sunlight shone in through the breaks, and dust particles danced in the light.
“I can see why they want to tear this place down, I guess,” Leila said, shrugging and shaking her head. “It was probably really lovely a long time ago.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. It’s still lovely,” Landon stressed, turning to look at her and then up at the building. He placed a hand on the hard, granite stone of the house, and bits of dirt and detritus crumbled to dust on the ground. “This was built for the World’s Fair in 1876, to honor the hundred-year anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence.” Landon took a step back, looking around at the side of the building with his hands on his hips.
“What are you looking for?” Leila asked.
“Just a sec,” he muttered, and walked back to the front of the building. Leila followed, watching Landon look about, then his eyes finally settled on something covered in branches and brambles. He darted over to it, pulling the shrubbery away to reveal a large stone with a dirty bronze plaque on it, its edges the blackish-green of years of wear.
“There we go,” he said, hands back on his hips, looking at the sign proudly. “See?”
The Thomas Mansion
Built for the Centennial International Exhibition in 1876, the Thomas Mansion was famously used as a cottage for visiting dignitaries and government officials in attendance. Close to ten million people from around the world traveled to Philadelphia for the 1876 World’s Fair, in celebration of the one-hundredth anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence.
It was during the exhibition that inventions such as the typewriter, telephone, and sewing machine were first presented to the world. Designed by celebrated architect Herman J. Schwarzmann, the Thomas Mansion is one of five remaining structures from the 1876 World’s Fair, including Memorial Hall.
“Yeah, I don’t understand,” Leila said, scowling at the plaque. “How does something like this end up like that?” She pointed at the mansion, and Landon walked towards it, shaking his head.
“The same reason most beautiful things get left behind. Lack of time, lack of interest. It’s a bit too far out into the park for tourists, really,” Landon said, sighing. “I’ve been trying to save it for years, ever since I was a little kid. I started some websites, posted on message boards, ran a few social media campaigns and all that. A couple of my fellow rangers and I come out here now and again to clean it up.” He shrugged, and then turned to his owl. Milford gave him an empty glance.