by T. Nixon
The thought had never occurred to me not to meet him. And that thought didn't sit right with me.
“I probably shouldn't.” I said flatly.
“Well, I'm glad you did,” his voice low and earnest. His immediate openness caught me off guard.
“How come James never said anything about you?” I blurted. I never learned the art of conversation.
He tilted his head at my question as if he was trying to hear me better, to understand what I was asking. He smiled but it was a bit tense. “What'd you mean?” he asked.
“I mean, I've never heard of you. I would think if my aunt knew about you, knew that you were here she would want to see you. She's that kind of person, she loves everyone.”
“Oh,” he said and looked off into the meadow behind me. “I don't know if she does know anything about me. I wouldn't have the foggiest idea if James ever mentioned me or not. I certainly wouldn't know what he told you or your aunt.”
Instantly I felt a bit bad, though he didn't seem angry or chastising. My words did have an attack dog tone to them and of course, how would he know what his uncle told anyone else? But still... something about it didn't sit right with me.
“When did Old Man, I mean, Chester come here?” I asked sheepishly. It was hard to reconcile this nice young man and the old mean one being related.
“He came shortly after James went missing...” once again he looked off into the meadow. “He wasn't always 'old' or cranky you know.” His tone was sad, and for the first time ever I thought of Chester Harris as a young person who had once had his own life. Not the old man, obsessed with his brother’s death. Then I felt sad, which made me feel vulnerable, which made me feel angry. I would not be coaxed into sympathizing with that evil old man, no matter how charming his nephew was.
“Still,” I said switching gears, “it seems like you would want to pay your respects. Or maybe see the home of your uncle. The farm he loved so much.” I knew I sounded angry and accusatory.
“Because, as far as I can understand my uncle is the enemy around here, and I am related to him.” He was right. Why did I keep needing to be reminded?
I wasn't exactly being kind but still he was being gentle with me. He smiled. “I can't imagine how that scenario would go, me walking up the front step and saying 'Hello madam, it's me, the nephew of your beloved and also of your enemy. Can I come in for a spot of tea?'” He laughed and I did to.
“But Cherry would probably let you in, that's how she is. It's Brad and AJ I would worry about.”
A shadow crossed his eyes.
“I mean, they are protective over her, that's all,” I added. “Because of your... uncle they are a little nervous of people coming around.”
He nodded but didn't say anything. I sighed and felt awkward.
“I thought we agreed not talk about my cranky old uncle anymore?” His smile was full and he waggled a finger at me. He was right, we had agreed, but it was a hard subject to avoid.
“Yes, yes,” I said and I finally sat down.
He followed suit and found a seat within a respectful distance. Close enough to talk without elevating our voices but far enough to keep me from squirming. “You're a curious one,” he said after regarding me for a moment.
“How so?” I stiffened a bit feeling a little defensive.
“I mean it as a compliment,” he said laughing at my reaction. “Are you always this direct with people you meet?”
“No,” I said after a moment. “Mostly I want to hide from people, not talk to anyone.”
“Why's that?” He wasn't looking at me when he asked. Probably just a knee jerk question or perhaps a calculated one. I considered not answering him for a moment, but it was almost as if he took away the power to hold my tongue. Or maybe it was because he didn't know the story like all the towns people did. He didn't already pity me.
“I don't want their pity.” I could hear the edge in my voice. How I must seem to this handsome stranger.
“I can understand why they would pity you, is there really harm in them feeling for you?”
“They don't feel for me,” I laughed out. “My family is just another piece of gossip for them. They love it when they get public displays like the one a few days ago with your uncle accusing...” I looked away. “It doesn't matter. They don't care.”
“Surely some of them do?” His eyes were sincere when he asked, they were met with my hard ones.
“There might be one or two. The Sheriff does because he seems to take my aunts side and then there are the people Cherry has worked with directly who know she would never be capable of doing what... people accuse her of doing.” But there were others too, though I didn't tell Simon that.
“Hmm,” he replied thinking over my words. “I miss my uncle, and I do believe he has passed on,” he paused. “At the same time, just knowing what I know about him and Cherry, I can’t possibly imagine she had anything to do with his disappearance. Chester never believed it. But he was against James’ moving here. He didn’t think it was right to give up our family legacy to move here and be a farmer.
I remember them arguing when James told us that he was staying here permanently. He was very excited. And very much in love. I have always suspected that was the real reason behind Chester’s anger.”
“Love?” I asked, transfixed by his story.
“Yes. Chester was always very proper, always followed the rules. He would never put his family above love. In fact, I am reasonably certain he has never been in love.” He looked at me with his signature twinkle. “Not that he didn’t have opportunity. He was every bit as charming as James.”
And you. Must run in the family. “I find that hard to believe,” I said, thinking of the sour puss expression Chester wore.
“He’s not as old as he looks,” Simon protested. “Time is not the only thing that ages people. Grief does as well.” His voice was quiet and his eyes far off.
“We have done a terrible job of not talking about him,” I said, in an unusual turn. Mostly I was the one whose mood needed changing.
“You are correct,” he responded, pulling himself out of his reverie.
We sat without talking for a several minutes, allowing the music of the forest to play around us. Birds, a plane in the distance, an occasional breeze. The meadow had a way of calming me, bringing me out of myself and opening up. Perhaps that’s why I found it easy to open up to Simon. I think it also helped that he had known a family member who vanished without a trace, presumed dead. He understood.
After a while he broke the silence by clearing his throat. “It’s relaxing isn’t it?” he asked looking out over the meadow. I nodded. “That makes it hard to for me to say I need to be getting back.” He looked at me with soulful eyes.
I nodded again, not knowing what else to say.
“I would like to see you again,” he said, his eyes searching mine for an answer before my mind and voice were able to respond. Again, I said nothing, just nodded. “Excellent,” he said while standing up. He threw a dazzling smile at me as he extended a hand to help me up.
I hesitated for a moment before placing my hand in his. It was warm and firm. He pulled gently as I stood. Once I was up, our hands lingered together for a few extra seconds. I met his intent eyes; a soft smile on his lips. I smiled in return and slowly extracted my hand from his.
He walked me across the meadow as he had done the day before. This time, as I walked away I turned and waved. For one moment, I forgot that I was a person in pain. I forgot I carried an enormous weight on my shoulders. There was a lightness in my step and the sunlight through the trees was prettier than usual. I took a deep breath.
◆◆◆
I saw Simon every day that week. I suspected Cherry knew I was up to something, but she never asked. Perhaps she assumed I was sneaking off with AJ, whom I blissfully managed to avoid. On Monday I told him I had talked enough about myself and wanted to learn more about him. He told me his town was called Arbourea and that his life there was very drab an
d he didn't do anything much outside of working. He waved a hand at my questions as though they were unimportant and then asked me more about myself. I tried to use the same blasé method as him, but he had a way of making it easy for me to talk to him.
On Tuesday the sun was warm so we sat in the middle of the meadow. I fiddled with a piece of grass, he chewed on a long, perfectly spring green stalk. It felt so good to be warm, and the bright sun reminded me of home. Simon asked me questions about my life in Sacramento, about growing up there and the people I knew. I tried to fill in him as best I could, but it occurred to me that my life before my parents went missing was almost fuzzy. All that filled my head now were my older memories of the farm.
“Which do you prefer, Sacramento or the farm?” he asked as he relaxed in the sunshine.
“It's not a fair question,” I told him. “One life is with my parents and one is without.” For the first time since they went missing, I could talk about my parents without the threat of a black hole opening inside me.
“And one involves going to lessons and the other involves playing in the woods with me,” he smiled. I smiled back; it was hard not to.
“Yes but... I would give anything to have my parents back.”
It hung in the air between us, my pain. If I knew they were dead I could move on, but I didn't. They could still be alive somewhere, waiting for a someone to find them. I knew that it was not likely but something inside me refused to let it go. Until I knew for sure, saw their caskets with my own eyes, I couldn't give up hope they might still be alive.
“They never found my uncles body,” Simon said quietly, once again as if he could read my thoughts. It made me feel connected.
“I know,” I replied.
“I wonder sometimes if he's still out there somewhere. He could be anywhere, on any level really-” he stopped short. I noticed his body tense though he took care to keep his expression the same.
“What do you mean?” I asked, all the while studying his reaction carefully.
“You know, he could be anywhere,” he repeated.
I got the feeling he was lying, but about what?
“He could've knocked his head in these woods and wondered away to another town not knowing his own name.”
“That's not likely. He was big news around here, even in San Francisco. This farm has a big reputation. If he wandered into a place it would be easy for someone to find out who he was.”
“True,” he replied. He bowed his head and ran his hands through the dirt. I didn't press him anymore. I decided to change the subject, so I asked him about his work.
“You said something about studying plants, is that for work or school or...?”
“It's my... work, I guess. But it's also studying. You could say I study for a living. I study plants from different... areas and then as a hobby I study these trees. I learn about them, make notes, take samples like collecting a leaf or a piece of bark. I catalog them and take notes in my journal.”
“Take notes in your journal,” I repeated mindlessly. I was wondering what kinds of notes you would take about a tree. He smiled as though he understood the thoughts in my head.
“Here,” he said and reached into his back pocket. He pulled out small pocket-sized notebook and handed it to me. A small pencil was attached with a rubber band.
I took it wearily, unsure about what I would find inside. I unwrapped the pencil and flipped it open. It was almost full, only a few empty pages remained. I thumbed through page after page of drawings. Leaves, trees, grasses, and even a few flowers. Notes were scribbled on the backs of the pages. The drawings were very detailed, like something from a field guide from before there were cameras.
“It's very good,” I said handing it back to him. I wasn't lying.
“Thanks,” he said tucking it deep into his back pocket.
“A lot of those looked like this tree,” I said nodding towards the big sentinel.
“Yes, they are. I love this tree.” I thought about Cherry and James loving this same tree. I wondered if Simon knew.
“Did you come here for your work,” I asked.
“Partly.” I waited for more, but he didn't elaborate.
“So, how long are they going to let you take time off?” I asked thinking about our system in the US that frowns upon extended time off.
“Well, you know, I do have to go back,” he said in a hesitant tone.
We both stiffened at this point in the conversation. In just a few days I had grown to like him enough to know I would miss him once he's gone.
“So how long are you staying?” I asked. I tried to sound nonchalant.
He shrugged. “It depends really,” he said after a while.
“On what?”
“Oh, you know,” he replied casually and raised up onto one elbow. I gave him a sardonic look and he smiled in response, un-offended. I wanted to press him for more but he reached up and plucked a dandelion seed from my hair. The simple action stopped my breath.
“How long have you been in town,” I asked after I regained my composure. I kept my eyes off him, afraid they might reveal my newfound nervousness.
“Not too long,” he replied. He stretched his legs out and placed his hands behind his head. The warm afternoon sun glistened off him. I turned my face to it, eager to soak up some rays. The mountain nights were still cold and I spent most of my time in the barn or in shelter of the trees.
“You're just a wealth of information,” I said sarcastically. He laughed. But it annoyed me that he wouldn't tell me more.
“How long I've been and how long I will stay are a moot point compared to the fact that I'm here now and will have to leave at some point.”
“Well that’s just lame,” I said and looked away. True, but lame none the less.
◆◆◆
On Wednesday he was filled with questions about the farm. He asked me about growing grapes and the wine making process- things I didn't know the answer too. I suggested we walk to the farm so he could see the grape vines he was so interested in. “Only because James loved them so,” he said. He hesitated, looked back at the tree, then back to me. “Let's do it,” and away we went. He followed me as I walked him though the opening in the trees that led to my trail.
“I got lost my first time though here,” I said.
“I know-” he said and stopped short. His eyes got wide and then he said, “you told me that.” I thought it was an odd reaction, we had talked about a lot of stuff and I couldn't remember telling him how I discovered the tree but that didn't mean I hadn't. I certainly didn't want to think about being there with AJ. The almost kiss in the meadow. How I had completely surrendered and he had totally rejected me.
“But seriously,” he said, his voice snapping me away from that moment, “I'm pretty confident I can find my way back. I did a lot of exploring of these woods before you came along to distract me.”
He smiled when he said it, sending two messages. One, that he knew his way around and two, that he was glad I came along. I smiled back.
With me in the lead we walked amicably through the woods. Sometimes we talked sometimes we enjoyed the solitude of the forest. As we approached the farm we were careful to make sure there was no one around. Usually the farm was quiet in the afternoons; the workers starting early in the morning to avoid the heat of the day.
We explored as much as we safely could without being noticed. The grapevines were not in direct view of the buildings, however Brad or Cherry could be out on the farm cart and AJ could be virtually anywhere, but we were lucky. Simon got the chance to be among the vines, to lavish in the beauty of the spread that was so dearly loved by his uncle- and by my aunt.
We wandered around the edges, staying close to the tree line and out of view as much as possible. I took him to the barn and introduced him to the horses. Simon stroked them gently while he listened to the story of how Cherry saved them, how she named them and how we all watched the old movies. I omitted AJ's part in the story, somehow it d
idn't seem right to tell Simon that some farm brat was able to share things with the uncle he so obviously loved while he had to miss out.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when the barn door slid open.
“Hey kiddo,” Brad said as he entered. He gave me a strange look, probably because I was breathing hard and hand my hand to my chest.
“Hey,” I replied. “You scared me! I didn't hear you walking up.”
“Sorry 'bout that,” he said in his usual manner.
“No worries,” I said as I studied his face. I assumed by Brad's lack of a reaction to seeing a stranger in the barn that Simon had made it safely into hiding.
“Well your aunt sent me out to find you. Seems she's planning something special for dinner. Better come get cleaned up.”
“Ok,” I said, my mind racing. “I'll be there in a minute.”
“I'll wait and walk back with you,” he said to my horror. “You need any help?” He looked at Greta and I guessed he thought I was doing the evening feeding. Had it gotten that late so quickly?
“No, I got it,” I said and quickly moved towards the hay storage area. I glanced carefully around, not wanting to draw attention to myself but desperately hoping Simon was well hidden. I grabbed four large flakes of hay and with speed I didn't know I had I cross the isle and threw two into Cary's stall and then two into Greta's. “Ok!” I said with a little too much enthusiasm.
“Well that won't do,” Brad said and stared at me. I stared back, my mind in a complete frenzy. Get out the barn, get out of the barn. But at the same time, I didn't want to leave Simon, abandon him. For a moment I considered outing him and setting my anxiety free. “We need to close the dutch doors at night,” he said as he entered Greta's stall. “Wouldn't want a mountain lion to make a meal out of these two.”
I hurried into Cary's stall and pulled closed the back door that led out into the pasture. I raced through ways I could get rid of Brad. It occurred to me the best way was to leave something behind that I could go back for. I stripped off my hoodie as I walked back through the stall and as I exited, I tossed it onto a hay bale sitting in the isle. I closed the door behind me, trying to be non-nonchalant, hoping that Simon saw me, and Brad didn't.