Child, Maiden, Woman, Crone

by Terry Bramlett

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  Fictionwise, Inc.

  www.Fictionwise.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Terry Bramlett

  First published in Jim Baen's Universe 7, June 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  Child (Late Winter, Early Spring)

  The music filled the valley as Johnny Nobles coerced the strings on his Gibson. He ended the song with a flourish and sat still, eyes closed. The March sun warmed the rock he used as his stage. He waited for applause, but the new corn stood silent.

  Two years ago, he sang his only hit song to packed houses across the nation. Today, he sat beside the cornfield on his land, just outside the Navajo Nation. His grandfather had been half Navajo, but his grandmother full-blooded Irish. He spent many days in his youth beside the corn, banging away at an old Alvarez as his grandfather worked the land for a meager living. Johnny sighed.

  He missed the adulation of the crowd, the thrill of performing, but his career never blossomed. Friends quit calling. His agent dropped him. The song kept sending decent royalty checks, so he took his nest egg and fixed up the family farmhouse.

  He formed a C on the neck and strummed. The resonance of the chord made him smile. He played a tune running through his mind, a new tune, native to his home. He closed his eyes and imagined the sun as the bright lights of the stage. Laughter broke his concentration. He stopped playing and glanced up.

  "Very pretty,” said a little girl. She looked to be about ten. Dark hair flowed over her shoulders. She wore the traditional blue skirt and blouse of the Navajo.

  The round face favored him with a smile, displaying the innocence of the young, but her eyes saw too deep for a child, which unnerved him.

  "How did you get here?” Johnny asked.

  She laughed. “I belong here,” she said “I won't stay long, but I would like to hear.” She smiled and the innocence of her face returned. “You play so well."

  "Do your parents know where you are?” Johnny looked around, wondering how she appeared without his hearing or seeing her, but when he was playing, he lost himself in the music and experience of performing, even if only in a cornfield.

  The little girl stared, holding his attention. “Play,” she said with a soft, demanding voice.

  Johnny sat up straight, but his hands found the strings. His eyes closed as the melody drifted through him. Words hovered at the edge of his consciousness. He forgot the little girl as he realized that this was a breakthrough moment, if he could only capture the lyrics that hid beneath the music.

  He ended the piece with a repeat of the beginning. Silence greeted the finale. He opened his eyes and looked for the little girl, but she was gone. The music pulled at his thoughts. He played the melody again, but the words remained unheard. A gust of wind blew through the valley and he thought he heard a little girl laugh.

  * * * *

  Maiden (Late Spring, Early Summer)

  Johnny recovered from the surprise as he listened to his agent. The shock wore off in stages. “Peter, why did you call? You're not interested in organic farming and you haven't returned my calls in months.” He fought down anger, though he knew bitterness seeped into his words.

  Peter sighed. “Yeah, kid. I know things didn't go right."

  A truck stopped in front of the house. “Peter, get to the point. Two of my workers just came by to pick up their pay."

  "I just wanted you to know that I haven't forgotten about you,” Peter said. The voice caught at just the right time, a studied and practiced gesture that Johnny understood to be bullshit. “Have you been writing? If you come up with anything new, send it on to me."

  "Yeah, Peter,” Johnny said. “I'll do that.” He hung up the phone before he burnt his last bridge to the music industry. He knew Peter didn't care. The bastard must be desperate to reach out to a one-hit-wonder has-been. Of course, Johnny had been hearing his song on the oldie stations a lot more recently. The royalty check for the last quarter paid for a full year of crops.

  "Manuel, James, come on in,” he said, opening the door. “You guys want a beer?"

  Manuel answered because Manuel always talked. James rarely spoke. “Man, I'd love one, but we've got a bit more work today at the Stevens's."

  "Have a seat and I'll get your money,” Johnny said. He grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and slapped them on the table. Johnny passed over an envelope. Manuel glanced inside.

  "Manuel, how's the field looking?"

  Manuel took a swig of the water. “Pretty good, I'd say. We planted a bit early, but we got away with it. The corn is farther along than I thought it would be and it's healthy. I don't see any infestations. Should be a good harvest in July with enough time to plant a second corn crop, I think."

  "That's fantastic,” Johnny said. “Man, I don't know if I could make it without you two."

  Manuel and James stood. Manuel glanced at the guitar beside the front door. “You going out there?"

  Johnny smiled, nodding. “Best place I've ever played the guitar."

  "We saw a girl walking around in the hills,” Manuel said. “Wouldn't mention it, but she seemed out of place."

  The little girl he met two months earlier flashed in his mind. “I saw her in March,” Johnny said. “Little girl about ten?"

  James shook his head. “This girl was older, at least late teens, maybe twenty.” His eyes glazed. “Most beautiful girl I've ever seen. One thing I know is she ain't from Navajo land."

  Johnny shook his head. “Must be a different girl, then."

  Manuel and James left. Johnny grabbed the Gibson and rode to the fields.

  * * * *

  He sat on the rock, playing the song that captivated him, the song he discovered when the little girl told him to play. Johnny played the tune constantly and heard more in each session. He experimented with different sounds, especially in the small studio set up at the ranch house.

  The music broke into four distinctive parts, five if you counted the ending, which repeated the opening. His fingers moved without thought as he made his way through each section of the song. The first part flowed simply into the air, the strings vibrating with playfulness. The second section rocked with unleashed passion. The third section mellowed, but allowed for the most growth. The fourth section confounded him with its minors and majors, difficult to play, and yet, deep and quite eloquent. The ending repeated twelve bars of the opening, creating the illusion of a full circle. He strummed the last chord and opened his eyes.

  "Whoo.” Johnny smiled and rubbed the fingers of his left hand.

  "'Whoo,’ indeed,” a feminine voice said.

  Johnny jumped at the sound and turned. A young Navajo woman stood behind the rock, smiling. She wore a white t-shirt and jeans, matching Johnny's attire. Black hair fell across her shoulders. A turquoise necklace offset her perfect dark skin. She had the slenderness of youth, her body accented with angles and curves, rather than the rounded edges of a woman. He estimated her age as late teens. She looked familiar, but then Johnny noticed the dark eyes staring into and through him. He had seen those eyes before.

  "Where did you come from?” Johnny took a ragged breath, trying to hide his nervousness. "James was right", he thought. This girl is beautiful.

  She moved gracefully to the rock and sat. “I come from the Earth, as we all came.” She smiled and Johnny felt h
is world disappear. She hummed the song he had played. “You have been practicing since we last met."

  Johnny shook his head. “We've never met. I'd remember you."

  "We've met,” she said. “And you do remember."

  He studied her and focused on the eyes. He remembered a little girl's laugh and her command to play. Johnny shook his head. Couldn't be, he thought. “What's your name?"

  She hesitated, frowning, and then her smile returned. “You can call me Whiteshell Wo-uh.” She stopped for a second. “Natalie Whiteshell."

  "I'm Johnny Nobles."

  "I know who you are, Johnny,” she said. “I've been watching you since you took over your grandfather's land."

  "Okay,” Johnny said, smiling. “Why?"

  "Your music,” she said.

  She stared into his eyes. He heard the wind rustling through the corn stalks. A soft hum hovered over the small valley as if reverberating from the Earth. Natalie opened her mouth and sang. Johnny did not understand the words, but recognized the tune, the same one he played before she surprised him, only her notes harmonized with his Gibson. He secured the strap and played the guitar with her voice as an accompaniment.

  The harmony added depth. He had explored the song with his piano, but had never quite captured the texture. Natalie sang and the texture flowed. The wind produced a reed line, while the Earth's hum provided base. They finished on the same note, Natalie smiling.

  "Wow!” Other words failed Johnny. “Wow!"

  "You play the song well,” she said. “It was my gift to you."

  Johnny heard a little girl demand that he play as he stared into Natalie's eyes. Sunlight danced across her face, glittering off the turquoise necklace and earrings. The eyes twinkled when she knew that he recognized her.

  "But you can't be,” Johnny whispered. “You must have a little sister."

  Natalie laughed. “Yes, of course, that must be it. And yet I gave you that song.” She stood. “I must go."

  "Please come back and sing for me again,” Johnny said.

  She smiled. “I intend to sing for you all year.” She turned and walked toward the northern most hills. Johnny watched until he lost her in the rocks. The wind whistled through the valley and her harmony filled his ears. He grabbed a pen and his notebook from the truck and notated the music he heard. The sun dipped beneath the horizon as he finished. He waited in darkness wishing she would return.

  * * * *

  Natalie returned every day, late in the afternoon. Each visit would begin and end with the song, the song she said she gave him. In between, they would talk, though Johnny began to realize that he talked more than Natalie did. She always made him feel that everything he said was the most important thing in the world. She listened.

  "Were there a lot of women on the road?” She asked the question as he finished the Jackson Browne and Eagles tune “Take It Easy.” Her eyes held his.

  "Yes,” Johnny said, and then he strummed a few chords. Heat rose to his face and he knew he blushed.

  Natalie reached out a hand and silenced the strings. “Why are you embarrassed? Do you think I am unacquainted with sex?"

  He studied Natalie's face and realized that he guessed too low on her age. She had to be in her mid to upper twenties, which considering the urges he had toward her, brought her closer to his age. Twenty was too young. Sometimes, when she stared into his eyes, Johnny wondered if he were too young for her.

  Johnny sighed. “There were too many women and every one of them was there for the wrong reasons,” he said. He studied his left hand, feeling his calluses ache. “No one wanted me, just who they thought I was."

  "That must have been lonely.” She moved her hand to his.

  "It was,” Johnny said, whispering. He looked into her eyes and found compassion.

  Natalie smiled. “I understand loneliness without being alone, Johnny. I understand."

  He leaned toward her and placed his lips to hers. She returned the kiss for a moment, then abruptly broke away and stood from the rock. “I must go,” she said.

  "Why? Because I kissed you?"

  "I have duties,” she said and walked away.

  Johnny watched her. “I love you,” he said. The words left his mouth before he thought.

  Natalie stopped and turned, smiling. “I know,” she said. “I will come to you.” A gust of wind brought a dust devil close and obscured her from Johnny's sight. As the dust moved away, she was gone.

  * * * *

  Johnny laid awake, thinking about Natalie. Four days passed and she did not return to the fields. He worried that he had scared her off. The kiss came too soon and maybe she was as young as she first appeared.

  A breeze blew through the open window, rather cool for late May. The full moon cast a swath of light at the end of his bed. Shadows danced with the passing of clouds.

  He gazed at the hills. Moonlight bathed the horizon and land, creating a surreal scene of enhanced areas of gray and areas pitch black in shadow. He turned at the sound of movement behind him.

  Natalie stood, smiling, adorned in turquoise, silver, and abalone jewelry, which ringed her neck, wrists, and ankles. Her dark eyes sparkled in the moonlight that acted as a spotlight, enhancing her body, highlighting her nudity in contrasts of light and dark. Her face showed no youthful innocence. The body, full of angles and bony protuberances less than two weeks ago, displayed the shape of a mature woman. Rounded hips and perfect breasts captured Johnny's attention. He took a deep breath and savored her beauty. For a moment, he wondered how she got inside his bedroom, but the thought vanished as she moved toward him and caressed his cheek.

  He grabbed her hand and kissed it with tenderness. Natalie ran her other hand through his hair. She brought her lips to his and kissed him, alleviating Johnny of any thoughts but her presence. He pulled her down.

  Johnny pulled back from a kiss. This woman could not be the teenager he met less than a month ago. Natalie was ageless beauty and truth. He longed for her and could not believe that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

  "I love you,” he said.

  Natalie nodded. “Your love is evident, Johnny. I've come to make sure that my love is also evident.” She kissed him and caressed his chest. “It has been so long since I have felt this way."

  Johnny wanted to tell her what he felt. He opened his mouth, but she placed her finger across his lips. She kissed him again and pulled him close, guiding him into her.

  * * * *

  Hours later, he lay on his back, stroking her hair. Johnny watched her breathe and smelled her body, an intoxicating combination.

  "I've chosen you, Johnny,” she said. “Your music drew me and your soul captured me.” Natalie kissed his chest and rose from the bed. “I must go for now, but I will return."

  "Stay with me,” Johnny said. “Please, don't go."

  She kissed him. “You must sleep and I must prepare myself for this time with you. I will return, always."

  Natalie opened the bedroom door. Johnny heard her footsteps as they went down the stairs. The front door opened and he knew she was gone. He sat up and glanced out of the window. She walked toward the hills, but stopped and turned.

  "I love you,” she said, her voice carried by the wind. Natalie disappeared into darkness as a cloud covered the moon.

  * * * *

  Woman (Summer and Early Fall)

  Johnny wiped his forehead of sweat, despite the air-conditioned truck cab. Natalie sat beside him as they stopped in front of his house. Manuel's truck occupied a part of the driveway. Johnny was glad he had remembered to go the bank. He reached across Natalie, brushing her bare leg, sending a chill through his body. Retrieving the pay envelope, he stared at her.

  She wore cutoff jeans and a cotton blouse made on the reservation, a gift from Johnny. Since that perfect night, Natalie had stayed with him until late every evening. When he slept she left.

  Johnny watched with fascination as she breathed. Her attention centered on Manuel's
truck and the front door of the house. Natalie noticed his stare. He smiled, his mind not hiding his preferences for afternoon diversions. She raised an eyebrow.

  "Later, lover,” she said. “As for now, you have visitors."

  "That's just Manuel and James,” he said. “Every Friday at four,I pay them."

  "There is more,” Natalie said.

  Johnny wanted to ask what she meant, but his front door opened and the two workers walked outside, laughing. He wondered why they had gone inside his house.

  They got out of the truck and walked to the porch. Both men still grinned, though James lost his smile when he saw Natalie.

  Johnny waved as the two workers walked down the steps to greet them. “Natalie, this is Manuel and James.” She nodded. “Guys, this is Natalie Whiteshell, the woman you saw walking in the hills about a month ago."

  "Whiteshell Woman,” James whispered.

  "What,” Johnny asked?

  Manuel cast a sharp glance toward James and spoke before Johnny could follow up on the question.

  "This couldn't be the girl we saw, Johnny,” Manuel said. “Miss Whiteshell is older, a woman for sure.” Manuel hesitated, and then said to Natalie, “I'm sorry. I meant no offense."

  "None taken,” she said, smiling. “Johnny, I'm going inside to get out of the heat."

  Johnny nodded. “I'll be there in a minute.” He noticed the way James watched Natalie as she walked away. Is that fear in his eyes?

  "Here's your money,” Johnny said as the door closed. “What were you doing in the house? I'm not angry, just curious how you got inside.” Johnny trusted the two men. He knew they were honorable, both brought up in the old ways.

  Manuel laughed. “Your grandfather's here."

  Johnny smiled. “Pappy's inside?"

  "Yeah, we found him in town, coming out of a liquor store with three bottles of tequila,” Manuel said. “We gave him a ride and he kept us entertained with all the old stories.” He laughed. “He's a treasure, that old man."

  "Yeah, he is,” Johnny said. “I'll see you guys later.” He walked inside and saw a gray head thrown back with a shot of tequila draining from a glass. Natalie looked up and smiled.