She's Gone: A Novel

by Emmens, Joye

  The next day after Will put in his three hours cutting firewood, he found Jolie alone in the kitchen of the big house. She was filling glass jars with dried plants and roots.

  “We’re leaving the ranch,” he said.

  She smiled.

  He held up his leather-bound notebook. “I’ve spent my time here writing a revolutionary socialist manifesto and I’m ready to publish and implement it.”

  Her smile broadened. They would make the world a better place.

  “I don’t want to be stuck here until spring,” he said. “There’s work to do.”

  “Where will we go?”

  “I’ve been talking to some of the men. There’s a commune in Eugene, Oregon. They may be open to new members.”

  Her chest tightened in panic. “Another commune?” Her voice sounded small. Was this his plan for them? Communes? Couldn’t they make it on their own? She dreaded getting acquainted with a whole new set of people. “Why another commune?”

  “We don’t have much money, and the bus tickets will pretty much wipe out what we do have.”

  This was the first she had learned that they didn’t have much money. A few days after they arrived at the ranch she generously placed the money she had brought into the cookie jar, as was expected of newcomers. Will had ignored all the subtle references to contributions so she had felt obligated. Now she regretted giving all of it. Why hadn’t he planned better? She had trusted him to take care of her. He promised they would always have everything they needed. He must have access to money once they got back into civilization.

  “How will we get out of here?”

  “When Mark makes the winter supply run we’ll get a ride with him to the nearest town and take a Greyhound bus to Eugene.”

  She had no choice but to trust his plan. The commune would be temporary. Will would get a job and take care of her as she’d envisioned. But what if the new commune didn’t want new members, then what?

  The following week, Will and Jolie sat in the Power Wagon’s truck bed with Crazy Bob and River. They waved goodbye to a small group that had gathered in the early morning light for the send-off.

  Jasmine handed Jolie her well-worn copy of The Wisdom of Buddha. Jolie slipped the book into her pack. She leaned over the truck bed and hugged her goodbye.

  Jasmine whispered in Jolie’s ear. “Follow your heart. All you need to become your own is within you.”

  Mark was at the wheel. Next to him in the cab was a young couple and their baby boy. The boy had been born the winter before. They were returning to San Francisco. The previous winter had been too harrowing to repeat.

  The Dodge rumbled up the dirt road on the long assent to civilization. In the back of the open truck bed, they looked like bandits, their bandanas over their noses and mouths to keep out the dust as they jostled and bumped up the rutted, twisting road. Terrified of the steep drop-off below, Jolie didn’t dare look over the side of the truck. On the hairpin turns she closed her eyes.

  The Power Wagon lumbered onto the I-5 freeway. Despite the unknown, Jolie liked rolling down the road in the bed of the truck. It was invigorating. They were back in civilization. Two hours later Mark pulled into a small town and stopped near the bus station. Will and Jolie stood, stiff and dusty. They climbed out of the truck with their packs, bedroll, and Will’s guitar.

  “Good-bye, Moonchild,” Mark called from the cab of the truck.

  “Good-bye.”

  Will shook Mark’s hand. “Thanks for everything.”

  “Good luck this winter,” Jolie called, waving to them as they drove off.

  From the back of the truck, Crazy Bob and River flashed peace signs. Jolie hoped the truck would make it to San Francisco and back. Everyone was counting on them.

  The bus station was a throwback in time, small with a few chairs, a ticket counter, and bathrooms. To her relief there were no missing persons or wanted photos posted. After Will bought the tickets, they washed the dust off their faces in the bus station bathrooms and stood outside. A truck stop restaurant beckoned from across the street.

  “I’m starving,” she said. “Let’s get a cheeseburger and a chocolate malt.”

  “No, we have to save our money,” Will said. “You wait here, and I’ll buy food at the store.”

  Jolie sat outside the bus station on a wooden bench next to their worldly possessions. She tightened the three leather cords she had braided into a belt to keep her bellbottoms up. Her mouth watered with hunger as she sat fixated on the flashing red sign across the street: Cheeseburgers—Milkshakes.

  Will returned with a grocery bag of food and handed her a Snickers bar. Almost as good as a chocolate malt. She partially unwrapped it, took a small bite. Savoring the chewy chocolate, she watched a woman in the phone booth smiling and laughing.

  “I want to call my parents to let them know I’m okay,” she said. She owed them that. She didn’t want them to worry about her.

  “Not now, I’m sure their phone is tapped just waiting for your call. Another time, Little Wing.” He took her hand in his.

  Her heart sank. It was probably best. They would be mad at her.

  7

  The Big Yellow House

  Will handed the bus driver their tickets. The driver’s eyes traveled first over Jolie and then to Will and back to their tickets. She held her breath. Why was he taking so long? Had the police sent their descriptions to all the Greyhound bus drivers? Was it obvious she was underage? The passengers on the bus stared at them. Before they left Santa Barbara Will had obtained a fake drivers license with an assumed last name. At least he had a new identity. Finally, the driver jerked his head toward the aisle, motioning them on. They probably just looked scruffy from the ranch.

  Jolie found two empty seats halfway to the back and sat down in the window seat. Will slid in next to her. She leaned her head back on the headrest and exhaled.

  The bus rolled down the main street. Out the window was civilization, rural, but civilization nonetheless. They’d been at the ranch two months. She was thankful they weren’t staying the winter, all cooped up in the main house. But what would the next commune be like? She didn’t want to live in a commune. She wanted freedom. She looked at the small houses they passed. That’s what she wanted, their own small house.

  “What do you know about the commune in Eugene?” Jolie asked.

  “Not much, but we’ll find out soon enough.”

  Apprehension gripped her. She took her moonstone from the pouch and held it in her palm. What had Jasmine and Mark said? It protects travelers from danger? Use it to draw in your desires. She tucked the green gemstone back inside the pouch and clenched the soft suede in her hand. She thought about Jasmine’s parting comment. “Follow your heart. All you need to become your own is within you.” What did that mean? She pulled out The Wisdom of Buddha and began to read.

  Late that afternoon, they arrived in Eugene. From the bus station, they walked to the main road. Will stuck out his thumb. A few cars later a brown station wagon pulled over and idled. Will opened the passenger door and spoke with the driver, a long-haired man. He handed him the address.

  “Yep, I know the commune, the Big Yellow House.” He looked at Jolie. “Hop in, it’s on my way.”

  “Thanks man,” Will said.

  Will slid their gear into the back seat with Jolie and got in the front.

  “Are you going to live there?” the driver asked, accelerating down the road.

  “I don’t know yet,” Will said.

  “I know some of the people there. My old lady won’t have anything to do with them. She thinks it’s a sex cult.” The driver grinned at Jolie in the rear view mirror.

  Jolie stiffened. A sex cult? That’s probably what everyone thinks about communes. But, Jasmine would have told her, warned her at least.

  They drove through the suburbs set among gr
een rolling hills. Across from a large wooded park, the driver pulled into a gravel driveway, honked the horn twice, and stopped in front of a three-story wooden house painted a brilliant banana yellow. The window trim on each floor was painted a different shade of psychedelic yellow that radiated a glow of cheerfulness.

  A small group of people sat on a large covered porch, soaking up the late afternoon warmth. One of them waved to the driver. Will and Jolie got out of the car with their belongings and walked toward the porch. The driver drove off with a single honk of the horn.

  Will looked up at the group. “We’ve just come from the ranch, the commune in Northern California. The family sends their greetings.”

  The group on the porch eyed them silently. The men were dressed in jeans and plaid shirts, and the women in bell bottoms or long paisley print skirts. They looked normal enough, not like a sex cult, whatever that would look like. They looked far more normal than the ranch family with their bowie knives and animal fur vests. A tall man in his mid-twenties with short dark hair and a mustache stood up. “I’m Bill. Come on up and join us.”

  They were offered a seat on an overstuffed couch covered with a faded orange madras bedspread. Bill introduced everyone, Maddy, Michael, Deidre, Kerry and Peter. “We’ve heard of the ranch. It sounds like nirvana, that far out in the wilderness. How many people are there now?”

  All eyes were on Will as he answered their questions. She was surprised he spoke so highly of the ranch since he’d been so critical of Mark’s aversion to the outside world.

  “How is it governed?” Bill asked.

  Will laughed. “It’s governed by the Circle of the Universe.”

  Jolie tried not to smile but it did sound crazy.

  Bill stared at him intently. “What does that mean?”

  Will explained the family circle. Jolie sat back and did not say a word. Everyone seemed mesmerized by Will and tales of the ranch. She looked out over the gravel driveway to the main road. Across the street, tall trees swayed in the breeze. An occasional car passed on the road a hundred yards away. It dawned on her how trapped they had really been at the ranch, at the end of the road, with no vehicle. They had no control over when they could leave. She thought of how ill she had been and how far emergency medical help had seemed.

  This was better. She liked seeing the passing cars. Her attention turned back to the group. Bill asked the most questions and appeared to be the leader. She caught Bill studying her as he stroked his mustache. She quickly looked away and leaned toward Will wishing he would quit looking at her.

  “What’s the scene here?” Will said.

  “My wife, Maddy, and I own the house,” Bill said. “It was a lodging house for millworkers. Now, a hundred years later, it’s in the middle of suburbia.”

  “Most of us went to college together. Half of us are psychology majors,” Maddy said. “We wanted to start a utopian commune. The neighbors are curious but they leave us alone.”

  Jolie listened to Maddy, a petite young woman with jet black hair and sparkling brown eyes. They had all gone to college.

  “It’s an experiment,” Michael said.

  An experiment? What kind of experiment? Jolie’s shoulders straightened. Will took her hand.

  “Do you want to join us?” Bill said, eyeing Jolie and then Will. “We could use some new blood. We only ask that you follow the rules.”

  Jolie uncrossed her legs and tried to stop her foot from jiggling incessantly. New blood? Rules?

  “What are the rules?” Will asked.

  Bill recited the five rules: “All possessions are shared including vehicles. If you work outside the commune you contribute money to the commune. Everyone contributes to food purchases if you have money. Everyone cooks a group dinner on a rotational basis. Household chores are shared.”

  She glanced at Will, and their eyes met. There was no mention of sex or cult initiations.

  Will nodded. “Yeah, we’d like to join you.”

  “There’s a vacant bedroom on the third floor. The previous couple just moved to Morocco.”

  Morocco? People just move to Morocco? Maybe she and Will would go somewhere exotic someday. She’d always wanted to travel to far off lands and not just read about it in books.

  “Deidre can take you up to see it and get you settled. After the ranch, I’m sure a hot shower will feel good,” Bill said. “Dinner is around seven.”

  Kerrie and Peter got up to start dinner and the group disbanded. Will and Jolie picked up their belongings and followed Deidre into the house. They walked through a room with numerous couches and chairs that looked like a gathering place. Deidre called it the parlor. Out of the corner of her eye, Jolie noticed a built-in bookcase jammed with books. They followed Deidre up the stairs.

  “You’ll be the third couple on this floor,” Deidre said. She had a soft voice and her long brown hair fell loosely around her shoulders. “Michael and I have a room here, and Dawn and Anthony have the other bedroom.”

  Deidre showed them the large shared bathroom. “Try out the lavender soap I made,” she said.

  Jolie picked up a bar of soap and inhaled as she looked at the shower and large claw foot bath tub. Luxury, pure luxury. Deidre gathered a set of well-worn sheets and towels from a linen closet and lead them to a room down the hall. She placed them on the bed.

  “Welcome to the Big Yellow House. Make yourselves at home,” she said. “You’ll meet the rest at dinner.”

  The large room was sparsely furnished with a bed, curtains with large blue flowers, a small writing desk, and two chairs. Jolie went to one of the large windows and peered out. She could see the park across the street and people on the paths and in the gazebo. A house, a room, a bed, a hot shower, a real bathroom, and maybe some real food. Yes, welcome to the Big Yellow House. It would be fine—temporarily.

  After making the bed, Jolie went down the hall to take a shower. The hot water and lavender soap melted into her pores. She scrubbed off the ranch layer by layer. The wood smoke and goat smell that always lingered flowed down the drain. She washed her hair three times and combed it out in front the mirror, another luxury. Her cornflower blue eyes stared back at her. She had her father’s eyes. Her brothers took after her mom.

  She floated back to their room. “Your turn.” She smiled wide at Will. “I’ll never take hot running water for granted again.” He kissed her and headed down the hall to the bathroom.

  Jolie unpacked their clothes. All of the clothes she’d bought with her best friend Zoe in vintage clothing shops she had never unpacked at the ranch. They were so out of place in the wilderness. She dressed in a silk blouse and black velvet pants. Will returned from the shower, his long hair sleek and shiny. He, too, was thinner. His face more chiseled and darkly tanned. Will put his arms around her. “You smell like a flower.” He stroked her hair. “And you feel like silk.” Her blonde strands glowed from months in the sun.

  They descended the stairs to the parlor to meet the rest of the group. “Wow,” Bill said, looking at Jolie. “You clean up good.”

  Heat rose to her face, and she caught the glance Maddy shot Bill. He stroked his mustache and smiled. Jolie was painfully aware that everyone’s eyes were on her.

  Kerrie and Peter announced dinner, and the group filed into the dining room. There were eight couples and a single woman with a five-year-old son living at the Big Yellow House. The long wooden table was laden with multiple casserole dishes of vegetarian lasagna, bowls of green salad, and loaves of homemade bread. The group sat on benches and chairs, no two alike, and passed the food around. Deidre toasted the cooks and their effort.

  Over dinner Bill told Will and Jolie more about their new society. “We’re a large family that shares everything with each other. I’m sick of mainstream society that allows poverty amid the enormous wealth in America.”

  “We’re all equal here. Our possession
s do not define us,” Peter said.

  The dinner conversation turned to the two-day encounter session the group was planning.

  “We’ve been together for a year now, and we need to hash out our differences and conflicts,” Bill said. “We need to share our innermost feelings.”

  “A professional psychologist, one of Bill’s college classmates, has his own counseling practice. He’s leading the two-day session,” Michael said.

  “He’s fascinated with our experiment, so he is donating his time,” Bill added.

  An encounter session? Did she and Will have to go? She didn’t know these people. She didn’t know what an encounter session was, and she certainly wasn’t going to share her innermost feelings with them.

  As if on cue, Bill looked at Will and then Jolie. “This will be a good experience. You’ll learn more about us, and we’ll learn more about you and your relationship.”

  Kerrie and Peter brought in two large baking pans of hot apple crisp. Deidre brought in bowls, and Michael followed with a gallon of vanilla ice cream. The aroma of cinnamon and baked apples filled the room. Peter and Kerrie stood at one end of the table and dished out bowls of the dessert and passed them down the table. Jolie savored the pure pleasure of the cold ice cream on hot apples and the crunchy brown sugar oatmeal crust. Aside from the upcoming encounter session, life here seemed good.

  After dinner some of the group went into the parlor. Jolie and Will joined them. They were a lively bunch, and the conversation ranged from the upcoming apple harvest to Marxism. Jolie browsed the book shelves near the stairs. She pulled out Silent Spring by Rachael Carson and read the back cover. “A woman scientist exposes human carelessness, greed and irresponsibility by the reckless use of pesticides and their devastating effect on animals and humans.”