I smiled at Carrie and reached across the table for her hand. “Just think, next Thanksgiving we’ll have a little baby-cakes to be thankful for. It’s more family; a new family.”
Seth raised his glass for a toast. “To Mom and Dad, for keeping us connected and cooking great food. Happy Thanksgiving!”
Nuggets. These were nuggets to rejoice in.
Seth continued, “I actually thought of inviting Sophie to come up and then drive back to Chicago with us Sunday. I wasn’t sure if that would work at either end, but it looks like she could come.” He looked at me questioningly.
“Absolutely. It’s fine with me if everyone else is okay with it.” I stole a glance at Alex, who would be the only single with this new plan, but his green eyes were clear and amused. It struck me then that he’d probably heard all about Sophie already. Smart boy, that Seth.
We all turned to Steven, who had been remarkably silent. His smile was wide and predictable.
“There is something I thought of doing on Saturday,” I said. “I’m not sure who wants to join in, but Andrew and I ran into Gina Leyton and she’s hosting a party at her labyrinth Saturday night. I’d like to go. Should be some great cider, a bunch of neighbors, some folks from town . . .” I let my pitch fade a bit to take the pulse of the group. Steven didn’t know the Leytons well—hadn’t been around for much of my contact with them. No one said anything, so I continued. “Technically, they use their labyrinth for walking meditations, but this sounds more like a relaxed excuse to give thanks with friends. There should be some people that I’d be interested to meet, and this young woman I’ve started to get to know who’s living out there will be there, so if there isn’t another plan afoot—”
“Well, it’s not like there are dozens of alternatives for the evening,” Alex broke in. “Leyton is the guy that raises Australian cattle dogs, right? Those would be fun to see.”
“Yeah, he does breed Australians. How did you know that?” I asked, surprised.
“I met him fishing one day last summer. The perch were practically jumping into my boat and he cruised by to chat. We had a nice talk.”
Maybe if I could interest Alex, the others would follow. “They’ve gotten into all sorts of things with their farm. They had some longhorn cattle, and they’re growing this super antioxidant berry and all kinds of things. She does a personal training business too. He used to be the superintendent of schools for the whole state of Alaska before he came and did it for Northport. And he and I were first-year teachers together a hundred years ago. I lost track of him until he showed up here as a neighbor. This is a second or third life for both of them.”
“That sounds like a pattern going on here,” Andrew chimed in. “All you old people doing your second and third lives.”
“Charming, honey. You could offer that description to the Chamber of Commerce.” I smiled at Andrew.
“I’d go,” Steven said finally. I threw him a look of gratitude.
“Oh, okay. This I have to see. Dad going all woo-woo at the labyrinth.” Alex was revving up for a major tease, but Steven shook his head.
“Always have to be ready to try new experiences, and I’ve got to stay on top of all Mom’s little cults she’s getting involved in up here.”
That produced the desired hilarity among the kids, and I let it pass because it meant we’d all probably get to the Leytons.
I turned to Seth. “Hopefully Sophie will get up here in time for dinner. Then you can decide if you want to come or not, okay?”
“Yeah, I’m thinking she may even come tomorrow, so no problem.”
My heartbeat now slowed to a normal pace, and the sun no longer played hide and seek as the cloud cover tightened over the vast lake. I turned from the dune toward the road and resumed my run.
Sophie did come on Friday, in time to join us for our informal but joyous Sabbath dinner of turkey matzo ball soup and sandwiches—a good use of our leftovers. Smart and outgoing, she fit easily into our small group, accepting Alex’s Scrabble challenge, helping out in the kitchen, and detailing her background in answer to Steven’s thorough questioning. I’d hardly had time to spend with her so far, but I liked what I saw, and was particularly pleased for Seth. He’d always had good friends who were girls and there had been two who were more than friends, but no one since he’d graduated from college and gone to work.
I had a feeling I’d see more of Sophie, but for now, she was adding good energy to the weekend party, and had gone off with the other kids for a day of walking the beach, checking out the town, and enjoying the unseasonable warmth of the dramatic day.
I returned from my run feeling sandblasted and exhilarated. Steven was napping under his iPad with a sleeping dog on either side of him. I put the finishing touches on pumpkin tarts to bring to the Leytons while I drew a bath for myself. The tarts done, I lit a diffuser with lavender oil I’d gotten from a local grower and sank into the hot water in the old claw foot tub. The heated, scented water drew tension from muscles challenged by the physical work and the stress of preparing meals, anticipating needs, and running. The buoyant comfort of a bath never failed me. If only things were always this pleasant. Stay in the moment, Abbie.
Dark comes early in November, and the clearing sky brought beautiful moonlight, shining stars, and dropping temperatures to end the unseasonable warmth. We’d brought two cars to Leyton Farms, across the mile-plus distance by road through apple orchards and fields. I observed our unloading from the cars as we might have looked to others: five vibrant twentysomethings and two salt-and-pepper parents, all tending toward the tall and lean except for Carrie, who was pint-sized in a land of giants.
Luminary bags circled the perimeter of the labyrinth in the field next to the Leytons’ lofty home, and we moved as one toward the groups of guests visiting quietly. Tables bearing hot cider, tubs of iced beer, local cheeses, herbed breads, and Gina Leyton’s own Saskatoon berry jam were set up on the near side of the carefully plotted circular walkways. Several barrel drum fires provided welcome warming stations. I found a spot for my pumpkin tarts on one of the tables. I’d just set them down when I felt a tap at my elbow. I turned to see Julia Reiss smiling at me.
“Hey Julia. Happy Thanksgiving. You made it back. How was your trip?”
Julia looked momentarily surprised, perhaps because I knew she’d been gone, perhaps because I seemed delighted to see her.
“Oh it was great, thanks. Short but sweet. Happy Thanksgiving to you.”
Julia looked as if she were going to say more, but just then Gina Leyton called to the assembled group to gather around the entrance to the labyrinth. She welcomed us and gave a short background and introduction to those who wished to do the meditative walk. I’d heard her describe the eleven-circuit, medieval, Chartres-style maze before, and how walking it represented an archetypal symbol of finding one’s own true path through life.
The animated guests slowly quieted so that it was easier to hear Gina’s concluding words. “We want to thank you all for coming and sharing this beautiful evening with us. You’re so much of what we have to be thankful for. Walk the labyrinth, grab some treats, gather around the fires, and enjoy.” Polite applause followed and a few guests began their slow circuits along the grassy paths, while others returned to their conversations. Alex, Seth, and Sophie made their way toward Julia and me.
“Julia, let me introduce you to my kids,” I said.
Alex reached us, and before he could make the contemptuous comment about Celtic spiritual pathways that I knew lurked behind his raised eyebrows and half smile, I pulled him close and said, “This is my son Alex. He’s visiting from Iowa. Alex, this is Julia.”
Alex extended his hand to shake Julia’s, and I could see him eyeing her appreciatively. “It’s nice to meet you.” He turned to me for some identifying information.
“Julia is staying here and helping the Leytons out, and she also works at Sally’s store. You know, Dolls and More.” I turned to Seth and Sophie. “And this
is my son Seth, and his friend Sophie. They’re in this weekend from Chicago. This is Julia.”
“Hi.” This time, Julia extended her hand. She studied my two sons’ faces and looked back at me for a long moment.
“Sophie wants to walk the labyrinth, Mom,” Seth said.
“I’ll come,” I offered. “I haven’t done it in a while. Let’s see if we can get Dad to come. I don’t think there have been any anti-labyrinth articles in the ABA Journal lately, do you?”
Both the boys smiled.
“Good luck with that, Mom,” Alex said. “This I have to see.” He shook his head and I began to scan the crowd for Steven.
“I can take you through,” Julia volunteered. “Gina’s actually taught me a lot about it so I can give people a guided tour if they come while she’s out of town.” She sounded eager.
I smiled. “Sounds great.”
On our way toward the entry stone, I located Steven and moved into the small circle of men around the cider bowl, Alex on my heels.
“Hey, Dad, it’s time for your journey onto your life’s path,” Alex said. “Are you ready to walk with us through a grass maze in the pitch dark and trip over other people while you do it?” Alex clapped Steven on the back and got low chuckles from the assembled men.
Steven looked to me. He appeared skeptical at best. He turned to Seth and Sophie, and then caught sight of Julia Reiss.
I introduced Steven and Julia remained rooted where she stood, eyes locked on him, until the silence became noticeable.
“Hi,” she finally said in a small voice. “Should we start?” As she turned, she stumbled over the uneven ground, then stopped to regain her balance. The poised young woman had vanished.
“Come on, Steven, just try this once,” I chimed in. “It’s a pretty night for a prescribed walk through centuries of meditative tradition! Julia will be our fearless leader.”
Julia led us to the beginning of the path and began our tour in an official voice. “Labyrinths are serpentine paths for the purpose of walking with a quiet mind and focusing on a spiritual question or prayer. Lots of different religions use them as a form of meditation. There’s only one path to the center and then back out. Some believe it focuses a person on the route to inner truth, and with that solid grounding, we make our way back into the everyday world. Other people just enjoy following the twists and turns and the different symmetries. So we can start one at a time, and give each person space to go at his or her own pace. Does anyone have a question?”
“Yeah, I have a question,” Alex said.
A pit formed in my stomach. Alex knew how to be appropriate in social situations, but if someone struck him as false, he could go after that person with a subtle vengeance. I desperately hoped he hadn’t put that particular bead on Julia Reiss.
“Yes?” Julia responded. Her smile disarmed me, and I hoped it did Alex as well. She was just trying to help Gina Leyton. She shouldn’t have to bargain for emerging from the labyrinth in one piece.
“You seem to have done this a lot. How do you use your walk in the labyrinth?” I was interested by Alex’s question, which was charming, if challenging and too personal. I breathed a little easier, thinking it was unlike Alex to venture on such an intimate inroad in front of other people, let alone with someone he’d just met. Could he be flirting?
Julia’s eyes traveled to each of our faces in the dim circle of light from the luminaries. She seemed to make a decision; she tossed her dark curls back and faced Alex squarely. “I have a really big question in my life right now, and I use the labyrinth to concentrate on possible different paths to get to an answer. I’m not very good at sitting still and thinking, and I’m not a big meditator, so it’s nice to walk and think.” She turned back to the rest of us. “So, are we ready?” She had taken charge now, and seemed ready to move our motley crew through this experience.
We lined up like good grade school students, but Julia drew Alex to the front.
“Why don’t you start?” she asked.
Brilliant. Let him define his own way of managing this out-of-character event and don’t give him the opportunity to observe and judge the rest of us. The changing up of positions took an awkward moment to accomplish, but eventually we were lined up again.
One by one, we stepped onto the close-cropped grass, edged with perfectly flush brick pavers. Julia had all the young people go through before Steven and me, and we watched them step purposefully along the path, which snaked and coiled in even loops and turns. When Sophie entered the first turn, Julia guided Steven to the entrance stepping stone and spoke clearly: “Start at a comfortable pace and stay on the grass; don’t think about it too much, and your feet will take you the right way.” Steven looked at me askance, but he did as he was told, and I soon followed him, with Julia behind me.
At first, watching the others loop back and forth distracted me. I remembered that once you were in the labyrinth, it seemed bigger and more complicated than it looked from the edge, but I also quickly recognized the point where I really did feel as though my feet had taken over and I didn’t have to focus on where I stepped any longer. I hadn’t chosen a prayer to say or a question to answer or even a general topic to think about. I opened my senses to the delicious, cool clarity of the night, the defined path, and the collective presence of my family engaged in a refreshingly alternative way of being together. I met Steven as he walked toward me on the adjacent path and silently I reached to touch his sleeve. His upturned face and unfocused stare told me that he was far away in his thoughts. I smiled. Steven didn’t easily let go of the here and now.
On the next traverse, on my other side, Julia stepped like a dancer up the pathway. I thought to catch her eye, but it was trained on Steven. She walked briefly in parallel with him, as if she were studying his every move, until she nearly tripped again at a turn.
The pleasurable trance of the walk eventually overcame my curiosity about others’ experience, and I arrived at the center of the labyrinth lifted out of concern for anything other than a feeling of well-being. As I drew several deep breaths, it occurred to me that the metaphor of a sure step along a clear path appealed to me. Exiting the center, I found my way back through a second set of loops and turns. Steven moved up, down, and across ahead of me, studying his feet this time.
When I emerged, he was waiting for me.
“Well? How did you like it?” I asked. I looped my arm through his as we walked toward the desserts.
“You know I don’t really get into stuff like this, but it’s a gorgeous night and a walk under the stars is a treat, even if I was worried my size twelves wouldn’t stay on the path.”
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” I agreed. “I really enjoyed this.”
“That’s predictable,” said Andrew, who had already sampled the goodies and was no doubt staging himself close to us in order to begin the request to leave.
“Yeah, I guess it is,” I said. I looked up at Steven. “So I want you to go do your thing and interview Julia Reiss. I haven’t quite figured her out, and I want to know what you think. She certainly seemed to be interested in you. I think she was analyzing your labyrinth skills tonight.” Steven was an expert at drawing out peoples’ stories, both at work and in his private life; he had a knack for doing it in the most disarming way.
“It looks like Alex may beat me to it,” Steven said, pointing subtly over my shoulder. I turned to see Alex engaged in conversation with Julia. They both laughed and set off across the parking area to a large pole barn with a number of dog runs adjacent to a side door. Stan Leyton was already near the barn door, with other guests in tow, and I imagined the dogs were going to be roused from their evening rest.
“Well, Alex is Alex”—I smiled at Steven—“but the right tool for the right job here. I want a Steven Stone interview.”
Chapter 14
We passed the remainder of the evening at the Leytons’ pleasantly, chatting with neighbors about whose orchard needed replanting, whose medical cond
itions had resolved, and what predictions were possible for the winter that lay ahead. The farmers’ preoccupation with weather had deepened the past season after a freak thaw followed by hard freeze in the spring had destroyed more than half of the year’s cherry crop. With a business plan for hard cider production in the works, my interest in these conversations was no longer casual. Charles Aiken’s careful pruning session just before the thaw and storm had minimized damage to his young trees and they’d come through well. As the trees were only now coming into their bearing years, keeping them sturdy and healthy was a priority.
Doug Moran, whose orchard lay at the south end of our property, dug the toe of his work boot into hard dirt surrounding one of the fire barrels, the flickering shadows of firelight accenting the furrow between his eyebrows. “I’ll be pulling out the front five acres of cherries in March. Would have waited another year but the freeze caused too much breakage.”
Our family had picked in that orchard for years, resulting in many a cherry pie and bottle of vishnik, a cherry liqueur prepared from an ancestral Stone family recipe. Visions of empty land—or worse, houses—on that corner crowded my mind.
“You’ll replant though, right?” I asked, perhaps too urgently.
“Yup,” Doug answered.
I resisted the urge to plant a kiss on his weathered cheek. How I depended on my stoic belief in this land I romanticized, and that these generations of farm families stubbornly held to.
In due time the party wound down and the chill chased us home. The young adults found their couches, board games, and electronics, and leftovers made appearances in sandwiches accompanied by cookies and beer.
I followed Steven to the room we loved the most. The den on the south side of the house had a semi-circle of windows, providing a view of the old orchard and the lake in the distance. An autumn moon shone halfway up the clear sky over the massive maple standing in the lawn between the house and the field. Blue light cooled and softened all the features of the landscape and the darkened room around us.
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