Once Upon Forever

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  B.J. glanced about the pizza parlor, hoping no one had overheard. “Take it easy, girl. Nobody’s after you—not really. Can you remember anything else?”

  “A man, and he’s calling my name.”

  “What name, Cluney?” B.J. asked excitedly. “What’s he calling you?”

  Cluney shook her head and sighed. “I don’t know. I only know that he’s calling for me.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I’ve had a dream about being lost in the woods. It’s cold and wet and I’m so scared. And I keep crying for somebody—somebody who can save me from them. But I know it’s no use. He’s far away.”

  “There!” B.J. all but overturned their table in her excitement. “You said it! That’s the very man old Redbird was talking about, I’ll bet.” At Cluney’s puzzled stare, B.J. added, “You just said it, girl. You said, ‘He’s far away.’ That has to be the man who’s waiting for you.”

  “This is all just crazy,” Cluney said. “Why, it makes no more sense than that psychic who came to our Halloween party last year. You know, the one who could see auras. She told me that she saw a figure in my aura and that was real strange because usually she saw only colors. When I asked her about this figure, she got real cagey about it. All she’d tell me was that it was someone who was dead already and that he was watching out for me. Now, wouldn’t you think that if she had the power to see auras and figures in them that she’d at least be able to identify the character floating around my head? It’s a lot a nonsense, if you ask me.”

  “Sh-h-h!” B.J. hissed in warning. “Don’t you go making fun of spiritual things. There’s more we don’t know about than you or I will ever understand. My ancestors were slaves, remember? I know a lot of tales that have been passed down, and let me tell you, girl, they’d curl your hair. When that psychic said you had a figure in your aura, I believed her. And now I think I know who he is.”

  “Well, would you mind telling me?” Cluney asked almost flippantly.

  “The same guy that Miss Redbird said needed you, that’s who. And I’ll tell you another thing. I’m going to the falls with you tonight.”

  Cluney reached nonchalantly for the last slice of pizza. “I never said I was going for sure.”

  “But you know you are. And there’s no way I’m letting you go alone. If there’s any magic to be seen up on that mountain tonight, I mean to see it, too.”

  A short time later, Cluney and B.J. were in the old van as it chugged up the winding, tortuous road toward Cumberland Falls. All the signs looked good. The full moon was on the rise without a cloud in sight. The woods that formed a canopy over the narrow road looked haunted by silver ghosts. A strange mist rose from the ground, and silence hung over everything.

  They passed the old Dupont Lodge on the left and a few minutes later arrived at the entrance to the park, open late tonight for moonbow watchers. No cars were in the parking lot, however. Only the ranger’s truck. The mountain air had turned chilly and now a strange, blustery wind was whipping around the falls.

  “Looks like we’ll have the place all to ourselves,” Cluney remarked as she climbed out of the van, leaving her keys in the ignition, but bringing along her purse. Then she added in a deep, dramatic voice, “All the better for weird happenings!”

  “Now don’t you keep on poking fun, girl,” B.J. warned. “Let’s go down the stairs to that little overhang near the bottom of the falls. That’s the best view, if there is a moonbow.”

  Flashlights in hand, the two women carefully maneuvered the narrow rock stairs that were slippery with damp mist. The roar of the sixty-foot falls was all but deafening. The sound seemed to Cluney to block out all else. With each step she took, she became more and more aware of an odd feeling creeping over her. She felt light-headed, almost dizzy, and it seemed as if she could feel that powerful roar deep inside her chest.

  “B.J.?” she called back over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”

  “Fast as I can,” her friend answered. “You better slow down or you’ll slip and take a real fall.”

  Cluney heard B.J.’s warning, but there was no holding her back. It seemed as if the falls were calling to her, urging her to hurry. Suddenly, she realized that the voice she kept hearing was real—a man’s voice, deep and urgent.

  “There’s little time left. Come to me. Oh, please, my darling, come quickly.”

  Without realizing she’d uttered a sound, Cluney answered, “I’m coming. Wait for me.”

  A short distance behind Cluney, B.J., breathing heavily, had stopped dead in her tracks. She was shaking all over, but not from the night’s chill or the effort of the downward climb. Staring at Cluney through the darkness, she couldn’t believe her own eyes. At first, she thought she was imagining things. But after a moment, she knew that the vision was all too real.

  “Cluney!” she screamed, but it was obvious her friend was beyond hearing.

  Chapter Seven

  “Cluney?” B.J. yelled. “Can you hear me? Answer me!”

  Only moments before, B.J. had been forced to move slowly in the darkness. Now, suddenly, she had to shield her eyes against the bright light up ahead. When the moon sailed over the dark treetops, it appeared to burst in a shower of silver-white fire, lighting up the whole landscape before coming to rest on Cluney, where she stood on the small ledge that overhung the falls.

  B.J. remained paralyzed. Her mouth was wide open, but no further sound came out. All she could do was stare. Yet, could she believe her own eyes?

  As the brilliant light dimmed slightly, she could once more make out Cluney’s form. It was Clair de Lune Summerland, all right, but she had been totally transformed, as if she were enveloped in a veil of shining mist. She’d been wearing jeans and a heavy blue sweater, hiking boots on her feet. Now she was dressed all in glowing white. Her long skirt billowed about, sweeping the ground in a shimmering train. Sparkles of silver, like stars twinkling in the night, circled the high neck of her gown and came to glittering points over her wrists. And over it all—adding a soft glimmer—flowed the long, frosty-white veil.

  B.J. caught her breath, then gasped, “The bride of the falls!” Swallowing hard, she called out. “Cluney! Cluney, can you hear me?”

  The bride turned, and when she did, B.J. saw her face. She was smiling and her eyes glowed silvery lavender-blue through the mist that enveloped her.

  B.J. tried to rush down the stairs to her friend, but it seemed as if some invisible barrier barred her way. She could no more descend the stone stairs than she could fly. All she could do was stand and stare and try to convince herself that what she was watching was real.

  Suddenly, the sound of the falls increased to a deafening roar. B.J. covered her ears, but still the sound grew louder by the minute. Then through that noise came the mournful baying of a hound—the loneliest, most heart-wrenching sound she had ever heard in her life. Goose bumps rose on her arms and tears sprang to her eyes.

  She continued to watch. She saw the moonbow span the falls, forming a silver bridge from one side of the gorge to the other. As she stared, the bride mounted the eerie beam of light and rose higher and higher into the air. Over the falls she soared, into the brightest moonlight. At the very top of the arch, high above the roaring water, she paused and turned back to look directly at B.J. She raised her hand in an unmistakable sign of farewell. A moment later, she vanished along with the moonbow.

  Suddenly, the woods grew still, as silent as death. A shiver ran through B.J. It took her a moment to recover her senses. As soon as she did, she hurried down the stone steps, slipping and sliding on the damp surface.

  “Cluney!” she screamed. “Answer me, dammit! Where are you?”

  But B.J. knew that her friend would not answer. Before she ever set foot on the overhang, she knew she would find it deserted. She stood clutching the handrail, staring down into the swirling dark water far below.

  “Oh, God, Cluney,” she moaned.

 
; B.J. wasn’t sure what she had witnessed, but she’d heard tales from her old aunties about seeing the spirit of a dead person rise from the body. If Cluney had slipped and fallen into the gorge below, there could be no hope that she had survived. If that was the case, and it certainly seemed likely, B.J. was sure she had seen her friend’s ghost.

  “Get a grip!” she snapped at herself. “I’ve got to get help.”

  As fast as B.J. had come down those stone steps, she made it back up in half the time. Luckily, there was still a light on in the office next to the tiny gift shop. The ranger wouldn’t leave his post until all the cars had left the parking lot.

  B.J. ran to the door and banged on it, screaming, “Help! Help me! My friend’s fallen over the railing!”

  A big, rugged-looking ranger opened the door at once. He fired a few quick questions at B.J., then put in a call for help. A short while later, the overhang and surrounding areas were flooded with spotlights as men searched high and low. When they finally switched off their lights at dawn, they had yet to find a clue to Cluney’s whereabouts.

  “It’s been a long night. You’d better head on back to town, Miss Jackson,” the ranger said with sympathy in his tired voice. “I’ll let you know the minute we find her.”

  “I’d rather stay,” B.J. insisted.

  “I know,” the man said, “but you’re beat, and there’s nothing you can do here. Go home and get some rest. I have your number. I’ll call, I promise.”

  B.J. had never felt more helpless or hopeless in her life than when she started down the mountain, alone, in Cluney’s van.

  “Lord have mercy, Free! Have you lost your senses?” The tall, gaunt woman in a faded gray frock the same color as her hair and eyes stared down at Major Breckinridge as he tossed and turned feverishly on the bed.

  “There wasn’t nothing I could do to stop him, Miz Renfro. He was bound and determined to go to the falls last night. If I hadn’t of gone with him, he’d of dragged himself down there and probably died on the spot with no help to get back up here. He was pining away to see that moonbow.”

  Mary Renfro, her eyes dark with concern, sponged the major’s brow, then tucked the blanket up closer under his chin. There was little more she could do for him. That wound through his shoulder wasn’t looking good. No, not good at all.

  “Well, I suppose a dying man’s got a right to be pampered. Still, it sure didn’t do him no good to be out in the night damp. Then his lamp was burning near all the night through. I glanced in twice and he was propped up in bed, writing away. What do you reckon he sets down in that book of his?”

  Free shrugged. “Even if I was the nosy type, which I ain’t, ma’am, I wouldn’t know. I can’t read a word.”

  She glanced at the big, gentle private—a recently freed slave. His eyes were downcast. He was obviously embarrassed by his admission of ignorance.

  “First chance I get, Free, I mean to teach you. A man’s gotta know how to read and write to get by in this world.”

  He beamed a smile at her, grateful for her offer and also for her calling him a man. Most folks still just called him “boy.” But deep down Free knew that Mrs. Renfro would never find time to teach him his letters. Upstairs, she had seven wounded soldiers to tend all by herself, the preacher being off most of the time procuring supplies when he wasn’t saving poor sinners’ souls. And she had given up her own bedroom on the main floor to Major Breckinridge on account of his being so poorly. From the looks of it this morning, though, she wouldn’t be out of her bed much longer. The major was in a bad way.

  As if reading Free’s thoughts, Mary said, “If I only had some help here with the nursing, it’d be better for us all. The major’s mighty lucky to have you to tend him, Free. Now, soon as he wakes, you see he gets this squirrel broth. It ain’t much, but it should strengthen him some.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll sure do that.” Free took the ironstone crock she handed him and placed it on the hearth to keep warm by the fire.

  Mary Renfro glanced once more at Hunter Breckinridge and shook her head sadly. “He ain’t got long and maybe that’s a blessing.”

  Then she turned and left Free to watch over their restless patient.

  The odd sensation Cluney had experienced as she was going down the stone stairs to the overhang intensified with every step she took. She felt a strange dizziness, yet she kept going. It almost seemed as if she were being drawn along by some will stronger than her own.

  She must have blacked out for a moment. When she came to, she was standing on the little stone ledge out over the falls, her face damp with mist. She looked around. Everything familiar had disappeared. She seemed to be trapped within a glowing ball of white light that distorted her vision.

  She heard B.J. calling her name. But her friend was somewhere out there in the darkness, beyond the blinding circle of brilliance.

  Sometime during this odd phenomenon, Cluney felt as if the earth were moving beneath her. She lost her balance, and for one terrifying instant she thought she was falling over the railing into the dark, dangerous water far below. Then the next moment, she glanced up to see the moonbow before her. Soon she found herself walking over the shimmering bridge that spanned the falls. The light surrounded her, casting its glow over the forest and down into the gorge. Glancing back, she caught a final glimpse of B.J. She looked so worried, so frightened. Cluney raised her hand and waved, trying to let her friend know that everything was all right.

  Cluney felt warm and safe, sure of her actions as she continued across the high, glowing bridge. Far below, she could hear the water dashing on the rocks. Far above, she could see the full moon shining its brightest. Off in the night, a lonesome hound bayed his mournful moon-serenade. The sound brought tears to her eyes.

  Then it happened! The wind shifted, the forest sighed, and, in the distance, Cluney spied someone waiting for her, beckoning to her across time and space. She quickened her step, eager to be by his side.

  Suddenly, everything went black. No more moonbow. No more falls. No more Clair de Lune Summerland!

  The next thing Cluney felt was the morning sun warming her. Then she became conscious of something wet and rough scrubbing at her face—lapping her cheeks, tickling her eyelids, kissing her lips. She fought her way up out of the shadows, trying to fend off her enthusiastic attacker.

  “Hey, cut it out!” she cried, covering her well-licked face with her arms. “What’s going on?”

  When she came fully awake, she found herself lying on the damp ground, her head pillowed by her purse. She was staring into the baleful eyes of a bone-thin, long-eared hound.

  “Well, hey there, fellow.” She fended off another tongue attack, and scratched his wrinkled forehead. “Where’d you come from?”

  The old black-and-tan hound whimpered and nuzzled her neck. Cluney looked for a collar and tag, but found only a frayed length of rope around the dog’s neck.

  “Come on to the van with me, pal. I’ll find you something to eat.”

  Only vaguely wondering why she had slept on the ground beside Cumberland Falls, Cluney headed up the slope toward the parking lot.

  “I guess we missed the moonbow last night,” she told the friendly pooch. “The last I recall we were headed down toward the falls. B.J. must have given up and gone back to curl up in the van for the night. I should be so smart!”

  Not until she came out of the deep woods at the verge of the gorge did Cluney realize that all was not well. The paved path she had taken from the parking lot to the edge of the falls was nowhere in sight. She glanced around, trying to get her bearings. Suddenly, her heart did a jackknife. Not a thing in sight looked familiar. Oh, the falls were there, all right, but in their natural state, with no ropes or warning signs to keep sightseers safe.

  But the rangers’ office, the gift shop, the concession stand, the parking lot, her van, even B.J.—all were gone.

  “What the … ?”

  The dog whimpered, se
nsing her confusion and anxiety. She reached down and patted his head, extremely happy for his company at that moment.

  “Now this is just crazy,” she muttered, still glancing about, searching for anything, anything that looked the least bit familiar. “I know this park like the back of my hand. The road should be right over there.”

  She walked a few yards, the hound at her heels, then stopped dead. “No road! No road?”

  Feeling weak with panic, Cluney sank down into a bright pile of crisp, autumn leaves. Her head was spinning. Suddenly, she spotted smoke rising beyond a copse of trees. In that instant, her lopsided world seemed to right itself. Whoever lived there could tell her where she was. Maybe they’d let her use the telephone to call…

  “Call who?” she wondered aloud. “This isn’t the place I knew last night.”

  Dismissing those thoughts for the moment, she hurried toward the rising smoke. “I know what happened,” she said with a laugh of relief. “I just wandered farther down the trail than I thought. Come on, boy. I’ll get you some breakfast yet.”

  Even though she was relieved to see signs of life, Cluney still had the lingering feeling that something was wrong. Surely, B.J. wouldn’t have left her to sleep all night on the ground, not with the cold she’d been nursing.

  Cluney stopped, wrinkled her nose, and sniffed. Her head was perfectly clear, her cold gone. But how could that be? She’d been sneezing and sniffling like crazy just hours ago.

  When she cleared the trees, she was sure something was very wrong. The park buildings she had expected to see were nowhere in sight.

  Instead, before her in the clearing stood a rough, two-story log cabin that she had never set eyes on before. Suddenly, she saw a bearded face peering at her from the woods beyond the house.

  Cluney waved frantically. “Hey! You there!” she called. “Mister?” But he disappeared the moment she spoke to him. Rubbing her eyes, she wondered if she had only imagined the gaunt face, sunken eyes, and scruffy black whiskers.