Valley of the Moon

by Melanie Gideon

  She was teasing me; still, there was something about the comment that stung.

  “I’m going to get some water. Would you like some?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She stood and squinted. “Who’s that?”

  A man on horseback galloped toward us, clearly in a hurry. As he got closer we could see it was Magnusson, a grave look on his face.

  “Dear God, what’s wrong?” said Fancy as he approached.

  Magnusson slid out of the saddle and handed the reins to me.

  “Martha,” he said.

  —

  “I’m fine,” said Martha.

  “You passed out,” said Friar, taking her pulse.

  “It’s because I haven’t been sleeping,” she muttered.

  John had been deemed well enough to go home and Martha had been cleaning up in the infirmary, stripping sheets, wiping down counters, when she’d collapsed.

  Martha tried to sit up and Friar gently pushed her back down.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he said.

  She shook her head angrily.

  “She does look fine,” I said to Friar.

  “How’s your appetite?” Friar asked.

  “She’s been eating like a horse,” I answered for her. “Finished everything on her plate last night.”

  “Why are you people so concerned with my appetite?” snapped Martha.

  Friar stood. “Just do me a favor. Stay here for the rest of the afternoon. Let me keep an eye on you. You don’t have a fever but you feel a little warm.”

  “That’s not how the other cases presented. The fever was immediate and high. A sore throat for two or three days prior. My throat feels fine. You are being ridiculous, Friar.”

  “I am being careful, Martha.”

  A few hours later Martha had a temperature of 102.

  —

  “What’s wrong, darling?” she asked.

  We’d agreed it was best for her to stay at the clinic overnight.

  “What’s wrong is that you just called me darling.”

  “Why shouldn’t I call you darling?”

  “You should call me darling, you just never do.”

  “I don’t?”

  I kissed her on the forehead. “Go to sleep.”

  I was at the door when she called out to me. “Don’t forget to buy sugar at Poppe’s. And tea. Jake set some Twining’s aside for me.”

  Poppe’s was the general store in Glen Ellen, and Jake Poppe had likely been dead for some fifty years.

  “Of course. And how about some grape taffy?” I teased her.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “And some butterscotch drops?”

  “Lovely.”

  Martha had such a gallows sense of humor. It was one of the things I loved most about her.

  —

  The next morning Lux came downstairs dressed in her modern clothes.

  “You’re going home?” I asked.

  “The full moon is tonight. I don’t have a choice.” She looked at me sadly. “Thank you for being so good to me. I don’t know what I’d do without Greengage.”

  “You have a plan. All you have to do is execute it now.”

  “Right.” She slung her backpack over her shoulders. “Walk with me to breakfast?”

  “I have to stop by the infirmary first,” I said.

  “I’ll go with you. I want to say goodbye to Martha.”

  —

  “I was just going to send somebody to get you!” cried Friar when we walked in the door. “Her fever is 104. I don’t understand. I checked on her just an hour ago and the fever had gone down. I thought she was out of the woods.”

  Martha lay on the bed with the sheets pulled back, her nightgown nearly transparent with sweat, her hair wet, like she’d just come out of the bath. She moaned; the cords in her neck tightened.

  “Ice,” she whispered.

  “She’s been asking for ice all morning,” said Friar.

  “Ice,” she moaned again, delirious.

  “It’s coming, darling. I can hear the ice wagon now,” I said.

  “We have to cool her off somehow,” said Friar.

  “The creek.” It was 55, maybe 60 degrees this time of year.

  “What can I do?” asked Lux, frantic.

  “Just stay out of the way,” said Friar.

  I wrapped Martha in the sheet and carried her out to Friar’s buckboard.

  “I can get you close,” Friar said, “but I won’t be able to get down the bank with the rig.”

  “I can manage.”

  Martha clung to me as we drove.

  “If we get the fever down?” I asked.

  Friar frowned.

  “Will that be enough? Will she be all right?” I demanded an answer.

  “Nobody has had this high of a fever. I’m inclined to believe this is a different virus. Or maybe it’s the same and it’s just hit Martha harder.”

  “Why would it hit her harder?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry, Joseph.”

  —

  I waded into the water with Martha.

  “No,” she whispered. “It’s too cold.”

  “Yes, my darling. We have to cool you off.”

  “But what about the summer solstice party? Have the tables been moved from the dining hall? I have to get dressed. People are arriving at five.”

  “We’ve got plenty of time,” I said.

  I held Martha out in front of me and slowly lowered her into the water until only her face was above the surface. She sighed. Her blond hair fanned out from her head. I rocked her back and forth.

  Friar called down from the top of the bank. “Is she all right?”

  “She seems to be.”

  “Good. Keep her in there as long as she can bear it.”

  Martha bore it for about five minutes, then her lips turned purple and she started to shiver. I staggered up the bank with her. Friar met me with a woolen blanket.

  Martha’s color slowly returned to normal.

  “I’m fine, Joseph. Why are you all making such a fuss?” she asked.

  Friar felt her forehead with the back of his hand. “The fever has gone down. Let’s get her back to the infirmary and into some warm, dry clothes.”

  Before Friar shut the door behind him, I caught a glimpse of Joseph sitting by Martha’s bedside. They were talking softly. This was a good sign.

  “She’s doing much better,” Friar said to me.

  “Can I see her?”

  “Maybe later. Why don’t you go get some lunch and come back.”

  Lunch? What happened to breakfast? “What time is it?”

  “Nearly three.”

  I’d been in the waiting room for six hours? It felt like only twenty minutes had passed.

  “No, thank you.” I wasn’t moving until I knew Martha was all right.

  —

  Martha’s fever didn’t rise. By the evening she was sitting up and drinking broth. Finally I was allowed into the examination room.

  “Tell me again what I said?” Martha was asking Joseph.

  “You asked me to get Twining’s from Poppe’s. You said Jake had set it aside for you.”

  Roses bloomed on her cheeks. She looked like a flaxen-haired Snow White.

  “Goodness. You must have thought me a lunatic.”

  “I thought you were joking,” he said.

  I stood there quietly by the door, suffused with happiness at the sight of the two of them conversing like normal.

  Martha noticed me. “Lux,” she said. She motioned me to the bed.

  She reached out her hand. Her palm was dry, but her skin felt warm. The last little bit of fever. “You’re still here.”

  “I had to make sure—” My throat throbbed.

  I wanted to tell her how much she meant to me. That knowing she loved me and believed in me gave me courage back out in the world. But all I managed to squeak out was, “I’m so glad I’m here.”

  “You love Greengage?
” she asked.

  “I do.”

  “More than home?”

  I didn’t answer, but I didn’t have to. We all knew the truth.

  “You can live the same sort of life in San Francisco, you know that, don’t you?” she said.

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. It’s not possible, it’s—”

  “Tell me. Why are you so happy in Greengage?”

  I shrugged. “Because I feel like I have a place here. I’m part of a community.”

  “And because you’re in service to something larger than yourself,” said Martha.

  “I guess so. Yes.”

  “So what are you going to do about that?” asked Martha.

  “Keep coming to Greengage?” I said slowly.

  “No, that is not the answer,” said Martha. She yawned and turned to Joseph. “I’m so tired.” She looked at him bewilderingly, and then suddenly her back arched.

  “Friar!” shouted Joseph.

  Her fingers and toes curled up. Her limbs grew rigid. She bucked on the bed.

  Friar ran into the room. “She’s seizing.”

  Joseph cupped Martha’s face in his hand, murmuring, “It’s all right, my love. It’s all right.”

  “Hold her arms, Joseph, and you hold her legs, Lux,” said Friar.

  I threw my upper body across her calves. It took all my weight to keep her still on the mattress. Friar placed a cotton cloth in her mouth so she wouldn’t bite her tongue.

  The one terrible moment Joseph and I had spoken about? We were in it. Pinned fast. Unable to escape.

  Finally Martha stopped writhing. The room was filled with an overly sweet smell, like pears. Friar took her temperature: 105.4.

  Joseph cradled an unconscious Martha in his arms. I don’t know how long we sat there before she came to. It was like watching somebody rise from the bottom of a lake.

  Her flesh was searing hot. The whites of her eyes yellow.

  “Tell Fancy to shut the window. A storm’s coming,” she said.

  A few seconds later, she was gone.

  It was stunning how fast life could change. How the solid ground that was your long-held, never-questioned beliefs could reveal itself to be nothing but shale and crumble into dust.

  Joseph pressed Martha’s small body to his chest and began to keen. It was an involuntary sound, ripped from him. A wail of disbelief and grief, so private and piercing I had to look away.

  Through the open window, I saw the full moon hanging high in the sky.

  Friar tracked my gaze, glanced at his pocket watch, and his face grew pale.

  “What time is it?” I whispered.

  He shook his head sadly and I had my answer. It was well after midnight; I’d stayed through the Greengage full moon. The roulette wheel was spinning. The tiny ball of my fate was skittering around, and I had no idea where it would land.

  Time had already begun to speed up on the other side of the fog.

  My car wasn’t in the parking lot. Filled with dread, I dug some change out of my wallet and called Rhonda on the payphone. No answer. I called Doro and the Patels. They weren’t home either. Then I saw an eight-by-ten piece of paper taped up on the side of the phone booth.

  Have You Seen This Woman? It was a photo of me at Stinson Beach. On that day Rhonda and I had taken Benno to the beach, but it had been too windy to fly our dime-store kite. Minutes after Rhonda snapped the photo, we’d packed our things and gone back to the city.

  The notice had my height, weight, age, and hair color.

  Last seen August 2nd. If you have information please call 415-289-3434. Rhonda’s number.

  Desperate, I called Seven Hills. Mike answered in his familiar South Boston accent.

  “Mike?”

  “Speakin’.” He didn’t recognize my voice.

  “Mike, it’s Lux.”

  “Lux. For fuck’s sake. Lux. Everybody’s been looking for you. We thought—we thought. Goddamn it.”

  I started crying.

  “Okay, okay. Calm down. Take a deep breath. Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  He paused, waiting for my answer. I couldn’t get any words out.

  “Jesus. Are you in a safe place? Lux, tell me you’re in a safe place. Say yes or no.”

  “Yes,” I managed to squeak.

  “Okay, good. Where are you?”

  “In a parking lot.”

  “Where?”

  “Valley of the Moon. Jack London State Park.”

  “Okay, sit tight. I’m coming to get you.”

  “Wait, wait, Mike?”

  “What, darlin’?” He’d never called me darlin’ before. I’d heard him call other waitresses darlin’, but never me.

  “What’s the date?”

  “August thirty-first—”

  I started weeping again with relief. Benno had probably just come back from Newport. He hadn’t even started school yet.

  “Nineteen eighty.”

  It took a few seconds for it to sink in. I’d been gone a year.

  —

  Mike dropped me off at 428 Elizabeth Street. We’d barely spoken on the ride home and I was grateful he hadn’t interrogated me. I stared out the window trying to think of what I was going to say. How I was going to explain where I’d been.

  “Someone’s in there?” Mike asked. “You’re not gonna be alone, right?”

  “Rhonda.” I could see the lights on in her apartment.

  He reached over me and opened the car door. “You be good, Lux.” He gave me a sad smile.

  —

  I knocked on Rhonda’s door. I could hear the TV and Penny singing to herself.

  “It’s open, Sunite,” Rhonda shouted. She thought I was Mrs. Patel.

  The Jetsons were on. Penny waved as if she’d just seen me yesterday: she was three now, her baby fat nearly gone. Rhonda was folding laundry in the kitchen.

  “It’s me,” I said in a wobbly voice.

  Rhonda took a step backward in shock. “There you are,” she said calmly. She didn’t want Penny to see her reaction.

  I walked into the kitchen and closed the door behind me. Rhonda, a pillowcase in her hand, stared at me.

  “What the fuck, Lux.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “I got—stuck. In Greengage. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to stay through the full moon. I didn’t, I swear.”

  “Oh my God. Are you fucking serious? You can’t imagine. Oh my fucking God.”

  She came around the table and hugged me. The familiar scent of her perfume, Charlie, incited a fresh round of tears.

  “Christ, Lux,” she murmured, but it wasn’t an admonishment, it was more of a Thank God you’re safe. Finally I pulled away from her and sat down. I could see she was crying now, too. It was hard for me to meet her eyes and even harder to ask the question.

  “Where’s Benno?”

  She looked down at the table guiltily.

  “Jesus, Rhonda, tell me. Is he all right?” I cried.

  “I tried to keep him here with me, I swear to you, I did. Ginger was okay with it. He could have shared a room with Penny, she has bunk beds.” She chewed the inside of her lip. “He’s not here. Your father insisted Benno stay in Newport. He never came home. After you didn’t.” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

  After I didn’t come back.

  Rhonda explained what had happened. When I hadn’t returned, they’d gotten the police involved and a formal search had ensued. My car had been in the Jack London State Park lot, and all Rhonda knew was that Greengage was in the Valley of the Moon. They’d scoured the valley and all of Sonoma County, but there was no sign of the farm anywhere.

  “That’s when I started to believe you about Greengage,” she said. “I kept your secret, but it was damn hard, Lux.” She shook her head, tears welling. “I mean, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I did tell you,” I said. “Over and over again.�
��

  “You’re right. You did. I didn’t listen. It was just so crazy.”

  I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I don’t blame you. Nobody would believe in Greengage unless they saw it.”

  She nodded. “I’m your best friend. I should have come with you. I should have at least tried.”

  “You didn’t tell anybody?” I asked.

  “No. I stuck to my story. I may have played up the commune bit. Don’t be mad at me. I had to. Nothing else would have made sense. Your father flew out when the formal search ended, and he hired a private detective, but that went nowhere.”

  I couldn’t think about my father. Not now.

  “What did they tell Benno? What does he think? Does he think I’m—dead?”

  Rhonda gave me the most miserable look, and I had the answer to my question. Of course. It was even worse than him thinking I was dead; he thought I’d abandoned him.

  I put my head in my arms, convulsing in sobs.

  Alarmed, Penny pushed open the kitchen door with her chubby hand and waddled over to me. She stuck her face into mine.

  “Lux sad? Lux cryin’?”

  Her face scrunched up with empathy. She deliberated for a moment and then smoothed my hair. “Don’t worry, noodle,” she crooned.

  That was what Rhonda said to her when she got a splinter or fell off the swings at the park. I pulled her toward me. She smelled of my past, of powder and Johnson’s baby shampoo.

  Benno was ten now.

  —

  “I’ve got to go to Newport. Tonight,” I said to Rhonda.

  “Uh-huh. So what’s your plan? You’re just going to waltz in like Rip Van Winkle and say, ‘Hello, I’m back from the dead’?” she asked.

  “Oh God. What am I going to do? Should I call?”

  “No, you should think about what you’re going to say first. How you’re going to explain where you’ve been for a year.”

  I gulped painfully. My throat was raw from crying. “I didn’t just stay for no reason.”

  Rhonda waited for an explanation.

  “Martha, Joseph’s wife, died the night I was supposed to come home. It was sudden. One minute she was fine, the next she was having a seizure. I couldn’t just leave. I mean, we were trying to save her—”

  “You knew Martha well? You were close?”

  “She was like a sister to me.”

  “Oh, Lux. I’m so sorry,” Rhonda said.