by John Osborne
“Yes, the same one that feeds the pond,” Willow said. “There’s a control lever to shut off the flow. I left it on this morning after my bath to bring in some fresh water.”
Noah crouched and swished his hand in the water. It was as cold as the incoming flow. “Judging by this water, you took a cold bath this morning,” he said, looking up to gauge her reaction. “And at the pond Monday, I was chilly, but you seemed comfortable without a coat.”
Willow’s features colored. “I guess I’m hardier than most people.”
“Hypothermia resistant is more like it,” Noah said. He stood up.
“Let’s go sit down,” Willow said, “and we’ll get on with your questions.”
We just did.
Willow led him through the kitchen to the couch where they took seats at opposite ends. She grinned at his posture on the couch, but said nothing. Shadow took up station at Noah’s feet.
Noah pulled his notebook and pen from his shirt pocket and flipped to a blank page. “So what can you tell me about the property here? Has it always been timber?”
“As far as I know,” she said. Her smile faded. “The property has only been in my family for thirty years. I inherited it from my parents. It belonged to the Jones family for a hundred years before my parents bought it. The Jones’s farmed all around this area and they still have large farm holdings on the east and north sides of the woods, but as far as I know, the woods have always been here.”
“This must have been a busy place in their day. I bet there wasn’t as much wildlife as today.”
“No, I would say not. The Big House—that’s what the mansion is called—was a hectic place, with many visitors, and all the field workers lived on the property. You saw part of their old quarters yesterday, and you can still see the old road from there to the eastern fields. I suspect wildlife wasn’t made welcome.”
“You seem to have changed that since you came here,” Noah said, segueing into another question on his I-think-you’re-a-fairy list. “You have a special affinity for wildlife, and the not so wild life.” He rubbed Shadow’s ears. “Tell me how you sent those ducks back to the pond. And why the deer left when you told her.”
“I didn’t tell her, I asked her.” Willow’s face flushed, as if she’d been caught saying the wrong thing. “I mean, anyone can coax an animal into doing something, especially if it knows you.”
Yeah, right.
“I suppose.” Noah was embarrassed, he knew not why, and stalled by scribbling notes. “I did some research on the property history on the Internet and at the library yesterday, to see what I could find without bothering you.”
“Any luck?”
“No. Nothing specific, about the property anyway, except the tax records. I did run across some newspaper articles about your parents’ disappearance. That must have been a difficult time for you.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. A shadow hung over this woman, a haunting that dominated her presence.
Now on to the good stuff.
“One article included a picture,” he said. “Of your mother, I thought, but then I read the caption and found it was you.” Willow’s gaze had wandered away. “You haven’t aged a day in thirty years.”
Her head snapped up. “Oh, I … you know how newspaper photos are, they aren’t very good.”
Gotcha!
“Yes, I do know how newspaper photographs are, and I know this one was microfilmed from a fresh copy of the paper and was well preserved. I also know if I put you in a seventies suit and stood you on the courthouse steps, I could recreate the same photo today.”
Willow’s face reddened and her breathing quickened.
“The years don’t add up either,” he said. “I’d say you can’t be forty yet, but that would have made you too young in 1975 to inherit the property and do the things the paper describes. The woman in the newspaper photo is at least twenty-five. That still makes you fifty-five.”
Willow grew a deeper shade of red and balled her hands into fists.
Why are you so angry?
“I was puzzled, so I did some other searches and discovered I can’t find any record of birth, school, graduation … nothing, except for property tax records. I know it’s not polite to ask a lady, but how old are you?”
“You’re right, it’s not polite!” she snapped. “And it’s none of your business!”
“It’s a simple question,” Noah shot back. “Just answer it.”
“Why are you so … wait, you work for Chester Jones, don’t you? That’s it! That’s why you’re nosing around. I bet there isn’t any Outdoor Midwest magazine.”
“What? I wouldn’t work for a jerk like Chester Jones.”
“That’s what you say! The Jones family has wanted this property back ever since his grandmother sold it to my parents. Why else would you be here?” She sat on the edge of the couch, hands still clenched.
“No, no, no! I’ve never met the man. I’m just a photographer. There really is a magazine, and I really do have an editor who wants photos of beautiful ponds. Call him on my cell phone. Look it up on the Internet if you don’t believe me.”
You have fairy paranoia, little one.
“Please try to calm down,” Noah soothed.
Willow looked away for a moment and closed her eyes. She took several deep breaths and seemed to relax somewhat. Noah followed her example.
“I have one more question,” Noah said. Willow opened her eyes, which fired lightning bolts. He flipped his notebook closed, tucked his pen into his shirt pocket. “I’m curious about how strong you are.”
Willow seemed confused by the change of subject. “Strong? I … I guess I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean you carried my big camera case for a quarter mile with one hand and never grunted. I’ve seen guys bigger than me whine about moving that thing across a room.”
The blood drained from Willow’s face. At the same time, the hair on the back of Noah’s neck stood up.
Fear.
“The reason I asked was … well, I wondered if it had anything to do with the flying. Is that why you’re strong, so you can fly?”
Willow swayed in her seat and fell back against the couch then covered her face with her hands. “Oh, no,” she whispered. She shook her head for a few moments, and then dropped her hands. Dread filled her features, her eyes wide and glistening. “How…” she began, but stopped.
I thought you’d slug me.
“The photos I took Monday stunk. The light was all wrong. My editor is pressuring me for results, so I went to the pond yesterday evening when the sky cleared to take some more shots. I guess you thought it was beautiful out, too. I was in the woods when you came to swim. And fly.”
Willow lowered her head for a moment. When she raised it, tears ran down her cheeks. “You were there the entire time?”
Yes, and I couldn’t believe what I saw. Couldn’t believe how beautiful you were. Still can’t.
Noah nodded. His face was hot. He had expected her to be defensive or to deny everything. “I took a path from the fields. I had just finished setting up when you and Shadow showed up.”
“So you have pictures.”
“No, I didn’t take any. I was too shocked to think.”
“How can I be sure you’re telling the truth?”
“You’ll have to trust me.”
“How can I do that? I don’t know you.” Willow stood, walked to the desk, pulled a tissue from a box, and blew her nose loudly. When she faced Noah again, she was somewhat composed.
“What exactly are you?” Noah asked. “If that’s the right question.”
Willow stood silent.
“I figure you’re either some strange mutation, or a top secret Department of Defense project. Or maybe I saw swamp gas. Or perhaps you’re the victim of an alien abduction. Or maybe the Wicked Witch of the West cast a spell on you.”
Willow laughed, which brought on a fresh stream of tears.
Please don’t cry. I
didn’t mean to make you cry.
Noah stood, hesitated for a moment, and then crossed the room to Willow. She looked up at him, pensive. He spoke in a gentle voice.
“I’m sorry. I can be a real smartass sometimes. It’s my way of dealing with uncomfortable situations. It’s easier to make fun than admit the truth that you’re a … fairy. That is the truth, isn’t it?”
She looked down at the floor for a moment, then at him, biting her lip. “Yes,” she said, her voice so soft he almost couldn’t hear. “I am a fairy. They do exist and I am one. And now I’m exposed.” Her voice faltered and the tears came again. “I hope I haven’t done harm to my entire kind.”
May I take you in my arms? Maybe if I held you…
Willow blew her nose again and wiped her eyes. “Why did you come here today?” she asked.
Noah wasn’t sure how to answer. To get the truth, yes, but he already knew the truth. “I guess I came here to get confirmation. To hear you say what I saw with my own eyes but still couldn’t accept. You realize this changes what a person believes in, don’t you? Fairies are the stuff of … well, fairy tales. They’re whimsical little creatures that vanish and reappear with a poof. They have pots of gold. They fly.” He paused for a moment. “I didn’t come here to upset you.”
“You seem to be a good person,” Willow said. She sniffled. “And maybe I should trust you. I can’t take the chance. I … I’ll have to leave.”
“Why? I’m not going to tell anyone. No one would believe me.”
“Someone might. I have more than myself to think about.”
“So there are other … fairies?” Noah asked.
Willow ignored his question. “Well, there are the animals here in the woods. I take care of them.” Her gaze swept around the cottage. “I built this place with my own hands. The basics were here, but I put the peak in the roof, added the loft, and built the poolroom.” She looked at Noah, her face growing angry. “That’s not why I’m strong, though. The strength is a fairy thing. Do you want to see my biceps?” She slid her sleeve up and flexed her arm before he could wave her off. “Put that in your little notebook.” She glared fiercely. “Fairies have big biceps. That’s b-i-c-e-p-s.”
Now you’re going to slug me.
Noah didn’t move or speak.
She let her sleeve fall, turned her back to him, and began to cry again. “This is my parents’ home. They died here. They are here; I feel their presence. And now I have to leave.” She faced him again, tears streaming down her face. “I think you should leave now, too, Noah.”
I wanted to be your friend. Now, I’ll never see you again.
Noah walked to the door, pulled on his boots and retrieved his hat and poncho. Willow didn’t move.
“Please don’t make any hasty decisions,” he said. “You must trust me. I’ll keep your secret.”
Doubt clouded Willow’s eyes.
Open the closet door, Noah.
“Let me show you something.” Noah pulled a pendant on a chain from under his shirt, and held up a silver five-point star surrounded by a circle. “Do you know what this is?”
She shook her head. “A pentagram?”
“It’s a pentacle. It’s the symbol of my belief. I’m a Wiccan, the same as those crazy people in town who own the witch school. But we’re not crazy. We know many things, obscure things, and forgotten things, and we keep secrets well. We’re good people. We are true to our word. Our most honored rule is two little words. Harm none.” He dropped the pentacle back under his shirt.
“Ms. Brown, I mean you no harm.” He pulled the door open and stepped out into the rain.
Five
Noah spent a miserable, rainy afternoon in his room. He worked for a short time, finished some photos and emailed them to the home office. He paced. He zapped through television channels. He tried to read a book, all to no avail. Willow invaded his thoughts whatever he did. His gaze returned often to the article taped to the wall.
He replayed the visit in his mind, going over every word said, every sight, every sound. Should he have said this thing a different way, or made that point more gently.
I didn’t mean to upset her so. Maybe I should have dropped it and moved on, never spoken to her.
The rain let up around six o’clock when thick fog came in. Noah prepared a frugal supper of soup and reheated biscuits. He sat on the bed to watch the news and check the weather forecast. The sky would be clear by mid-morning tomorrow. He could start working southwest of Hoopeston in the Potomac area.
The phone rang, nearly jarring Noah off the bed. Everyone he knew called his cell phone.
“Hello?”
“Mister Phelps? This is Tommy at the front desk. You have a visitor at the office, a Ms. Brown. Should I send her up?” Tommy’s voice betrayed curiosity.
Willow? Here?
“Uh, yes, send her right up.” After he put the phone down, Noah grabbed papers and stuffed them in drawers, picked up the banana peel from the table, grabbed the beer bottle from the bedside stand … jeez, the bathroom! He settled for pulling the door shut and hoping she wouldn’t ask to use it. Before he closed the door, he swiped some water across his face, ran a comb through his hair and looked in the mirror. Soup on his shirt yelled “Slob!” He grabbed a sweater from a drawer and smelled it. Good enough. He pulled it over his head and put his hair in place a second time just as a knock sounded on the door.
Noah walked calmly to the door. From the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of underwear on the floor. He kicked them under the bed, returned to the door and opened it.
There stood Willow, dressed in jeans and a dark blue pea coat. She wore blue high top tennis shoes with white soles and shoestrings and a black stocking cap pulled over her ears. Her expression was tentative, shy.
How adorable.
A smile stole over Noah’s face. Willow smiled back.
“Hi,” she said. Her voice was like a familiar tune whose words he’d forgotten.
“Hi. That was a quick trip from the office.”
“Oh, yeah, I just flew.” She grinned and raised her eyebrows. “May I come in? It’s a little rainy out here.”
“Sure,” Noah said. “Good grief, you’re soaked! Give me your hat and coat. I’ll set them by the ventilator.” She handed him her things and stepped over to the mirror to run a hand through her hair. She wore the same sweatshirt as this morning.
Noah laid her hat on the heater vent. He could smell wood smoke and potpourri and Willow’s scent as he put the coat on a hanger and hung it on the floor lamp.
The details of arriving covered, they faced each other. Words needed saying. Willow slid her hands into her back pockets. Noah stuck his hands in his front pockets. They stood silent for a moment before Noah spoke.
“So, did you walk all the way here?”
“Yes,” she said and flashed her mischievous grin. “All the available flights were grounded due to fog.”
Noah laughed and shook his head. “Fairy humor.”
“And look,” she said, extending a leg toward him. “I put on long pants.”
“Good for you.”
Glad to see your spunkiness is back.
Another awkward silence ensued. Willow glanced around the room, but Noah’s eyes stuck to her. She turned back to him, but her gaze skipped past Noah and focused on something behind him. She leaned to one side and looked around him.
Her picture!
Noah sidestepped to block her view. His face grew hot. Willow’s eyes flicked back to his, and began to twinkle. He abruptly spun around and ripped the article off the wall, laid it face down on the table. Willow snickered behind him. When Noah turned back, her face was as red as his felt.
More silence.
They both started to speak. Noah motioned for Willow to go ahead.
“I need to apologize for how I acted this morning,” she said. “I was rude to throw you out like I did.” Noah waited for the barb, but it didn’t come.
I like that. No “I j
ust” or “but.”
“No problem,” he said. “I owe you an apology, too. I shouldn’t have been so pushy.”
Willow smiled and tilted her head to one side. “Apology accepted.”
They stood through another long silence.
What was I about to say?
Willow’s expression changed to exasperation. She threw her hands in the air, then slapped her legs.
“This is driving me crazy!” she said. “What is this between us? Every time I’m around you I can’t think straight!” She returned her hands to her pockets and paced the room, agitated.
You just said exactly what I was thinking. Your words, not mine, but my thought.
A shiver coursed down his spine.
Almost on cue, Willow pulled her hands from her pockets and rubbed her arms as if cold. “That’s weird,” she said. “I never feel cold.”
Noah wanted to burst out laughing but restrained showing any reaction. Willow stopped walking and looked at him, an amused look on her face. He couldn’t restrain himself any longer and broke into a hearty laugh. She looked puzzled, but joined in his mirth.
After a few seconds, when Noah regained some control, he managed to speak again. “Do you know what we’re laughing about?”
“I have no idea,” gasped Willow.
“Well, I’m laughing because you felt a chill right after I did. And you’re laughing because I’m laughing.” He lost control again and descended into a long painful laugh. Willow followed suit for a few moments, then became quite sober and fixed a concerned stare on Noah. His amusement snapped off like a light. Even the usual aftershocks of a good laugh weren’t apparent.
“I guess it works both ways,” he said.
“Are you telling me … you think we’re … picking up on each others thoughts?”
“Not thoughts, exactly. Moods or feelings maybe. No, not maybe, for sure. Think about the times we’ve been together. I think our feelings have been mirroring or something. Remember Monday, at the pond, when I told you I was making a second trip around to shoot the pictures? How did you feel?”
“Well, pissed off, to be precise.”
“Me, too, but I had no reason to be. This morning at the cottage, your mood changes were crazy.”