The Recluse Storyteller

by Mark W. Sasse

  “Georgia tilted her eyes and cocked her head, cautiously approaching the tree but keeping her body tucked behind the trunk, so she could not be seen by the man. When she reached the crabapple, she put her back against it and looked down the valley. Gwen was nowhere in sight, hidden behind one of the rolling bluffs which weaved their way the entire length of the climb.

  “Quietly and slowly, Georgia leaned around the tree and peeked at the man. He looked so familiar from the back that she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Suddenly, as if his head had always been looking in her direction, the man stared right at her. She gasped in disbelief, and he flashed that warm, familiar smile in her direction.

  “‘Georgia. My sweet Georgia. Come closer.’

  “‘Papa? Papa?’

  “She couldn’t believe her eyes. Tears streamed down her face as she leapt like a jackrabbit into his arms.

  “‘Oh, Papa. I’ve missed you so. I’ve missed you.’

  “He caressed her gently. Low-rolling thunder shook in the distance. The leaves of the crab apple whispered softly in the breeze. Georgia could sense it all. She was in tune with her surroundings like never before. She sat in his lap but felt distant from him. It felt like she was embraced by her surroundings, a gentle touch from a branch, a longing stroke from the wind, a peaceful serenade from the insects who busily climbed up the legs of the table beside them. Georgia felt a burning in her heart. A happiness, a warmth, but a burning none the less. It ached. She leaned back in her father’s lap and looked directly into her father’s face.

  “‘Are you real?’

  “‘Come. Sit at the table. Let me look at you.’

  “‘Where is Starling and the wagon?’

  “Georgia looked around. He had no possessions; no mode of transport; he sat with only the clothes on his back, and they were ragged clothes she didn’t recognize.

  “‘You look so pretty.’

  “‘Have you seen Mama yet? She will be so happy. And Gwen and the baby. They’re coming up the hill now. Let me get them.’

  “‘No, Georgia. We don’t have much time, and I want to look at you. I’ve missed you so.’

  “‘Papa, I don’t understand.’

  “He looked over at her with a blank stare but finally smiled and reached out his hand. She reached over and put hers in his.

  “‘Papa, where did you come from?’

  “‘Up there,’ he said, lifting his forehead toward the sky.

  “‘I don’t understand.’

  “‘I am like the wind. I come and go, but I will always be near you. Whether near or far.’

  “‘Papa, I’m afraid. This morning, I woke up and I …” her voice trailed off, afraid to speak the rest.

  “‘What did you see, my child?’

  “‘Papa, how did you know I saw something?’

  “‘What was it that you saw?’

  “‘A light. A bright and powerful light. It lit up the sky like a dozen shooting stars all at once. And—’

  “‘It was beautiful, wasn’t it?’

  “‘Yes. You saw it, too? Oh, Papa. I knew I wasn’t making things up. Gwen didn’t believe me. She never believes me.’

  “‘This is about you, Georgia. What do you believe?’

  “‘I believe that I saw a special light in the sky. At that moment, I knew you were coming. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew. That’s what I told Gwen. That’s why I said we had to come to Harper’s Hill today. We just had too. And now you are here. Wishes do come true.’

  “Georgia’s father looked intently at her as if he wanted to remember every last hair, the exact placement of her dimples, and the precise shape of her earlobes. A single tear came down his face.

  “‘Papa, why are you crying?’

  “‘Georgia, listen. You have to listen, and listen carefully. And you have to do exactly what I say. Do you understand?’

  “‘Yes, Papa.’

  “‘I need you to be brave, braver than you’ve ever been before. I am putting you in charge. You have to do it.’

  “‘Do what, Papa?’

  “‘It’s up to you.’

  “‘Papa, I don’t understand. Wait for Gwen to arrive. You can tell both of us, and we can both be brave.’

  “‘No. There is no time. I cannot stay here.’

  “‘Papa, Gwen is almost here. I’ll go get her.’

  “‘No. You mustn’t. It was you who saw the vision last night. That is why I am here. To say goodbye. It is you who must be brave.’

  “Georgia paused for a moment. She wanted to ask one more question but was afraid of the answer she might receive. But she had to ask. She might never be given another chance.

  “‘Papa, why did you leave us?’

  “Her father squirmed around on the seat for a moment and then reached deep down inside his overcoat pocket and pulled out something that he hid inside his fist.

  “‘Hold out your hand, Georgia.’

  “She held out her hand, trembling as one should never have to tremble in the presence of a loved one. His hand brushed over hers like morning dew vapor that dances in the breeze. She felt something cold and hard placed in her palm. It was a gold locket with a thin gold chain. It looked familiar to Georgia.

  “‘Open it.’

  “She unclasped the chain and opened it to see an ink portrait of Gwen and herself.

  “‘Do you recognize this?’

  “‘Yes, this is Mama’s locket. Why are you giving it to me?’

  “‘Ours is not to ask why. But there is something you must always remember. This locket shows that no matter what happens, your mother and father always love you, and that’s what’s important. You keep this, always.’

  “‘But it belongs to Mama.’

  “‘You keep it.’

  “Georgia looked down at the locket. She stopped everything for a moment and stared right at her father. Her breathing picked up, and with every exhale, she sensed emptiness around her. She sat on a chair, at a table, with her father in front of her. The tree rustled in the wind, and a lonely crabapple leaf fluttered unevenly, picking up every wind-powered rip current that twirled it uneasily until it gently landed on the table in front of her. Georgia heard it scraping across the table like a team of horses screeching to a halt. She started rubbing her thighs as her breathing intensified.

  “‘Papa, I saw a light this morning. Across the sky.’

  “He nodded. She panted loudly.

  “‘Papa, you came from up there?’ she asked in a tired whisper of a person nearly breathing her last breath.

  “Her father nodded again softly.

  “‘I must get Gwen,’ said Georgia as she drunkenly stood up, staggered away from the table, and quickly started running around the tree.

  “‘Georgia, be brave. Be brave,’ admonished her father.

  “‘Gwen! Gwen! Papa is here. Come. Come quickly!’”

  * * *

  Margaret yelled out the last line with the force of a stage actress, while Sam and Pam sat mesmerized on the couch, a half-eaten pint making them sick to their stomachs.

  “Ms. Pritcher,” asked Pam. “Is Georgia’s father for real?”

  Margaret adjusted the collar on her shirt and wiped a lonely tear from the corner of her eye. She didn’t want to open her eyes, or turn around because she was afraid nothing was there. Finally, she glanced briefly at the girls, smiled, and put her head back to rest, waiting for the next round of inspiration.

  * * *

  “I knew it. She’s out of her mind,” said Mrs. Trumble, who naturally was the first to indict Margaret once Reverend Davies told the complete tale of the grocery store incident.

  “Come on, now,” interjected Janice. “I’ll admit it is a little strange, but you have to understand that she’s a storyteller. She tells stories at random times.”

  “At the supermarket? She doesn’t know what she is doing,” Mrs. Trumble scrunched up her nose, unwilling to give any concessions. “I thought she could barely communicate.
How can she tell stories?”

  “No, she’s an excellent communicator,” Mr. Tomsey said in her defense. “Superior, in fact.”

  “That’s written language.”

  “It’s still communication, so let’s be clear here. You said she couldn’t communicate, which is not true.”

  “Actually, I’ll admit that I have heard some of her stories before. I have listened from outside the door to her imaginative ranting from time to time. She is quite eloquent,” said Janice.

  “Well, of course. You’re her relative. You’re clearly going to support her,” retorted Mrs. Trumble in a searing voice.

  Janice shook her head and snapped a quick glare towards Mrs. Trumble.

  “Well, if you think I will be anything but fair here …” Janice replied indignantly.

  “Okay, let’s not jump down each other’s throats,” soothed the reverend.

  “Just let her be,” said Cheevers, rolling his eyes in boredom at the over-zealous Mrs. Trumble.

  “Hear, hear,” seconded Mr. Tomsey.

  “Well, you weren’t there at the grocery store,” replied Mrs. Trumble.

  “Neither were you!” blurted out Cheevers.

  “I’m just saying that Reverend Davies wouldn’t have brought it up if he didn’t think it was important.”

  “She’s right,” said Reverend Davies. “Before Margaret’s mother died, she asked me to help Margaret in whatever way I could. I’ve written her letters. I’ve tried to call her and visit her. She just hasn’t responded.”

  “Maybe she just wants to be left alone,” said Mr. Tomsey, also getting tired of what the apartment grudge match.

  “I think that’s the problem,” continued the reverend. “She’s alone all the time. She has, perhaps, created this alternative world that she uses as a means of escape. And that’s fine and all, but she’s crossing the line. Things are getting blurred, and now it’s affecting others. We can’t just turn a blind eye to people in need.”

  Everyone sat quietly—the first lull in quite some time.

  “How many people in today’s world have become completely cut-off from others? Our society has created a generation of people who are afraid to be vulnerable, afraid to offend, afraid to cause inconvenience that we don’t even bother to get know our neighbors. Our society has become so ‘me’ driven that we are losing our sense of neighborhood, let alone our sense of community. How many times have you heard about someone who has been dead for weeks, being found in their apartment or house—usually by some bill collector or meter reader? It’s a sad, sad testament of our society. Look, Margaret is lucky. She has a group of people who care about her, or at least I think so, or you wouldn’t have shown up tonight. We need to do what is right for her, and we can’t be worried if we have been slighted or hurt by her actions. Our actions must be driven by her best interest. Nothing else should matter.”

  Reverend Davies sat down, and everyone fidgeted around, squirming like a group of school children in front of a principal — even if Reverend Davies didn’t mean it to come across so.

  “Good sermon, Reverend. I always thought being a meter reader would be a terrible job,” said Cheevers.

  Janice rolled her eyes.

  “Thank you, Reverend. I think we all want what’s best for Margaret. I’m sure you do, too, right Mrs. Trumble?”

  “Of course,” she said indignantly, shaking her head from side to side at such an insinuation.

  “Okay. We have a couple people who think we need to be proactive and a couple who think that nothing should be done. What can we all agree on?”

  They all started talking at once. It would be a long night.

  * * *

  “Well?” the twins peered at Margaret with expectant eyes.

  “I have more ice cream,” Margaret said.

  “I’m so full,” said Pam, echoed by Sam holding her stomach. “But we’d like you to continue the story.”

  Margaret smiled. She loved looking at the twins on her couch. She obliged.

  * * *

  “Georgia ran full-tilt, headlong, torso forward, mouth open, cartoon-legs spinning, trying to keep up with her upper body momentum.

  “‘Gwen!’ she yelled forcefully. Gwen had been resting with the baby in the tall grass halfway down the hill’s peak. She stood up abruptly and peered like a wild cat through the tall strands of alfalfa.

  “‘Georgia! I’ve had to do all the work,’ admonished Gwen bitterly.

  “‘Come quickly. Come! Father is here—at the top of the hill, waiting for us.’

  “‘Papa?’

  “Georgia panted loudly, trying to talk without any air. Her breath kept sucking the words back into her mouth.

  “‘Papa? Georgia, what are you talking about?’

  “‘Papa is here. He’s waiting for us. Oh Gwen, it’s what we’ve been waiting for. He’s come back. He’s come back. I told you. I saw the sign in the sky. The bright light. Come on!’

  “Gwen’s heart melted. Her eyes sunk and her cheeks followed, as if the strong, brave-faced girl no longer needed to be so strong. Her defenses fell, and she started crying as she saw the genuine hope and love in Georgia’s face. She picked up the baby in one arm and reached out to Georgia with the other. The two cats who fought incessantly were at peace. All territories and boundaries finally torn down — united in their determination that their family would move forward—that mother would once again be happy. Gwen smiled widely at Georgia, a rare occurrence indeed.

  “‘Take me to him.’

  “Georgia tugged on her arm, and they sprinted up the hill. Each step burned Gwen’s elbow as the baby wriggled up and down, but she didn’t care. Georgia was nearly laughing. She refused to let go of Gwen’s hand and pulled her along like Starling pulling the carriage.

  “‘We’re almost there. We’re almost there.’

  “They reached the summit of Harper’s Hill, panting wildly. The tall wide-spread crab apple stood motionless, witnessing the unfolding drama. Georgia let go of Gwen’s hand and surged forward toward the tree. She brushed against it with her hand.

  “‘Papa! Papa! Gwen’s here. Gwen’s here.’

  “The patch of grass behind the tree winced at Georgia, ashamed to be so empty. The table was gone. The chairs were gone. Papa was gone. Georgia stood expressionless, her heart barely beating, her lungs barely breathing, her eyes barely seeing. She felt confused and destitute. She fell to her knees and wailed in silence, unable to make a sound as tears streamed down her face. Gwen jutted around the trunk of the tree, baby in hand, hope in her heart, and nearly ran over Georgia, who knelt like a pilgrim at an altar or a widow at a funeral.

  “‘Papa? Where’s Papa?’ Gwen asked.

  “Georgia remained silent — tears in her eyes.

  “‘Georgia,’ Gwen voiced in a tone quickly becoming cynical. ‘Georgia, you evil girl. Papa isn’t here. How could you? How could you do this to me?’

  “Georgia stood up immediately and whirled around into Gwen’s face.

  “‘He was here,’ she yelled hoarsely. ‘He was here. There was a table, and two chairs, and he was here. Papa. Papa,’ she lapsed into a melancholy whisper.

  “‘You liar! How dare you! I hate you! I hate you!’ Gwen saw only red.

  “‘I’m not a liar. He was here,’ Georgia screamed right back.

  “The baby started crying.

  “‘I will never speak with you again,’ Gwen said with desperate tears on her cheeks, stabbing Georgia with heartbroken glances of betrayal. She knew of no one else on the entire earth who could be as cruel as Georgia.

  “Georgia’s temper rose quickly, having little patience with Gwen’s accusations.

  “‘I am not a liar. Papa was here. Right here.’

  “‘Stop it, Georgia. Stop it!’

  “‘I will not stop it.’

  “Georgia grasped Gwen’s arm and shook it up and down.

  “‘Stop it. You are just evil. You’re hurting Benjamin.’

  “
Georgia, in a mindless rage that consumed every inch of her body, could only think about Papa and the table. She couldn’t accept being a liar. Not this time. Not with the stakes this high.

  “‘I’m not a liar. Papa was here!’

  “Georgia pushed back against Gwen. Gwen caught her clog on a crab apple root. Her knee buckled, and she slipped backwards, caught in gravity’s rapturous pull. With her hands spread wide, she tumbled over, counting every second, reaching and reaching and reaching for the baby, who flew headlong out of her grasp. Her arms, flung over her head, could not catch him as he plummeted toward the tree. Gwen landed hard, squarely on her back. Benjamin shrieked loudly and then fell silent. Georgia looked on, helpless, as the baby came to rest at the base of the tree. He lay lifeless, blood flowing slowly down his soft, white cheek. Georgia stood in a dream, unable to move, unable to react, unable to speak. Gwen bent her neck backwards as far as possible to view baby Benjamin. Pain ripped through her back as her motherly instincts longed to hold her precious bundle.”

  * * *

  The meeting dragged on into the realm of the inconsequential. Mrs. Johnson decided to stand up and clear her head a little bit by picking up everyone’s coffee cups and taking them into the kitchen. She rinsed them lightly in the sink and yelled into the twins’ room to see what they were up to. No answer. She yelled again. Silence. She walked down the hall and into the room only to find it empty. She quickly back-traced her steps into the bathroom. Nothing. She went across the living room as Mr. Tomsey and his booming tenor tried to make a convincing counter-point. She peeked into the the master bedroom. They were gone. She quickly ran out of the room and anxiously announced her discovery.

  “The twins. They’re not here.”

  Everyone turned on cue and looked at Mrs. Johnson, whose face had gone completely white.

  “They aren’t in their room?”

  “They’re gone. They’re not in the apartment,” she said as her voice faltered and quivered and her eyes welled up with moisture.