A World of Possibility

by ASMSG Authors

Grant stood on the deserted country road staring at his broken-down rental car. With a sigh, he gazed around. The night was as black as the inside of a coal bucket, no lights anywhere. He flipped his cell phone open, but there were no bars. At least its light chased the darkness away. The smell of summer grasses sweetened the air and the crickets and frogs were singing their night song in a rolling crescendo.

  Flipping the phone shut, he dropped it in his pocket and looked up the road with disgust.

  He remembered passing a farmhouse around the last bend, so he grabbed the car keys along with his briefcase and slammed the car door. With a grunt of amusement and a beep, he locked the car and shook his head. It wasn’t as if anyone could steal it!

  He started to walk down the lonesome road.

  The darkness closed around him. A chill crept up his back and he turned, expecting to see someone watching, but there was no one there. He was struck with the sensation that something was about to happen. It crackled through the air like static electricity. He could feel it. He could even taste it. The heavy darkness and the empty road ahead created a strange feeling of solitude. It wasn’t just a feeling of being alone, but of being alone forever. A nervous laugh threatened to escape him.

  ‘A sinister fugue of psychotic music would be perfect right now’, he thought. ‘I haven’t been scared of the dark since I was seven; this isn’t a good time to start up again. ‘

  A light breeze sprang up and played through his hair. It ruffled the tops of the trees filling the night with a ‘shhhhhh’ sound. Their silhouettes were dark, moving shadows against an even blacker sky.

  After walking quite a while and wondering if his memory had failed him, he came upon the farmhouse. It sat well back from the road with a dirt path that led up a set of steps to a ramshackle front porch. A little farther down the road, he could just make out a weedy driveway that stopped in front of a dilapidated unattached garage. It had probably been a handsome house in its day with the wide wraparound porch and the gabled windows.

  As he drew closer, he noticed someone rocking in the backwash of light from a window. An alarm in his head said they had been waiting for him but he shook the feeling off and continued to walk toward the steps. He heard a scrabbling noise, as if a small animal had scurried away from his footsteps but he could see nothing in the shadows around the porch. His step faltered as he realized that the insects had stopped their singing; it was as if the night were holding its breath to see what might happen next.

  An elderly lady arose as he drew nearer and moved to stand at the top of the steps. She had a shawl around her shoulders and clutched something close to her chest. The rocking chair that she’d abandoned creaked as she stepped away from it.

  She looked up at the sky as he approached and tugged her shawl closer to her throat. Then she opened a book, her shaking fingers moving over the page. He could now see it appeared to be a Bible.

  Holding one hand out toward him, she clutched the Bible and gave him a stern look. “Now you stop right there, mister.”

  He held his arms out from his sides, left palm toward her, right hand clutching his briefcase. “I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but…”

  “No, sir, I know what sent you here and there will be none of that going on at my house. You just keep trudging on up that road!”

  He tried again. “Nothing sent me here, ma’am. My car broke down …”

  “I heard no car.”

  “If you could just let me use your phone, ma’am, I’d be on my way. I’d really appreciate it.”

  “I just bet you would, the devil cannot enter uninvited.”

  “Ma’am, I just need help with my car. I’m on my way to a very important business meeting.” He shook his briefcase. “See, all my work’s in here.”

  The old woman glared at him. “Do you see that moon up there?”

  He peered up into the dark sky. “No ma’am, I don’t see a moon.”

  “That’s right. The moon is the eye of God, and the devil’s gone and covered it up with black clouds. Spirits are running over the tops of the trees. Can’t you hear them?” She wrapped her arms across her Bible, holding it tight to her chest like a shield.

  Grant glanced back at the lonely road wondering how far he’d have to walk to find another house. He couldn’t remember seeing another one nearby. Looking back up at the lady on the porch, he decided he’d better play along. “It is pretty spooky out here. I’d sure like to get into the light and call someone to come help me.”

  “Oh, Lord,” the lady muttered, “protect me now.” Slapping the pages of the book together and stroking the pebbly black cover, she stared at him with narrowed eyes for a moment. Then her little frown firmed into a straight line, as if she’d come to a hard decision. “All right, come on up here then. You just know that I’m holding onto the Lord’s Word here. The moon may be covered up, but He is here with me all the same. You look like a nice young man and as a Christian woman I can hardly leave you out there in this devil’s darkness.”

  “Yes, ma’am, thank you so much.” He moved toward her with a slow gait and climbed the steps to her porch. “I just want to use your phone. I don’t mean you any harm.”

  “Your eyes don’t give me a chill, so I s’pose you’re alright. The phone is in the hall just through the front door. You go make your call, and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea. I have carrot cake, too, made fresh this morning.” She nodded and smiled, showing him a mouth full of widely spaced, stained teeth.

  He followed her in as she hitched her way to the kitchen. She pointed to the phone in the hall as she passed it. He looked around the dim hallway. A tall staircase disappeared up into blackness and he heard a creak from above. ‘Probably a draft,’ he thought.

  He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked toward it he saw an empty room that faded into darkness. The only light came from the left, where, he assumed, resided the kitchen.

  He reached for the receiver and lifted it to his ear. Dead. He rattled the hang-up buttons: nothing. Following the cord from the phone to the wall, he could see it was plugged in properly. He jiggled the buttons again but nothing happened.

  He returned to the porch, shaking his head.

  She came out through a door on the left side of the porch carrying a tray with two steaming cups rattling on saucers and two plates bearing the promised carrot cake.

  “Your phone is dead, ma’am.”

  “Oh, please, call me Miss Lula. Everyone around here does,” she said with a sweet smile.

  “Ok, Miss Lula, but your phone doesn’t work.”

  Smiling, she said, “Yes, yes, I know. It hasn’t worked in months.”

  He gave her a startled look. “But you said I could use it!”

  “Well, I couldn’t leave you out there on that dark road with the spirits walking, now could I?” Her brown eyes twinkled. “Come have your tea. I have a spare room you can use tonight and in the morning we’ll get Mr Hankins, the newspaper man, to carry you into town. Won’t that be nice?”

  “But, ma’am…” He amended that to ‘Miss Lula’ when she gave him a glare. “I need to get my car fixed. I need to get to my meeting.”

  “Sometimes,” she told him sternly, “the Lord has other plans for us. That road is dangerous tonight. He sent you here, to me, where you’re safe. Yes, the Lord works in mysterious ways, He does.” She chuckled and nodded.

  Grant sighed and dug his fork into the moist cake. He hadn’t eaten since the peanuts on the plane. After one bite, he could only grin.

  “Miss Lula, that’s the best carrot cake I ever tasted!” He felt his mood change for the better and decided it must be the sugar.

  She leaned toward him. “It’s my grandmother’s secret recipe,” She whispered. “I’m glad you like it, Harrison always did.”

  “Harrison?”

  “My fiancé.” A cloud passed over her expression. “Oh, he was a dashing man, so tall and dark. I loved him something fi
erce, I still do. He left to go to the war, you see, and I’ve been waiting for him ever since.” Her gaze wandered into the night but quickly swung back and settled on Grant. “You look a lot like him.”

  A tree branch scraped against the roof with an eerie squeal.

  “Oh, I… Which war was that?”

  “Why, the Second World War, of course!” she said. “I can hardly wait to see him again.”

  The wind swept down the path toward the steps and a jumble of leaves swirled into the air by the railing.

  Grant jumped, then sat back and rubbed his chin. “Miss Lula, do you know how long he’s been gone?”

  “Yes, indeed! It’s been much, much too long. But I’ve been content to wait for him. I mean, just think of all he’s gone through over there.” She shook her head then smiled a wistful smile. “But as soon as he gets home, we’ll be married. My wedding gown is all wrapped safely in the cedar closet.”

  Grant nodded and thought it best to go along with her. “I see. Have you lived out here long? It must be difficult taking care of this big house all alone.”

  She nodded. “I was born right here in this very house. I’m sure there are more exciting places to be, but I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. I don’t mind the chores much, it keeps me busy.”

  “It’s very quiet and peaceful here. I live in New York. It’s nice to live in the city and have so many things to do, but it’s never very quiet there. How did you meet Harrison – if you don’t my asking?”

  “Oh no, I don’t mind. He was a local boy, I knew him in school – when he was there. His daddy was a farmer and the boys around here weren’t in school much in the fall and spring. They had work to do at home. But it wasn’t until we were in high school that we really paid much attention to each other.”

  “High school sweethearts, then?” he smiled.

  “Well, it wasn’t like it is now, back then. Everyone dated and no one got too serious. At least, not at first, but by the time we were juniors, we were pretty much an item.” She fidgeted in her seat.

  He was surprised at how much younger she appeared. How was that possible?

  “What did you and Harrison do together?”

  “Picnics, walks… and of course we always saw each other at church on Sundays.” She blushed and glanced down, then back up with an impish look on her face. “And we danced… “. She seemed to gain more spirit with that declaration. “We used to dance. We loved to listen to the phonograph records and, oh my, he could dance so divinely.”

  Once again, her gaze drifted away, and then she focused back on him. “Do you dance, Mr…”

  “Grant. I mean, my name’s Grant Jacobs, but please call me Grant. I dance a little but I’m afraid no one would ever call me ‘divine’.”

  Miss Lula clapped her hands. She appeared to grow even younger with this revelation. “Oh, would you like to hear our songs? I’m sure Harrison wouldn’t mind.”

  Grant had to smile at her delight. Since he wasn't going to make that meeting; he might as well relax and make the best of it. “Certainly, Miss Lula, I’d love to hear your dancing music.”

  The screen door leading into the hall swung open with creak, wavering for a moment before slapping back into the door frame.

  “Oh this funny old house, that door does that all the time!” She hopped up quicker than before and moved in the direction of the front door, stopping once to make sure he was following.

  Her skin appeared much smoother in the darkened doorway and her silhouette more womanly. Grant couldn’t believe he had thought she was so old earlier.

  He followed her into the house, past the dark imposing stairway and through an arched doorway into the living room. Miss Lula touched an old fashioned pushbutton switch on the wall and a lamp with a deep red glass shade came on, washing the room in color and chasing the shadows away.

  The phonograph cabinet stood in the corner of the room; an imposing piece of furniture. Miss Lula lifted the lid upright with a strong, sure hand and turned the button at the front.

  The turntable started to spin.

  “Wow,” said Grant, “It works!”

  “Well, of course it does, silly!” She laughed at his amazement as she knelt and opened the cabinet in the base of the machine. She pulled out what appeared to be a thick book. When she opened it, Grant could see it held many round paper sleeves, each of which protected a thick black disk.

  She looked up at him with a winsome smile. “My grandmother called this a gramophone, but it’s much more modern than those contraptions. They had to be cranked, can you even imagine that?” Her eyes were wide and clear. He noticed they were green. Weren’t they brown earlier? He couldn’t recall. She seemed much younger than he remembered as well.

  “I can.” Grant nodded and didn’t allow his amusement to show.

  Miss Lula slipped one of the 78s free of its sleeve, placed it over the spindle and pushed it down onto the turntable. She lifted the arm beside it and blew. Grant heard her puff amplified through the needle and saw a tiny fleck of dust float away. She set it with care on the edge of the record and happy music began to swirl into the room.

  “That’s ‘In the Mood,’ by Glenn Miller,” she beamed. “We danced the swing to that and didn’t my grandmother think we were crazy. ‘Lula!’ she would cry, ‘What might people say if they saw you gyrating around like that?’” She laughed and took Grant’s hand, giving it a little tug. Her hand was smooth and strong. “Dance with me, oh do!”

  A cold draft washed over him as he took her hand.

  The years fell away as he led her around the room. She moved in perfect rhythm to the music, never missing a single step. He began to glimpse the young woman within as she moved to the sounds of the war-torn ‘40s. The tunes moved through ‘Pennsylvania 6-5000’ and into ‘It Must Be Jelly’ before the scratching needle indicated the end of the record.

  Mingling shadows slid past the open archway, wanting to rush in, but the red globed light kept them firmly out. All but one.

  She rushed over to the phonograph with the step of a young woman. “Now I’ll play our favorite song, oh I love it so much.”

  She plucked the record from the spindle and replaced it in its sleeve. She flipped through a couple of pages, then pulled another out and set it up to play. Her skin was clear and smooth against the browned pages of the old book; her nails painted a bright glistening red that grabbed Grant’s attention and fascinated him.

  She turned as the gentler strains of ‘We’ll Meet Again’ wafted through the air. Reaching up, she pulled the pins out of her dark shining hair and it tumbled down around her shoulders. She looked at him with expectancy. “Do you remember?” she whispered.

  A shadow moved between them and he felt a jolt as something moved through him.

  ‘Remember?’ Grant glanced back at the door. He wasn’t sure where he was, or why he was here. But it felt so familiar. He tried hard to clear his mind.

  Dread crept over him and he turned to escape the room, but that sweet music captured his thoughts. Something… no someone asked to be allowed in.

  ‘Who…’

  It was as if he had met with a part of himself that had been hidden away for years. Unknown memories now coursed through him with breathtaking clarity. His mind opened and new feelings poured in. He loved that song; of course he remembered it!

  “Lula!” He was delighted to find himself with the most wonderful, beautiful girl he’d ever met. She looked exactly as he remembered her. And he had missed her so. How long had it been? His last clear memory was of lying in pain in a cold, wet foxhole in a war-torn land. He didn’t know how he’d gotten there, or how he’d come from there to here, but he thrilled at hearing these soft familiar strains and longed to hold his Lula close.

  She held her arms out to him. “Harrison, you do remember!”

  “Oh, Lula, of course I remember! Of course I do. His face lit with joy as he stepped into her arms and held her close as they dan
ced away into the night.

  THE END

  A COTTAGE AT MANITOU CROSSING

  by Tannis Laidlaw

  https://tannislaidlaw.com/