Summer In Iron Springs

by Margie Broschinsky

  Phoebe shook her head. “No, I don’t. I saw a painting of this old church and I wanted to visit it in person,” she looked over her shoulder and admired the building from a new angle.

  “It’s a special place, that’s for sure. Not many like it. Been here close to a hundred years and it’s still used for Sunday services,” the old man replied. “Where’d you say you were from?” he asked.

  Phoebe hadn’t said, but she answered anyway. “I live in Seattle. But I’m spending the summer here with my aunt.”

  “Well welcome to Iron Springs, young lady.” The old man extended a hand to Phoebe. “I’m Howard Collins, and you are?”

  “Phoebe Levick,” Phoebe said, shaking Howard’s feeble hand.

  At the mention of her name, Howard shifted his attention from Helen’s grave to Phoebe’s face. His stare was so intense that Phoebe became uncomfortable—like he was studying her. He was silent but Phoebe sensed that there was something he wanted to say. “You say Levick? Levick’s your last name? And you’re visiting your aunt? Would that be Anna Peterson?”

  Here we go again. Anna told the little old man about me? What did she do, take out an ad in the paper?

  “Yeah, Anna’s my aunt,” Phoebe said. She was irritated at the way everyone in Iron Springs seemed to know her but she chose not to show her irritation to Howard.

  “So, Seattle, huh?” Howard said. “Quite a switch for you coming to Iron Springs, I’d imagine.”

  Phoebe’s eyes followed his as he gazed off into the distance. A brilliant red sun gleamed down on the tiny cemetery.

  “Yeah, it is different, that’s for sure,” Phoebe answered. She felt like Howard was studying her a little too closely. “But, I like it here.” When Phoebe heard herself utter those words, she was happy to know she meant them.

  “That’s good. It’s not much fun being somewhere you don’t want to be.” The man looked up, thought for a while and then shook his head gravely. Phoebe considered asking him if something was wrong but she didn’t want to pry. Instead, she sat quietly beside him and decided that he was probably thinking about his wife. Finally, after they’d been sitting on the bench for a long while, Howard sat up straight and cleared his throat.

  “Come with me Phoebe. I want to show you something.” He choked on his words as he stood from the bench.

  “What is it?” Phoebe asked, looking into Howard’s eyes.

  “Follow me.” Howard’s words were solemn and for a moment, Phoebe considered running away. But, even though she didn’t know Howard at all, she also didn’t feel like the frail old man was dangerous. And, despite his age, Phoebe was sure Bandit would protect her if anything happened.

  She stood up and followed him as he crossed the lawn and led her to the far side of the small cemetery. They walked along a narrow dirt pathway and into the center of a group of headstones. Howard stood perfectly still before a grave without saying a word. He glanced kindly at Phoebe. Slowly, almost knowingly, she looked down and read the words that were engraved upon the stone:

  Bessie Anna Levick – Wife, Mother, Artist.

  June 16, 1970 to October 29, 1995.

  A sharp ache shot through Phoebe’s stomach. Her heart raced and her hands started to tremble. Hot tears tumbled down her cheeks. She knelt down and rested her head on the gravestone and sobbed. Howard put a hand on her shoulder and left it there.

  “I thought you should know,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “I hope I did the right thing.”

  Phoebe glanced up at him. “Thank you,” she stared at Howard through red, wet eyes. Her mouth quivered as she spoke. “Thank you for showing it to me.” She put her arms around Howard. “I have to go now,” she said through her tears. “I have to get back.”

  Howard gave her a kind nod and she ran from the cemetery. Even though she knew it was painful for him, Bandit ran right alongside her all the way. When she got to Anna’s, she ran up the porch stairs past Anna, who was sitting on the front porch, and hurried to her room where she collapsed on the bed. A minute later, there was a knock at her door. Phoebe ignored it and after a few more seconds, Anna entered the room. She sat on the side of the bed and looked at her niece through worried, anxious eyes.

  “Phoebe . . .” She said softly. “Will you tell me what happened?”

  Phoebe’s shoulders heaved as she sobbed into her pillow. Anna caressed her back in small circular motions. “Whatever happened, I’ll help you through it,” Anna said.

  “I saw my mother’s grave,” Phoebe said. She lifted her face from the pillow, her hair, wet from tears, stuck to her face and she brushed it away. “My dad never told me where she was buried. I can’t believe I never asked. I didn’t know her at all. I know nothing about her. She was my mother and I don’t know anything about her!” Anger welled up and flooded Phoebe’s eyes with tears. She was angry with herself for being selfish and angry at her father for not talking to her.

  Anna reached out and touched Phoebe’s shoulder. “I’m so very sorry Phoebe.” She ran her hand softly over Phoebe’s back. “I should have told you. I didn’t know . . .” Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I should have told you.”

  Phoebe shook her head. This was not Anna’s fault. In her heart, she knew it was her own fault for never finding out—never caring enough to ask. An awful combination of anger, sadness and guilt filled her soul. “How could I not have known where my own mother was buried? How could my dad have not told me; especially since he was sending me here?” She buried her face in the pillow again and cried.

  “I don’t know why he didn’t tell you, sweetheart,” Anna spoke softly. “I think he wanted to protect you from pain.” After a long moment of silence, Anna stood up and headed toward the door. “I’ll be right back Phoebe.”

  A great weight had settled on Phoebe’s shoulders. Howard, a perfect stranger, knew more about her mother than she did. How could she live with that? As she thought about the life she’d lived up to this point, she made a decision to change. She would strive to be more like her mother. She would use the time she had left in Iron Springs to learn all she could about her mother. If she had a question, she would ask it. Nothing would go unasked. Nothing would be ignored. There would be no more pretending.

  “I have something for you Phoebe,” Anna said when she returned a few minutes later. “I always imagined I’d give this to you on your wedding day but I think this is a better time for you to have it.”

  Phoebe turned and faced her aunt. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and rested her body against the headboard.

  “Your mother made this,” she said. “I want you to have it.” She handed Phoebe a beautiful dark blue quilt. It was made up of an intricate pattern of brightly colored butterflies in various sizes and shapes. The vibrant design was stitched together to form an exquisite work of art.

  “My mother made this?” Phoebe’s eyes were glued to the quilt. She sat cross-legged on the bed as she admired the beautiful gift.

  Anna nodded. She ran her hand softly over the beautiful quilt. Her eyes admired it lovingly. “I hope it will bring you comfort.”

  “Thank you,” Phoebe said. She put her arms around her aunt. Anna returned the embrace and held her niece for as long as Phoebe would allow.

  When Phoebe released the embrace, Anna stood and walked slowly toward the door. “I’ll leave you alone. Please call me if you need anything.”

  Phoebe covered herself with her mother’s quilt, curled up in a ball, wrapped her arms around her legs and wept.

  Seven

  When Phoebe emerged from her room, her eyes were red and puffy and her head ached. She headed downstairs to the living room. Anna stood up from her spot on the couch.

  “Hi Phoebe, are you feeling better?”

  Phoebe nodded. She didn’t trust her voice to speak.

  Anna walked over and put her arms around Phoebe. Phoebe rested her head on her aunt’s shoulder. “I know it hurts.” Anna gently ran her hand over Phoebe’s bac
k.

  Phoebe nodded and wiped the tears from her cheek. “Do you mind if I get some air?” Phoebe motioned her arm toward the front door.

  Anna looked into Phoebe’s swollen eyes. “Of course not,” she placed her hand on Phoebe’s arm. “You go right ahead. Would you like me to come with you?”

  Phoebe shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

  Billy stood when Phoebe walked outside. The anxious expression on his face told her he was aware that she’d seen her mother’s grave.

  He walked over and stood before her. “Hi.” He ran the back of his hand over her cheek. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. She was happy he stayed instead of leaving with Norm and the others.

  “Let’s take a walk,” he said, gently taking her hand in his.

  Phoebe nodded and followed Billy down the porch steps. She needed to get away. She was cried out and tired of being cooped up in her room.

  They headed into the heavily wooded part of the forest and walked until they reached the willow tree they’d sat beneath after their date.

  “Let’s sit here,” Billy said. He helped Phoebe to the ground and then he took a seat beside her.

  The sound of leaves rustling through the trees and a calm evening breeze filled the air. Crickets chirped their customary song and far off in the distance, an owl called out. Phoebe relaxed to the peaceful sounds of evening.

  “Are you cold?” Billy asked after Phoebe shuddered.

  “A little.”

  Billy removed his jacked and helped her to put it on. Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a warm embrace. He looked into her eyes as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m so sorry, Phoebe,” he whispered. Phoebe buried her face in his chest and stayed there for a long moment.

  “It just took me by surprise,” she said. She swallowed hard and tried to stop the flow of tears from starting up again. “I didn’t know where she was buried . . . I just . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “It’s okay,” Billy said softly. He held her in his arms. “I know it’s not easy to talk about.”

  “It’s not,” she said. “I’ve never talked about her. My dad never . . .” She glanced toward the sky. “. . . He just couldn’t talk about it at all.”

  The moon’s vivid glow shined through the trees and Phoebe’s eyes were drawn to it.

  “It’s nice out here, isn’t it?” Billy whispered softly.

  Phoebe nodded. “It’s beautiful.” Being there with Billy made the place even more beautiful.

  “I wish I could have been with you today,” Billy said, staring into her eyes. “I’m sorry you had to have that experience alone.”

  “I wish you could have been there too,” she whispered.

  “Will you tell me about her?” Billy’s words broke the silence.

  “About my mom?” Phoebe asked, even though she already knew the answer.

  Billy nodded. “I’d like to know about her. I mean, if you want to talk about it.”

  “I don’t remember much about her. I was only three when she died.” A tear trickled down Phoebe’s cheek and she wiped it away. “I hate being so emotional.”

  “I’m so sorry Phoebe.” Billy pulled her closer and wrapped his arms tightly around her. “I’m sure being in Iron Springs is hard for you.”

  Phoebe nodded. “She spent her life here.” Phoebe’s heart ached as she pictured her mother’s grave. “It’s hard being surrounded by so many things that make me think about her.” She paused for a moment, wiping away the tears that rolled down her cheeks. “But, at the same time, I want to learn all that I can about her while I’m here.”

  Billy leaned close to her and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I know it’s painful, but I think you’ll be happy you had this time in Iron Springs.”

  Phoebe nodded. She looked into his eyes. “I agree, and not just because of my mom.”

  Billy smiled and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Oh yeah?” he said when the kiss was over. “And just what else does Iron Springs have that makes you happy?”

  Phoebe glanced at the sky and smiled. “Well, there’s this guy . . . and he’s kinda nice and not bad to look at.”

  Billy laughed and wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. “Is that right?”

  “Uh huh.” Phoebe laughed.

  ***

  Phoebe removed the painting of the cottage from the wall. She stared at it for a long while, examining the great detail of the beautiful scene. In the distance, she noticed a tiny squirrel rushing across a telephone wire; seeing it made her smile. Her eyes were drawn to a small white mailbox that was situated atop a wooden pole at the end of a long sidewalk. There was writing on the mailbox.

  “It’s the address,” she said aloud.

  Her eyes squinted, trying to make out the words. “112 Blue Beth Lane.”

  She hurried to Anna’s office and entered the address into a search on the computer. She was sure it would be easy, especially after how quickly she had been able to locate the address of the church. But, none of the results made any sense. There were plenty of addresses that matched, but none of them were anywhere near Iron Springs and none of the images matched the one in the painting.

  “Hi Phoebe,” Anna said, entering the office. How’s your day going?” Anna sat down in a leather chair that faced the large wooden desk.

  “Fine,” Phoebe said gloomily.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Anna said.

  Phoebe glanced at the computer screen. “Well, I was looking at one of my mom’s paintings. It’s the one of the cottage—I want to visit it, but I can’t find the address.” Phoebe turned the computer monitor and held up her hand to show the multitude of results. “I searched for 112 Blue Beth Lane, since that’s what it says on the mailbox, but none of the searches returned any results that were helpful.”

  Anna smiled. “Follow me, Phoebe,” she stood up and walked toward the office door.

  “Where to?”

  “Trust me,” Anna said as she headed out the door and up the stairs.

  She walked to Phoebe’s room where she removed the painting from the wall and sat down on the bed. Phoebe sat beside her.

  “This says Elizabeth Lane, not Blue Beth Lane.” Anna paused and gave Phoebe a sideways glance. “Although, I can certainly see how you came up with that. I wouldn’t have been able to make it out either if I hadn’t already known what it said.”

  After examining the words more closely, Phoebe could see the word Elizabeth. “That’s right! Thank you!” She threw her arms around Anna and then, after a brief embrace, she darted out the door and down the hall.

  “You don’t need to do that,” Anna called after Phoebe causing her to stop midway down the stairs. “I know right where it is.”

  “You do?” Phoebe whirled around to face Anna who was now standing at the top of the stairs. “Will you tell me?”

  Anna smiled. “I’ll do better than that, I’ll take you there; right now if you’d like.”

  “I would love that,” Phoebe said. She tore out the front door and headed for the car.

  Anna drove them down a bumpy dirt road until they came to a long narrow lane that took them into an area densely populated by giant evergreens. Tiny houses were nestled amongst the trees. Phoebe surveyed each one and compared it to the cottage in the painting.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Phoebe said when Anna turned and headed down a long narrow dirt road.

  Anna glanced at Phoebe. “Of course you can.”

  “My mom . . .” she paused and swallowed the emotions that were mounting inside her. “. . . She liked butterflies.” Phoebe took a moment to form her words. “She made the quilt of butterflies and Stephen told me that she taught him about caterpillars and how they turn into butterflies.”

  Anna stared out the window. A smile crossed her face. “Bessie loved butterflies.” The cracking in Anna’s voice caused Phoebe to feel guilty for asking. She could tell how hard it was for Anna to
talk about her sister. “And she was Stephen’s very best friend.”

  “I can tell. He talks about her a lot.” Phoebe’s gaze moved to the floor. As she focused on her shoes, she wished it didn’t feel so awkward talking about her mother. “Why did she like them? I mean, what was it about butterflies that meant so much to her?”

  Anna slowed the car to a stop on the side of a narrow dirt road. She looked at Phoebe and smiled. “Well, we grew up at the orchard. So we got to see a lot of butterflies. Your mother saw beauty in everything around her. She believed that the transformation a caterpillar underwent before becoming a butterfly was one of God’s sweetest miracles. “Anna glanced away briefly, blinked away a tear and looked back at Phoebe. “Your mother was a very special person.”

  Phoebe’s heart swelled as she listened to her aunt’s words. She wanted be like the woman Anna described. She wanted to find beauty in the world. She wanted to be happy about what she had; not angry and bitter over what she didn’t have.

  “There it is.” Anna pointed out the car’s windshield to the tiny cottage. It looked just as it had in the painting.

  “Did my parents live there?” She knew the answer to her question but she needed Anna to confirm her gut feeling.

  “Yes, they did. And so did you,” Anna smiled as tears filled Phoebe’s eyes.

  “I lived here?”

  Anna nodded. “Go ahead. Take a look around. I’ll wait here,” she shooed Phoebe from the car.

  Phoebe stepped out of the car and slowly made her way toward the white picket fence that surrounded the property. She glanced over her shoulder and Anna motioned for her to keep moving. She was anxious about knocking on the door—about facing the stranger who now lived in her parent’s first home. She took a deep breath and inhaled the sweet scent of lilacs. She crossed the lawn and stepped onto the covered entryway. She exhaled slowly as she pressed the doorbell. A few seconds later, the door opened and an elderly man peered out at her. Phoebe immediately recognized Howard.

  “Well, hello again, young lady,” he beamed at her. “What brings you all the way out here?”