The Secrets of Moonshine

by Denise Daisy

  “Mavis, dear!” she lumbered to catch up with her. “Where are your guests this morning?” She was panting, her chubby face already red with the energy she exerted to catch up with the hobbling Mavis. “Not church goers, I assume? That’s how it is with big city folk. They’re so busy; they never make time for God and spiritual things.”

  “I suppose.” Mavis continued limping to her car.

  “Well I can only assume they were plenty tuckered out from last night,” Doris continued. “As pastor said, they all did seem to enjoy themselves quite a bit. Especially one of them. I’m sure you know of whom I am referring. I saw Travis taking her in his boat late last night.”

  “Really?” Mavis answered, somewhat perturbed. “And how could you have seen that, seeing as Travis’s boat is docked at his cabin, which we all know is not visible from the courtyard?”

  “Charles and I weren’t at the courtyard. We had taken a little walk.” Doris said, trying to sound naïve. “We were near the cabin when I noticed Travis helping her into the boat. It just surprised me is all I’m saying. You know I think the world of you and that man Travis! I’m just lookin’ out for the both of you. She may seem sweet and innocent, but-”

  Mavis swung her car door open and climbed into the front. She glanced back to make sure the kids were inside. Molly was safely buckled in the back seat. Carla Jo, was standing outside of the car, still talking with her friends.

  “Thank you Doris.” She grabbed the door handle.

  “Travis is a wise and decent man. I am sure he knows what he is doing. I trust his judgment completely.” With those words, she slammed her door shut. “Carla Jo! Let’s go!” she yelled.

  Carla Jo jumped in the car. Mavis sped away, leaving a disappointed Doris behind her.

  Mavis returned from church, prepared a quick, simple lunch, and disappeared for the rest of the afternoon. Bronwyn and Bethany decided to clean up their room, and do some much needed laundry. Sunday was the one day of the week that Mavis neglected to make the beds, and clean the rooms. It was her day of rest. Usually, when the girls returned to their room, they would find the bed made, clean towels in the bathroom, fresh flowers in a vase by the window, and some sort of treat on their pillows. Once, they received a plate of her famous chocolate chip cookies; on another day, it was a bowl of chocolate dipped strawberries. Then there was a plate of chewy brownies. It was always a treat to see what Mavis would leave. In all of Bronwyn’s travels, she had never stayed in a place as comfortable as Sandalwood Inn.

  She tossed the last pillow back onto the bed and then retrieved her dress from the floor. She’d come back to the Inn so late last night, and with no desire of waking her friends, she quickly disrobed, leaving her clothes on the floor. As she grabbed the dress to add it to her pile of laundry, she noticed a small bulging in the pocket. She retrieved a small tube. Examining it, she noticed the cylinder was carved from a smooth wood. She studied the beauty and antiquity of the object in her hand. Detailed carvings were etched around the tube, and an elegant letter E was carved in the center. A golden cap sealed the top. She barely remembered the masked figure that placed it into her hand. “I am delivering a message just for you,” he whispered before he kissed her hand, bowed and backed away, disappearing into the crowd.

  She’d been so overcome with emotion at the time, that she paid little attention to the event, let alone remembered it. Curious, she pried open the end of the cylinder, emptying out a parchment rolled into a scroll, and tied with a blue ribbon. Her slender fingers carefully uncurled the paper. Handwritten in beautiful calligraphy were the words, Isaiah 42:9.

  “A bible verse?” she said aloud. Probably a gimmick of the church, she thought, handing out scriptures and telling everyone to repent or they will go to hell. She spoke from experience, having been a victim of that methodology before.

  “What did you say?” Bethany asked, as she sorted through her clothes, deciding what items needed to be laundered.

  “Sorry. I was just thinking out loud. I opened my cylinder, thinking it was Moonshine’s version of a fortune cookie. All that was in it was a Bible verse. Probably a gimmick of the church.”

  Bethany looked at the ornate cylinder. “Where did you get that?”

  “One of those masked, trinket-bearing figures gave it to me. He said he was delivering a message just for me.”

  “Weird,” Bethany said. “I didn’t get a cylinder.”

  Bronwyn twirled it around her fingers, wondering if there was significance.

  “What’s the message?”

  “Just a Bible reference,” she replied. “Probably telling me to repent or go to hell.”

  Bethany laughed. “They’re on to you and your late night escapades.”

  Bronwyn tossed a soiled towel Bethany’s way.

  “Look it up and see what it says.”

  “You got a Bible?” Her voice matched the sarcasm of her question.

  “As a matter of fact I do,” Bethany said smugly “But it’s packed away in the bus.”

  “A lot of good it’s doing you there.” She didn’t mention it to Bethany, but she also had a small Bible packed away on the bus that she read from time to time.

  “Go look it up,” Bethany urged. “I’m sure Mavis has a Bible somewhere around here.”

  “I’ll do it later.” She returned the scroll to the cylinder, which she placed it in the pocket of her shorts.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  After supper, Bronwyn retired to the back porch swing to work on the new script. Bethany and Lillian sat with her, relaxing in rockers, sipping iced tea with lavender, and enjoying a calm Sunday evening. Mavis joined the girls, occupying another rocking chair, and reading the paper. Bronwyn was listening to her iPod in an attempt to drown out any conversation on the porch.

  “You girls enjoy the fireworks last night?” Mavis asked from behind her paper.

  “Yes, they were amazing.” Bethany answered, somewhat startled by the randomness of the question.

  “What about you, Bronwyn?” Mavis asked, her face still hidden behind the paper.

  The music piping into Bronwyn’s ears prevented her from hearing Mavis’s inquiry.

  “Bronwyn!” Bethany raised her voice trying to overpower the music.

  She was busy searching the Bible, attempting to look up the message in Isaiah 42:9. “What?” She pulled out her earbuds.

  “Mavis just asked you if you enjoyed the fireworks last night.” Bethany said, glints of warning in her eyes. Bronwyn quickly glanced at Mavis, whose face remained hidden by the paper.

  “Yes, I saw them. They were beautiful.”

  “That’s good.” Mavis casually turned the page. “I was hoping you had a good view.”

  Bethany’s eyes widened as she looked at Bronwyn. Bronwyn felt as if her stomach had fallen on the floor. Mavis had to be suspicious. Why hadn’t she asked Lillian the same question? Bronwyn wanted to blurt out, “Nothing happened!”

  Instead, she returned to her search for Isaiah 42:9. She flipped through the many smaller books; Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Song of Solomon, and Isaiah. She found the book. Her hands began to tremble from the adrenaline rush that had accompanied Mavis’s question. She was only seconds away from reading, “The message that had been delivered just for her.” Bronwyn wouldn’t at all be surprised if it said something to the effect of, “Adulterers will burn!”

  Her finger scanned the pages, Isaiah 39…40…41…42... Verse 9. Bronwyn read silently:

  “See the former things have taken place, and new things I declare. Before they spring into being, I announce them to you.”

  The heat sensation began to invade her again. The message was nothing more than another riddle--another enigma to muddle through.

  She scribbled the verse on the back of the scroll before returning it to the cylinder.

  The melodies of the late evening dulcimer player began drifting through the trees, as they did every evening. This was becoming clockwork. The winsome melody was soo
n accompanied by the song of the woman, drawing her attention away from the crowded porch and into the woods. Curious, she decided to follow the voice. She laid the Bible and her computer aside. Standing, she stuffed the scroll back into the pocket of her shorts, and left the porch.

  “Where are you going?” Bethany asked.

  “I’ll be back in a while,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried away. Bethany and Lillian both watched as Mavis slightly lowered the paper, peering at Bronwyn as she headed for the river.

  Bronwyn found the small trail that led to the waterfall. She was sure she could easily follow the path and successfully find it on her own. She glanced over her shoulder and looked back at the inn, relieved she was already too far for anyone to see her. The distance, accompanied by the dark of the night, hid her completely from the view of the porch.

  Stepping into the woods, she began following the soft path, thankful for the moonlight that glistened through the trees, providing enough light to illuminate her way without the need of a flashlight. She walked confidently at a brisk pace, following the trail for quite a ways before the crackling and snapping of leaves and twigs caught her attention. She picked up on movement to her right. Her heart hugged her throat, as a frightened deer bolted across the path and disappeared in the darkness. She stopped a minute to regain her composure and catch her breath. For a second time, she remembered Travis’ strict warning not to venture out alone. She had done it again; when was she going to learn?

  Her mind began to taunt her with thoughts of dark-hooded, knife-wielding men, hiding behind every tree. She even conjured up the visual of hungry grizzlies descending to feed. She began to scold herself for running off without thinking first, or at least grabbing a flashlight. The trees had thickened during the course of her walk, causing the light from the moon to decrease dramatically. She attempted to adjust her eyes. With the aid of her hands, she felt her way down the winding path continuing on her determined walk, but unfortunately at a much slower pace, uncertain if she still remained on the path. She stumbled over rocks, low lying branches, and felled tree trunks, groping her way along as a seed of terror began to grow inside of her. The fear was not brought about by her present situation, despite the fact she wished she had ventured out a bit more prepared. The fear that manifested within was of a threatening horror overtaking the woods. The same malicious presence she felt at the falls seemed to be manifesting before her. Her courage dissipated. She decided to abort her mission and return to the porch.

  Desperately trying to get her bearings, she questioned which direction to go. She was disoriented and unsure about re-tracing her steps. Within a few minutes, she decided it was impossible, although she continued to feel her way through the dense forest, grabbing at branches, hoping for a break in the trees, which would allow the moon to give her a bit of light.

  She groped along a little further before the trees cleared, releasing the bright glow of the moon, and just as she had the confidence to scout around and look for a better direction, the path beneath her feet dropped off, causing her to lose her footing. She toppled over the side of a deep gulch, turning several somersaults as she careened down the side of the hill. Sharp branches sliced into her arms and legs, tearing at her flesh. When she crumbled to the bottom of the gulch, she was drenched by mud and in complete darkness. She lay there, stunned. The distant hoot of an owl pierced the black silence surrounding her, for the dulcimer and the song of the woman suddenly stopped.

  She sat up slowly, fully aware that she needed to climb back to the top of this ravine before she could determine which way to go, though she knew for certain she would not be able to retrace her steps.

  “Damn it!” She cursed out loud, angry over her weakness and extreme stupidity. She rarely ever cursed, unlike most of the people with whom she hung out. She found cursing to be the sign of a poor vocabulary, and as a writer; she preferred more descriptive appropriate words to describe life events. However, there was always a time and a place for everything, and this certainly was the time to curse.

  She crawled to her knees, feeling around for a root or a stone, anything that would help her climb up the steep embankment. Her fingers tore into the wet clay, but the slippery mud could not hold her. Her feet slipped, causing her to slide a few feet further down. She exerted every effort, but the slick ground made it futile. She would not give up. She reached her hand into the darkness, feeling the side of the cool muddy wall for a solid root, a rock…. anything. She grabbed a protruding root and attempted her climb once more, only to become part of a mudslide, the soaked wall giving way and escorting her to the bottom once again.

  Her heart beat loudly in her head. She’d heard stories of people hiking in the mountains, becoming separated from their party, never being heard from again. These mountains were massive. The woods were vast. If she could just lie there for the night, perhaps in the morning there would be enough light to find her way out, yet, her mind taunted her with thoughts of a bear or a mountain lion, or some other hungry animal that would soon feast upon her as their midnight snack. She feared she wouldn’t survive until morning, and that distress compelled her to make one more attempt to climb out of the horrible pit.

  She reached out into the forbidding darkness, grasping for anything. Her hand touched something slick, warm, and soft. She screamed, hoping she had not grabbed a sleeping snake but before she could pull away, the object wrapped itself around her wrist and with incredible strength, pulled her up out of the pit, placing her on level ground.

  She was too shocked to scream again. She could barely make out the outline of a shadowy figure. It uttered no sound, but continued to hold onto her wrist, guiding her deeper into the woods. She stumbled along, trying to keep her footing as she was led through the pitch darkness, wondering if this creature possessed some sort of night vision. It seemed to walk through the darkness with ease. The figure dragged her along for some time before coming into a very small clearing, cast into soft silver light by the moon.

  Her heart sank. She could see his body before her, draped in the black robe, his face concealed by the side of the hood. His masquerade gave an eerie presence. Her heart climbed into her throat - she was in the custody of one of the cloaked men.

  He led her to a broken-down shack, camouflaged into the side of the mountain. A dilapidated front porch housed a single weathered rocking chair. A dulcimer lay nearby. Her pulse quickened; she had no desire to enter the dirty shack. The cloaked creature’s grip had lessened during the duration of the walk. She contemplated that a sudden jerk of her hand would surely release its grip, allowing her to escape. But where would she run? Back to the pit from where she was pulled? She took in a deep breath and uttered a small prayer, as the cloaked figure led her into the darkness of the cabin. A smoldering wick of a candle offered little light, but she could make out a small fireplace, a cot type bed with worn coverings, a rustic wooden table, and a single chair.

  Keeping his grip on her wrist, he led her into the back of the small shack. The shack was built much deeper into the side of the mountain than she thought. What could be waiting for her in the deeper recesses of the room? She stopped walking and planted her feet firmly. The cloaked figure stopped only for a second, never turning to face her. He continued to walk, gently pulling her along. They stepped into darkness, in the back of the room. The air was cold and stale, as if they had just entered a cave. She watched the cloaked man reach high above his head and pull some sort of lever. The ground beneath her feet shook as the entire rock wall began to slide to her left. A sudden gust of cold air blew through the opening, sending shivers through her body. A dimly lit corridor of some kind appeared in front of her.

  Again she planted her feet, this time much more firmly. She feared that if she ever entered that corridor, she would never see the light of day again.

  “No!” she shouted forcefully as she tried to pull her wrist from his grip.

  The cloaked man turned his head slightly. Only one saffron eye was visible
behind the fabric of the hood. “Trust me,” he said quietly. She recognized the distinctness of the voice. This was none other than the warrior from the garden.

  The pleasant sound disarmed her some; however she still wasn’t convinced. “Why should I?”

  He gave her another sideways glance. “Isaiah 42:9.”

  His answer was a password of some sort, and she thought that possibly the key to every riddle and secret lie just on the other side of this passageway. So, against all reason, she followed the cloaked man into the corridor. Her heart fell when the rock wall immediately closed behind them. As they descended deeper underground, the cavernous tunnel grew dark. The cloaked man grabbed a lit torch fastened to the wall, and held it out in front of him to light their way. By the light, she could see an underground river in a bed of white marble, cutting through the deep passageway; the icy cold waters of the stream rushed over her aching feet.

  The two continued to descend until the path grew rocky, and then suddenly elevated at an increasing rate, like the shaft of a coal mine. The cloaked warrior lifted her from boulder to boulder with great ease.

  Nearing the top, she noticed a faint beam of moonlight in the distance, announcing the end of the corridor.

  The cloaked man placed the torch in another holder, and led her through the opening. An immense silver lake lay before her, reaching as far as her eyes could see. The calm and tranquil waters were surrounded by trees of every variety. Two gondolas, carved to represent some sort of angelic cherubim, floated near the shore. The cloaked man removed his dark robe and placed it at the entrance of the cave.

  Stunned, Bronwyn’s knees bent beneath her, causing her to take a few steps backward. Her guess was right. It was the warrior; the man she’d seen the night of their arrival and then again in the garden with Falcon two nights ago. His skin was dark golden brown, and he wore long, flowing, white linen pants. His toned chest was bare, revealing his muscular arms, no doubt the source of his amazing strength. His hair hung to his waist in dread locks, neatly fastened into a pony tail. His saffron eyes smiled as he offered his hand.