Time Is a River

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Madeline tsked in frustration, unable to let the bone drop. “Just because that ass of a husband of yours couldn’t keep his family business in his pants doesn’t mean that you have to run off and leave your life in tatters. Let him hightail it to the mountains. He’s the one at fault here. My God, he abandoned you while you’re going through all your cancer and—”

  “Maddie, I see this as my first real step out from that darkness. I just need time to think.” She paused and stretched out her long legs in the grass. “You know, for a long time I didn’t think about…well, anything. I just reeled from disaster to disaster. I blamed it on chemo brain, but in truth, I just couldn’t face what had happened to me. When I was at the retreat, it helped me stop and reflect. Thank you, by the way.”

  “For what?”

  “For arranging for me to go.”

  “You mean for nagging and bullying you to go.”

  “You’re good at that.” After they chuckled, Mia continued. “It was so much more than just fishing. We talked about random things. Like what happened to us with the cancer and after, during recovery. Some women never got any counseling at all. Not even about medical problems.” She paused, seeing in her mind’s eye the women seated in a circle, tired but flushed with contentment after a day fishing, all feeling the powerful bond forged on the river.

  “But the one thing that I was most struck by—I mean it really, profoundly floored me—was when the ladies talked about how, after diagnosis, husbands fell into two extremes. One is the hero. The good guy who stands by you, loves you no matter what, calls you beautiful every day. These women, they’re so grateful, so madly in love with their husbands, blushing like girls.” She paused. “The other is the one who takes one look at the scene and says adios. Unfortunately, Charles falls into that category. I just refused to see it. I was weak.”

  “No, you were sick.”

  Bless her heart, Maddie was always her greatest defender. “OK. I was both; how’s that?”

  “You sound so blasé about it,” Maddie said, her voice indignant. “You should be mad as hell.”

  “Mad?” Mia took a breath and looked at her wedding ring, its diamonds catching the light. “I’m not mad as much as I’m hurt. Deeply hurt by his betrayal. It was like getting kicked in the gut when I was already sprawled out on the floor.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. There’s a lot waiting for you here at home. People who care about you. A lot of people like you and respect your work. They’d hire you back in PR, or maybe you want to do something else.”

  Mia winced, feeling again the embarrassment of losing her job. “Something else.”

  “You could. You’re young yet.”

  “Hardly young, Maddie,” she replied, feeling ancient. “I’ve thought about it. My life in Charleston was wrapped up in my life with Charles. I took on his values and goals. His future was my future. Even my job in PR had a lot to do with making contacts for him. All that’s changed. My job is gone. My husband is gone. The woman I used to be is gone.”

  “I happened to like that woman.”

  “I did too. But I have to find out who I am now.”

  “Can’t you find yourself at home?”

  Her gaze drifted again to the valley that stretched below the Blue Ridge Mountains. She couldn’t bear to return to Charleston, where the details of her sordid story would be common gossip. One more sad chapter in Mia Landan’s tragic life. If she went back to Charleston now, she’d have to endure again the looks of pity and the well-meant murmured condolences.

  “Maddie, what I went through was too profound. I faced my mortality. I can never be the same person. This is my opportunity to find out where I fit in, what I really want to do with my life. For however long or short that life may be.”

  “Oh, Mia…” There was a long silence on the line while Maddie gathered her composure. When she spoke again, the bossy tone was gone. “So, what are you going to do up there all on your lonesome?”

  Mia’s relieved smile eased across her face. “It is lonely, I grant you that. There isn’t any television. The only radio I have is in my car. And believe it or not, I can get phone reception only here in town. But it’s a good lonely, if you know what I mean. It’ll be sporadic, but I’ll call you.”

  “You’d better. A lot.”

  Mia laughed. “Actually, I’m not really alone after all. Apparently the cabin I’m in is haunted.”

  “What?”

  “I just found out that it belonged to this old mountain woman by the name of Kate Watkins. She was involved in some kind of scandal. They think she murdered her lover.”

  “Oh, great. That sets my mind at ease.”

  “It happened decades ago. Anyway, she went to live alone in this cabin for years, barely speaking to anyone. She had a child. A girl. Who ran off as soon as she was old enough to get married. Kate stayed on in the cabin alone. She became a real hermit. After she died the cabin was locked up and no one’s stayed in it since.”

  “Sounds like a right cheery place.”

  “It’s not. It’s quite gloomy. Filthy, in fact. Terribly neglected. I guess I can understand why Belle never went out there.”

  “Can you blame her? That’s quite the sordid family history. How can you stand to stay there alone?”

  “Oddly enough, I like it. From what little I know about her, I like Kate, too. And the fact that she murdered her lover is not a negative for me right now. Somehow I can get behind that.”

  Madeline laughed but her tone turned serious. “Really, Mia, how long do you figure on staying up there?”

  “I’ve agreed to take it week by week. I can come home anytime. But for sure, no later than September. Belle will be putting the place up for rent.”

  “What are you going to do about Charles?”

  “Nothing. Let him do something.”

  “Do you want him to know where you are?”

  Mia thought about that for a moment. Being away from Charles was what she needed most. “No.”

  “A judge can construe what you’re doing as abandonment.”

  Mia released a bitter laugh. “That’s rich.” Then she said with resignation, “What does it matter? We have no money to speak of.”

  “That was my next question.”

  “Let’s just say when I took out a few hundred dollars from the ATM today I practically closed the account. The medical bills continue to run us dry.”

  “Jesus, Mia! How are you going to live? Do you need some money? I can send you some.” Then, with a burst of worry she exclaimed, “Come home. Stay with us for as long as it takes to get your life in order.”

  “Maddie, that’s exactly what I’m doing,” she replied, believing it. “One day at a time.”

  Before she left the overlook, Mia made one more phone call. Her hands trembled as she dialed the number of her home in Charleston. She knew Charles would be at the office. The phone rang four times before the answering machine picked up. The sound of his voice on the recording stung like a slap. She drew in her breath, then tried to speak as calmly as she could.

  “Charles, it’s Mia. I’m safe. I’m in the mountains. I don’t want to talk to you now. Don’t worry and don’t bother Maddie. I’ll call again when I’m able to talk.”

  Mia closed the phone and let her hand fall into her lap. She leaned far back into the chair, feeling to her marrow the hurt of the broken connection. Crossing her arms she let her gaze wander aimlessly across the greens and blues of the horizon.

  The weather had warmed and the afternoon was sunny when she returned to the cabin. Mia gathered her purchases like a general would an army and planned her attack. Then she set to work.

  She dragged the carpets outdoors and shook them, sending decades of dust to the winds. She swept up small hills of dust from the floors, then washed them with oil soap till they gleamed. She gagged as she cleaned mouse droppings and dried insect carcasses from the cabinets. Then she scrubbed the wood with disinfectant and hot water boiled on the stove. S
he boiled more hot water, then washed the tiny gas stove, refrigerator, and all the pots, pans, and dishes, then set them back in the fresh-smelling cabinets. She couldn’t scrub away the ancient stains in the toilet and tub, but she was satisfied that they were as clean as they were going to get.

  She enjoyed cleaning the cabin. It made her feel more that she belonged here. Seeing her own food in the fridge, flowers on the table, and a few of her own possessions here and there made the place more her own. A wicked smile formed at her lips as she thought of how Charles’s fabulously expensive golf clubs turned out to be a worthwhile investment after all. Mia had used a five iron to knock the abandoned swallow nests from under the eaves of the porch and a six iron to smash spiders. The putter made an acceptable poker for stoking the fire. She didn’t have a hammer, but she’d discovered that with proper aim, the driver did the job of driving a nail into wood. She was sure she’d find more uses for the other clubs and kept them handy in a corner by the door.

  While dusting the fine mahogany and marveling at the magnificently carved stag’s head on the armoire, she wondered what memories the old pieces had elicited in Kate as she had polished. She tugged at the brass knobs but they wouldn’t budge. She jiggled it again, but the armoire was securely locked.

  Mia scanned the room, trying to figure where someone might have hidden a key. Like a child on a treasure hunt, she went from drawer to drawer in the kitchen and through each cabinet and closet. Next she went through the bedroom drawers, pulling open each one and moving her clothing around lest she had missed the key when she had unpacked. Not there. Her fingers tapped the sides of her legs as she glanced around the bedroom. The black iron bed, the maple dresser, the mirror…When her gaze fell on the small writing desk beside the window, she spotted a narrow drawer just beneath the desktop’s surface that she’d not noticed before. She walked directly to it and tugged at the drawer handle. The wood was slightly swollen and she had to pull hard, but the drawer slid open. Inside was a small brass key.

  Feeling like Alice in Wonderland, Mia grabbed the key and hurried back to the armoire. The key slid neatly into place and with a turn of the wrist, the treasure chest opened.

  Mia gasped at the finery she found sequestered there. It was like she’d leaped from a world of minimal comforts to one of comparative luxury. Reaching out, she lifted a china plate from a tall stack of at least a dozen. She blew off a coating of dust and lifted the plate to the light. The delicate fronds of a wildflower graced the center, and light flowed through the creamy porcelain. Looking at the others it appeared that each plate was hand-painted with a different wildflower. Mia grew up in a home where formal dinner parties were common. Her experienced eye knew that this china was priceless. As was the heavy sterling silver tableware, each piece engraved with a bold KW. A fine, vintage evening gown of royal blue taffeta hung beside a long, white silk scarf, the kind gentlemen of certain wealth used to wear to formal dinners or to the theater. Again, hardly mountain gear.

  Tucked in the back, behind the dress, were two bamboo fishing rods; a battered wicker creel, its leather straps cracked from heavy use; and an old fly-fishing wallet. The brown leather was very soft and supple, and opening it she found over two dozen hand-tied dry flies.

  Mia closed the armoire doors at a thoughtful pace and let her hand rest on the wood. Why, it was more a memory chest, she thought. She was beginning to form an image of the woman who once lived in this cabin. She was obviously much more than a common mountain woman of her time—this woman was educated and well born. These items that had seemed so incongruous to a rustic cabin she now saw as a collection of this woman’s most precious possessions. Brought, no doubt, from another home. A few personal items that she could not—or would not—live without. Did she marry below her station?

  There were no photographs in silver frames, no albums filled with family portraits, no clues of a personal nature. Why wouldn’t a woman so sentimental about furniture and china keep a single photograph of a husband…a daughter…a granddaughter? Mia shook her head, bewildered. The woman was an enigma.

  Belle would know more about her, of course, but Mia recalled her reticence, even aversion, at so much as the mention of her grandmother. Still, did Belle know that these treasures were here? If Belle sold them, they could go a long way to paying for the improvements she hoped to make on the cabin.

  Night began to fall and darkness descended upon the small cabin. Outside the song of insects began to swell. Mia went from window to window, closing each tight and drawing the shabby curtains to create a safe cocoon. She ate a meager dinner of a rotisserie chicken she’d purchased at Rodale’s and a few stalks of celery. Too exhausted to heat water on the stove for a bath, she sat on the edge of the tub and wiped her body down with cool water and a cloth.

  When she went to bed that night, she crawled between the cotton sheets and fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Morning broke a long dream that Mia could not remember when she opened her eyes. She awoke clutching her sheets and filled with yearning for something she couldn’t name. She padded slowly across the creaking floor to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee in the four-cup coffeemaker she’d purchased in town. It was the kind she’d find in any motel room but the coffee tasted strong and performed its magic when she took her first sip.

  She raked her damp hair from her forehead, surprised to find beads of sweat. The cabin was stifling hot with all the windows closed. In the light of day she felt silly for having shut them all tight, but knew she would do it all over again that night as well. She went out to the porch and stood in the cooler morning air to drink her coffee and gaze lazily out at the deep blue pool. She felt tired and groggy. Bits of the dream flitted through her mind like a mosquito with a high, annoying hum.

  She had been in a forest, lost and following a scraggly path deeper into a dark place. She wandered with her arms outstretched. She came across another figure in the dream, a woman Mia sensed was herself, only she was a whole and contented self. The woman looked at her, then she smiled, waved, and walked away. Mia tried to follow her but she got lost again. There was no moon or pebbles to guide her. She was crawling on her hands and knees, holding on to the grass for dear life as she mimicked the sounds of the forest in her throat.

  Mia couldn’t guess how long she’d stared at the water cascading gently from over the cluster of white rocks, but eventually her body complained and her coffee cup was empty. She roused herself and dressed in jeans and a pink Casting for Recovery T-shirt, donned rubber gloves, and confronted the cast-iron stove.

  It was a fearsome, filthy, chilly-looking monster and she squared off before it armed with soap and hot water and rags. She held her breath and cautiously opened the metal oven door. It was a cavelike box that had been home to mice and some other varmints for years. But at least they all seemed to have vacated the premises, she thought with great relief. She set to work with broom and pan. There were no surprises. Just feces, dust, and bits of rust. She swept and scrubbed the oven, then ran her rag over the six burners, somewhat rusty but not bad considering the old girl’s age. The porcelain needed a hefty amount of elbow grease. She swore and sweated and when she was done, she tossed the rag into the bucket, and wiped a damp strand of hair from her face.

  The massive beast of steel and porcelain was tamed. She stroked it lightly, pleased with her efforts. But she’d paid a price, she thought, bringing her hands to her lower back and massaging the ache blooming there. Her poor hands. She lifted them up to her face. They were roughened and scraped. But what drew her attention was the sight of the channel set wedding band on her left finger.

  She tugged the gold from her finger. Her finger was swollen, but she twisted the ring until at last it slid off. Mia went to the front door, swung it open, and brought back her hand. She was tempted to throw it into the night, but common sense held her arm back. Instead she went to the bedroom and tossed the ring into the top drawer, wondering what a diamond wedding band would fetch on eBay.


  Later that evening, the sun had set, the fire was lit, and the cabin gleamed with that radiance that only came from a good scrubbing. The air was heavy with the scent of burning wood, pine soap, and oil. At the windows the threadbare curtains hung stiff from drying in the sun. Now this cabin felt more like home, she thought. The freshness in the air made her feel it was a new start for her. She smiled and felt, for the first time, a little less afraid up here.

  In honor of the clean cabin, Mia thought it was time to clean her body. Her poor skin and bones had been through a lot these past few days, so she would take Belle’s advice and be good to herself. Tonight she deserved pampering. While the water heated up on the stove, she gathered the candles that Belle had brought, lit all five of them, and set them around the cramped bathroom. In the glowing halos of light, the room did not seem so shabby. She went to the kitchen and filled a glass with chilled white wine and set it beside the tub. Finally, she carried the steaming water from the stove to the bath, poured it in, and closed the door.

  In the dim light she stripped the dirty clothes from her body and pinned up her wayward curls. Slowly she eased into the hot water and stretched out her tired legs as far as she could against the porcelain. Then, reaching for the bar of soap, she brought it to her nose and sniffed. Ah, it was lavender. Her favorite. “Bless you, Belle,” she said as she gently rubbed sweet-scented soap over her body, then rinsed off the day’s grime with tepid water. She groaned softly with the pleasure of it, leaned against the high back of the ancient tub, and sipped her wine.

  The candles flickered yellow and blue in the darkness. The quiet was profound. Mia took a deep breath and told herself, I can do this. This small cabin would be her sanctuary. She would tend her broken body and wounded spirit here until she grew strong again.

  She swallowed another sip of wine and set the glass aside. At the retreat the therapist had told them to face their fears. It was a first step toward healing. Her heart quickened. You can do this, she said again, gathering her courage. Hesitatingly, she moved her head to look down at her chest. Where once her left breast had been now stretched a wide, white scar like a seam of skin sewn with jagged stitches. She took a long breath, then tentatively brought her fingers up to gently touch the edges. Slowly she traced the horizontal line across her chest, feeling the sensation in her fingertips but not on the breast.