by Amy Saia
Bending down with a soft grunt, Paul plucked the dandelion and held it to his nose for a second before handing it to me. He was always doing things like that. Showing me little symbolic things instead of using words.
I sniffed the weed’s bitter honey scent before tucking it behind my right ear. “Let me guess what that means,” I said, meeting his twinkling brown eyes. “I picked William—no, wait—I stole him from his natural setting, understanding full well it was wrong and would cause problems, all because I wanted him for myself.” Sounded right. Guilty as charged. The dandelion drooped a little behind my ear, dying already.
“No. Wrong, Yellow Bird. Every flower wants to be picked; it is only natural to do so.”
“Then, what?” I asked, eyes focusing in on the bare patch of earth where the dandelion used to be.
“He placed himself in your path.” Paul bent down to brush off a large ant which had crawled onto his big toe. “He found you.”
“I don’t believe it. I thought I was saving his life, doing something heroic, then I turned right around and tried to change him into something he wasn’t. I forced him to lie about who he was.” I glanced into Paul’s eyes again. “And then I started to lie about who I was. Why would anyone choose that?”
Paul put a hand to his heart and patted.
I let out a groan. More symbolic crap to decipher. “But it’s not enough. Sometimes, love just isn’t enough.”
No answer. Paul thought I was being hasty with my decisions: buying guns, letting myself grow a hard shell against the world. We sat and listened to a hot summer breeze rattle oak leaves above our heads. “So,” I said, after a few minutes, “you have to teach me how to develop my senses so I can guess what Marcus is up to.”
“I know what he’s up to. No good.”
“Well, that’s a given. But I need to find out his whereabouts at all times. His motivations. I don’t want to get too close because—”
Paul finished my sentence for me with a whistle and a swipe across his throat.
“Yeah, exactly. That. I don’t need that.” My hand fell to my belly. “I told William I wouldn’t do anything dangerous, because of the baby, which is practically impossible.”
“It is possible. You don’t buy that gun.”
“I have to buy that gun.”
He whistled again, and when I glanced up, there was sadness in his expression. The shadows of the trees created lines and shapes. “I once love woman who only love the wind. She follow wind, and it take her to sky.”
“Were you married, Paul?”
He nodded, and the subject died into nothing.
My eyes drifted to a group of children playing on a nearby swing set. It did nothing to lift my spirits. After a while, I gathered up our food wrappers and threw them away. When I came back, Paul had gone to join the children. They laughed and chased him around. It appeared as if they’d done it before. I fell onto the bench and listened to them singing, “Ring around the Rosie,” all while he stood there, smiling.
Be safe, Yellow Bird, I heard him say. Do not chase wind. Chase only love.
I’m trying, Paul. I really am.
If you have love, you are safe.
I wanted to trust him, but life was never that simple. Maybe for him, but not for me. Life was complicated and hard.
He turned to me with sad, faraway eyes. It was the first time I’d seen him so morose. The children kept singing and dancing. They liked him, trusted him. I wondered if Paul had once had a child. If so, he’d never said anything about one. I hoped he hadn’t.
I waved good-bye and left, heading for the drinking fountain near the drugstore. Thinking of Paul being sad made my throat so tight I could barely enjoy the cool water, but I took a few sips anyway. When I stood up, a familiar sight filled my vision.
But I wasn’t going to talk to him. I didn’t want to talk to him. It would only make things worse. Harder.
Boot heels clicked behind me as I headed for the post office with no particular reason. I had no letters to mail, no stamps to buy. The front window, covered with red brick, held an array of notices, so I stopped to read a few, or pretend to, at least. The boots stopped their walking. A few seconds later I heard the dry sound of a cigarette being lit and metal snapping shut.
Glancing over my shoulder and through my hair, I could see him standing behind, leaning against the wall. What did he want? He was the one who’d said to stay far away. Had he forgotten? A mixture of hope and nervousness filled me. If he wanted to talk, I’d keep it all business—tell him about the cult, tell him to take his sister and leave town.
I braced myself against the gritty comments sure to come and felt a shiver go through me. He took a few drags, watching but saying nothing. His eyes were hard, cold, but they held an element of curiosity.
A door opened on my right; bells jangled and a waft of cool air hit my skin. William lifted a hand to wave, and at first I thought he was waving to me. I raised a hand, too. Then I heard a voice—a girl’s voice.
A glance to my right showed the same beautiful young woman with black hair I’d seen with William the first night in the town square. She had on a summer dress in a shade of green which would look horrible on someone like me, but with her creamy skin it came off as gorgeous. She had the tiniest waist. I envied her. When she waved at William, embarrassment came over me. His wave had been meant for her.
It was stupid to be jealous of someone’s sister. But I was. Very jealous. He threw an arm over her shoulder, very protective-like, and said hello to her. They started to leave. Before they did, William glanced back at me again. He almost smiled. Or maybe I imagined it. Hoped it.
I wished I was the one in his arms, not her. I used to be, not so very long ago. It hurt. Something deep inside of me ached terribly, like a foreign object lodged inside my heart. It occurred to me I might never feel his arms around me again.
The wind picked up. Another one of the flyers I’d been seeing all day scuttled down the sidewalk. William had one in his back pocket, curled into a neat little cone. They were everywhere. I grabbed the nearest one and read its contents out loud:
“Times are tough, but you’re tougher. Young men, old men, all men needed in the mines. All you need is a pair of good strong arms. Money in your pocket at the end of every shift. Inquire at the local employment office ~ Springvale, Indiana ~ 514 Main.”
My fingers curled around it so fast it gave me a paper cut. I continued to squeeze hard, like Superman crushing coal into diamonds. Only I ended up with a tight paper ball, not precious stone.
So, Marcus was using the desperation approach? How nice of him. Lure people in with jobs, then steal their souls so he could live forever.
I hated him. I couldn’t help it. Paul’s words wilted like the dandelion which had already gone limp behind my right ear.
So what if it was wrong, my thoughts of hatred and murder? It was a matter of prevention. Someone had to stop him, because if they didn’t, Marcus would kill again in the years to come. No one ever had the courage to stop him.
At least, not until now.
¤ ¤ ¤
A collection of male voices carried on a jovial conversation beneath the narrow edge where I’d positioned myself. Their talk and the scent of their cigarette smoke mixed with storm winds from out of the west. I sat ten feet or so above their heads, wedged behind a bush, with nowhere to run should I need shelter. I could follow them into the cave entrance, but one glance at my poor attempts to disguise myself as a boy, and they’d have me figured out in a second. And then what? I’d take the rain over getting caught.
A crackle of electricity split the air far over the valley. I looked up to see a streak of yellow highlight a set of ominous clouds.
The weather had great timing. Someday I’d have myself a talk with Time and Fate and Mothe
r Nature and give them a good piece of my mind. For once I needed things to go as planned. Was it too much to ask? Thunder rumbled across the valley, answering my question. I felt rain spatter onto my face and let out a curse. Then the itch worsened—the one I’d been ignoring for the last hour or so. But I couldn’t scratch it. The layer of black shoe polish I’d smeared all over my face and neck had to stay intact. The shoe polish, along with a ratty pair of Grandpa’s overalls I’d found in the garage, would get me past the cave entrance without too much suspicion. My hair was pulled back and shoved under a cap, nails trimmed down. I’d even worn the girdle to hide my curves. Anything if it allowed me in there. I had to keep an eye on William.
I could hear his voice mixed in with the others, but more than this, I could sense him. My intuition was getting stronger, more aware. He’d be proud. I cursed at myself again. The old William would be proud. This one didn’t give a damn who I was or what I could do.
Shifting, I leaned over the bluff to see what was going on. They’d been standing there for the longest time, and I wondered if they’d ever actually go in. It was unbearably hot in the getup I’d put on. I couldn’t be the only one who felt this miserable, who had sweat all up and down their back. Once we were inside the caves, it’d be better. Things were much cooler inside. The cave had its own air and climate. Streams ran through the limestone and sounded like voices singing. Formations rose up like figures, tricking you, enchanting you. I’d never forget my time inside the caves. Sometimes I dreamed of it at night. But I never thought I’d come back.
Finally someone made a move to go in. I peered down and caught William’s unmistakably large form shuffle into line behind the others. He took one last drag of a cigarette and threw the butt down to the gravel. Then he froze and cast a glance up over his shoulder—right to where I was hiding. I was afraid to even breathe. When I thought I would pass out from lack of oxygen, he headed into the caves with the others.
Another bolt of lightning cracked the sky above. I waited a few minutes before going in, long enough to not be seen. Then, scrambling down the embankment, I ran inside. I could hear voices down a tunnel, but it was black everywhere. Their lanterns had faded; the caves weren’t lit up like I remembered. I pulled out Grandpa’s flashlight and flicked on the beam. I’d have to be careful.
This is where I needed my intuition the most. I had to keep track of William and make sure he remained safe. I didn’t trust Marcus. Something told me this whole mining operation was a front, that what he was really mining was souls to steal. I didn’t want him anywhere near William, whose soul was the strongest in town. This mining, and the rock to be sold for great profit, was all for the cult. Bring the men in first, turn them into members one by one, then go after the women. I wouldn’t care, wouldn’t risk my life, for any of them. Only William. I’d risk my life a thousand times to save his.
A pattern of metal striking rock echoed through the caves, and I picked up my pace. They were around the next curve, in a larger opening. I turned off my flashlight and slipped it back inside the front loop of my overalls, and then shimmied into a small crevice so I could watch the scene. William was down at the end, hitting limestone with a precise pattern. His muscles tightened, stretched, and tightened again. I could hear small bits of his thoughts. A song. He was singing a song about a girl, and money, and a fancy car—all timed to his pickaxe. A little laugh escaped my throat, and he stared over his shoulder.
Dammit! I couldn’t be this stupid, laughing out loud. But I was. For a full five minutes I berated myself and kept silent. If ever there was time, it was now.
He continued working, and I watched. It wasn’t long before I grew bored. There didn’t seem to be any threat to worry about, only the constant pandemonium of pickaxe against stone. Marcus wasn’t interested in culling souls tonight; he wanted limestone. Tons of it, enough to bring in a great amount of money for the cult.
I took a little tour. The last time I’d been in the caves, there wasn’t time to take in the beautiful stalagmites hanging everywhere. William and I had been running for our lives, much more worried about escaping than sightseeing. I crept through the tunnel until I found an area with enough room to stand and stretch my arms above my head. All my joints gave a loud set of crackles.
When I flicked on the flashlight, a room of pale formations lit up in front of me, and it was beautiful. It was as if I was surrounded by melting wax; the rock strands glistened and curved toward a high ceiling. A pond was still as glass, the color of William’s eyes. How could anything hidden so deep in the earth be so breathtaking?
A sound of footsteps came from behind. I doused the light and ran to hide behind a shaft of limestone. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim surroundings, but after awhile I could make out a lone figure inside the cave room with me.
Marcus.
He stood in the middle and scanned his silver eyes throughout the room. He’d find me. He’d sense me the same as I sensed him. Shaking, I reached inside a side pocket to extract the protection herbs Paul had given me. He said they’d make me invisible to enemies, but at the time I’d thought it hogwash. Now I was praying he was right.
Marcus followed my footsteps to the glass-like water. It was as if he was reenacting my time there, picking up on every little thing I’d done a few seconds before. Then he came to the rock formation and stopped.
He breathed in long heavy streams of air and stood forever. I clutched the sachet, my mind empty of all thoughts. The darkness was my cloak, and I prayed he didn’t have a light or a lantern. If Marcus found me, it’d be impossible to explain why I was there, or why I had dressed the way I had. Most likely I’d stammer. Then I’d thrash out at him, angry at all the things he’d done. William always warned me I was too temperamental.
An explosion came from deep inside the caves. I felt the ground shake. Gravel loosened and tumbled to the ground. Marcus turned on his heel, spat some words, and started running. I had to cover my head with my bare hands to keep from getting pelted with rock—some large enough to do damage. The subterranean pool, so peaceful before, now shook, quivered. Another explosion, and I braced myself to a new barrage of stone. Then things became deathly quiet.
William. William was inside those caves. What if he’d been caught in the explosion, trapped under an avalanche of rock?
Then I was running the same as Marcus.
I reached the scene in time to see William being carried out. It took three men. Marcus stood a few feet in front of me, hands in pockets. His voice like tar ricocheted off the caves. “I told you boys to give an all clear before using dynamite! I need all the men I can get, and you’re just going to—” He walked over to William and placed a hand on his chest.
I wanted to run across the space and throw myself between them. The sight of Marcus so close to William, touching him, made me frantic. But I had to resign myself to staying exactly where I was, waiting and hoping William would wake up and be okay. After a few agonizing seconds, he began to stir.
“Let go,” William growled. He rose up, and then scrambled to his feet. “I’m fine, just fine. There’s a ringing in my ears, but that’s all.” He sent a scathing glare in Marcus’ direction. “I thought you said we was just picking tonight, not blasting. I want to get out of here alive, you know.”
Marcus mumbled something about wanting William to get out alive as well. My fists clenched hard.
“I’ll pay you extra,” Marcus said. He appeared in awe of William, like a person meeting their most beloved idol. But all William showed was contempt. He never stopped scowling at the man, never seemed to let down his guard long enough to trust him.
The offer of extra pay did bring a little relief. William said it would be fine, but no more explosions near their workspace, or he’d walk. He didn’t need anyone’s money that much. But I knew he did, or he’d never come to the caves. He wanted that mo
ney to get out of Springvale—he and his sister.
Marcus apologized profusely and handed him a pile of money on the spot. The other men turned to finish their work, pickaxes raised. William seemed surprised, but he didn’t thank Marcus, and he didn’t lose his scowl of disdain.
From within my hiding place, I watched the men lift the loosened stone and pile it into wheelbarrows. Someone carted it out, and they repeated the whole thing until the area was clear. Then they started picking again, and I heard William sing that funny song of his.
I stayed right there, listening, watching. I wouldn’t leave his side until the night was over. I’d never leave him again. Every bead of sweat had me mesmerized, every grunt and sigh. I was falling in love with this William, the young Billy Joe. He made me laugh. His thoughts were wild, crazy, willful, beautiful. If only the older William had given me a glimpse of this kid, I would have shown him how much love someone can have—for all the good and the bad. But he’d hidden it away.
What was he so afraid of?
Whenever he pulled his stern act, making me feel like a baby in comparison, I’d remind him it was okay to be wild. To be young. Because we were. With sadness, I realized all those years in the library had done their damage, going far beyond skin and bone. At some point, he had allowed isolation to change him. Well, not anymore. I knew the truth and would work hard to merge both young and old William into one person. He could fight me, but I wouldn’t stop trying.
My leg turned numb. I tried to shake it out, but there wasn’t enough room. I resigned myself to having tingly appendages and nothing but time to look forward to. I continued to listen to the workers, and the sound of all those thoughts, and his song. It became a lullaby to me. I hadn’t allowed William’s voice to enter and stay inside my head since before we’d gotten married. And now, I never wanted it to end. My eyelids fluttered down a few times, and soon I succumbed to sleep.