The Woods

by R. L. Toalson

  What kind of girl was she turning into, now that Mother and Father were gone?

  They were not gone. They were not.

  “Have you heard anything from Uncle Richard?” Lenora said.

  “I didn’t expect to,” Mrs. Jones said, without looking at Lenora. She took a bite of her soup and promptly dropped her spoon. It clanged against the table, providing a cadence to Mrs. Jones’s groan. “I burned my tongue.” She took a long drink of water. Lenora blew on her own spoonful for quite some time before taking a bite. It was the best chicken soup she had ever tasted.

  This thought was a betrayal. Her mother had been a good cook, too. But she had not been Mrs. Jones.

  “I only thought he might have checked in to see how I . . . to see how we were doing.” A sadness wrapped around Lenora’s words, and she could not hide it. Mrs. Jones’s head lifted. She looked at Lenora, but Lenora stared at the table.

  She didn’t want to see more sadness, more pity.

  “I didn’t know where you had gone,” Mrs. Jones said. “I worried that . . .” She didn’t finish her thought but moved on to another. “Your uncle would be distraught if you disappeared.”

  “Would he?” Lenora’s cheeks burned.

  Mrs. Jones narrowed her eyes. “Yes.” There was not a doubt in her tone. “And so would I. So take care.”

  For the rest of supper, Lenora was so intently focused on her soup that she hardly noticed when Mrs. Jones stood from the table and began clearing the dishes. She did not think about soup, of course. She thought about Mrs. Jones and her warm words that tugged her heart in two different, opposing directions. She thought about Uncle Richard and his absence and what it could possibly mean. She thought about the woods.

  Her spirits lifted. She had a companion in Bela and entertainment in the wonders of Gilgevnah Woods. She did not have to be lonely or miserable anymore. She would find everything she needed within the woods—even, she hoped, her family. If the woods could not bring them to her, they could, at least, tell her how to find them.

  She could hardly wait to return.

  42

  Over the next several days Lenora continued to explore the woods with Bela. The two of them raced together, played games together, talked together. She’d never thought she could live without her family. The robe of sorrow she wore had grown heavy and cumbersome, but in the woods she was able to cast it aside. She could live, and she could live joyfully. It was unexpected. It was exhilarating.

  What existed within the woods did not exist anywhere else in all the world—she was quite sure of that. She met rabbits that poked their white heads from large holes in the ground and invited her to underground tea parties, which she attended by entering a hidden grass door that opened on a tunnel system tall and wide enough for her to walk upright with her hands straight out at her sides. She watched birds burst into flame and then reappear on another branch of another tree in such a way that reminded Lenora of the fireworks her father used to supervise every Independence Day. She stepped on toadstools that transported her from one side of a swamp to another, each one emitting a ringing note like that of a piano, so she could play a song as she crossed.

  Little by little, Lenora began to slip away from life at Stonewall Manor. She spent more and more time in the woods—every moment she could spare. She felt the presence of her family inside it; she couldn’t explain why. But she could not feel the presence of family in the cold, ancient manor, and that made all the difference.

  And though Lenora ached when she thought about her brothers and sister and how much they would have liked exploring Gilgevnah Woods with her, she began to feel less alone.

  She grew accustomed to lying. When Mrs. Jones asked where she had been all day, she came up with a host of excuses. She fell asleep and didn’t hear Mrs. Jones, she was hiding in the library, she found a secret passageway and almost couldn’t find her way back out, she didn’t feel well and had lain down, she was exploring. Some of them were more obviously lies than others, but the more she used them, the less guilty she felt.

  It all got easier with time and practice.

  Mrs. Jones never said anything about her lies, but Lenora noticed she often looked at her with a grave face of concern. But Lenora went to sleep and woke up thinking only of the woods. Nothing could keep her away from them.

  Her uncle was absent longer than Mrs. Jones had expected, but Lenora didn’t care. She didn’t even worry about why he hadn’t yet returned. She was glad to have the freedom to enter and exit the woods without fear that Uncle Richard would find her.

  ***

  On the fifth day that Uncle Richard was gone, Bela told Lenora about another body of water that existed in the woods. He said it was not nearly as dangerous as the first one she had encountered. This one could tell the future. It was, however, much deeper inside the woods than they had been yet, and she would have to trust him to get to it.

  She did not have to go; it was her choice.

  “What if we get lost?” Lenora said. She knew she would never be able to find her way out.

  “I have lived in these woods for centuries,” Bela said. “I could never get lost.” His pink skin practically glowed in the golden light that came from—where? Lenora still had not figured it out. Bela took her hand. “Stay with me and all will be well. You do not have to fear, Lenora. You are loved.”

  The words scattered their seeds inside her chest, lodged into her most vulnerable places, and opened their petals. She smiled.

  She was loved, here in these woods. She would like to stay here forever.

  So Lenora followed Bela.

  The deeper they went, the darker and colder the woods became. But Bela placed a hand on her arm. She could feel his warmth seep from his fingers, into her skin. She did not shiver, even though the air turned chilly enough to warrant a jacket. The woods breathed around them. Trees bowed in their direction, creatures watched as they passed, light blinked in a sparkling rhythm before vanishing completely.

  Though it was dark, Lenora did not feel afraid. These were her friends. This was her home.

  “We are nearly there,” Bela said. He pushed aside some low-hanging branches.

  Lenora heard a voice calling her name. She looked around. “What was that?” she said. She stopped, and Bela did as well. He turned to her, his golden eyes like luminous stars in the darkness. Lenora swallowed hard.

  “Did you hear something, Lenora?” When Bela said her name like that, she felt like she belonged nowhere else but here, inside Gilgevnah Woods. Bela’s voice changed and became the voice of her father. “You belong here,” he said.

  “I know.” Her mind felt cloudy and unreliable. Father’s voice could not be coming from Bela’s mouth. She heard her name again. She shook her head, trying to clear it. “Someone is calling me,” she said.

  “I hear nothing,” Bela said. His voice was no longer Father’s. He tilted his head. His face flickered into the face of her father. Lenora cried out.

  “Father?”

  “He is here, waiting for you,” Bela said. “But you must continue on with me. We only have a short way to go, and then you will be able to gaze into the Waters of Aevum and see the future. You will see your family.”

  Yes. She needed to see her family.

  Lenora took another step forward, holding tightly to Bela’s hand. The darkness was infinite now, but Bela’s eyes guided them on.

  A bell clanged from somewhere, startling Lenora. Her name hovered on the air again. The entire woods had stilled, as though everything in it held its breath.

  “Come, Lenora,” Bela said. “You must come with me.”

  “I can’t,” Lenora said. “Someone needs me.”

  She could feel it, in her chest.

  “Your cousin would like to meet you.”

  Lenora hesitated. “Bobby?” Her mind was so knotted. She wished she could untangle it.

  If she saw Bobby, she might be able to convince him to return to Stonewall Manor. She could make her unc
le happy again. She could remain here in Bobby’s stead, until her family returned, since she was not needed or wanted anywhere else. She was loved here. She was not loved at Stonewall Manor.

  But first she must say goodbye. She could not leave Uncle Richard without saying goodbye. Mrs. Jones said her uncle would be distraught if she disappeared.

  Was it true? It didn’t matter. She had to make sure he knew it wasn’t his fault.

  “Lenora,” Bela said.

  “I must go back.” Lenora’s voice wavered. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I will return tomorrow and look into the Waters of Aevum.”

  “You do not want to know your future?”

  She did. Very much. She wanted to know if her parents were still alive. She wanted to know if she would see them again. She wanted to know if Bobby would return to Uncle Richard and if Uncle Richard would finally be happy and if they would all live happily ever after.

  The voice called again, louder this time. It seemed to be right behind them.

  “Please take me back,” Lenora said.

  Bela stared at her for a moment, and Lenora was overcome by the kind of terror she could taste. It was sour, thick, and icy. What if Bela did not show her the way back out? What if her uncle had been right? What if Bela had drawn her so deep into the woods for a specific purpose—a malevolent purpose? Her eyes flicked around the woods. It was so dark she could see nothing except Bela’s eyes. The trees seemed taller, thicker, much more ominous than she remembered.

  “Please,” Lenora said, her throat so tight she could hardly speak.

  Bela’s face folded into what Lenora assumed was a smile, though it looked ghastly in the golden light glowing from . . . So that’s where it came from: his eyes. It was not a comforting truth; if he decided to leave her, the light would be gone. “Very well,” Bela said at last. “This way.”

  Bela did not keep his hand on her arm this time, and the cold bled into her bones and rattled them. By the time she reached the entrance of the woods, where she could clearly hear now the voice of Uncle Richard calling, she was shivering so violently she could not say a word.

  “You will come tomorrow,” Bela said. It was not a question.

  Lenora could only nod.

  Bela bowed and backed away from the entrance. “The woods will miss you, Lenora,” he said, and then he vanished.

  Lenora’s legs buckled. She put her hand against one of the sitting trees, to steady herself, and a vision of her mother and father and Rory and John and Charles played across her mind—her family running from the fire, her family scattering, her family falling. She tried to breathe. She tried to walk. But she did not make it out of the woods before her head hit the earth.

  43

  Lenora woke, if it could be called waking, when someone picked her up from the ground. Her vision was hazy, dreamlike. The sky was dark. Stars winked at her from a black expanse, like smudges of bright white pinpoints in a smoke cloud. The man who carried her was warm and strong, and she buried her face into his shoulder. He smelled of sweat and spice and a hint of metal. “Father,” she murmured. “You came.”

  She was so tired. She could hardly think. So she closed her eyes.

  “Sleep, my darling,” the man said. It was a voice very like her father’s but not exactly his. Lenora tried to peel her eyes open to see him, but she could not. “We will talk in the morning. I have returned, and I will not leave you again.” The tender words held her as gently as his arms.

  “Uncle.” The word was hardly a whisper. She relaxed against him, but she did not sleep. Her eyes felt too heavy to open, but her ears were awake and listening. Her uncle carried her up the stairs with soft steps and heavy breaths. He laid her on the bed and drew the covers up around her. Lenora almost protested, because she was dirty; she knew she was. She had spent all day in the woods, exploring. Playing. Breaking the rules. As if that were not enough, the dirt would mess up her beautiful bed.

  But when she tried to speak, Uncle Richard cupped a hand to her cheek and said, “Rest, Lenora. Please,” and the words pulled her eyes open. Uncle Richard stared down at her with such love and longing that it nearly broke her heart. He looked so like Father right now. His angles were sharp and jagged, his cheeks flushed. He had not shaved in many days. His eyes were tortured and yet contained within them a wide gulf of relief. His cheeks glistened with tears. He released a shuddering breath and drew one hand to his mouth. He turned away, his back bent, his shoulders shaking.

  Lenora felt emotion rise and contract within her. She was too exhausted to cry. She closed her eyes.

  She felt her uncle’s presence with her until sleep wrapped her in black. Her last thought was a wondering: Was her uncle crying for her?

  44

  Lenora woke to muffled voices arguing outside her door. Then the door opened and Mrs. Jones entered, carrying a tray.

  “Oh,” she said, upon seeing Lenora. Lenora sat up and leaned against the headboard. The room spun only slightly. “You are awake.”

  “Of course,” Lenora said. “Isn’t it morning?”

  Mrs. Jones cleared her throat and set down the tray. “It has been several mornings, love.”

  “What?” How was that possible?

  Mrs. Jones’s eyes darkened. She cleared her throat again and said, “You were very tired.”

  From the woods?

  “How could I have slept for days?”

  Mrs. Jones touched Lenora’s hair, and her eyes turned sad. “Well,” she said. “Your uncle says it’s what happens when one ventures into the woods.”

  “You sleep?”

  “You are drained. Of your . . .” Mrs. Jones gestured to her body. She shook her head. “He would tell you best.”

  Lenora reached for her mother’s necklace, but it was not around her neck. “Where is my necklace?” She looked around.

  Mrs. Jones stood and crossed the room to the dresser. She held up the pale pink pearls. “Your uncle didn’t want you to sleep in it.” She motioned toward her neck.

  Mother had warned them not to sleep in necklaces, too.

  Mrs. Jones handed Lenora the necklace, but Lenora did not put it on. Instead, she held it.

  Mrs. Jones cleared her throat again. “We were not sure if you would make it,” she said. “Your uncle was very worried.”

  “What happened?” Lenora searched her memory to see if she could put the pieces together, but everything was so jumbled.

  “You went into the woods,” Mrs. Jones said, as if that were enough of an explanation.

  Lenora looked down at her lap. She had not touched her food—two pieces of brown toast topped with jam. She did not feel hungry, even though, according to Mrs. Jones, she had been asleep for days.

  “I couldn’t tell you,” Lenora said. “About the woods.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you wouldn’t have let me go.” And it would disappear. She couldn’t say this part aloud.

  Mrs. Jones’s eyes traveled the length of Lenora’s face. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have. Look at you.”

  Lenora looked down at her dress. She knew it was dirty. She had ruined yet another of the gifts from her uncle. He wouldn’t be able to buy her dresses indefinitely, would he?

  Mrs. Jones cleared her throat. “You think I didn’t know.” It was not a question.

  Lenora’s throat burned. Her eyes snagged on Mrs. Jones’s face, full of pain and regret.

  “Your absence, your excuses, your hair.” Mrs. Jones’s voice cracked. “But what was I supposed to do? Keep you a prisoner in your own home?” She didn’t seem to be talking to Lenora anymore.

  “I feel better when I am in the woods.” The words were accidental. Lenora had been thinking them one moment, and the next, they spilled out.

  Mrs. Jones said nothing.

  “I feel less alone,” Lenora continued. She had to, now that the secret was out. “I feel like I am home.”

  “This is your home.” Mrs. Jones’s voice was a sharpened point th
at carved a trench in Lenora’s heart. “You do not belong in the woods.”

  “I do not belong anywhere,” Lenora said.

  “Stonewall Manor has been in your family for centuries,” Mrs. Jones said. “You belong here.”

  Lenora shook her head. “I never even knew about Stonewall Manor,” she said, her voice rising in anger. Or was it sorrow? She could not even tell the difference anymore. “Why did I not know about my home if this is my home?”

  The air sizzled between them. Mrs. Jones’s eyes flashed with as much anger—or sorrow—as Lenora’s. Uncle Richard entered at that moment, his face expressionless. But when he spoke, it was with a voice that seemed to hold all the love in all the world. “Lenora,” he said. That was all it took to make her crumble. The tears tasted salty and somewhat disappointing. She wanted to remain strong, defiant, resolute. They could not take the woods from her. Not when she had seen so much that restored her joy. Not when it eased her sorrow.

  Uncle Richard sat on the side of her bed. He didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “What have you done?”

  Lenora said nothing. He knew what she had done; she had ventured into the woods.

  “What did you tell the woods, Lenora?” His voice was tight and thin.

  Tell the woods? What did he mean?

  “Did you tell them your name?”

  “They already knew my name. Someone called me.”

  Uncle Richard ran a hand along his mouth and chin. His voice turned desperate. “And your story? Did the woods ask for your story?”

  “Bela did.” Lenora clapped a hand over her mouth; she was not supposed to be saying anything about the woods and what she had seen or who she had met.

  Uncle Richard’s shoulders slumped. “I knew it.” The words were a breath, wispy and frail. He stared into space, leaving this world behind.

  But Lenora would not let him. She lifted her chin. “The woods are beautiful,” she said. “They’re not dangerous.”

  Uncle Richard’s eyes snapped back to her face. “There is much you do not know,” he said.