The Woods

by R. L. Toalson

  “How can Dr. Kane deny that it’s Bobby?” Lenora shook her head. It was incomprehensible to her. The likeness was obvious.

  “Some men don’t believe in miracles.” Mrs. Jones smiled grimly. “Dr. Kane was once a friend of your uncle’s. Now he’s his most outspoken opponent.”

  “Is there no other doctor?”

  “Not in Nacogdoches, I’m afraid.” Mrs. Jones sat down again.

  “You should be with Uncle Richard or Bobby,” Lenora said. “I’m not ill or wounded.”

  Mrs. Jones patted her hand. “They have each other. And, besides, Nadine is seeing to Bobby’s needs and Lloyd to your uncle’s.” She looked wistful for a moment. “It’s good to have help around here.”

  “Why doesn’t Lloyd live here like you do?” Lenora said.

  “That’s a very long story,” Mrs. Jones said.

  Lenora loved stories. She said so.

  Mrs. Jones laughed. “I know you do, love. But you need your rest.” She stood. “I’ll leave you to it, but I’ll be just outside your door.”

  And Bobby and Nadine were right across the hall.

  When Mrs. Jones reached her doorway, Lenora said, “Do you think it’s gone?”

  “What, love?” Mrs. Jones’s eyes grew soft. “The woods?”

  Lenora nodded. “And the Master.”

  “I think the woods have been restored,” Mrs. Jones said. “To what they once were. Something . . . good.” She tapped the doorframe. “You were very brave. Bobby wouldn’t be here without you.”

  Lenora’s voice was soft when she said, “But I couldn’t save . . . them.” Her breath knotted in her throat.

  Mrs. Jones crossed the room again and knelt by Lenora’s side. “No one expected you to save them, Lenora.” She pressed Lenora’s hands. “It was a terrible thing, what happened in Texas City. So many died. But you didn’t.”

  “I was supposed to stay home from school that day,” Lenora said. “It was my birthday. Mother and Father always let me stay home from school on my birthday. I should have been with them. But instead I was the only one who left home and watched the explosion from the windows of my school.”

  She didn’t even try to brush the tears away; there were too many.

  “And you are alive, Lenora.” Mrs. Jones’s eyes were glassy, too. “And look what your living has done.”

  Lenora thought about Uncle Richard and Bobby and the mechanical army her uncle had built to destroy the woods. Bobby would not have survived without her. And this, at least, made her feel warm inside.

  When Mrs. Jones reached the doorway again, Lenora said, “Would you leave it open, please?”

  Lenora could see all the way to the other side of the hall. Bobby’s door was open, too.

  This made her smile.

  69

  Some days later, Lenora felt strong enough to walk up and down the stairs. Every time she passed Bobby’s room, she peeked inside. He was always sleeping.

  On one particular morning, a week or so after the burning of the woods, the newspaper waited on the kitchen table when Lenora entered. A headline caught her eye, and she turned the paper around to face her. In a little more than two weeks, Texas City would be holding a memorial service for all the unidentified bodies that had been recovered in the disaster.

  Lenora shoved the newspaper away and rubbed her eyes.

  Was she ready to let go of the hope that she would one day see them again? Did she have to? Father had always said death was not an end, but a beginning. It sounded like a beautiful idea.

  This was a new beginning. It was time to embrace it. Mother and Father wouldn’t want her to continue grieving over their absence, would they? John would have called her unbearably melancholy and handed her a book. Rory would have done anything in the world to make her laugh. Charles would have gathered a bouquet of bright flowers.

  Lenora smiled.

  “I left the paper out today.” Mrs. Jones had entered silently, and Lenora startled. “Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She gestured toward the paper. “I thought you might want to see the news.”

  Lenora couldn’t trust herself to speak, so she only nodded.

  Mrs. Jones looked at her for a while, and then she said, “Yes, well, would you like some breakfast, love?”

  “I’d like to go.” Lenora’s voice wavered and cracked. Her throat thickened. “I’d like a chance to say goodbye.” The words felt heavy, but she lifted her chin. She meant them.

  Mrs. Jones crossed the kitchen and knelt at Lenora’s side, her knees giving their customary pop. “I’m sure we could arrange that. And you wouldn’t have to go alone.” Mrs. Jones wrapped her arms around Lenora, and they were so soft, so warm, so encompassing, that Lenora closed her eyes. Her nose burned.

  Some thumps and curses sounded behind them. Uncle Richard burst in with a brass chair that rolled on oversized carriage wheels. “I made myself something,” he said, gesturing to the chair. His left cheek was still bandaged. He’d have a burn scar, the doctor said. It would make him look even more scientific, Lenora thought.

  Mrs. Jones and Lenora stared at Uncle Richard’s chair with gaping mouths.

  Uncle Richard shrugged. “I had some spare parts.” He was in a jovial mood. “The stairs give me some trouble, though.” He waved a hand. “But that’s only temporary. Lloyd’s working on an elevator.”

  “Wow,” Lenora said. A home with an elevator!

  Uncle Richard grinned. “What’s for breakfast?”

  He was altogether changed. He radiated a light that could not be dimmed. It made Lenora smile. Uncle Richard winked at her. “Bobby’s coming down this morning.”

  “Really?” Lenora said.

  “Really,” said a voice behind her, and Bobby wheeled in with the same kind of chair Uncle Richard had, except slightly smaller. His face was still sharp angles and pale skin. His clothes still hung from his stick-figure limbs. But he was alive.

  Bobby’s eyes met Lenora’s. “That was the wildest ride down the stairs I’ve ever experienced.” Laughter gleamed from his dusk-blue eyes. Lenora couldn’t help but grin back. “You’ll have to try it.”

  The words, the invitation, fluttered on the air, angled toward her chest, and curled up inside. It was almost like having a brother again.

  Lloyd and Nadine stood in the doorway, Lloyd’s arm curved around Nadine’s back. They smiled at Lenora.

  “How about we eat breakfast together?” Uncle Richard said. “Bobby and I don’t need chairs.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Uncle Richard and Bobby rolled their chairs to the kitchen table. Mrs. Jones and Nadine rearranged the chairs so they’d all have a place. Mrs. Jones served them biscuits and gravy and sizzling bacon and pancakes—all for Bobby, who could not decide what kind of breakfast he wanted.

  “I’ve missed this,” Bobby said.

  And Lenora knew his presence would change everything.

  70

  It was such a festive meal that Lenora debated whether or not to mention the memorial service. But she knew it was necessary. So when the laughter died down and it appeared as though breakfast would soon be ending, she said, in a voice small and apologetic, “There will be a memorial service in Texas City.” She stared at the floor. “For all the unidentified people.” She couldn’t say “bodies.” She cleared her throat. “For the ones who are still missing.”

  No one said anything.

  “I would like to go.”

  When Lenora looked up, Nadine and Lloyd and Mrs. Jones had slipped silently out of the room. It was only Lenora, Uncle Richard, and Bobby.

  Uncle Richard said, “I would like to go, too.”

  “I want to honor them,” Lenora said. “I want to remember and then . . .” She couldn’t finish, but her words hung between them anyway. I want to move on.

  Bobby sniffed, but Lenora didn’t dare look at him.

  “We will,” Uncle Richard said. He reached across the table and took Lenora’s hand. His was warm and calloused,
like her father’s. “We’ll go together. He was my brother, and I loved him.” Uncle Richard’s voice splintered. Lenora’s breath caught, and a sob climbed out.

  Uncle Richard patted her hand for a moment before reaching into his suit jacket. He pulled out an envelope. “Lloyd found something near the woods the other day.” He took a piece of paper from the envelope and unfolded a letter. He cleared his throat. “‘Dear Brother,’” he read. “‘My heart is heavy over your loss. I would like nothing more than to come see you at Stonewall Manor. Please let me know when it might be convenient for my family to visit. I have two sons and two daughters, and I know they would love to meet their uncle Richard. I named one of my daughters Lenora, after Mother. Write soon. Your loving brother, Johnny.’” Uncle Richard let the letter fall to the table. His eyes took on a faraway look. “Johnny. That’s what I used to call him when we were kids.”

  Lenora’s eyes blurred.

  Uncle Richard said, “There were several letters. Some addressed to you, too. From . . .” He examined one of the letters. “Emma Green.” He placed two envelopes on the table, but Lenora didn’t want to see them; they reminded her only of sorrowful things. She kept her eyes on Uncle Richard’s face. “They must have been caught in the woods.”

  “But why?” Lenora said. “How?”

  “The woods were strengthened by sorrow,” Uncle Richard said. “They made sure we remained trapped in it.”

  “I don’t understand,” Lenora said.

  Uncle Richard glanced at Bobby. Bobby said, “A long time ago, the Cole family was responsible for the sentencing of a criminal.”

  “How do you know this?” Lenora said.

  “The Master,” Bobby said, and Lenora shivered. Just thinking about the Master of the woods made her feel breathless. Bobby continued. “He’d stolen a significant fortune from the Cole family after pretending to love one of the daughters. Abigail. At least, the family thought he was pretending. He wasn’t.” Bobby paused. “They hung him anyway. On the tree.”

  “So he died,” Lenora said.

  Bobby nodded. “His spirit remained, and it wrapped around bones and mud and became the Master. He created the woods, and with it, he took revenge on the Cole family. He existed on the sorrow of children he could convince didn’t have a place to belong. Who couldn’t bear their own pain. Who believed that erasing it would make them happy.”

  Bobby stared at the table. He knew, because he had been one of them.

  Lenora knew; she had been one of them, too.

  “And by taking children, the Master ensured that sorrow would continue—a curse on Stonewall Manor,” Uncle Richard said. “Parents lost children. Brothers lost sisters. Children grew up and lost their own children.” His voice faded into a murmur. “Some saw the pattern. Some refused to look.”

  The scientific and the spiritual, at odds with each other. Lenora nodded. But there was still something that didn’t make sense. She looked at Bobby. “But why did you go into the woods?”

  “I thought I could stop him,” Bobby said. He looked at Uncle Richard. “I thought I could break the curse. Stop children from disappearing and sorrow from . . .” He shook his head. “But he was more powerful than I thought, and before I knew it, I was a prisoner.” He shuddered.

  “And why did he want me?” Lenora asked. This troubled her, too. Bobby had been the only stolen child who’d come back out alive. That had to mean something.

  “The Master needed five children to live again,” Bobby said.

  Lenora shook her head. “How can the dead live again?”

  “It wouldn’t have been forever,” Bobby said. “Only long enough to destroy the rest of the Coles. To eliminate the family line. Half human, half . . .” Bobby paused, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

  “What an awful purpose,” Lenora said.

  “Revenge is a curse,” Uncle Richard said. “It has made many men stumble.”

  Bobby looked at Lenora. “You saved us.”

  Lenora shook her head. “Uncle saved us.”

  Uncle Richard took Bobby’s hand and Lenora’s, too. “But now we are all together,” Uncle Richard said. “And the woods are only woods.”

  Lenora’s chest warmed.

  She didn’t have to be alone after all.

  Before they went to bed that night, Lenora watched Uncle Richard stop in front of the brass clocks hanging above the table at Stonewall Manor’s entrance. He took them down, one by one, and changed their time to 7:39.

  The proper time.

  It was her face, her form. The woman he loved: Abigail Cole. He was sure of it. She wore a look of love and forgiveness, and the warmth of it stilled him. She smiled, beckoned, and turned.

  He hesitated, then followed. The rope around his neck melted, his pardon granted in full.

  The whole earth was alive, and their ethereal forms dissipated into a golden dawn.

  June 21, 1947

  Tomorrow I will return, once again, to Texas City. This time I will not pick up a niece or search for lost ones or rummage for spare parts. This time I will return to say goodbye to my brother. I will say goodbye to a niece and nephews and a sister-in-law I never knew. I will say goodbye to regret and whatever sense of guilt I have been harboring all these years. Mrs. Jones said it best: Brothers love one another. That’s all there ever is, and I know Johnny felt the same way. I don’t need his words, his lost letters, to confirm it.

  Lenora asked me yesterday evening about the house she saw in the woods—her house. I told her I wanted to give her home one more chance to do something great. In Texas City, it miraculously (Johnny would chuckle to hear me use that word) survived a horrendous explosion. It preserved memories of the people she loved. But it also reminded her of all she’d lost. It represented death and sorrow and loneliness.

  In the woods, the house was given one purpose: to carry the robots that would destroy the curse that had hung over Stonewall Manor and all its people for centuries. And it did, efficiently. It also exploded beautifully, hastening the fire that saved us all.

  I worried about her response to this, but she surprised me. She smiled. She said, “My home saved us.” I did not agree or disagree, but I must confess that my heart is no longer as heavy as it was.

  Lloyd has recovered pieces of my robots and has daily been piling them up in my laboratory, which still remains open to the elements. I will call a contractor soon to repair it, though I think I would like to put a door on the hole, rather than seal it up with more stone; my rhinoceros, when I rebuild it, will have need of going out now and then, stretching its legs.

  Lloyd, much to my surprise, knows quite a lot about the science of invention. I have been in need of an assistant for years. Perhaps I will ask him. He has, after all, been a loyal driver all these years. And there is plenty of room here at Stonewall Manor for him and Nadine and any children they might one day have. He and I could do great work together, I believe.

  And Lenora, too. She is a bright pupil.

  I feel invigorated, rehabilitated, as though I have been brought back to life.

  It is good to have a son and a daughter again.

  I will care for her well, brother. I promise.

  —excerpt from Richard Cole’s Journal of Scientific Progress

  GOODBYE

  71

  Sixty-three bodies remained unidentified more than two months after the Texas City disaster. Lenora’s parents and brothers and sister might be among them. Lenora had heard nothing from those who notified the living relations of the dead. She had heard nothing, either, from those who notified the living relations of the still living.

  Texas City did not look at all like the beautiful town she remembered. Cleanup crews were still working, sweeping up tons of wreckage, clearing out streets, rebuilding. City hall had new front windows that shone in the sun as they passed.

  Lloyd drove Uncle Richard’s strange car through the city and on toward the northern edge of town, where Loop 197 intersects with Twenty-Nint
h Street. He parked it on the side of the highway. A line of cars stretched in front of theirs. “We should have been here earlier,” Uncle Richard murmured. He climbed from the car and gazed in front of them, where a stream of people were walking toward what appeared, from here, to be a walled garden. He looked at Lenora, and his eyes seemed to say, “Are you ready?” She nodded and climbed out, too.

  Lenora wore a long black dress that was more beautiful than anything she had owned when she lived in Texas City. It was old-fashioned—the kind of dress women wore during the Industrial Revolution, layered and extravagant. She felt somewhat silly—and a little overheated—but her uncle stood next to her in a black top hat and a slick black suit with a spot of orange peeking from his coat pocket. He had reassembled his cane, which still looked to her like a flame-throwing gun, but to the outside observer who didn’t know about the woods, it would only appear to be an eccentric walking apparatus.

  Bobby walked beside her and looked quite dashing in a suit that was identical to Uncle Richard’s, except for a spot of green poking out of his pocket. Lloyd, dressed in a simpler black suit, walked next to Bobby. Mrs. Jones and Nadine had come in Lloyd’s car.

  The six of them made their way slowly to the large grassy plot surrounded by a stone wall. An iron gate was open, and the stone pillars that held it were inscribed with the words MEMORIAL CEMETERY TEXAS CITY 1947. Inside the walls was a rectangular field with an oval pathway. People gathered at the edges, near the walls. Lenora, Uncle Richard, and Bobby joined them. Lloyd, Nadine, and Mrs. Jones stayed back.

  Sixty-three caskets, each topped with a spray of colorful flowers, trickled in, carried by a legion of men. Lenora cast her eyes down so she did not have to see someone she recognized. She could not bear it.

  She stood numbly through the service, listening to the mayor and others speak about the tragedy that had befallen Texas City. At some point, she realized that Uncle Richard had taken her hand. His hand radiated warmth and hope, even in the midst of such debilitating sorrow. She let her tears fall. She let them wet the ground where her family might soon be buried. She let them nourish the green that would return to this field when its dirt was packed around the caskets.