Between Will and Surrender

by Margaret Duarte

  We picnicked in a clearing next to the Visitor Center, only a footbridge away from the parking lot, so Morgan could keep an eye out for his friend and the horses. No sooner had we finished our meal than a pickup truck pulling a gooseneck horse trailer entered the parking lot.

  “That’s Jeff with the horses,” Morgan said. “I’ll get them saddled.”

  I nodded, my attention focused on Joshua. He shifted from foot to foot, his gaze riveted on the horses about to be backed out of the trailer.

  “I could use a little help, Josh,” Morgan said. “Care to give me a hand?”

  I’d never heard anyone call the child Josh before, so I held my breath and waited for his response.

  If eyes are windows to the soul, Joshua’s soul appeared suddenly joyful.

  “Come on, cowboy,” Morgan said, “the horses are waiting.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  MORGAN GAVE JOSHUA A BOOST onto a small, heavily muscled horse not much taller than a pony. The horn bag provided a perfect pouch for Gabriel, whose furry head stuck out comically like a papoose as he waited for the action to begin. I mounted my horse—a Quarter Horse by the looks of him—and tried to keep my expectations at bay, afraid to hope that Joshua would have the time of his life.

  The high meadow grasses parted smoothly as we rode along the ascending park trail, giving us the appearance of ships floating on water. Each time we paused to take in the view, our mounts snorted, tossed their heads, and snatched bites of the wild grass, but all it took was a gentle tug on the reins and a nudge to their flanks with our heels to get them moving again.

  We walked our horses single-file through sloping passes, thick stands of chaparral, maple-filled canyons, and dense oak woodlands. We rode across the willow-covered banks of the Carmel River and through the cottonwood-sycamore stands of an old floodplain. Sometimes the trails dipped steeply, and I worried about Joshua’s safety, but he appeared confident and well in control, suggesting that he’d ridden many times before.

  At junction points, where we halted side-by-side, Morgan pointed out reminders of Carmel Valley’s past: Rumsien habitation sites, homestead remains, and livestock trails. Joshua followed Morgan’s every word, his eyes radiating awareness and full participation, giving him the appearance of a normal, inquisitive seven-year-old.

  Too bad, he didn’t speak.

  “It’s like this land has been here forever,” I said, when we reached Snively’s Ridge with its view of the sweeping vista of Carmel Bay, Moss Landing, Santa Cruz, and Salinas. The air was cool and heavy with mossy fragrance, the landscape lush with wild flowers in rainbow colors and a quiet so soundless it seemed nature had put its volume on mute.

  “Kind of puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?” Morgan said, before turning his attention to Joshua. “What do you say, kiddo?”

  Joshua smiled but said nothing.

  Morgan glanced at me and frowned. I could almost hear his unvoiced question: What’s wrong with him? Instead, he said, “Time for a rest.”

  Although I was more than happy to sit on solid ground for a while, Joshua wiggled with restless energy and shifted from foot-to-foot, which, as far as I was concerned, was a good sign. Little boys were supposed to be fueled and ready for adventure. “Run along with Gabriel,” I said. “But stay close.”

  After a quick smile in my direction, Joshua and the cat shot off like stray bullets.

  My laugh sounded strange in this place of birdcalls and echoes.

  Morgan sat next me, his forehead creased. “Why doesn’t he talk?”

  “He lost his parents over a year and a half ago in the Los Padres fire,” I said, “and he hasn’t spoken since.”

  “Poor kid. How old is he?”

  “Seven.”

  “So young . . .” Morgan cleared his throat as if the emotional passageway between his head and heart had become blocked, making it hard for him to speak. Then he shifted his weight and changed the subject. “Remember I told you there were some things I needed to share?”

  I nodded.

  He stretched out on a patch of grass and closed his eyes. “Guess now’s as good a time as any.” His chest rose and fell while he geared up for his promised revelation. “As you know, my sister was a free-lance photographer, which meant she traveled a lot. She stayed in one place just long enough to earn enough money to head off for another. She carried all she owned in her backpack, claiming she loved being light and free.”

  Light and free. Those two words alone gave me a sense of connection to Morgan’s freelancing sister—no possessions, no obligations, no personal commitments.

  “Then Teri met someone. She wasn’t specific on the details, only that he was part Native American and lived in Carmel Valley. We don’t know if they married. Teri is so anti-establishment and anti-authority she probably believed they were married in the eyes of God, which would’ve been enough for her.

  “Anyway, I don’t think Teri had a clue as to how much she was hurting our parents by not keeping in touch on a regular basis. She is hopeless at writing and claimed she couldn’t afford long-distance phone calls. Mom offered to send her a cell phone with a pre-paid calling card, but she refused. Between work and her new friend, she was content and apparently didn’t need anyone else.

  “This went on for about five years. Then suddenly, all communication stopped. No letters, no phone calls, nothing. Mom nearly freaked out and wanted to hire a private investigator. Teri’s last letter came from Carmel Valley and her boyfriend’s ancestors apparently originated from there, so I asked Mom to hold off until I had a chance to do some investigating of my own. I’ve been here for a month now and have come across some promising leads.”

  “How can Teri have disappeared in a town the size of Carmel Valley?”

  “Don’t forget, Carmel Valley Road leads to the Ventana Wilderness, a 236,000-acre portion of the 1,750,000-acre Los Padres Forest, eighty-eight percent of which is public land.”

  “Where just about anything can happen and nobody would know,” I said.

  “Exactly.”

  “Which in a roundabout way leads to last night, I suppose.”

  “Yes. Besides pretending to be a photographer, I’ve been assisting as a guide, which has given me the opportunity to poke my nose into other people’s business. By keeping my mouth shut and my camera focused, I’ve discovered some nasty goings-on in the Ventana wilderness. I can’t go into detail right now, but seeing you at the winery shook me up. I wanted you nowhere near what could be a dangerous situation.”

  “What about Veronica?” I asked.

  “Veronica can take care of herself.”

  I closed my eyes, shook my head.

  “Try to understand,” Morgan said.

  “Oh, I understand all right. You’re trying to protect me. I’ll give you that. But in the future, please remember, I’m a grown woman, level-headed to a fault.”

  His smile was kind, caring, and nearly impossible to resist. “I’ll try to control that nasty urge to shield you from harm, but it won’t be easy.”

  “I came to Carmel Valley to sort things out,” I said, trying desperately not to cave in to Morgan’s agenda—no matter how well intentioned—as I’d caved to Cliff’s too many times to count, and nearly suffocated in the process. “Which no one can do for me, not even a caring man with a need to protect.”

  “How about your friend, Tony?” Morgan asked softly.

  “Tony’s my shrink.”

  Morgan’s eyebrows rose and his lips curved in what appeared to be relief.

  “Maybe, now, you’ll understand that I have some personal issues to attend to,” I said.

  Gabriel sprang between us, and during the split second it took me to process that Joshua wasn’t with him, my heart gave a massive leap and my breath locked in my throat. I took in our surroundings through a new lens—that of fear—and saw hundreds of fascinating hiding places and dangerous pitfalls for a seven-year-old on adventure.


  The outlying area contained trees of endless personalities, able to fulfill the fantasies of any child on excursion, some with upright branches full of luscious green growth, others, dead or dying, with broken and leafless limbs pointing skeletal fingers in all directions. Chest-high brush grew between trees and around clearings. Had Joshua followed a tunnel into a secret place? I called his name, frightening birds into flight and startling hidden creatures into scurries for safety. All that had earlier calmed me now wrought uncertainty and dread. “Joooshua,” I called between cupped hands. “Show us where you are.”

  Morgan touched my shoulder. “I’m sure he didn’t go far. I wouldn’t be surprised if he climbed one of the trees.”

  I scanned the tall grasses, searched behind bushes, circled oaks, maples, and redwoods, all the while calling the child’s name. Morgan searched, too, but was quieter about it, hardly as bedraggled and panic-stricken as I. He was a country boy after all, knowing the way of the woods and what a child, free in such a place, might do.

  The Voice said, He is like the mighty oak, strong and secure.

  “If you’re so smart and all-knowing,” I said back, “tell me where Joshua is.”

  Silence.

  Of course.

  “Over here,” Morgan called.

  He stood below a large oak with a branch leaning to the ground, a perfect ramp for a young boy about to start a climb. The cat sat on the reclined branch and stared at Morgan with eyes that appeared to say, Now what?

  “Is he okay?” I called back, sprinting through the tall grass and uneven terrain like a wild animal instead of a klutzy human with a breakable neck.

  “He’s fine.”

  Although the sunlight streaming through the branches was blinding, I managed to spot a small figure halfway up the tree. “Oh God, oh God,” I said, my breath coming in pants.

  “How does it feel to love someone enough to break your heart?” Morgan said softly.

  Without waiting for my response, he walked up the ramp and extended his hand. “Let’s go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Up the tree.”

  I eyed the ramp and the branches above. “I don’t think so . . .”

  “Come on. Do it for Joshua.”

  With a start, I realized how a mother must feel when protecting her child—strong enough to take on the world. Adrenaline pumped through me as I took his hand.

  Morgan led me up the ramp and showed me how to use the tree’s sturdy branches as a ladder. I grabbed the limb he stood on and pulled myself up, using the branch below as support. The branches were the size of elephant trunks and spaced closely together, making the ascent easy, even for a tenderfoot like me. “When I was Josh’s age,” Morgan said, “I climbed trees even taller than this one. Instead of worrying about the danger, I experienced freedom. Joshua may have found his spirit in this tree. You don’t want to deprive him of that now, do you?”

  Before I could answer, the Voice spoke again. Like an otter, he’s full of joy.

  Yes. Joshua was as joyful as an otter at play. Wasn’t that exactly what I’d hoped to accomplish today, provide him with an opportunity to be as carefree as a normal child?

  A cool breeze brushed through my hair and billowed inside my shirt, its caress nearly as intoxicating as the view. When I finally came face-to-face with Joshua, he grinned. I shook my head and grinned back. “You gave me quite a scare, buddy.” I took in the area below us, giving my senses free rein, and suddenly, I didn’t want to go down.

  “This tree’s perfect, Josh,” Morgan said. “You sure know how to pick ’em. We’d better head on down though. Marjorie might slip and hurt herself. She’s never climbed a tree before.”

  Joshua’s face crinkled with what appeared to be a combination of disappointment and concern, which Morgan, to his credit, noticed. “We’ll come back another time, Josh, I promise, but first I need a little help getting Marjorie back down. I’ll lead, so I can catch her if she falls. You watch her from behind. What do you say, pal?”

  Joshua nodded, his jaw firm.

  I had to admit—grudgingly—that Morgan had done a good job in handling the situation. In him, Joshua had found a friend who not only understood his tree-climbing discovery but had also joined in. Back on solid ground, Morgan and Joshua broke into smiles.

  Gratitude for Joshua’s safety had me softening toward Morgan, but darn, if he didn’t turn and point to a weed. “Can you name that flower?”

  “It’s a weed, not a flower,” I said.

  “Flowers are weeds. Weeds are flowers. Do you know what it’s called?”

  I did but wasn’t in a game-playing mood.

  “A dandelion,” Morgan said. “It flowers nearly nine months out of the year and then turns into a puffball of seeds. Did you ever pick one as a kid and blow its seeds into the wind?”

  Of course, I had but didn’t say so.

  He plucked the flower and held it to my nose as if it were a fragrant hothouse plant. “The dandelion represents the celestial bodies, the flower symbolizing the sun, the puffball the moon, and the seeds the stars.”

  No man I knew, except maybe my father, would even consider relegating such importance to something as insignificant as a weed.

  “See how the flower head is made up of hundreds of ray flowers and how it looks like a pompom.”

  I took a closer look, realizing that Morgan had captured Joshua’s attention with his dandelion lesson, which had probably been his intent all along. The game, and the dandelion, therefore took on new meaning.

  “What color is it?” he asked. “And don’t say yellow.”

  “Dandelion yellow,” I said.

  “What color are the leaves?”

  “Grass green.”

  Morgan handed the flower to me and winked. “Every part of the dandelion is useful, for food, medicine, and as a dye for coloring.”

  I’d seen the weed growing along roadsides and in fields all my life but had never inspected one up close. I ran my finger over its smooth, moist surface, impressed in spite of myself. “The leaves have pointed lobes that shoot out like arrowheads stacked on top of one another,” I said.

  Morgan picked another dandelion, taproot and all. “See this dead leaf? It’s a mixture of tumbleweed brown and burnt sienna.”

  I laughed. “Sounds like you memorized all the colors in a box of crayons.”

  “Of course. How else could I describe the assortment of colors out there? He turned to Joshua. “Isn’t it good to hear Marjorie laugh?”

  Joshua nodded, and then he, too, laughed. And with the laugh came a sound. I was certain Morgan heard it, but he continued talking to me as if he hadn’t. “You’ve enjoyed the company of educated and sophisticated people but have missed the closeness of nature. Today you’ve had a chance to look around.”

  I was too absorbed in Joshua and the sound he’d just made to process Morgan’s message.

  “Are you happy, Marjorie?”

  “I’m no Pollyanna, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I’m not asking you to deny reality, just to acknowledge the wonder of nature all around you. Hey, Josh. Does Marjorie need to spend more time climbing trees?”

  Again, the child nodded.

  “That’s not fair, Morgan. He’d agree to anything you say.”

  “Fair? I’d break all the rules of fairness,” Morgan said with stone-faced intensity, “if that meant making you happy.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  NEXT MORNING, thinking back over the picnic, I realized that Morgan could seriously block my path to freedom. It would be too easy to let him take charge of my life and too easy to put my future and my chance for fulfillment into his capable hands. But then where would I be? Would I end up resenting him as I had resented Cliff? I couldn’t do this to Morgan. Or to myself. Fortunately, I still had the power to prevent this from happening.

  Since Joshua was in my life to stay, I renewed my vow to help him.
And my gut told me, that a horse ride into the Ventana Wilderness of Los Padres National Forest would provide the perfect opportunity for him to escape the group home for a while. Maybe even have some fun. However, if Dr. Mendez didn’t agree, the plan would be off. I was too new at this trust-your-gut thinking to push my inner wisdom too far.

  I phoned Ben to check if such a trip were even possible.

  “My friend Pete is an excellent guide and wouldn’t turn down a few extra bucks,” Ben said, “though it’s the off season. I’ll check with him and get back to you.”

  I had barely put down the phone, when Ben returned my call. “How does Saturday through Thursday sound?”

  “This coming week?” The man sure worked fast.

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll call Dr. Mendez, and if he has no objections, we’re on.”

  “Okay, let me know if it’s a go, and I’ll set things up.”

  Before closing the call, I asked, “When can you introduce me to the Medicine Wheel?”

  “Tomorrow would work,” he said, “but it’ll have to be early. I have appointments later in the day.”

  “What time?”

  “Seven.”

  “Where?”

  “Meet me at Los Padres Dam off Cachagua Road. There’s parking at the trailhead.”

  “I’ll be there!”

  I called Dr. Mendez to share my plan, only to be met by silence.

  “Do you think it’s a bad idea?” I asked.

  He sighed in a way that filled me with doubt. “To bring back his speech, Joshua may need to return to the scene of the fire that so tragically took his parents. His traumatic memories need to be unearthed and dealt with or they may haunt him for years.”

  My hope had been that a guided tour into the Ventana Wilderness would be therapeutic for the child, but in a pleasurable way. What the doctor was suggesting sounded scary, even dangerous.

  “I will need to accompany you on the first leg of the journey to observe how Joshua adjusts to the change in environment and also to continue his meditation and breathwork if necessary.”