Authors: Anne J. Steinberg
“
There’s lots of owls at Castlewood, Tom told you that,” April reasoned.
“
I know, but Miz Elizabeth got something in her mind ‘bout that tree. She had it cut down. Now the owl comes back just the same and sits on the stump.”
April took Hannah by the shoulders and looked at her honest, plain face.
“Hannah, that’s silly. That’s superstitious. You know that.”
The woman nodded.
“I guess so, but all that talk, it’s Kack, with her silliness. I guess that got Miz Elizabeth that way.”
“
What way?” April repeated.
“
Thinking that owl came back for someone else,” Hannah blushed. “You better eat. Your food’s getting cold.”
April sat down and took the lid off the silver tray.
She was pleased to see it contained a simple savory stew, with hot biscuits and honey. She savored the honey, knowing it was from Hilltop hives. A pot of hot coffee and fresh baked peach pie followed. The peaches were from the orchards – she could taste their freshness. She felt nostalgic eating Castlewood peach pie. When she had finished eating, she put the tray outside the door.
She went over to close the Austrian shades and in the moonlight could see the raw stump of the recently felled tree.
In the scrub elm beyond it was the distant shadow of an owl. Without meaning to, she shivered and closed the blinds.
April went into the bathroom and ran the steamy water.
She unpacked the traveling case and took out her flannel gown. It was only October, but the old house had a chill, even though the radiators were warm.
She undressed and caught a glimpse of herself in the dimness of the mirror:
her body white as marble, her hair agleam, and her eyes luminous as candles. She was slender, and tall, her figure in perfect proportions. The rosy pink of her nipples… She stared at her image and thought of Ryan and Kyle. It was a mad insane moment, for she always forgot. She wished desperately that they weren’t cousins.
She pinned up her hair; the soft curls struggled to be free.
She soaked in the huge, luxurious tub and tried not to think. The warm water relaxed her limbs, and she almost dozed. The feeling that was foremost now was one of peace. She had come home. Though Hilltop was troubled, it felt like home.
When the water cooled, April climbed o
ut and dried herself with the rough violet towel. It was then that she noticed the flowers in the base on the marble ledge of the bathroom.
She leaned down and sniffed the redolent lilacs.
Lilacs in October? She knew they had come from the greenhouse. The Judge had become an avid gardener after his retirement.
Her uncle had taken such pleasure in the greenhouse.
He particularly enjoyed growing anything out of season.
She could remember several Christmases when the family had sent her plump juicy strawbe
rries, grown right here in Missouri. She recalled the pleasure of eating them with the snow piled high against the windows in Ohio.
The lilacs now breathed their fragrance and made April feel sad and happy at the same time.
She put on the warm flannel gown, and catching her reflection again, saw that she looked about seventeen. Her gown loose and cozy around her made her feel young and hopeful.
She turned out the light and crept in among the thick quilts.
The moon was brilliant and cast shadows across the room. They seemed like the ghosts of yesterdays, and April felt herself stiffen and listen for the hoot that she was sure would come. It did not.
She tossed and turned, remembering other nights, other years, happy years when sh
e was a child. She so loved Castlewood, its uniqueness, its traditions; even though the city crept closer on cat’s paws, it remained unchanged, a special place.
April turned and her hand slipped under the pillow.
She felt the crispness of the wrapping paper, the unmistakable coil of a ribbon.
She sat up and turned on the light.
She lifted the pillow, and it was there – a pretty white package tied with a crimson ribbon. A small well of happiness bubbled within her. It had been a ritual since she was a child, whenever she came to visit. They had each given her a present, each and every one of them. There were always seven presents, from Uncle William, Aunt Elizabeth, Kyle, Ryan, Tom, Hannah, and Kack. The presents were always hidden about the room.
April felt
the same sense of elation now. She climbed out of bed; under it, a silver-wrapped present waited. Like a happy child she opened drawers, looked under cushions, behind the drapes, until she had found them all. Forgetting, she kept searching for the seventh one until, with a start, she remembered there would only be six now.
Happily she surveyed the stack of tiny packages.
She tore at the silver paper, opened the slender box. The paper whispered as she held the elegant shaft of crystal aloft. The note was simple in his hand:
‘I remembered you always wanted to catch a rainbow. I’ve done it for you. Ryan.’
She put the obelisk of crystal on the table.
The light caught it, and the rainbow was hers, caught securely in the glass.
The next package was from Aunt Eliza
beth. She cried when she saw the antique earrings and the matching necklace. Teardrops of amethyst – deep, deep purple – with a note from her aunt:
‘To match your eyes.’
She opened the box from Kyle.
It contained an antique locket. She clicked open the scrolled cover, to see them as they were then, her two handsome cousins as children. His note in a bold hand said,
‘I’ve done the impossible for you. I’ve given you yesterday.’
She understood perfectly, and looked into the smiling faces and remembered.
Hannah gave her make-up, gaudy and loud with a sweet note:
‘For a beautiful lady.’
And Tom a clumsy box containing Gardenia perfume with a crudely scrawled wish of good luck.
Last, she opened the package from Kack.
Cradled in the box on a soft bed of dandelion wisp it laid there, the most perfect one she had ever seen. Its arms seemed to stretch upward, imploringly, its legs were widespread, with tiny grasping feet – and it had a wide portion of body. It was very old, one of the ones they believed to be the most potent. The twisted root looked like a tiny headless man. It was the perfect ginseng.
April lifted it out of the box, and a dandelion fluff drifted away on an unseen breeze.
She felt a thrill. How many times had she helped them gather it? The fun – the mystery of the sang-hunt…
Here in this room, it did seem mysterious, magical.
In the box in a large scrawl Kack had written one word,
‘Believe.’
The owl hooted and sent a shiver through her.
She pulled up the shade and stared out into the moonlight. She held the manroot up before her like a cross, and the owl flew away.
The scent of aftershave came to her; it seemed, as part of a pleasant drea
m.
The scent mingled with rum and maple pipe tobacco, and the smell of damp weeds invaded her senses.
April felt a gentle yet firm touch on her wrist, and in the distance she heard the soft staccato of rain.
Whatever the dream was, it was far more pleasant
than the one that had preceded it. She tried to turn over and burrow into the softness of the pillows, but the touch on her wrist restrained her. Her eyes flew open. The first thing she saw was the crystal chandelier above her.
Castlewood.
She was really here. A pain throbbed in her head; she felt general discomfort in her whole body.
Her eyes focused, she turned to see him sitting by the bed.
A shock of warm brown hair crowned his strong, angular face. His forehead was creased in a concerned frown.
His ey
es, black and cool, searched her face, his firm hand still holding hers.
“
April.” He called her name softly, with a familiar sound and pronunciation, yet his identity escaped her. His fingers clasped her wrist. She saw the barely perceptible movement of his lips as he counted. It was then she noticed the stethoscope around his neck. The realization that he was a doctor jarred her; she sat bolt upright in the bed.
Her lips started to form a question, but before she could speak, his face broke out into a wide
, reassuring smile. “You’re all right,” he told her. He took pleasure in searching her face. She had grown lovely, even in this condition. He took a man’s pleasure in her tangled dark curls; he yearned to reach over and smooth them away from her satin face. Her dark eyelashes swept down over the startling violet eyes as she tried remembering, sorting it out.
“
Bradley,” he said. “Brad Estes. Dr. Estes now.”
“
Of course.” She reached forward to embrace him, but a pain jarred her, and she looked down at her shoulder instead. The flannel gown was torn in ribbons. She could see the angry scratches on her shoulder.
She flung the covers aside and saw that the bed was all muddy.
Leaves were scattered all over the rug.
“
What happened?” she asked, feeling frightened, yet foolish.
“
Remember what you used to do when you were a little girl and you were upset?” he asked, reluctant to tell her and placing hints so she might recall on her own.
“
Of course – I
was
upset: the owl, Aunt Elizabeth, the nightmares…have I been walking in my sleep?” She looked at his face for affirmation.
“
I’d say, young lady, that you must have taken a hell of a walk in the woods. You’re scratched from head to toe, and your feet are badly bruised and cut. It’s nothing serious, however.”
April moved gingerly, feeling tenderness all over her body.
“It’s good to see you again, Brad. So you’re a doctor – I always guessed you’d become one. I remember the fallen robins, the injured squirrels, the possums.” She reached for his hand and turned it over to find the jagged scar. “Yes, I guess you do remember the possum.” She laughed.
His eyes were warm as they reminisced.
“I remember you were always right behind me, bandaging them up, our poor charges from the woods. That is, when you weren’t tagging Ryan or Kyle.”
April blushed and said nothing.
He ignored the blush and went on: “Elizabeth tells me you’re a physical therapist.”
“
That’s right. I took a leave because Aunt Elizabeth wanted me to come.” April stopped, not knowing how to word it. “She said she needed me.”
“
That she does,” Brad assured her. “I’d say she needs you very much.”
“
I have my work, my own life. I can’t stay long,” April protested.
“
You have your ties, too, of blood. She’s your aunt, she has no daughters – and I’m sure she’s always thought of you that way.”
“
I know. What can I help her with? She very seriously showed me a prescription for occupational therapy. I told her I was a
physical
therapist. It’s nowhere near the same thing – you know that.”
“
That was really a private joke. When Elizabeth came with this ache and that pain, I jokingly wrote her that prescription, told her to get busy, find some new interests.” Brad put away the stethoscope and clicked his bag shut. “I would say this little scare has given her something to do. I’ve been invited to stay for a late lunch or an early dinner, whichever comes first. She’s ordering everyone around. She sent Tom out to look for blackberries. Hannah is fair near exhausted trying to keep up with Elizabeth as she keeps changing the menu.”
April stretched experimentally.
“Good, I’m glad you’re staying.” She looked down at the bed. “I’ve made a real mess.”
“
Oh, your mess has been good for Elizabeth as well. She’s moved all your things to another room, and you’ve given her something to think about.”
April laughed.
“I guess I’ll have to do it more often.”
Brad nodded.
“I don’t recommend it. For now, I’ll ring for Hannah to run you a warm bath.” He reopened the case and handed her a small white bottle. “Put this on the scratches. They’re nothing serious.” He reached for the cord to call Hannah.
“
Don’t bother. I can run my own bath,” April said.
He stood up and she realized how tall and handsome he had gotten since th
ose days when he came over to pal around with her cousins.
“
I’ll be in the library,” he said as he held out his hands. She reached for them, and he gave her a pull. She leaped out of bed and stood a little unsteadily.
“
Put this on the scratches,” he reminded. He picked up his bag and walked to the door. “Kack is probably lurking around here somewhere with some potions of her own,” he warned.
April nodded in agreement.
“Kack is remarkable. You know, a lot of people have gone back to old-time medicine; nothing wrong with it,” Brad admitted.
He stood in the doorway, looking back at her.
So little, so waif-like in her tattered gown. He was glad he had come. His heart quickened at the prospect of knowing her better.
April ran the water.
She took off the tattered gown. The mirror was full of steam. She wiped it. She could see clearly now how many scratches marred her perfect skin. She looked down at her mud-caked feet. They ached.
She climbed into the soapy water, where an alarming stinging took place as the water
touched her tender skin. She leaned back, trying to relax and let the warmth take out the soreness from her limbs.
She tried but could not remember clearly the nightmare that had sent her out to the dark woods.
It was the same dream she had had as a child, of her cousin drowning in the river.
She heard a soft knock on the door.
“It’s me, Miss April – Hannah. I’m changing the bed, and I brought your clothes. Miz Elizabeth picked ‘em out. Your other things are in Mr. Ryan’s room. Miz Elizabeth thought you could sleep there till we get the rugs and everything cleaned.”
“
Thank you, Hannah.” April called through the door. “Sorry about the mess.”
“
No trouble, Miss,” was Hannah’s answer.
April closed her eyes and waited for the water to soak her clean.
It was fifteen minutes or so before she finally got out. She wrapped a small towel around her hair, and the large one sarong-like around her body. With relief, she saw that the scratches were indeed superficial and already looked much better. Her feet, however, were swollen.
Although her bed had been freshly made, the rug was still full of leaves and footprints.
A light rain beat at the window, and April went to the French doors and looked out.
The woods, for fall, looked incredibly green in some places, wh
ile the rain pelted at the other autumn leaves, forcing them to the ground. Behind the grove you could see the brown rushing water of the Meramec River.
It was a slender, narrow section that looked deceptively inconsequential.
Yet April remembered the warnings and the somber times of the drownings. Many had been claimed by the river, for it was beset with deep, dark undertows. It always seemed strange to have it so close. That awful memory when she had almost drowned in its murky depths was very vivid.
She shivered as the picture of the drowned man could be recalled by just closing her eyes.
Uncle William’s lesson had been traumatic for her. It had brought on the nightmares that stayed with her for many years – the terror much worse, for in the dream, that dreadful corpse had been replaced by Kyle, no, Ryan – one of them.
April looked out into the autumn wetness of the day and wondered where she had gone walking in the night.
Among the trees, she saw a slight movement. April strained her eyes into the grayness of the day, then made out a figure standing there huddled in the grove of trees, looking up. A woman, dressed all in brown, a shawl wound tightly about her head.
It was Kack.
April opened the French door. She called out. Her voice was lost in the wind and carried back to her. She waved a hand and the figure moved forward, approaching silently through the trees. She came up the terrace stairs, and April pulled her in and shut the door behind them.
“
Kack, I’m so glad to see you.”
The wet shawl fell off Kack
’s head. She looked just the same – her hair pulled back tightly from a face that was older but still smooth and brown, unlined. Only her hair showed her age, its strands of silver mating well with the black.
“
I came when I heard you were hurt,” she said solemnly.
April laughed, remembering Brad
’s words. “It’s nothing,” she said.
Kack clicked her tongue under her breath.
“Sit, child, sit.” She ushered her to a vanity chair.
From under her skirt, she took out a leather pouch, and k
nelt and opened it. She unscrewed a jar, and a fragrant odor of salve filled the room. Gently with her fingertip she smoothed an ocher portion on the scratches. April felt an immediate soothing sensation and gave herself up to the administration of Kack. They all trusted her; they always had.
It was when she lifted April
’s foot that she gave a quiet soft clucking. “It is the bruise that we must fix.” She delved further into the pouch and lifted out a jar. It was filled with fluid, and clinging to the sides were small black leeches.
April gasped.
She had never in her life challenged or questioned Kack.
“
Here, child. Look outside. Count the raindrops. It only takes a minute.”
April obeyed, looking out the window.
‘Count the raindrops’ – how like Kack to say such an outrageous thing. She wasn’t a child.
April felt the coolness as Kack applied the creatures to her bruised foot.
She didn’t know what she expected, but the pressure was relieved almost immediately. She kept looking away into the rainy afternoon.
Reli
eved, April heard the click of the lid as Kack put the things away.
“
You’re better now.” Her solemn face broke out into a shy smile.
“
Thank you.”
Kack stood and gathered her wet things around her.
She seemed anxious to go. She left by the French doors, went back into the forest, and April could imagine her threading her way back up the path to the cabin.
She shuddered as she thought of the leeches, but her feet looked better; the purple bruise had already faded.
She inspected the clothes Elizabeth had chosen from her suitcase: gray tailored slacks and a soft gray cashmere turtleneck.
She dressed swiftly.
She chose only mascara. It enhanced her already beautiful eyes. She dabbed on soft pink lipstick.
The blower dashed her hair about, curling naturally and falling about her face like a delicate frame.
She put on the necklace – a single teardrop of purple. It caught the light and kept it prisoner. Next, the matching earrings. This old-fashioned amethyst set seemed made for her. It brought brilliant pinpoints of violet forth in her eyes. She looked radiant.
She took one last look at herself in the mirror and was satisfied.
Her arms and legs were covered; none of the scratches were visible.
She opened the d
oor to the front staircase; already the house seemed different, more alive. The smell of cinnamon wafted from the kitchen, and a soft symphony played somewhere in the house. In the library Brad had made a large, cheerful fire.
Rabelais, old and weary, his
thick yellow fur grown thinner, lay on the hearth. She went over to the old dog and patted his head. The warm brown eyes looked up at her, and his tail wagged happily.