Wisp of a Thing

30

It was midmorning by the time Bliss got into Needsville and stepped onto the post office porch. As she’d told Rob, Rockhouse was there, all alone and slowly rocking. She stood with her arms folded and waited to be acknowledged.

When it was clear she wouldn’t be, she said, “Most men grow their beards for winter and shave them in the spring. But you just have to be contrary, don’t you?”

The old man stopped rocking and turned to look at her. He was clean-shaven again, and his cheeks were pink with the freshness of it. “You taking another day off? You’ll be out of a job if you keep that up. Those are tough to come by these days, especially if you get a name as a slacker.”

“Don’t worry about my job,” she said.

“Whoo-ee, you sound pissy. About to get your monthlies?”

Bliss sat in one of the other chairs. “Why’d you grow that beard, anyway?”

“Sometimes a man just needs to get hairy. Has to let nature have its way for a while. If you’re one of them modern girls who shaves her privates, you know what I mean.”

“My privates are none of your business.”

“Your momma never shaved hers.”

Bliss narrowed her eyes. “That’s beneath even you, Rockhouse. And you won’t piss me off, so you might as well stop trying.”

“Don’t sound like I need to,” he said with a self-satisfied wink.

“You’re mad at me because I tried to broker a truce about this whole situation, aren’t you? Didn’t even matter that I came up to your place to do it, out of respect for your position. You took it as an insult, just like when we stood up to you at the barn dance. And you took it out on Uncle Node.”

He looked away from her, at something in the far distance. “You know, before the power company cleared out trees for the phone lines, the top of that hill used to have a whole stand of sugar maples. Still get them damn saplings in the spring from seeds that just won’t give up trying to sprout, even after all this time. They ain’t never gonna grow to trees, but they come back every spring and have to be cut down. Kind of like the people who think they’re smarter than me.”

“Really?” Bliss said dryly.

He looked at her with a bully’s smug amusement. “Girl, you ain’t nothing to me. Nothing. You think you can protect that little snot Mandalay until she gets growed up and haired over, well, I got news for you: I could rip that little whore to pieces right in front of you and there wouldn’t be a damn thing you could do. I let her stay, because I get tickled watching you folks sneak around and try to outfox me. And you, Miss Bliss? You’re a joke. A babysitter who has to take orders from the baby.”

Bliss was not intimidated. She leaned toward him and said, “Keep rambling, old man. Keep acting like you never missed that stroke in front of the queen.”

Pure hatred blazed from his eyes, and his features distorted as something behind them tried to escape. But it was only for an instant. Then he smiled and said, “This ain’t the first time someone’s tried to shellack me. Won’t be the last. For me, that is. Might be the last time for them. Every spring there’s fewer and fewer saplings to cut down.”

Bliss started to fire back, But this is the first time the night wind’s done it. She held back, though, as a new thought struck her.

Rockhouse didn’t know. He thought it was another plot, this time by Mandalay. He had no idea the night winds themselves were not just facilitators this time, but instigators. They’d sent the apparition to Rob. They’d sent the Kate Campbell song to her. They’d probably even planted the suggestion that Rockhouse grow a beard so Rob wouldn’t recognize him right away.

“What’s wrong with you?” Rockhouse said, bringing her out of her reverie.

She stood, straightened her jacket, and said, “Maybe you’re right, Rockhouse. Maybe this time you’ll outfox us all again. But sooner or later, you’ll slip up. And then what happens, huh?” She patted him on the arm. “You have a good day, old man. Stay warm. Fall’s coming, and you never know when there might be a chill in the air.”

“Why, thank you kindly,” he said mockingly. “And speaking of falls, shame about that boy from the TV show. Must’ve been a suicide, or maybe just an accident. Reckon we’ll never know.”

Bliss went cold inside, but kept it off her face. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll find out. Surprised I had to tell you about it.”

“You’re pathetic, Rockhouse.”

“You know they say trouble comes in threes. First Uncle Node, then your boyfriend. I’d be watching my back if I was you.”

He turned to look back into the distance, dismissing her from his presence. Bliss forced herself to walk casually back to the Catamount Corner, where her truck was still parked from last night. She drove with the same nonchalance until she knew she was out of his sight, then floored it.

Rob wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he opened his eyes. He saw blue sky, which was also the last thing he remembered seeing. He’d read “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” in high school, and wondered if he was still in mid-fall, heading toward certain death below. He didn’t seem to be moving, though, and no wind whistled past his head.

He shifted a little and felt solid ground under him. He reached down and touched rocky dirt. Okay, he was on the ground, but there was no way he was still in one piece. Was he split open like a grape, then? If he moved his hand another inch, would he encounter one of his own internal organs? What would the texture of a disembodied pancreas feel like?

Slowly he turned his head. He saw the tops of trees, now above him instead of below. A flock of starlings rose noisily from their branches. He wondered if they were going to circle back and begin to feed on his shattered remains. He’d seen crows and blackbirds picking over road kill, and was glad these little guys wouldn’t have to worry about traffic.

Then he heard a woman singing.

He followed the sound with his eyes. He wondered if there was no pain because his spine was severed somewhere below his neck.

Then he saw her. She was younger than he was, with long black hair and a strong, lean body. She wore tight jeans and a black tank top that showed off her curves to excellent effect. At the moment, she was on her knees, weeding a patch of flowers that was clearly some sort of shrine.

And she was singing.

He raised up on his elbows. It didn’t hurt. In fact, nothing about him hurt, not even his eye, the bruise on his back, or the stitched lump on his head. When he looked down at himself, there were no injuries, no blood. Except for a little dirt, he was spotless. There could be only one explanation for that.

She looked up and stopped singing. “Back with us?”

“I always thought the idea of sexy angels was just a gimmick to sell lingerie,” he said. “But I’m not going to argue.”

She smiled. “Careful. My boyfriend has a direct line to God.”

He sat all the way up. He wasn’t even stiff. “I expected heaven to be more pastel. Kind of Maxfield Parrish. But I can live with this.”

“You’re not dead, wise guy.”

“Really?” He looked behind him, and there it was. He sat at the base of the sheer cliff he was certain he’d fallen out of. There were several cave openings toward the top, far too high for him to have survived. “I’m pretty sure I fell out of one of those.”

The girl laughed, low and sexy. “Sure you did.”

He got to his feet. Everything was there, and everything worked. There wasn’t even a fresh scratch or new bruise. “I did. I remember it very clearly.”

“And I suppose something just flew in and caught you at the last moment?”

Now that he was upright and the last cobwebs were gone from his brain, he looked at the girl more closely. “You look familiar.”

“So do you.”

“I was on TV for a while.” He offered his hand. “Rob Quillen.”

“So was I. Bronwyn Hyatt.”

Her grip was as firm as any man’s, and he recognized the name. “Yeah, I know you. Well, that is, I know of you. You were in the army, got rescued on live TV. Killed how many enemy soldiers?”

“More every time it’s told. And you were on So You Think You Can Sing?”

“That’s me. What’s this?” he said with a gesture at the flowers.

“A memorial. My older brother used to bring me here when I was a little girl. He taught me the basic chords and how to sing harmony. He also showed me how a man was supposed to behave around a girl he respected and loved. Set the mark pretty high for my boyfriends later. Too bad I never held ’em to it, like I should have.”

“I take it he’s no longer with us?”

“No. He died back in the spring.”

“I’m sorry. Was he sick?”

“He was stabbed.”

There was nothing polite he could say back to that, so he resumed looking around. He spotted something half-hidden behind some rocks. He picked up the neck of his now-smashed guitar, still attached by the strings to the bridge pegs. “Look at this.”

“Needs more than restringing, I think. It must’ve pissed off somebody.”

“No, this is mine. It fell just like I did. From up there.”

She put her hands on her hips in annoyance. “Well, maybe whoever or whatever caught you only had two hands and did the best he or she could.”

He tossed it aside. “Ah, it’s no great loss.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say about a musical instrument.”

He chuckled. “John Hiatt wrote a whole song about that. He related to you?”

“He spells his name differently from mine.”

They were quiet for a time. The sadness in her eyes touched him, and he asked gently, “I don’t mean to pry, and it’s totally none of my business, but… you said your brother was stabbed?”

“Yes. By my ex-boyfriend.”

“Yikes. That’s tough.”

She nodded. “More than you know. They were arguing about me. Hard not to feel responsible somehow.” She returned to the flower bed. “I laid awake thinking that for a lot of nights. If I’d done this, or said that, then it might not have happened. It was all my fault.”

“I know what you mean,” Rob said slowly. The numbness grew within him, threatening to choke him anew. “Had a lot of those nights myself.”

“But I realized something,” she continued as she weeded. “Something real important.”

“Which was?”

“I didn’t hold the knife.”

He knelt opposite her and began helping. There weren’t many weeds, but they had long roots that clung tenaciously to the soil. “Sometimes you don’t have to.”

“Yes, you do,” she said firmly. “Someone kills for their own reasons, not yours. And they carry the responsibility for it, not you.”

“Your boyfriend get that message from God?” he said with a half grin.

She laughed. “Maybe. He did help me understand it.”

They worked together in silence after that. For some reason, Rob felt it was important to help Bronwyn spruce up her memorial. By the time they finished, it was almost noon, and he was starving, thirsty, and exhausted. He realized that except for his brief nap at the bottom of the cliff, he hadn’t slept in nearly two days.

“Thanks,” she said as they stood. “It went a lot faster with your help.”

He tried not to appreciate her sweaty cleavage, but failed. “Always honored to help a war hero. I don’t suppose you could give me a ride? My car’s up there.”

“Sorry, I didn’t drive. But there’s a trail over there behind that stand of cedar trees. Meanders a bit, but goes right to the top. Comes out by the old mill.”

“Thanks.” He paused, then said, “I know Bliss Overbay. And her sister, Curnen. They’ve told me some wild things about the Tufa, but you know what? I believe them. So… thanks for catching me.”

She said nothing, but just enigmatically smiled. As he turned to walk away, she called, “There’s one more thing I learned about sadness.”

“What’s that?”

“It’ll follow you as long as it knows you’re watching. So don’t look back.”

“I’ll remember that,” he said. He walked on, then turned, but as he’d now learned to expect, Bronwyn Hyatt was gone.

Bliss’s truck burst through the briars and nearly rear-ended Rob’s rental car. She jumped out and yelled, “Rob! Rob!”

She ran to the mouth of the cave. “Rob!” she called down, her voice echoing back at her. There was no reply. She took a deep breath, made a gesture of protection, and went quickly down the steps.

The cave was empty.

She gagged on the smell, and almost vomited. But there was no one present. All the fires were out, and even the meth equipment was cold. It looked like it had been abandoned for months.

“Rob!” she yelled. “Goddammit, Rob!”

Her cry bounced around the great rock dome. When it faded, only absolute silence remained.

She climbed the stairs. She felt as if she’d been pummeled, and the slight headache from last night’s moonshine only added to it. There would be nothing to do but look for his body at the bottom of the cliff.

She was about to cry when a voice said, “I thought you couldn’t go down there.”

He stood beside his car, disheveled but clearly in one piece. She ran to him and threw her arms around him. “What happened?” she demanded. “The cave’s empty.”

“Beats me. It was hopping when I left.”

“Left? Where did you go?”

He made a long, descending whistle.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. Nothing hurts anymore. At all.”

She hugged him again. “I’m really glad to hear that. Really.”

“But I still need to talk to Stella.”

“Y’ain’t gonna find her this way,” a new voice said.

Rob and Bliss both turned. An old man now sat on the hood of Rob’s car. He wore overalls and a sweat-stained Jack Daniel’s baseball cap. The shade from the bill hid his face. Something about him struck Rob as familiar, but with all his recent odd experiences, he couldn’t place it.

Bliss stepped toward him. “Where are they?” she said through her teeth.

The old man spit on the ground. “Rockhouse knows this boy’s been diggin’ around.” He indicated Rob, then pointed at Bliss. “And you spooked him good this morning. So he’s moved things.”

“He can’t just move things,” Bliss insisted.

The old man grinned; he showed only three teeth. “Rockhouse can do a whole bunch of things he don’t tell people about.”

“I’m not trying to spook anybody,” Rob protested. “I just want to talk to my friend’s wife.”

The old man snorted. “Nobody dragged her anywhere, you know. She went on her own two feet.”

“Well, Pops, if that’s true, why does everybody want to keep me from hearing her say it for herself?”

The old man shifted his foot, and suddenly Rob recognized him: Jessup, the strange tree gnome from his dream. Now he was normal sized and dressed in regular clothes, but the face and voice were the same, and he rested an identically swollen foot on the car’s bumper. “All right, no need to get all cattywompus about it,” Jessup said. “He’s moved down to the Pair-A-Dice.”

Bliss gasped. “No way.”

“Yes indeedy way. Moved his whole bunch down there. Maybe for good, I don’t know. Least until all this blows over.”

“That’s… he can’t do that.”

“He surely did.”

Bliss turned to Rob. “The Pair-A-Dice is neutral ground, it’s where we can all meet and play together without fighting. If he’s moved his bunch into it, he’s broken his own agreement with the community.” She turned back to the old man. “You’re sure about this?”

“Course I’m sure!” the old man said. “Go see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“Oh, I will.” She stamped back to her truck.

Jessup slid from the fender and, favoring his swollen foot, moved aside. “Will Stoney be there?” Rob called to Bliss as he opened his car door.

“Where else?” She was already in the seat and buckled up.

An impossibly strong gust of air struck then. Rob knew the Kansas straight-line winds, and this was stronger. He covered his eyes and peeked between his fingers.

The wind sheared the leaves from the trees with the ferocity of a bladed weapon. Where moments earlier, the colors of autumn were everywhere, now he saw bare branches appear, still swaying from being suddenly denuded.

“Oh, no,” Bliss said, so softly it was barely a breath. The Widow’s Tree waved in the distance, more branches newly stripped. She had no time.

Before Rob even turned his key, Bliss gunned her truck’s engine, made a wide 180 turn across the uneven ground, and roared away. Rob knew he couldn’t find the Pair-A-Dice by himself, and wasn’t even sure he could remember how to get back to town. He tried to catch up, but the rental car just couldn’t handle the roads like the truck. By the time he reached blacktop again, she was long gone.