We Stand in the Middle 16
Through a Window Darkly
“If everything around seems dark, look again, you may be the light.” - Rumi
By the time I got off the phone with Hamilton, I was feeling even more anxious with frustration, incredulity, and outrage added to the mix. It was the kind of toxic emotional cocktail that used to trigger my drinking binges and was coursing through my bloodstream like a straight shot of tequila. I was not amused by the analogy my mind had made. “Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic,” I muttered as I unfolded my legs from the the chair and got to my feet. My body was stiff from all the sitting and Bentley was letting me know it was time for a potty break. A quick glance at the beside clock on the dresser told me more than two hours had passed. Almost three since Evan left. With any luck he’d have reached town by now and was talking to Atsina.
I knew from experience that trying to think or talk myself out of what I was feeling was futile. The only way to get my body back into balance was to move - preferably outside. “I hear you Bentley,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.” We descended the stairs to the kitchen where I grabbed my backpack and D’s map and headed out the back door with Bentley at my heels.
Outside the day was already feeling like a sauna - hot and so humid that my sweat did nothing to cool me. “Okay, scratch anything aerobic,” I said as I consulted the map. To our left and only a few hundred yards from the main house was Richard’s pottery studio. It looked like a converted greenhouse with a wooden pergola attached to one side. Rows and rows of plates, bowls, cups, and pots of every shape and size could be seen arranged on shelves outside. But as intriguing as it all looked, I decided to give the studio a wide berth. I’d had enough intrigue for one day. Instead, Bentley and I took a hard right and headed down the back stairs towards what was labeled, “Casey’s Tree House”on the map. I’d been wanting to see it ever since Nigel described it as the Rolls Royce of tree houses. “Look for the nails,” was all he’d say when I demanded to know what he meant by Rolls Royce.
It turns out that Nigel hadn’t done Casey’s hangout justice. The wooden building was a good half mile from the main house and was cradled about 10 feet up in the branches of an enormous Red Oak tree. The tree itself was surrounded by and almost indistinguishable from its neighbors in the forest. If I hadn’t known what to look for I might never have seen it. The tree house looked as if the ancient and accommodating tree had simply opened its thick arms and enveloped the structure in a welcoming embrace.
As we got closer I could see that the “house” was actually a wooden box, consisting of a floor, four walls, and a pitched roof. A doorway had been cut in the side closest to me. There was also a sturdy looking ladder lying on the ground next to the trunk. When I stood beneath the tree and looked up, the floor looked perfectly level, with each corner resting in the fork of one of the larger branches. “How is that even possible?” I wondered as I lifted the ladder and positioned it against the trunk.
Before I could even set foot on the first rung, Bentley barreled past me and scrambled up the ladder, disappearing into the wall of green leaves above us. From somewhere overhead he began barking, urging me to hurry up. “How did he do that?” I wondered as I began my own careful ascent. “And how in the world am I going to get him down?” Near the top of the ladder, I saw Bentley’s head poke out of the entrance which was covered by a light, loose weave blanket. “Hello there you big goof,” I said as I pushed past the blanket and stepped inside. “Could you be a little less pushy next time?”
The first thing I noticed as the blanket fell back across the entrance was how cool the space felt. The midday sun was still blazing outside but was diffused and absorbed by the leaves of the tree. Any excess heat was being drawn up and out a small vent in the vaulted ceiling. The second thing was the large round window in the Northeast corner. It had been created by cutting a half circle in each of the two walls where their edges met. The result was a perfectly round window that offered beautiful views of the property.
Each of the other, windowless walls held floating shelves positioned at various heights along their lengths. The shelves were made of polished cedar and filled with treasures - a collection of rocks, a ghost-like snake skin, vocabulary cards in Cherokee, a tired looking stuffed Eeyore, sticks of colored chalk, a battered chess set, a pirate ship, half a melted candle and a box of matches, and an old Polaroid of Casey standing beside a horse.
Next, I turned my attention to the four wooden crates. Each was sitting on one of the four corners of the woven mat covering the floor. Three sported cushions and were doing double duty as chairs and storage units. They were crammed with everything from magazines and books to camping gear and snacks. But the fourth had been turned on its end and placed beneath the circular window. All it held was a five-gallon jug of water and a small wooden box on top.
Intrigued, I crossed the small space and picked up the box. It fit neatly in the palm of my hand and was completely smooth except for a metal clasp holding the lid closed. I flipped the clasp open, lifted the lid, and was surprised to find an old-fashioned, collapsible telescope (or spyglass) lying on a piece of red felt. Memories of Captain Hook and his band of pirates using spyglasses to locate Peter Pan came to mind. Beneath the spyglass a corner of paper could be seen. I lifted the spyglass out, set it down beside the box, and extracted a folded note. My name was scribbled in familiar handwriting on one side.
“Dear Maddy,” the note began when I unfolded it. “How do you like our clubhouse? As you’ve probably guessed, it’s a nod to all the lost boys of the world - a place where all the misunderstood misfits can come and feel they belong. No girls allowed, of course, but we’ll make an exception for you.”
“Gee thanks,” I chuckled.
“Casey was the one who first put the the idea into our heads. He was only seven at the time and completely under the spell of Peter Pan. Faith had taken him to see the movie, and he was convinced that a) he could fly; b) every firefly was a member of Tinker Bell’s family; and c) the big bad crocodile who ate Captain Hook’s hand was lurking in our lake waiting to gobble him up. He refused to put even a toe in the water until Richard explained that the Nvnehi would protect him. Apparently spirits that could live anywhere - in water, trees, clouds, and even stones - trumped crocodiles. Richard did such a good job describing the Nvnehi that Casey began asking for more stories about them. We built the tree house so he'd have a place to listen to and create his own stories. We never wanted him to feel lost.
“Once the platform that would be the base of the house was in place (with the tree’s permission of course) we began meeting once a week for Cherokee story time. Usually it was just the four of us - Richard, Casey, myself, and Evan - but once word got out some of our friends from town and their kids would show up too. We’d light a candle, smudge the platform, and let Richard ignite our imaginations.
“I never knew what to make of the stories Richard told - of his belief that everything in the physical world is imbued with spirit and always speaking to us. But as a scientist I knew for a fact that all life is interconnected and interdependent. I’d built my career around those facts, so who was I to say they weren’t whispering to Richard? Knowing me as he did, Richard would often look over at me during these story sessions, see the wheels spinning in my head, and gently take my hand. He never judged or tried to persuade me. He simply loved unconditionally, for which I will always be grateful. What did I ever do to deserve Richard?”
At this point I stopped reading. I had so many questions. How had Richard learned the stories? Did he ever write them down? Who were the kids from town? Did any of Casey’s friends from his school visit? And what about Faith? Did she object to her son being exposed to Cherokee culture? Could that be the reason she was contesting the will?
I set the paper down and picked up the spyglass. It was made of brass with a lens at one end and an eyepiece at the other. In between were a series of metal tubes (I’d learn later that they’re called “draw tubes”) that slid into one another like nesting dolls. I held the main body in my left hand and used my right to pull gently on the brass ring holding the eyepiece. To my surprise, the other three tubes slid out of the main body with an audible click, making the spyglass about two-feet long. “Cool!” I exclaimed. I held the eyepiece up to see what I could see. Nothing. It took me a moment or two to realize that there was a lens cap that needed to be removed. “Duh,” I muttered as I removed the cap and pointed the spyglass at Bentley. I was rewarded with a very out of focus close-up view of his tongue. Clearly adjustments were needed. I carefully collapsed the draw tubes, put the spyglass back in the box, and continued reading. There was only one paragraph left.
“That’s enough about me,” D wrote. “This tree house holds the first clue to the gifts I promised you. Start with the spyglass. Open it up, point it through the window in the direction marked, “look here,” in the drawing I made, and see if you can locate the house at the top of the circle. It’s not really a house, but you’ll get the idea when you see it. After that, it’s up to you to find a way to get there and take a closer look. When you do, the second clue will be waiting. Oh and Maddy? Have fun please. Everything else I’ve saddled you with aside, my dream has always been to give you the ways and means to shine.
With love,
D
”Well, dammit,” I said, wiping tears away. I wanted nothing more than to be sitting with my old friend - to tell him everything that was happening and ask him for advice. His partner may have been a Shaman, Spiritual guru or whatever the heck the Cherokee called Richard, but D had been my teacher. “He’d know what to do, wouldn’t he, Bentley?” I said, stroking the dog’s head.
I took the sheet of paper with D’s drawing, spread it flat on the window sill, and picked up the spyglass again. Then I pointed it out the window and practiced focusing - first on a squirrel about 10 feet away, and then farther out on a fallen tree. When I felt like I had the hang of it, I consulted the paper again. “Look here,” it said, “through the trees.” I stood directly in front of the window and aimed the spyglass through the gap in the trees I could see. Sure enough, my line of sight was completely unobstructed and the shape of a cabin was visible in the distance. After a few more adjustments - by sliding the second draw tube slowly forward and back - the building snapped into focus.
“Wow!” I exclaimed. It was indeed a cabin - a square, wooden structure painted a pale, gray blue, standing on stilts atop a large outcropping of rocks. There were two balconies - one on the right, accessed by a short flight of steps, and a second on the left. As I was admiring the cabin’s neat construction and shingled roof there was a sudden movement on the second balcony. A door opened and a stocky, muscular man with buzz cut hair emerged carrying a pair of binoculars and can of soda. He was wearing a short-sleeved, tan t-shirt, khaki pants, and a utility belt loaded with equipment. A hunting rifle was slung across his back. As I watched, he set the binoculars and soda down on the deck, unzipped his pants, and proceeded to pee over the edge of the balcony. A few moments later, he was joined by another, taller man similarly dressed and equipped. He pulled a lighter from his pocket, lit the cigarette dangling from his mouth, and inhaled deeply. Then he bent at the waist, rested his lower arms on the balcony rail, and exhaled, blowing smoke almost directly in his companion’s face.
Shocked, I lowered my scope and stood motionless trying to decide what to do. I had no idea how far the cabin was from the main house or what the men were doing there, but at that moment I didn’t really care. All I wanted was to know that the animals and I were safe until Evan got back. “Time to go, Bentley,” I said, heading for the entrance. As soon as I held the blanket back, Bentley inched his front paws down three of the rungs before leaping towards the ground. He hit the grass running with a joyful bark. “Damn, Bentley” I said as I turned and descended slowly feet first. “You’re a bad ass.”
Once on the ground I headed for the house at a jog. There, I closed and latched every door and window, throwing deadbolts where they’d been installed, and making sure even the cat door was secured. Next, I headed up to the loft to look for the message machine Evan had said was there. I wanted to see if he’d called while I was out.
Since the machine was connected to the phone via a phone jack, it was just a matter of following the long plastic cord around the legs of the table and under the chair where I found the machine collecting dust bunnies. “There you are,” I said, pulling it out and setting it on the table beside the phone. The red light on the front panel was blinking, indicating that there were unheard messages. “Please, please let this be Evan,” I said as I hit play.
“Hi D! It’s Faith and Casey. We’re thinnking about driving up to the Light House this weekend. Would that be okay? Casey is dying to add some things to the tree house and to play with Bentley. Can you let me know as soon as you can? Thanks, bye.”
“Hey big brother. I never heard back from you about this weekend, and I don’t want to show up unannounced. I know how you like your privacy. So do me a favor will you and let me know how you’re feeling, okay? I’m getting a little worried. Love you!”
“Hey D. It’s me, Faith. Now I’m officially concerned. This is my third call and I still haven’t heard from you. What the hell is going on? Is it the new meds? Please me know. Get back to me as soon as you can. Love you big bro. Bye.”
The third message was followed by a long, hissing silence before Nigel’s voice came on saying, “Hey, call me!” I hit stop, rewound the tape, and replayed Faith’s messages. I’d never asked Manuel or Evan for details about D’s death. I’d just assumed someone was with him. But maybe not. D’s journal made it clear he was suffering, and in his letter to me he’d said the choice to leave wasn’t easy. I remembered Manuel saying D had “had enough.”
I knew that if D had decided to take his own life, he’d have done everything he could to protect those around him. So if neither Evan nor Manuel were here when he died, who was? And who found him? The thought that it might have been Faith made me cringe. What if she’d finally gotten worried enough to drive up on her own without telling anyone? “Poor Faith,” I whispered as I imagined her being greeted by the unmistakable smell of death as she entered the house. “That would certainly explain her anger,” I thought.
After listening to Faith’s message for a third time, I let the machine continue playing. There was Nigel’s voice urging me to call him, two short messages from Hamilton, and then Evan’s voice filled the room. “Hey there, Maddy,” he said. “It’s almost 3:00 pm and I’m still in town. I talked to Atsina and she thinks what you saw is important enough to share with the tribal council. I agree. We’re all meeting tonight around 7:00 pm, which means I won’t make it back tonight. I’ll be home early tomorrow morning though. Stay safe.”
“Well shit,” I swore aloud. My next calls were to Nigel, Manuel, and Hamilton in that order. None of them picked up, though Hamilton’s secretary insisted he wasn’t reachable and took a message. Finally, I tried Anna who was still staying at my place taking care of Zelda. When she picked up on the second ring I almost cried with relief. “Thank god you’re there,” I said.
“Of course I’m here,” Anna said. “Is everything okay? Nigel told me some of what’s going on. It’s wild.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m not,” I said, swallowing back tears. I quickly described my discovery of the two men at the cabin and Evan’s message saying he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.
“Okay, that’s not good,” Anna said.
“No, it’s not. I’ve got myself locked inside the house right now, but it’s not exactly burgle proof. Do you know where Nigel is?”
“Yeah he and Manuel were here earlier picking up some clothes for you before they headed out. They decided to drive up tonight and sleep in the truck so they could hike down to the house as soon as the sun comes up tomorrow.”
“Oh, bless their hearts,” I said with a sigh of relief. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure, anything,” Anna said.
“Call Hamilton and tell him what’s going on. Don’t let his secretary put you off. Insist that it’s an emergency if you have to. Ask him if he knows how to get word to Evan in town. Evan told me there’s a public phone at a bar there that he uses. And ask if there’s any way to get a few of the security people he talked about up here ASAP.”
“Will do,” Anna said. “What are you going to do? Can you stay by the phone?”
“I could,” I said, “but I feel like a sitting duck. The whole damn house is made of glass and there’s no way to stay out of sight.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Hide where they’d never think to look.”
“What?!” Anna exclaimed.
“I’ll explain later,” I said. “If Nigel calls, tell him he can find me in the Rolls Royce.”
“In the Rolls Royce. Got it,” Anna said. “Promise me you’ll be careful, Maddy.”
“I promise,” I said. “Thank you so much Anna. I’ll fill you in the next time we talk.”
Then I set down the receiver and set about preparing the house for invaders.
Copyright, 2024 by Jena Ball. All Rights Reserved.
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Enchanting story. So glad to be back reading it.
Whoa Jena …. This is wild. One gets really worried about Maddy 😳