“Once you turn up the volume you begin to hear - you begin to hear the spirits. They are everywhere.” - Native American Elder
Adrenaline is a funny thing.
If you check a medical textbook, it’ll tell you that it’s a hormone produced by the adrenal glands in response to a real or perceived threat. Adrenaline increases heart rate, deepens breathing, raises blood sugar for energy, sharpens focus, and increases blood flow to the muscles and brain. I wasn’t aware of any of this as I systematically removed anything that could be used by Faith to contest D’s will. First, I unplugged the message machine and placed it along with D’s journals, tapes, medications, medical chart, and prescriptions into my backpack. Then I headed back downstairs to collect a flashlight, batteries, water, and Bentley’s collar and leash. I refilled the cats’ bowls and spent a few precious minutes stroking, scratching, and letting the Meeny Moes know everything would be okay before unlocking their cat doors so they could escape if they had to. Finally, I cranked all the upper level windows open so air could circulate.
All of this took perhaps 30 minutes, but I wasn’t aware of time passing. Nor did I feel particularly afraid or anxious. There was only a vague sense of urgency as Bentley and I stepped out the back door and headed towards the trees. It must have been late afternoon by then because the sky was already streaked with shades of salmon pink and smoky blue. I knew we needed to hurry because darkness fell early in the forest. “Let’s get a move on Bentley,” I said, clipping his leash to his collar and tugging gently.
Once we entered the trees, it became much harder to see. Colors were reduced to shades of black and gray and fireflies were already beginning to appear.
By the time we reached the base of the tree the nightly cricket, tree frog, katydid, and cicada-serenade had begun and shadows were everywhere. “Up you go,” I said as I let go of Bentley’s leash so he could clamber up the ladder. Once I was sure he’d made it safely I followed, taking my time when I realized I was feeling lightheaded and jittery.
When I reached the final step, I looked back down and briefly considered pulling the ladder up behind me. But its weight and the fact that it was all but invisible leaning against the tree changed my mind. I set my pack down and went over to the window. There, I used the spyglass to check on the men I’d seen earlier. It took a few minutes to find the cabin again, but there was nothing to see beyond a column of smoke rising from the stovepipe on the roof. Hopefully that meant they were in for the night and had no excursions planned. “There’s not much more I can do until the cavalry arrives tomorrow,” I said to Bentley. “Let’s get some sleep.”
I pulled a sleeping bag out of one of the storage crates, unrolled it across the floor, and took off my shoes and socks. Then I slipped the loop of Bentley’s leash over my wrist and stretched out full length on the soft, poofy material, suddenly aware of how tired I was. “Lie down, Bentley,” I murmured as I drifted off to sleep.
Sometime later, the sound of rhythmic drumming pulled me from sleep. I opened my eyes to complete darkness, but thanks to Bentley’s enthusiastic licking was quickly reminded of where I was and why. “Okay, Bentley,” I said. “I’m awake now. You can stop with the kisses.” I’d fallen asleep on my stomach with my head turned towards one of the windowless walls (hence the darkness), but when I rolled over and sat up, the faint light from the window brought the room into shadowy focus. Just outside the window the sliver of a new moon was on the rise above the trees and fireflies could be seen winking on and off. It was late and the night was quiet and still. Had I imagined or dreamed the drumming? But no, there it was again - a faint but exuberant pulse, almost as if someone was hosting a dance party. I got to my feet, retrieved the spyglass from its box and did a quick sweep of the area that was visible from the window. No lights were on in the cabin, but there was a soft glow coming from the direction of the area marked, “Cedar Circle” on D’s map. Intrigued, I returned the spyglass to its case and considered my options. Bentley was letting me know in no uncertain terms that he needed a potty break, and I knew that I’d have to let him off his leash to get safely down the ladder. “Okay, listen up buddy,” I said, taking his big bony head between my hands and looking in his eyes. “No running away, okay?” I unclipped the leash, let go of his collar, and smiled as he made a beeline for the doorway. Seconds later I heard his nails clattering on the wooden rungs of the ladder and a soft “oof” as he landed safely. Then he gave a gleeful, “woo-hoo I’m free” bark and galloped away. “Bentley!” I whispered urgently from the top of the ladder. “Bentley come here!” When there was no reply I knew I’d have to go fetch him.
It’s amazing how far away the ground can feel when you’re climbing down a 10-foot ladder and it’s so dark you can’t see the ground below you. I held my breath most of the way, and it was only when my feet touched grass that I let myself wonder what I was going to do if I couldn’t find Bentley. I was still trying to figure out where to look first when I heard a bark coming from the same direction as the drumming. It wasn’t close but he sounded happy - like a little kid who’s escaped from school and is having a great time playing hooky. “Just wait til I get my hands on you,” I muttered as I set off in the direction of the bark, following the faint trail labeled “To Cedar Circle” on D’s map.
My progress along the trail was slow, even with the aid of my pocket flashlight and the dozens of fireflies rising out of the leaf litter. The tiny insects’ remarkable flashes of light were no help with the roots, rocks, and potholes I was stumbling over but were a delightful distraction nevertheless. They also brought back memories of D who had been the first to introduce me to firefly synchronicity. Ever an insect nerd, he talked about fireflies with real wonder in his voice. “There are more than 2,000 species of Lampyridae - colloquially known as fireflies, lightning bugs, and glow worms,” he once told a group of captive students, ostensibly on a field trip to study bats. “There’s even a firefly species that is synchronous - meaning they all flash their abdominal lights at once. It’s a true mystery that science doesn’t fully understand yet.” Remembering the students’ puzzled looks as they struggled to keep up with their professor’s rambling discourse and brisk hiking pace (D had long legs and his pace increased when he got excited about something) I had to laugh. I could almost hear the questions buzzing through their heads. “What do fireflies have to do with bats? Do you think all of this will be on the test?”
“You were incorrigible,” I said aloud to the night, “and I miss you.”
I’d been walking with the fireflies and listening to the drumming (which seemed to be coming from many different directions) for about 15 minutes when I finally caught up with Bentley. He was sitting in a patch of grass near a break in the trees. “There you are!” I exclaimed, hurrying over and pulling his leash from my back pocket. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Bentley seemed glad to see me - wagging his tail and panting happily - but when I reached for his collar he ducked and backed away. “What’s going on?” I said. “Don’t be difficult, Bentley.” When I reached for his collar again, he sidestepped and trotted a few steps towards the opening. I assumed it must lead to a small clearing, but when I got closer I saw I was standing at the edge of a very large, very flat circular field. It had to have been several hundred meters across and was carpeted in grass (so short and thick it would have put a putting green to shame) and ringed with cedar trees. All along the outer edge of the circle, groups of fireflies were emerging from the breaks between the trees and making their leisurely, meandering way towards what looked like a hillock in the center. There, tens of thousands of their kind had already gathered and formed a column of winking, blinking light above the grassy mound. The column was spiraling slowly up into the dark, star-studded sky. I had no idea where they’d all come from or where they were going, but I was enchanted. “Maybe fireflies are stars on loan from the Sky World,” I mused, remembering Evan’s description of the Cherokee version of the cosmos. Clearly I’d arrived at the Cedar Circle.
“Want to take a closer look, Bentley?” I asked, patting my thigh encouragingly. But though he clearly understood what I was saying and whined an apology, Bentley didn’t move. “Okay, well be that way then,” I said, mildly disturbed. I’d never known Bentley to pass on an adventure but I knew I needed to know more about the circle. “Stay,” I said firmly, holding up the palm of my hand so there could be no doubt about what I wanted. Then I turned back to the circle and stepped through the break in the trees.
The moment I took my first step out into the circle the drumming that had disturbed my sleep and accompanied me all the way to the circle stopped. The resulting silence was so complete - no crickets, no birds, no wind in the trees, not even the sound of Bentley panting - it left me breathless, feeling as if I’d taken a deep breath but couldn’t exhale. The sensation lasted only a moment before the sky sighed. It was the kind of sigh that precedes a violent storm as the barometric pressure falls, thunder clouds roll in, and the smell of petrichor fills the air. The thing was, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
Distances can be deceiving in the absence of light, and I walked for several minutes before I got close enough to get a good look at what I’d seen from the edge of the circle. Up close I saw that it was actually a well-defined and fairly large knoll covered in grass. It rose out of the otherwise flat circle like the top of someone’s buzz cut head. Curious, I walked along its perimeter, estimating that it was about 30 meters in circumference but only a couple of meters tall. If I stood on my tiptoes, I could see a concave indentation on top with a plume of white smoke rising from red embers in the center. The air here smelled of wood smoke and smoldering sweetgrass. The whole thing reminded me of the Indian burial mounds I’d studied in the archeology class D had insisted I take. Fire, smoke, drumming, and a large grassy mound pointed to the presence of people - the last thing I wanted to encounter alone at night.
Feeling a little spooked, I backed away from the mound and looked around. There was nothing to be seen in the large open area, but even with the faint light from the new moon and the blinking fireflies the darkness in the forest was deep. I’d just about decided to head back to Bentley when a movement in my peripheral vision caught my eye. Looking towards the trees I saw that the shadows within them had begun to move. At first I thought I was just imagining things. “It’s just the wind blowing through the trees, shaking branches and making their shadows move,” I told myself. But then one of the darkest shadows resolved into the shape of a bear. It was a very large bear, with a sizable hump between its shoulders and a leisurely, lumbering gait. It was strolling along the treeline, causing quite a racket as it snuffled and snorted its way through the underbrush. “Where did THAT come from?” my horrified mind demanded. “Why didn’t you see it before, and how will you get away before it notices you?” Trying to keep as still as possible, I slowly turned my head and looked back over my shoulder. Instead of the escape route I’d hoped to find, I saw the silhouettes of several more bears - two females and their cubs - moving through the trees behind me. “Did he bring the whole family?!” my clearly gobsmacked mind asked as my body kicked into flight-or-fight mode and my heart began to race.
It was then that I remembered Bentley - my big, goofy, up-for-everything dog who loved to chase anything that moved. “Bentley!” I called, turning and looking frantically around the field. I found him where I’d left him, patiently waiting in the shadows of the trees beside the field, either totally unaware of or unfazed by the bears. “Bentley!” I shouted again, breaking into a run and sprinting in his direction. Seeing me coming and sensing my angst, he leapt to his feet and began what I referred to as his five-alarm-fire call. Alternating between deep bass barks and wolf-worthy howls it couldn’t be mistaken for anything but what it was - a ferocious call to arms. “Oh Bentley, not now,” I pleaded as I ran.
When I finally reached him - half falling and scraping my knees on the rocky ground as I gathered him into my arms - I buried my face in his fur. “It’s okay, Bentley, it’s okay,” I said over and over, though I half expected to see and hear a bear come crashing through the underbrush at any moment. Somewhat mollified, but far from convinced that we were safe, Bentley stopped barking and shoved his forehead against my chest with an anxious whine.
How long did I sit there with Bentley clasped to my chest and my eyes tightly closed? I alternated between reminding myself to breathe and trying to remember the list of things D had taught me to do if I ever met a bear. At the time, we’d been preparing to take his Zoology class on a field trip and I wanted to be prepared. “It depends on the kind of bear, of course,” he’d said, sounding amused. “But here are some general rules.” Ever the diligent student, I ignored his amusement, took copious notes, and used them to draft the list.
I was reciting that list for the fourth time when Bentley abruptly stood up, almost jerking his collar out of my hands, and began wagging his tail so hard I thought he might dislocate it from his back end. I opened my eyes and saw that he was grinning his special grin - the one reserved for his closest people - and his eyes were focused on something above and behind me. I was about to turn around to see who had arrived (hoping it was Evan) when I felt a hand touch me lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t be afraid of the bears,” a familiar and much missed voice said. “They will stand with you in the middle.”
Oddly, I didn’t question what or who I was hearing. Bentley’s reaction was proof I wasn’t hallucinating and the tears that filled my eyes told me it couldn’t be anyone else. Later I would describe the experience as a crack in the cosmos - a place unhitched from time that allowed two old friends to meet. I remember having things to say - questions to ask, requests to make - but the words were stuck in my mind and wouldn’t come out. “You think too much, Maddy,” the voice said teasingly with great affection. “You always have.”
Then time began to reassert itself - closing and forcing the crack back into linear lockstep with the past. There was one final touch - feather light and tender across my cheek - then D was gone. In front of me, Bentley pawed the air frantically for a moment, then sank onto his stomach, put his head between his paws, and heaved a heavy sigh. It was one of the saddest sounds I’d ever heard.
Copyright 2024 by Jena Ball. All Rights Reserved.
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I somehow missed an installment and went back and read the latest three in a row. What a crazy, imaginative, compelling story. I am thoroughly enjoying the read, and I can't wait to find out what happens next.
Jena, I am SO happy that you list all of the chapters when you post a new one! I read some of the earlier ones when they first came out, and absolutely loved them. They are so well-written, interesting, accessible and compelling that I want to devour all of them. Unfortunately, my life being the maelstrom that it is, I have missed a number of chapters. But with the chapters listed and available, I know that I can fulfill my desire to go back, start at the beginning, and just relish the story in it's entirety. I hope that many readers are savoring your excellent writing.