Chapter Four
The Funeral
“I knew I’d find you here.” My mother said as I thrust the axe into the wood sending splinters flying. After my admission, I wanted to flee. But there was no where to go to escape what had happened. So instead, I found myself back at the woodpile, where I could take my mind off the memories for awhile. Although it didn't work, the horrific images followed me.
“You always release your anger this way. Ever since your father taught you to split, we’ve had plenty of wood for our winters.” She stepped up behind me and placed her hand on my shoulder. “Stop Son, and look at me.”
I dropped the axe, and turned around to stare into her hazel eyes. Her honey brown hair was pulled up, but the loose strands were blowing in the wind. She pushed them out of her face as she gazed into my eyes with pure love and understanding.
“It’s not your fault,” she whispered. That’s all she said, and suddenly I was in her arms sobbing like an infant. The guilt was like lead in my chest, it was smothering me. With her words, a fraction of the shame lifted. Even though I knew what she said wasn't true, it helped to hear someone say it out loud. “It's okay Son, let it out,” she soothed, rubbing her hand gently on the back of my head. We stayed that way for a few minutes while I wept. When the tears finally dried up, I pulled away.
“Thank you, Mother. However, I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself.” I rubbed all the evidence out of my eyes.
She laughed. “Of course, I won’t tell anybody. It is just like you to hide your emotions. You know, you’re not less of a man if you weep.”
I laughed without humor as I bent down to pick up the axe. “Tell that to Father.”
“Well, you have a perfectly good reason to be upset. You have never experienced death before, and for it to happen right in front of you in such an awful way. I can’t imagine what you must be going through." She paused, eyeing me with concern. "You said the wolf bit you. How is your leg?”
The image of the wolf's hungry yellow eyes flashed into my mind, and I flinched. “It’s fine. I washed it in the river. It was clean and no longer bleeding.”
“Are you sure? Because I can look at it,” she persisted.
“No. Mother, its fine,” I repeated, my voice was harsher than I had intended.
“All right, but just remember, I’m here if you need me for anything.” She touched my cheek gently before walking around to the front of the house. I heard my sister’s laughter, and felt a little cheered by the sound.
After she left, I sat down on the grass, scraping my leg against a piece of wood. I was expecting to feel pain because of the wound, but when I looked, there was only dried blood and a scar. It was obvious this was where the wolf had bitten me, but all that remained was a crescent sized mark the shape of its mouth. It looked like it had happened weeks ago, not a day. I touched my nose where I had smashed it when I hit the ground, and again there was no pain. It felt normal, as if last night never happened.
That night in bed I dreamed I was running through the woods. I was free and one with nature. I had never run so fast. It felt like I was soaring through the air.
I woke up the next morning to the sound of my sisters playing outside my bedroom door. I sat up and looked down at my feet. They were covered in dry mud, which was odd, since they were clean when I went to bed. I rushed to my bureau where there was fresh water in a basin, and wiped away the evidence of my madness. Had I wandered around outside in my sleep? That had never happened before. With everything that was happening, the last thing I needed was another worry, so instead, I shook off this strange new development. I reached into my cupboard to retrieve my clothes so I could dress, and get ready for a day that I was not looking forward to.
I noticed Mrs. Wallace in the back of the church on Sunday morning. The small chapel was almost filled with people, smelling of candle wax and sweat. I excused myself from my family, and approached her. She was alone. Her husband died of small pox five years ago, and her daughter had married and moved shortly afterwards. She was an eccentric woman that some townspeople feared, even whispering the word "witch" when she was too far away to hear. But my parents enjoyed her company. She was nice, and liked to make sweets, and that was all that mattered to me. Today however, I had something more serious than baked goods on my mind.
"Mrs. Wallace?" I said, taking the seat on the pew next to her. She turned to face me, her chocolate colored eyes were full of concern, as she regarded me. She placed her hand on my leg in an offer of comfort. "Hello Nathaniel, how are you doing?" Her voice was soft and soothing. I swallowed the lump in my throat, not wanting a repeat of yesterday's break down.
"Can I ask you about the necklace you made?"
Her dark brow lifted. "Which one?"
"The one with a blue-green stone with diamonds." She nodded in understanding. "I purchased it as a gift for Lucy. She was wearing it the night she was attacked. My father said it was lucky and that it would bring the owner happiness."
Her lips pressed together, and she squeezed my leg. "Oh Nathaniel. You are the owner of the necklace. You paid for it, it will bring you happiness." If this was true, it made no sense. It obviously hadn't brought me anything but misery.
My stomach twisted, remembering the last night Lucy had worn the thing. "I… I don't understand. It didn't work. Lucy died."
"Oh, dear, give it some time, it will. Lucy wasn't the one that will make you happy."
"Who then?"
She paused, watching as the Bennett family took their place in the pew in front of us. "I do not know. But you will when you find her. Just hold on to that necklace, and let it do its job. She wasn't meant for you, but some day you will see the necklace in the hands of the girl who is." She lifted her hand away and wiped a stray hair that had fallen from her bonnet. "It will happen."
The Minister stood in front of his pulpit, and our conversation was over.
I walked away from her heading toward my family, feeling more confused than before.
After the service, we all gathered for Lucy’s funeral. I hated standing amongst my neighbors. Most of the mourners stared at me instead of listening to the sermon. I didn’t blame them of course. This was the worst thing that had ever happened in our small town of Creekford. Even though we were part of New York State, we couldn’t be further from the big cities. I had never known anyone that was killed before. I only wished it wasn’t happening now.
After Lucy’s parents threw flowers onto her casket, they walked over to me. Her mother gave me a hug while her father shook my hand. It was a gesture that was meant for comfort, but I didn’t want that. I blamed myself, and part of me wanted the same from her parents.
As much as I hated to cry, I felt tears flowing down my cheeks. I turned my head so no one would notice, and saw a woman in the distance.
She was standing next to a tombstone near the edge of the graveyard, staring at me. I could physically feel her penetrating gaze. She wore a wide brimmed hat, with tendrils of red hair billowing out from under it. Her light blue dress blew in the wind. I felt a chill that came from more then just the air.
I turned back to see the men covering Lucy; the beautiful, sweet girl that was once so full of life, with dirt. I couldn’t take it, I had to leave. I nodded at my mother, and walked away, heading through the forest for home.
It was a long walk, but it helped. I had to get the image of Lucy in a coffin and thrown into a hole, out of my head. Lately my thoughts were filled with morbid pictures, Lucy's dead eyes, her in a coffin, or the hungry eyes of the wolf. The constant flash of the images were torture to my soul.
I took deep breaths, and lifted my head, letting the sun soak into my skin. The smell of the grass, leaves, and fresh air relaxed me a tiny bit and for a moment my mind cleared.
The feeling was interrupted as the hairs on my body stood on end. I felt a presence in the woods watching m
e. I glanced in the trees, and thought I saw the yellow glow of two eyes staring out from behind some bushes. I blinked, convinced that my mind was playing tricks on me. When I looked again they were gone.
That was enough to rattle me though, I took off running. At first I ran out of panic, but soon began to enjoy myself. It felt exhilarating. I was running faster than I ever had, faster than I thought I could. The wind through my hair, the complete control and speed made me feel better then I had in days. It helped me forget for a time.
I came up to our yard and stopped in front of the house, surprised that I was not winded. Our house, a large, white two story colonial, looked quiet and empty. My parents must have stopped to visit a neighbor.
I decided to lounge on the front porch and enjoy the weather; the swing creaked under my weight as I sat down. I watched the wind blow through the trees, noticing that the colors and textures seemed more vivid than I remembered. I was twenty feet from the nearest tree, and yet I could make out the veins on the maple leaves. I must be losing my mind. I closed my eyes afraid of what else I would notice.
A few minutes later, the sound of horses coming down our lane had me opening my eyes. My parents and sisters had arrived in our horse and buggy. “Whoa,” my father said, stopping the horses in front of the house. Mary and Rose jumped out, disappearing into the backyard, their squeals of laughter following them.
“Nathaniel, did you get a ride home with someone?” my mother asked as she stepped out of the buggy, her yellow dress ballooned around her.
“No Mother, I ran home. I started walking, but something in the woods spooked me, so I ran the rest of the way.”
“I could see how the woods might frighten you after what you’ve been through-- wait. Did you just say you ran home?” she asked me, looking very confused as she climbed the few steps up to the porch, taking the seat beside me.
“Yes, why?” I was puzzled by the shock on her face.
She exchanged a worried glance with my father who was stepping up onto the porch.
“Nathaniel, how is that possible? We left right after you did. Are you suggesting you ran faster than the horses?” he asked with concern, shoving his hands into the pockets of his good Sunday trousers.
I could see that they didn’t believe me. I had to admit it was strange. I knew I was running fast, but there was no way I could outrun a horse.
“Of course not, I took the shortcut,” I lied, suddenly feeling a sense of dread.
They smiled and nodded as if my explanation made perfect sense, although we all knew that there was no shortcut. Even so, they accepted my fib because it was easier than dealing with the fact that I was lying, or there was something very wrong with me.