And the Trees Crept In(59)

Anne leans forward and peers around the room. “I can’t…”

Cath climbs into the closet next to Anne and shuts the doors from the inside. The darkness is total, and Catherine is loath to admit that she does feel, somehow, safer. It is irrational.

“What are you hiding from, Anne?”

“The Creeper Man.”

“Why would you hide from our protector? That’s silly.”

“But he’s not our protector, Cathy. He’s not. He’s a bad man. He’s all wrong.”

“Don’t say that. What would Pammy say?”

“Pammy already knows.”

Catherine is stumped. A secret? Anne and Pamela never keep secrets from her.

That you know of, comes the horrible thought.

A terrible empty hollowness has opened up in her belly.

“Oh.”

“We knew you wouldn’t believe us,” Anne says. Her voice is apologetic.

“I do. I do believe you.”

Cath can hear the smile in Anne’s next word. “Liar.”





“What the hell?”

Gowan shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“I think there’s a reason we keep ending up here,” I say, staring into the pitiless dark.

“I think so, too.”

“It’s like I’m supposed to go in and face whatever’s in there.”

Gowan nods. “I think that’s the only choice.”

“But it’s full of lies.”

“No. I don’t think so. I think it’s trying to show you something.”

I stare at the cave with rising foreboding. “I’m not sure.…”

“It’s your choice, Silla.”

“We keep ending up here. So… I think I have to try.”

Gowan smiles. “I’m with you.”

I am beyond what is impossible. I want Nori and I did hear her bell inside. No matter how dark or damp that cave is, no matter what I see, I have to go in. I have to find her.

I go.





This is a La Baume I’ve never seen. Sunlight streams through bright windows that shimmer like crystals, falling onto a table draped in a white tablecloth of the breakfast room. It is crisp, clean, and dry. The air smells floral, sunflowers sitting in a vase on the table. Next to the flowers are five large cans of yellow paint, one open, a tray and roller sitting to the side. Yellow paint, again.

A lovely voice floats across the room, as though carried on the sunbeams. It is warm, honeylike, and rich.

“Cold blows the wind tonight, my love, cold are the drops of rain.…”

I follow the voice to the kitchen to find Auntie Cath, wearing another sundress, swaying in the kitchen while she peels and cuts apples into chunks.

“I only had but one true love, and in Greenwood he lies slain.…”

Cath turns, an apple pie base in her hands, and begins to fill it with the apples she has cut. There is a smudge of yellow paint on her cheek, and she looks… happy.

“I do as much for my true love as any young girl may.…”

She pops part of an apple into her mouth.

“I’ll sit and mourn all by his grave, for a twelve-month and a day.”

“Auntie Cath?” I whisper, stepping closer.

“Oh, there you are, Silla darling!” Cath puts down her pie pan and sweeps me into a firm embrace. Unshed tears choke their way out of my chest and I shut my eyes, feeling her arms around me. So warm, so genuine. She smells like fresh bread and mowed grass and paint.

It is a good smell.

I hug her back, tightly.

This can’t be real. This is La Baume, but when was it not rotten? When was it bright and clean and alive? When was Cath not crazy? When was the land not cursed? I almost can’t remember.

I breathe this Cathy in, and something stirs on the edge of my memory. A ghost of a scene that I have almost lost in the Nothing my life has become.

Cathy, sitting on the edge of my bed. A book in her hands. Finishing a story. Then a soft kiss on my cheek as I fall asleep. Cathy stroking my hair, telling me I’m okay, loved, wanted. So safe, so warm.

When did I feel like that?

When was the world not cold, damp, and decayed?

Back in the kitchen, Cath pulls away. “I want you to get some more apples from the tree, okay?” She begins to cut strips of pastry to lattice over her pie.

Movement outside the window catches my attention. Nori is playing in the garden—a bright, living garden full of flowers and vegetable patches. The sun shines down from a cerulean sky. Nori’s mouth is stained purple, her hands as well—hands that are picking all the mulberries off the bush and shoving them into her mouth with delight. I choke on a laugh, eyes bright.

Oh, Nori…

Gowan is beside me then, hands clasped in front of him.

“What’s going on?” I ask him.

He just stares at me and says nothing.

I go into the garden, ready to eat mulberries—to try, in this bright version of my life— But I am suddenly back in the cave. Dark, cold, echoing. Alone.

“Nori?” I call. It echoes back, and expands, growing in size and volume.

Nori? Nori? Nori? Nori? Nori? Nori?

Nori? Nori?

Nori?