Memory Tree (14 page)

“Last night fine, this morning . . . a bit odd.”

“How so?”

“Quiet.”

Brian nodded as though he'd been expecting to hear such an answer. He'd known Janey long enough to know her moods, and her silence was a classic Sullivan move. When something was bothering her, she handled it by clamming up. Annie had made him suffer so on several occasions, and apparently she'd handily passed the trait down to her daughter. Brian would have to pay careful attention and ensure that Janey felt as included as possible with all he'd planned for his parents' visit. For too long they'd passed quiet judgment on his newfound life in Linden Corners without knowing a thing about it other than his stories, which had grown fewer and fewer each time they spoke. It was clear they lived on different planes, and while they believed there was an indulgent fantasy to his life, the reality was far different. Caring for a ten-year-old girl who'd lost both her parents before she'd turned eight was not without its challenges. Yet here Kevin and Didi were to see it firsthand, and at last he would get to show them around, and they would experience for themselves why he'd fallen in love with a town that had fallen in love with him.

And it would begin today where it had all begun for him and for countless others who had happened upon the windmill along the roadside and been transformed by its majestic beauty, Annie not least among them. To the windmill they would go, and the sooner the better.

Magic happened there, and Brian had to hope its glow would rub off on the new visitors to Linden Corners. Skepticism ran rampant in the Duncan family, and even Brian had once been a cynic lost in the panic of New York. Until he'd taken a leap of faith and stumbled upon a town just a few hours away from his previous existence, a place that was worlds apart from anything he'd ever known before.

Would it have the same effect on those who had borne him?

 

“Mom, grab hold of my hand; the footing gets a little unsteady at times, and with all this snow on the ground it's even worse,” Brian said.

“Which means I better take your hand, little lady,” Kevin said to Janey, following behind.

“Oh, I know this path like the back of my hand,” Janey announced.

“Well, then, I suppose you better hold on to mine,” he said. “Because I don't.”

Janey gazed up at the imposing man, trying to assess his motives before locking her small hand into his, hers nearly being swallowed up by his large fist. Then she started leading them along the snow-covered field, the two of them making fast progress, quickly overtaking Brian and a cautiously stepping Didi. Brian had to admire the sneaky way his father handled Janey, turning the tables so that she thought it was she helping him.

At just after eleven that same morning, Brian had suggested they take a quick visit to the windmill before leaving for Green's Tree Farm, and so they were now clomping through snow eight inches deep. It was slow going for the four of them. Kevin remarked on the breadth of land Brian owned and asked how much an acre in this region cost. Brian had to laugh inwardly, his concerns about his father's seeming change in priorities taking to the wind. He was the same old businessman he always was.

“Dad, I'm not selling if that's what you're thinking.”

“Sectioning it, maybe tilling the land or building or . . . I don't know, something.”

“I like it as it is,” Brian said.

“Me too,” Janey said, “because then I can run as far and as fast as I can.”

As if on cue, she broke free of Kevin's hold, her feet fighting against the sinking depths of the snowdrifts. She forged her way to the crest of the field, turning back as though to prepare herself for liftoff. Here the land and horizon produced an illusion that made it appear the edge dropped into an endless void, but then upon approach you saw the land reappear, and with it rose the windmill, its sails stretching high into the bright blue sky as though they could paint patterns on the clouds.

He watched in delight as Janey ran for those same clouds. Oftentimes during the long, cold winter, when he and Janey craved precious Annie time, he plopped her on the toboggan and sent her on a thrilling ride down the steep hill, the sound of her joy filling the countryside all around them, and sometimes, as the sled exponentially picked up more speed, he zeroed in on the giant sails of the windmill, imagining them spinning faster and faster, as though the power of her descent won out over the wind and fueled their growing speed. Today she needed no such sled; her natural enthusiasm to show off the windmill was all she required.

“Jane, be careful . . . ,” Didi said, calling out.

“Mom, she's fine. Just watch her go.”

The three of them did, reaching the crest of the hill. That's when the windmill came into view, almost like the floating clouds suddenly dissipated, leaving in their misty wake the image of the wooden, shingled tower and its large, latticed sails, and that alone. The windmill itself never shied away from admiration, like it was a living, breathing ornament, sensing that first-time onlookers had arrived to gaze upon its majesty. It stood more proud as it dominated the landscape, leaving Brian feeling not unlike how the wayward Don Quixote must have felt upon discovering the giants he needed to conquer.

“My goodness, it's really real,” Kevin said, surprise spread across his face.

“It is . . . magnificent indeed, Brian. How it must have captured your dreams at that confusing time in your life,” Didi said, a gentle nod unable to stop her smile.

“You can see it from your room,” he said. “Its sails will lull you to sleep.”

For once Brian was transfixed by something other than the sight of the windmill, focused instead on his parents' expressive faces, and it was the newfound wonder that lit their eyes that caused his heart to swell. For the first time since he'd gotten word of their visit, Brian Duncan allowed himself to breathe a bit easier, until he felt the tension drain from his shoulders. Perhaps out in the real world doubters existed and cynics ruled, but here in Linden Corners, where an old windmill spun fantasies for all, once you witnessed its allure you couldn't help but be drawn in by its beauty and by its energy and by the wishes it enabled you to send out upon the whirling wind. If the sight of the gently turning windmill wasn't enough to capture his parents' closed hearts, no doubt the snapshot of a young girl dancing around its base and swirling to the rhythm of its moving sails would.

“Hi, Mama,” Janey called out. “Look, we've brought you new friends to meet.”

Brian urged his parents forward, Kevin eagerly taking the lead.

But like the wind, nothing lasts, and in blow new storms. Sudden concern crossed Didi's face when she said, “Is that healthy, Brian, Jane talking to her mother? I mean . . . it's not like the poor woman is here. Jane, dear,” she called out, not bothering to wait for a reply from her son, “why don't you help me down the hill. I'd like to see the mill up close.”

Janey hadn't heard the earlier remark, and so she reacted with a beaming smile, charging back up the hill as fast as she could. Brian, though, felt a stabbing inside him.

“Mom, if you're going to be here for a couple of weeks, her name is Janey.”

“Nonsense, don't the people here have nicknames for you, Mr. Just Passing Through?”

He was surprised she knew such an odd detail about his life off the top of her head, causing him to wonder whom, if anyone, she had been talking to. Had they had breakfast at the Five-O after all and introduced themselves as his parents?

“Actually, some people now call me the Windmill Man.”

“Different names, and as such, different bonds. To me her name is Jane, her birth name. Honestly, Brian, how do you expect her to enter college and the workforce saddled with such a childish name?” she asked, her tone indicating she didn't expect, or want, an answer. “I think I've arrived just in the nick of time; the poor girl needs a strong woman in her life.”

Janey arrived, out of breath from her climb up the snowy hill, her presence putting an end to a conversation he didn't want. He let it go, just happy to see Janey's warmness to his parents, especially to his difficult mother. As the two women, young and old, clasped hands and Janey led Didi down the remainder of the hill and toward the shadow of the spinning sails, Brian turned to his father. They'd only been here two hours, but Brian's exasperation was evident.

Kevin just shrugged. “You know your mother.”

True, but that wasn't ultimately what was bothering Brian—you couldn't suddenly turn an animal with spots into one with stripes. What struck him more was his mother's remark about arriving just in time. How long were they planning on staying?

Brian decided it was best not to question too much, because he'd learned one more thing about his mother this morning, and that was the fact that her cool exterior extended inward, and only by experiencing a winter in Linden Corners would her heart begin to melt. Magic did exist in this world and in other worlds they couldn't see or comprehend, worlds that allowed departed spirits to ride the passing clouds for a visit and to speak to them, even if they did so only through the whims of the wind and the gentle spins of an old windmill. His mother would learn.

After fifteen minutes during which Brian gave them a tour of not just the outside of the windmill but the inside as well, both his parents begging off climbing the winding iron staircase to the second floor, it was decided time was slipping away from them.

“We have a tree to chop down, and we better hurry before they're all gone,” he said.

“Silly Brian, Mr. Green has plenty of trees.”

“Then we don't want Travis getting the best one, right?”

“Who is Travis?” Didi asked.

“Nora's son, Gerta's grandson. It's kind of a tradition; we all go tree chopping together.”

“Oh, we get to meet the famous Gerta Connors already?” his mother asked.

Brian wondered why his mother found that idea appealing.

He suggested they all remain at the windmill, as it would be easier for him to bring the truck around the roadside than to have them trek all the way back.

“Just give me a second. I have to retrieve the ax from the barn,” he said.

“Don't forget the saw too, Dad,” Janey said, turning her rolling eyes to Didi and Kevin. “He's not very good with the ax.”

Brian watched his mother visibly blanch.

She didn't like the name Janey, and now he had a feeling she didn't like the name Dad.

 

 

Green's Tree Farm was located fifteen miles north of Linden Corners, a quick ride into the snow-capped mountains that bordered New York and Massachusetts. The makeshift Duncan family had all snuggled into the front cab of the truck, a small backseat able to fit Janey while the adults sat up front. As the truck rattled around on slippery country roads, Kevin suggested Brian upgrade soon before this “pile of junk” on wheels stranded them in the Berkshires, Didi nodding her head in agreement.

“Not a chance,” Brian said.

“This was Mama's truck,” Janey explained, and that said it all.

The inside of the cab grew quiet, but soon enough the turn for Green's Farm arrived, and Brian pulled in, the engine coughing once before going as silent as the rest of them. There were a few other cars in the lot and some folks wandering down the worn path, having already claimed their prize trees. Brian helped his mother out of the truck, and Janey took hold of Kevin's hand again, just as a rotund, red-faced man emerged from under a protective wooden structure.

“Aha, I remember you, young miss, though I must say, you're growing in leaps and bounds,” the man said. “Pretty soon you'll be taller than my trees.”

“I doubt that,” Janey said. “Not even he's that tall.”

She had indicated Kevin.

Brian laughed, shook the man's hand. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Green.”

“Albert, please, for my regulars. What does this make, three years in a row?”

“You have a remarkable memory,” Brian said.

“And you've brought some new friends,” he said.

“My parents, Kevin and Didi Duncan.”

“Aha,” he said with a jovial smile, and then turning to Janey said, “Grandparents visiting for Christmas, huh? Nothing finer.”

They were saved from responding by the sudden arrival of Gerta's car, Nora behind the wheel. As quickly as they parked, Travis was leaping out to join them, his grandmother and mother not far behind. Introductions were made, polite smiles and handshakes exchanged, and then as they all stood in a small circle waiting for a natural transition, Travis broke the moment.

“Janey, let's go find our trees,” he said, taking off so fast Janey could barely keep up.

“Well, he's an eager boy,” Didi said. “Nice Janey has someone around her age.”

Nora smiled. “How I wish. Travis is nearing fourteen.”

“And Janey is just fine the age she is,” Brian added.

“Listen to the two you. If kids didn't grow older, the human race wouldn't get very far.”

Gerta allowed herself a smile. “Can't even remember being a child.”

“Enough chatter. It's cold out here; let's say we get started,” Kevin said.

As they began the trek up the winding hill, Brian took hold of Gerta's arm, she reciprocating with a warm pat of support. She of all people knew how difficult his mother could be; he'd told her enough tales. But now she would get to witness it firsthand and know he'd not been exaggerating. “You'll be fine, Brian,” she said.

Kevin, carrying the sheathed ax and pretending he was the embodiment of Paul Bunyan, was making fast strides since the snowy pathway had already been packed flat from other tree hunters, and he pulled ahead, determined to catch up to the kids, Didi issuing forth a warning to “be careful.” He waved away her concerns, which amused Nora, and soon she was at his side and the two new buddies were off on a tree-hunting excursion. Which left Didi without an arm, and so Brian slipped his free arm into hers, and suddenly he was flanked by his mother and by his surrogate one, and if the sight was one he couldn't possibly have imagined until today, he felt a burst of warmth spread throughout his body. Not even the saw that dangled from his side could cut this kind of umbilical cord.