On Broken Wings (60 page)

"Lori, why do you write your poetry, if you don't think it goes anywhere?"

The girl looked uncomfortable. "Well, maybe it'll go somewhere. And I like to do it, anyway."

"Sounds to me as if you have all the reasons you need." Christine relaxed against the tree, allowed her eyes to close. The warmth of the day and the faint melody of the breeze had begun to lull her to sleep, and she couldn't think of a reason to resist.

"Do you think trees have souls?"

Christine opened her eyes and turned toward the girl. "I've never thought about it. Why do you ask?"

"I used to think they did. There was this book I read about a race that turned into trees when they died. I thought that was neat. I used to think that maybe we could do that when we died, if we really wanted to."

"But then the soul would be from you, right? The tree would have a soul because you, a human, had turned into a tree. Not because all trees have souls."

"Oh, I don't know." Lori's eyes misted over. "Maybe your soul would just find a good tree and move in. What would you call it then?"

Christine smirked as drowsiness crept over her again. "A mixed marriage."

Lori laughed, and suddenly turned sober.

"It's weird, you know? You never know how stuff's going to turn out. Like, I've got this boyfriend, and he's really nice, and really good to me, and we might even get married some day, but less than a year ago I hardly knew him and he tried to rape me, right here where we're sitting."

Christine came fully awake.

"Is that why you don't come here much any more, Lori?"

The teenager cringed and turned her face away.

"Sort of." She seemed to have run out of words.

Christine reached over and turned Lori's face toward her. The girl was startled, but did not resist.

"Lori, listen to me. Bad things like that happen. Sometimes they happen in bunches, and to very good people. But you don't let them ruin you. You don't let them dirty the things you love. You keep them separate. When you get a chance to do something about them, you do it. And in the meantime, you go on with your life, doing what you want to do and loving what you want to love. Do you understand me?"

Lori nodded.

"I've been raped too, Lori. I understand."

Lori's eyes widened in astonishment and incomprehension. "You were? But...you're so beautiful!"

She means confident.

I know what she means, Nag.

Christine nodded. "Thank you, dear. It took a lot of time and the love of a very good man to pull me through. More than anything else, it was the very good man. He was on the spot when I needed him, or I might not even have lived to sit here and tell you about it."

Lori whispered, "That's what happened to me, too."

"It was?"

"Yeah." The teenager's face tightened. "Jimmy was trying to get my jeans off, and this guy came running and knocked him down, and talked to him some, and made him apologize to me." Her body trembled, and beads of perspiration formed on her brow.

Christine took Lori's hand. "You don't have to tell me about it if it makes you unhappy, dear."

"Okay." It was a whisper. "Was it like that for you?"

"Well, sort of, yes. Except the, uh, apologies came much later, and I had to collect them for myself."

Took some doing, too.

"So you got to like Jimmy eventually, hm?"

"Yeah." Lori sniffled. "A lot. I'm gonna miss him."

"Why? Are you going away to college?"

"No, he is." The girl stared into the woods.

"If it's going to work, you'll have to stay in touch. That won't be that hard, will it?"

"I guess not." She sniffled again. "You're really nice, you know that?"

The unexpected compliment warmed Christine inside. "Thank you, Lori. I think you're nice too."

The teenager looked at her with hope. "Do you live around here?"

"No, not really. Why?"

"I like talking to you. I was hoping, you know, maybe we could be friends?"

It was as if the fist of God had closed around her heart. Christine found herself struggling for breath.

"What's the matter, Christine?"

"Nothing, nothing." She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply. "There's no reason we can't be, Lori. I mean, I don't live that far away."

The teenager's smile was all the reward she could have asked.

"Come sit by me, dear." Lori slid over against Christine, who put an arm around her and pulled her close. "Let's just sit here a little longer. I really like this tree, you know?"

"Okay. Then what?"

"Well," Christine said, "then we walk to where I left my truck, and I'll drive you home, so I'll know where you live and be able to visit. I'd like to meet your mom, too, to make sure it's all right."

"Okay." The teenager let her head rest against Christine's shoulder.

You're going to need an apartment nearby, you know.

No shit, Nag. Anything else?

Don't let her down, Christine.

I won't.

The sun had passed its zenith. The temperature had crested, but the mild breeze kept it bearable. Lori was soft and snug against her side, and the great oak was comfortable against her back. The clearing had a sense of welcome and security about it that eclipsed even the usual peace of the forest. For that moment, it was home. Christine let her eyes close again, and Lori joined her.

Presently, they slept.

-- The End --

We will return to Christine, Malcolm, and Onteora County in
Shadow Of A Sword.

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About the Author

Francis W. Porretto is an engineer, fictioneer, and commentator. He operates the
Eternity Road
Website (http://eternityroad.info), a hotbed of pro-freedom, pro-American, pro-Christian sentiment, where he and his Esteemed Co-Conspirators hold forth on every topic under the Sun. You can email him at [email protected]. Thank you for taking an interest in his fiction.