Darling, I think I’d like to see Cascadilla Falls.”
Nora paused in her packing and looked up at her mother, who stood in the doorway of her bedroom. She tipped her head and looked for signs of delirium on her mother’s face, but couldn’t find any. Her mother appeared lucid. In fact, she looked almost robust.
Lydia took a tentative step into Nora’s room. “I think, since we are leaving for Long Island soon, I should see it.”
Nora folded the shirtwaist in her hands and laid it atop the others already neatly tucked into her trunk. Tomorrow she and Owen would wed in front of her family, his parents—who had agreed to attend, though reluctantly—and a few close friends. Then they’d move into their new home. School started in a few weeks, and Nora wanted to settle into married life before studies and work consumed her time. She had a lot to do.
But her mother was watching her with large, timid eyes and looked ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. It was time she saw the place her husband had died.
The walk to Cascadilla Falls wasn’t strenuous and normally took Nora less than fifteen minutes, but she and her mother walked at a more sedate pace, taking frequent breaks to admire icicles hanging from gabled roofs and naked trees.
Lydia took Nora’s arm as they passed beneath the tree canopy and plunged into the woods. Silence enveloped them, turning the worn, pitted path they traveled into an aisle and the brush and saplings surrounding them into a nave. The cold had frozen the water, and there was no warning that they had drawn near. No happy gurgling sound. No roar. Lydia gasped as they cleared the trees and the falls loomed before them—an icy sanctuary that required reverence and respect.
“This is where . . .” Lydia looked around, and her chin trembled.
Nora pointed high above them, at the tree standing as a marker beside the falls. “There.”
Lydia didn’t look. Instead she turned to Nora and grasped her hands. Her eyes filled with tears, but she tipped back her head and blinked until they dried up. She smiled, her lips trembling, and Nora knew her mother had more courage than she gave her credit for.
“Your father told me the day you were born that you were made for wondrous things. You never did conform to my expectations, and I’m so glad now. You’re doing what he knew you would.”
Warmth curled in Nora’s belly even as her breath fogged the frozen air. “Will you be all right? I hate the thought of you leaving Ithaca. I wish Lucius hadn’t decided you must leave. I wish he hadn’t lost everything.”
“Hush, darling. Don’t speak of it.”
“But it’s the truth.”
“You are pursuing your happiness. Let me have mine.”
“In ignorance?”
Lydia sighed and released Nora’s hands. She looked out over the falls, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “You are so like your father, always ferreting out truth and trying to understand. Despite his mistakes, Lucius has always been good to me. He does love me.”
Nora looked up at the tree on the edge of the waterfall. Its limbs twisted toward heaven, as though reaching for something that would never be. “I wish Papa had never brought me here. I wish I hadn’t climbed that tree.”
“Sometimes,” her mother whispered, “life makes choices for you. Other times you’re the one choosing. But in the end, none of us really has much control. We can only do the best thing—the right thing—with what we’ve been given. That’s what I tried to do when I married Lucius. I wanted you to have a father. I also wanted another chance at what I had with your father.” She sniffed, then forced a quivering smile. “I’m proud of the path you’ve taken, Nora.”
Nora gazed out over the falls, taking in the way the rocks stepped down as though a giant stonemason had used the waterfall as his staircase, the lichen and moss clinging to the sides of the crumbly limestone, the trees crowding around them. The willow oak that stood strong and erect above it all, its inside carved out by pests, a hollow reminder of Nora’s most regretted choice.
Nothing buzzed or chirped or flew. Winter had sent everything into burrows and hibernation. But Nora could picture Cascadilla Falls in the spring, alive with activity and the busy work of insects and birds. She’d visit with Owen, bringing his ratty blanket and an adventure novel. By that time, they’d have stepped into their life. Would have discovered lovely and heartbreaking and difficult things.
Nora took her mother’s arm, and they headed back toward town, down the path that led to Owen, her work, and the promise of every wispy dream tangling together in a mess of past and present, desire and sacrifice, waiting and going.
A strong wind sailed over the water that had spent thousands of years carving shale. It rustled the dry grass and knifed through her clothes. In it, Nora heard her father’s voice.
“Little Bumble Bea, don’t forget this most important lesson.”
She stopped her study of the grasshopper and looked at Father. He’d given her many lessons, but never had he called any of them the most important. “Yes, Papa?”
He pressed her nose with the tip of his finger and smiled. “Just this—do you know what separates us from the insects?”
She shook her head.
“They do what’s best because of instinct and habit. We do it because of love.”
Nora smiled and squeezed her mother’s arm. The most important lesson, indeed. One that took a trip across the world to learn. And coming home to understand.