Chapter 26
Beatrice grabbed Jon’s hand. “Let’s go.”
They had parked their car at the far end of the park and were walking up one of its ancient, twisty trails. Leaves were crunching beneath their feet and the sky was bright blue, with the sun warm enough that the brisk air didn’t matter.
Beatrice led Jon off the trail.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“I’m curious about something. Bear with me. I remember that I used to walk over here and stop by and see Emma Drummond. They were an old Cumberland Creek family. Farmers, most of them.”
“What happened to them?”
“Most of them died off. I think Emma’s still over at that assisted living place. I can never remember the name of it. Maybe it’s Mountain View?”
They stepped over a small mound and Beatrice stopped. “Yes, the house is still there.”
“It’s barely standing, from what I can see.”
“And look over there,” Beatrice pointed to the apartments on Druid. They could see only a part of them from where they stood. “That was the Drummond apple orchard.”
“I don’t see any apple trees,” Jon said, squinting.
“Gone,” Beatrice said in a hushed tone. Swirls of sadness moved through her, mixed with a longing for simpler days. But were they really simpler? Or just slower? Or was it another one of those tricks of time?
“‘You must have been warned against letting the golden hours slip by; but some of them are golden only because we let them slip by,’” Beatrice said, quoting J.M. Barrie.
Jon clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth.
Beatrice started moving again, searching for the clearing in a small forested spot on the Drummond property where she and Emma used to sit with their babies and chat about life. How had they lost touch? Beatrice had loved her.
“Too bad about those apples,” Bea said. “The flavor of those apples has never been matched. The family had been farming this land for two hundred years. They’d been given a land grant by Washington himself. The apples were what they call heirloom today. They were tasty, not like the crap you get at the grocery store.”
“Shiny and beautiful but no flavor,” Jon said, moving away some brush for Beatrice to continue walking.
“There it is.” She pointed to a rock large enough for both of them to have a seat. They sat down, with a little groaning from both of them.
“Nice spot,” Jon said after a few minutes.
“The Drummonds thought it was important to leave a little of the land wild. Emma and I found this little clearing and the girls would play here and we’d chat,” Bea said. Her memories of that place and time had been buried long ago.
“What happened? Why have you never talked about her before?” Jon asked.
Beatrice mulled over her time with Emma. “You know me. I can’t stand most people.” She tried to laugh it off, but memories pricked at her brain. “I think it had something to do with her husband . . . I couldn’t stand the man. The way he treated her. And I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”
“Of course,” Jon said.
After they had been sitting quietly together for a few minutes, Jon spoke again. “Let’s find her and visit her.”
“Good idea,” Bea said. The thought of it excited her and filled her with shame. She had let her good friend down. She looked toward the apartment buildings and saw the apple orchard in her mind’s eye. Old fool. I am an old fool, she thought, willing away the tears.
Jon’s arms went around her and pulled her toward him. “The past is gone. And we are here, now. Let’s make the most of it, shall we?”
Sweet Jon. So in tune with her emotions. He was a good husband, a good man.
When they got up to leave, a tiny sparkling something caught Beatrice’s eye and she moved in the direction of it, toward the old farm house. “What is that?” she said and blinked.
An old rose bush had been hung with trinkets on its branches. They moved closer to it and saw that the trinkets were something from the dollar store, cheap metallic charms and beads. A cross. Dollar symbols. Peace symbols. Hearts.
“Lawd,” Beatrice said. “I haven’t seen one of these in years.”
“What is it?” Jon said.
“It’s what we used to call a fairy tree,” Beatrice said. “Emma used to make them—much prettier than this one. This is like a cheap rendition of the real thing. It’s like a prayer and a warning all in one.”
“That this place belongs to someone else?” Jon asked after a moment.
Beatrice nodded as tears streamed down her face.
“What is this? Why the tears?” Jon asked quietly.
“I think it also means that the Drummonds haven’t given up completely. They were an old Scotch Irish clan and clung to some old ways. This tree gives me great comfort. The family is still here,” Beatrice said. “We just have to find them.”