Juniper Hill
By Anne Spackman
Copyright 2014 by Anne Spackman
All Rights Reserved.
Clouds scudded across the sky, threatening rain, but she was going up Juniper Hill. Rain would be a nuisance, but no deterrent to her. She could be found there whenever something went wrong in her life, for this was her place, a place of reflection and peace. In days gone by, she used to spend afternoons under an old beech tree with knotty roots at the base, reading books, listening to lambs in the farmer’s field. The tiny lambs were curious, coming over a bit cautiously to peer at her from behind the wire fences, but mama sheep was in no way tolerant of her and made a loud noise to her babies to keep them away from this stranger.
The junipers had gradually come into that country, and they had quite taken over. Juniper Hill, they now called that dear place where she had always found shelter from life’s storms. And now, the rich scent of the conifer drifted on the summer air.
The path getting there was stony, unpaved, and it took quite a while to reach the summit of Juniper Hill. There were tiny forget-me-nots and yellow flowers poking through among the ferns and grass. Wild raspberries grew in the hedgerows, but it was still early in the season for them. As she walked, she heard the call of a buzzard in the air—she looked up, and saw him circling.
When she reached the summit of the hill, she kicked her shoes off and sat down, among the dandelions and high grasses, and looked up at the sky. She would stay just an hour—surely it wouldn’t start to rain before then.
“What are you doing here?” called a strange voice.
She sat up and came face to face with a young man with big brown eyes and a serious expression on his face.
“My name is Catherine. I always come here—everyone around here knows me.”
“I’m the local farmer’s son,” said the young man. “John Graham. Never heard of you. And while you are not entirely trespassing—there is a wood along that path that’s a public area—you are technically on my father’s land right now.”
“You’re joking,” she said. “But—”
“Ah, you don’t have to worry. I just wanted to know who you are. I’d never really seen you before. You have scratched your legs,” he noticed.
“It’s nothing,” she said, with a shrug, and chose not to explain it.
“Are you from around here yourself?” he asked, taking a step closer.
“Not exactly. I visit. My grandfather lived here a long time ago. I’m here for the summer—to get away from it all, as it were.”
“Ah.”
“So, John, I should be going soon,” she said. She now wanted to leave and then return when he wouldn’t be there.
“Aren’t you going to ask about me, about what I do?”
“No.” She said sharply.
“Prickles and thorns. I am sorry I interrupted your, um, reverie. Well, I have come to help my father with this farm. I graduated with a doctorate in agricultural studies. I have a lot to do—the farm needs modernized very much. Well, and Dad wants to go organic. Which is a real difficulty in some ways…”
He stopped. He could see that she was in a hurry.
“I guess you don’t want to talk.”
“I am sorry,” Catherine said. “I am being a trifle stand-offish. It’s just, well, I don’t know you—and I feel a bit awkward if you must know. This is the place where I let go of all my worries—”
“Ah, and I sort of invaded your privacy?” he finished with a laugh.
“I hope to see more of you, though,” he added. “You seem an interesting person. Come to the farmer’s market in town. Dad has a stall for some of our organic produce, and Mom’s homemade soap and jams.”
“When is it?”
“Saturday morning.” He said.
As they were talking, small drops of rain began to fall. She fished out a light rain jacket from her backpack and put it on quickly, pulling out the hood.
“Well, good-bye, I have to go now,” she said. He thrust out his hand, taking a few steps towards her.
“Good-bye, Catherine.”
She got up, shook his hand with a small smile stealing upon her face, and then left back down the path.
* * * * *
Saturday morning came, and she went into town for the Farmer’s Market. There was a lovely square in the middle of town, a circular drive around it, and many people milled about the farmers’ wares. She wasn’t sure which stall was the Graham’s Farm stall, so she continued to wander about for a bit until she saw John, who was now behind the counter taking orders.
She picked up a leek and held it high. “How much?” she asked.
He was turned around helping someone, but turned back around and saw her. “Oh, it’s you, Catherine,” he laughed in surprise. “Three dollars a pound. It’s organic. You know, I didn’t actually think you’d come.”
“I love the farmers’ markets.” She said.
“But I thought you wouldn’t come because of me.”
“Something about you that I need warned about?” she laughed. “Sorry, my bad attempt at humor.”
He smiled, but had to give change back to the girl in front of Catherine in line. “Here you are, miss, sixty cents change.”
“Now, I’ll weigh your leek,” he said, looking down at her hands. She was carrying a bag full of other purchases.
“Oh, so I see. You’ve been here a while.”
“For just a few minutes,” she said, handing him the leek to weigh. “I saw some things I liked already, but I want to see your mother’s jams.”
“Here—he pointed to the right. Have a look. Special deal for you, too—if you buy one, I’ll take you to dinner this Friday.”
“What?” she was surprised.
“What do you say?”
“Well, I hardly know you.”
“Then get to know me. By the way, that’s six dollars and twenty cents for the leek.”
“All right, Friday. You don’t know where I live.”
“So where do you live?”
“Well, I guess you seem like a man I can trust. 47 Hawthorn Drive.”
“Got it. I’ll be there. You didn’t pick a jam.”
“Loganberry—that’s rare. I’m having a hard time making up my mind. I like the elderberry, too. And rhubarb pear—”
“I’ll ring up one, and you can take your time choosing.”
“It’s ok. I’ll just have the raspberry. I am guessing your mother used your fresh wild raspberries.”
“Yes—last year’s. That’s seven sixty.”
“Out of ten. I better not keep you talking any more, since it looks like it’s busy here.”
“Well, Catherine, I will see you on Friday. Around 6.”
* * * * *
She wasn’t sure what to wear, actually, or where they were going. Why hadn’t she thought to ask? She chided herself.
Catherine wore a nice skirt and shirt, and casual going-out shoes. She styled her hair for all weather, and waited for John to arrive.
A dark blue car arrived at her town house; John got out. He was also dressed really nicely, in a gray suit. He pulled up his sunglasses as he approached the house.
“My, my, you are ravishing.”
“I hope not,” she laughed. “This is just the first date.”
He frowned, then smiled quickly. “You were right, you have a terrible sense of humor. Now, dear lady, if you will.” He gestured like a gentleman to the car and opened the door for her.
“Thank you,” she said, and got inside. “Where are we going?” she asked, and he headed around and got in as well.
“La Dolce Vita. It’s a bit far, but worth it. Twenty minutes there, twenty direct
ly home, I promise.” The car pulled away from the house. In five minutes, they were on the highway.
“So you came home after getting a doctorate.”
“Yes, I did,” he said, sounding terse—he was concentrating on the road.
“Why?”
“Dad needed me home. He’s got cancer. He’s been ill for 2 years.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“We hope he’ll get better, but you know even if his cancer goes into remission, there will be a lot to do on the farm, and Dad won’t be strong enough anymore. So, I came home to take over the family business. So, what do you do?”
“I work at the boutique in town. And I have an online store.”
“Store?”
“I make ceramics. Just a hobby at first.”
“I see,” he said. “But, you don’t live here all of the time.”
“I do now. But I did used to only come here in summers. My grandfather passed away, and left me this town house. I stay here now.”
“All right,” he said. “I guess I don’t know which boutique?”
“The clothing store—”
“Ah, yes, I know the one. Beautiful clothes. There’s a jeweler next door, and a health food store across the street. It’s hard to stay in business in town—so much competition from online shopping and chain stores. Anyway, to change the subject, I know you are going to like this restaurant. My friend Johnathan works there, and I hope he will seat us someplace nice.”
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the restaurant. La Dolce Vita was a fine Italian restaurant with candlelit dining outside, and pretty tables elegantly set with a rose bouquet in the center. Johnathan sat them by the window, and they talked of their lives and of the things they hoped to do. As it turned out, John liked tennis and running, and he had trained to run half-marathons for years. He loved reading books—history, philosophy, and science mostly, but also travel guides and short stories. He spoke German, badly, admittedly, and had traveled to Europe as a young man on a shoestring.
They had mussels as an appetizer to start, and John told her how he had gone fishing and snorkeling off the coast of Prince Edward Island. He loved snorkeling and deep sea diving, but hadn’t yet been to Australia since the air fare was so expensive. Catherine ordered a salad, and promised she’d have a dessert as well. John ordered an eggplant dish, and they lingered for an hour talking in good spirits.
“Shall I take you for a walk by the harbor?” he asked, as they finished their dinner.
“Hmmm,” she looked at him, but wasn’t sure.
“You trust me?”
“I do, but I don’t trust myself.”
“What does that mean?”
“Ah. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. It’s nothing.”
They told the valet to wait as they left the restaurant. Then, they headed down by the water. The restaurant faced the Atlantic Ocean, and had a marvelous view of the coastline. A few gulls wheeled in the air, though it was well past sunset. The night was beautiful, the weather near-perfect balmy seventies. John skipped a minute and hurriedly pulled out a camera, turning back to surprise her.
She stopped and posed, and then caught up to him and tickled him, stopping only when he yelped for her to stop lest he drop the camera.
* * * *
Two months later, Catherine got a call from the city.
“I really need you to be in New York in two days,” her sister had said. “I need someone to watch my apartment and the dogs and cat while I’m on my business trip, and I can’t call anyone else for help on such short notice.”
“I can take a couple of days off of work, I guess. As it is, I only work four days a week at the boutique.”
“How’s the online business going?”
“All right, but it takes a long time to sculpt a piece of art. I love it, but it’s always sad to see one of the pieces go. Anyway, I’ll be there tonight.”
Catherine got off the phone. Her sister needed her to babysit her animals, and Catherine had a soft heart. But, it meant that she would have to break her date with John.
She dialed the phone to John and left a message for him to call her back. They had been dating off and on for three months, but had only kept it casual thus far. On the last date, John had kissed her, leaving her wondering why he hadn’t wanted a physical relationship yet.
Two hours later, as Catherine was leaving the boutique, John arrived.
“I had to see you,” he came in, flustered.
“I see. I left a message on your phone.”
“Sorry I didn’t get back to you. I just got the message twenty minutes ago, and when I tried to call you here, the number was busy.”
“Oh, Ms. Swanson called about an order. Something wrong?”
“I love you,” he said. “I just had to tell you before you go. I want you to know that your message made me realize I didn’t want you to go anywhere. I’ve been taking it easy with you for a long time because I had an awful relationship in the recent past. I kind of told you about her—Vanessa. I guess living with her and our break-up made me realize I needed to keep things simple for a while—with you. Here’s something for you,” he said holding up a ring. “I stopped in next door before I came here. Let’s be together, always.”
She stood in shock. “You want—to marry me?”
“I do.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Then say ‘yes’. It’s easy.”
“Yes,” she said, about to cry tears of joy. “But I have to leave in five minutes to get to my flight.”
She walked over to where John was now kneeling, and let him put the ring on her finger. He stood, and kissed her on the lips, his eyes closed. He opened them, and smiled.
“You better go. I’ll be here when you get back.”
* * * * *
Evangeline’s apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan was immaculate, but the sheltie pup Tia and two cats Pumpkin and Patches hadn’t been fed when Catherine entered. Tia the dog came to the door with an excited bark—she knew Catherine, for Catherine had stayed one summer with them a few years ago.
There was a note on the door from Evangeline. Catherine spent some time reading it, and then fed the hungry animals, who were vying for her attention.
Catherine didn’t know the Upper West Side of New York City that well, but she managed to find her way around. She was tired and hungry, and found a coffee shop and deli in no time at all. Her usual chicken sandwich wrap was cold and soggy, but the coffee was good. Catherine stopped at a shop to get some herbal tea and vegetables, in case Evangeline didn’t have any. She found herself looking at the passers-by in her state of semi-shock and joy. She admired the diamond ring on her finger many, many times, and laughed at herself.
Catherine took an early morning jog by the water the second day she was there, remembering how she and John had gone jogging one day together in the park near Juniper Hill. He was in such good shape, he could easily outrun her. But he stayed beside her at her pace the entire time.
Catherine stopped, and suddenly wondered why John hadn’t called to make sure that she was all right. She shrugged. She would call him later.
It was that night when she called him and left three messages. He never responded, nor returned the calls.
Finally Catherine dialed the number for his family’s house. A shaky voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi, my name is Catherine Cooper. I am calling—”
The voice on the other end of the phone began to sob.
“Oh, Catherine, I know who you are. Dear, sit down. Sit down, before I tell you.”
Catherine sat down in the kitchen, as Patches came over for a cuddle.
“John is dead. He was killed in a car crash going to visit his father Robert at the hospital. He told me about you, that he’d asked you to marry him—we were looking forward to meeting you when you come home. My
son loved you. He talked about you all the time. You must forgive me, I have lost my son—I can’t say anything more right now. I can’t talk—even to you. I’ll be in touch with you. Tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll call to let you know the arrangements for the funeral.”
And with that, the phone went dead.
Catherine went into Evangeline’s room, and buried herself in the sheets.
* * * * *
The last walk up Juniper Hill was on a rainy day. Catherine had gone to the funeral, and had been a wooden statue with emotions racing wild. She was hollow, and nothing mattered to her anymore. She returned to John’s grave site later, and stood and talked to his memory for hours.
Then it was time to say good-bye to Juniper Hill, perhaps forever.
She put her grandfather’s town house on the market. It sold within three weeks, since she was selling it for a song.
Her last hike up Juniper Hill was in late fall. The trees were already changing colors to red and yellow, but not the junipers. The rain weighed the leaves down along the avenue going up to the summit, and the birds weren’t singing as they usually did.
She found the old beech tree, and patted the side of its trunk, then set down her umbrella and faced the sky, letting light rain drops scuttle across her face.
It was so hard to say good-bye.
She moved to the city, and began a new life, but kept the photos of John in a drawer, a photo of the two of them running together in the park by Juniper Hill, and the photos he had brought her of his family and boyhood. She knew she would never forget him, and would always love him. She knew that she would cherish forever the memories of their time together.
By the next spring and the anniversary of her meeting with John, Catherine knew that she would visit his grave again someday, when she could bring herself to return to that place, and that she would be able to look in to see how his mother was doing, and perhaps do some things as she could for her.
The next time she returned to Juniper Hill was two years later. John’s mother was alone, but his father had passed away of cancer. Catherine had rented a room in town, and had called John’s mother to visit the farm.
“Catherine, dear, do come in!” said Mrs. Graham, ushering her inside. “It has been a while.”
Catherine entered the lovely old farm house, admiring the fine décor. It was a large, two-storied house.