"Are you sure?"
"Yes, mommy. Tell Chad to come in. Willow is fine today and would like the company."
Chad needed no further invitation. He jumped off the porch and dropped to his belly then crawled beneath the drooping branches and disappeared. Melissa returned to her bench, frowning slightly and staring at the huge willow, looking for signs of movement.
"Melly? That ain't usual," said Arnie. "I mean, Cassandra asking someone to come under her tree. It ain't usual."
Melissa continued to stare at the tree, the look on her face partially of concern, partially of wonder. The willow was still, motionless.
Even though it was a bright day it was dark beneath the hanging branches of the willow tree. Chad crawled to the trunk and looked up. Cassandra was sitting on a thick branch just a few feet from the ground, looking down, her eyes shining in the dim light. Several smaller branches seemed to be wrapped about her waist. She looked weirdy, he thought.
"Cassy? Will you come down?"
Cassandra said nothing, just grinned, her eyes shining more brightly.
"Cassy? Please come down. I don't like it here. Why do you stay in here? Let's go look for berries in the bush. My dad says there's lots. The bush is full of berries ... can we go and see?"
Chad looked about and shivered. Even the light beneath the tree was weirdy. There seemed to be an amber glow that wasn't coming from the sun, but right up from the ground. As his eyes got accustomed to the darkness he noticed the roots at the base of the tree: gnarled and twisted, rising from the base then plunging into the ground, then rising again farther on, then plunging again into the ground. He was kneeling between two serpentine roots.
"Cassy?" His voice was shaking.
"No, Chad," said Cassandra quietly. "We will stay here. I will come down now. We will talk to Willow. Hear Willow? Listen to us now."
She slid off the branch and jumped to the ground.
"Willow? Hear us now."
Chad was about to crawl out from under the tree when the branches stiffened. He couldn't move any of them. He crept back, leaned against the trunk and began to tremble.
"Chad. Look up at Willow."
He looked up, still trembling as the branches of the tree seemed to close in on him. Cassandra sat on the ground and stared, her eyes now gleaming brightly in the darkened vault beneath the tree. She raised her hands and the tree began to quiver, the branches swaying.
"Sister, greet Chad. Embrace him. Take him to your heart. Bring him to the fold. He is one of us, a Friend of Willow."
Suddenly a large branch swung down, spiralling down, coiling, twisted and gnarled, about the boy. He tried to scream, but couldn't. He tried to move, but couldn't. His legs were frozen, waxen. Cassandra placed her hand on his shoulder and he stopped struggling. He was looking with a blank stare directly at Cassandra, his mouth dropped open.
She began to hum, to sway back and forth.
Chad began to hum and to sway.
"Cassandra! What are you doin' in there!" It was Arnie Brubacher. "Come out now! Right now!"
Melissa was trying to hold Arnie back. Her face was screwed up into a frown and she was panting and holding on to Arnie's shirt. He pulled her along behind, then down the porch steps to the tree. Then he began to pull the branches aside. The willow was shaking and he could hear the humming. Suddenly several branches swung aside and there was an opening and he saw Chad, sitting at the base of the tree, hypnotized, a large branch coiled about his waist, his eyes staring blank and straight, his hands lying loose on his knees.
Suddenly Cassandra leaped out and raised her hands above her head, her eyes flashing, the humming growing to a shrill scream.
Arnie stepped back, stunned, and Melissa let go of his shirt. Then Arnie quickly stepped forward and grabbed the girl and began to shout:
"Send Chad home! You go to yer room! I'm gonna cut this tree down, right this minute. Go to yer -"
He coughed and held his throat and released Cassandra who was now standing on her toes, hands raised, eyes glowing, shrieking. He tried to speak. Melissa was crying. Chad was silent, his face white.
Then Cassandra stopped screaming, lowered her hands and backed under the tree. The branches dropped suddenly. She was inside again. It was quiet.
Arnie held his throat, his face red, his eyes bulging.
He couldn't talk.
***
Doc Manner had admitted that it was an unusual malady. Arnie had lost his voice and there was no reason. He had tried to explain to Mrs. Kumar, but she wasn't listening. She just sat there, staring out the window at the old willow tree. Then she had turned, smiled and offered him a drink of lemonade. He didn't understand her reaction, but then the whole family seemed strange. Josh Kumar had left without a trace. Arnie had sold his house, left his job at the mill and settled in with Melissa. Just like that.
And the child? Miss Cassandra was the strangest child he'd ever seen. First she had avoided all the other children, kept to herself. Spent all her time under that old willow tree. She rarely went to school, but was intelligent and advanced for her years. Spoke like an adult. Acted like an adult. Then she started to attract all the kids around. They followed her as though they were bewitched. The whole bunch of them sat for hours around the old willow. They didn't act like kids at all. Just like a bunch of sheep, following Cassandra, doing her bidding, not like kids at all.
And Arnie? He sure wasn't the boss in that family. Just did what Mrs. Kumar asked, just like another kid.
The whole family was strange. Crazy. The lot of them.
He stopped going to check on Arnie in the Summer of '09. There was nothing he could do and nobody seemed concerned.
Doc Manner at Martin's Bar: January 27, 1917
It was the middle of January, 1917, before Doc Manner saw any of them again. It was during a snow storm. He had visited the Martins. Two of their daughters had come down with the flu or something. Anyway, that's what Mrs. Martin had said. When he examined them he found that both girls were pregnant. Mrs. Martin was upset, but Jake Martin just shook his head and went back to his readin'.
"When I left Jake's house the wind was somethin' fierce," said Doc Manner.
It was now January 27, 1917. The others were listening, not making a sound, just sipping their beer at the table in the far corner of the bar. It was their favourite spot. When the door opened the cold wind swept over the other tables, but not this one. Besides, it was close to the fire and old Abe Martin always kept the fire goin' strong at this time of year. Doc had his back to the fire and the others, Jonah Winnich and Saul Shulom and little Grubby Baker from Dundee, they were leaning heavy on the wood table, staring at Doc, mouths open, clutching their beer.
Old Abe owned the bar and was related to the other Martins, but then it seemed that all the Martins were somehow related. Nobody could figure how and nobody ever asked. None of their business. But they all knew Jake Martin and his daughters, knew that they got themselves pregnant - together it seemed - then lost the babies just last week or so, even before they was born - again, together. Everybody in town talked about it. Nothin' much else to talk about. Two gals, both pregnant together, both lose their babies, together.
Doc Manner sucked his pipe. It was dead and he peered into the bowl then banged it against the side of the table. Jonah leaned over the table and dropped his tobacco pouch next to Doc's beer. The good doctor filled the pipe, slowly, and they waited impatiently for him to continue. He slowly lit his pipe, inhaling deeply. It was a good story and he had all the time in the world to tell it. He knew that nobody would leave the table until he was finished, right to the end. He watched the long spiral of smoke rise from the pipe and leaned back in his chair. The others all leaned forward.
"Like I was sayin', the wind was somethin' fierce. I started on the road back to town. That's when it happened."
He drew on his pipe. They all inhaled deeply. The doctor exhaled and blew
a cloud of smoke across the table. They all exhaled.
"That old beech tree, the one that hangs over the road, just this side of Jake's farm? Well, it came down in a crash, near fell right on top of me. Old Sally, my horse, old Sally just jumped about two yards in the air and left me on the road. I wasn't hurt none, just a sore backside."
He rubbed his backside and they chuckled and each took a quick swallow of beer then leaned forward again.
"When I looked, Sally was nowhere to be seen. Gone. There I was on that road, the old wind howlin' somethin' fierce. It was five mile to town and it was cold and I wasn't about to walk. Not at my age ... too old for that."
He took another draw from his pipe and they all took a quick swig of beer.
"So I walked back to the Martin's figurin' I'd maybe stay there. Jake, he'd take me into town just as soon as the storm let up. Then I saw him."
He leaned back, put his pipe on the table and picked up his beer. The others waited.
"It was Arnie Brubacher. He was comin' down the road in his wagon, bundled up good. He stopped and asked me to get in. Well, you know Arnie, can't talk, just pointed at me and pointed at his wagon, and I got in. He kept on goin', down the road past Jake's house. I wanted to get off and said so, but Arnie kept pointin' at me and at the wagon then up the road. Couldn't understand what he was tryin' to say so I just sat there figurin' maybe I'd stay at his house until the storm let up."
Abe Martin came to the table and Doc stopped talking. Abe asked who wanted what, the others quickly ordered more beer, Jonah paying for Doc's beer. Then they waited for the good doctor to continue.
"Well, we got to Arnie's house and he let me off at the porch and brought his horse round back to the barn. Right nice barn he built. Goes straight up in front and sort of -"
"Doc, keep goin' on the story," said Jonah and they all grunted agreement. Doc smiled and took another drag on his pipe.
"Well, I went to the front door and bangs on it expectin' Melissa to come, but it wasn't her. No, it wasn't. Can you 'magine who't was?"
"The kid, the daughter, whats-her-name?"
"No, wasn't Miss Cassandra."
Doc waited. They knew he expected another guess so they mentioned names at random:
"Joshua, he come back?"
"Melly's Pa? Ma?"
"Chad, Jake's boy?"
"Nope. It was the Martin gals," Doc said with a grin.
"But you said ... you said you jest saw them gals at Jake's place. How'd they get so soon to -"
"That's just it," said Doc leaning over the table, his pipe poised in his hand. "They hardly had no time to get there. And it was howlin' that wind, somethin' fierce. Yet, there they was, standin' at the door, both of 'em, pregnant and all. They just upped and ran across the field after I left Jake, right to Arnie's place they ran. And that's not all. Guess who else was there, sittin' right there in the livin' room?"
There was no response. They all just leaned farther forward. Doc smiled and puffed once or twice. "Can't guess? I'll tell you. It was Jake and his wife, and Mrs. Kumar, and Chad and the other Martin gal, the one who ain't pregnant."
Doc leaned forward and puffed once. He stopped talking, as though he had finished his story.
"Well Doc? What then? What happened then? What about Arnie? Where was Arnie?"
"Arnie? He was still out back, in the barn I guess. I walked in and Jake looked sort of surprised. Well ... he was surprised. Didn't expect to see me again so soon. But let me tell you the strangest thing."
Doc took another long swig of beer, coughed once and settled back.
"Cassandra. That little gal ... you won't believe this. Of course she's not a little gal any more. She don't look more than about 10, but I'd say she was, let's see, she was born in '95 so that makes her ... about -"
"Doc! What happened!"
"Why, that Miss Cassandra, she was standing on the table, naked as the day she was born, 'cept fer stuff tangled in her hair, vines or somethin'. And her body, covered in black - black streaks, all over her body. Looked like she was painted from head to toe in black streaks. Sort of like wavy lines, all over her, head to toe. She was hummin', sort of. Her eyes was closed and she was hummin' and the others, they all was hummin' too, 'cept for Jake who kept lookin' at me. Even the two gals, pregnant, they just started right in with this hummin'."
He continued, telling of how Arnie was afraid, of how the willow was banging on the window. Doc stopping frequently to catch his breath, then dropped his pipe and leaned heavily on the table.
"Well? What happened then?" Saul whispered. "Doc?"
"The lines on Miss Cassandra's body. They was movin'. I could swear they was movin', just movin' back and forth, like snakes or somethin'. Twistin' and turnin' and coilin' back and forth, up and down. And she was starin' right at me, eyes burnin' a hole in my head, those red, fiery eyes burnin' a hole -"
Doc Manner leaned back and started to breath heavily.
"Doc?" asked Saul. "You okay?"
"Yeah ... okay," said the doctor. "Guess I'd better be gettin' on. Got to visit Mrs. ... Mrs. Goodman, got a pain in her stomach. I'll just tell her to take oil and wash it down with hot lemon. That should do it. Then old Samuel Forcher, he's not up to snuff. Got to see him."
Doc Manner got up from the table and wandered to the door of the bar. The others watched him go. He seemed confused. Saul jumped up. Doc had left his pipe.
When Saul Shulom left the bar, clutching the pipe, Doc was nowhere to be found.
January 31, 1917
The doctor was confused. He had seen it and had put it out of his mind, the young woman, dancing, the shadows, moving, her eyes ... her fiery eyes.
But now it was gone, done with.
Then he had told the story ... to the boys at Martin's ... and it had all come back, rushing, crashing, filling his mind, and the voices began, deep inside, talking, whispering, urging. He stayed home, alone, huddled behind drawn curtains and closed doors, not eating, not sleeping, ignoring the banging on his door from the sick who sought his help - and still the voices spoke to him.
It was less than a week after his visit to Martin's bar: he had fallen to the floor, weak and shivering, the empty wine bottles by his side, a single slim ribbon of light creeping from the tear in the curtain, from a full moon. Suddenly the ribbon of light grew, brightened, expanded to fill the small room with an eerie glow and he began to shake, uncontrollably.
He pulled an empty bottle from the floor and put it to his lips, sucking in vain. He flung it to the floor and it shattered and the light began to vibrate and the voices to reverberate and they gave birth to a new glow, a new luminescence, rising before him, shimmering figures ... and the voices were now shouting, silently, screaming in his mind.
Then, suddenly, they were gone. The luminescence, the light, the voices - all were gone and he lay alone in the dark ... and he knew what he must do.
Slowly, painfully, he staggered to his feet, brushed the thinning hair from his brow, pulled at his beard, coughed, again and again, then crouched and held his stomach and slipped once more to the floor. Then the voices began, whispering, calling, urging, shouting - and he rose again, faltered, stumbled forward, groped in the corner, insistent whispers urging him on.
He pulled the heavy rope to his shoulder, coughed, fell back - and the voices began to chant, a noiseless drumming in his head ... and he obeyed.
The following week, Jonah visited Doc's house to return the pipe.
He found the good doctor dead, swinging from the ceiling, a rope around his neck.
CHAPTER 6
Bourden-Brown: May, 1937
"I tell you folks, this is the best buy in town. You won't find another house like it within Waterloo county. Why, just look at those stained glass windows. They don't make stained glass for houses any more, know that? And the door ... look at the size of that door. Solid oak, know that?"
The house stood tall and slim ju
st beyond a large expanse of unkempt lawn. Skyrocket junipers exaggerated its height as did the narrow stained glass windows, each surmounted by an arc of brick and ornate white woodwork, now peeled and blistered from years of neglect. The massive carved wooden door set in the center of the building was cracked and slightly twisted.
The property was large for a city lot. Standing on small lots to either side, the houses were covered in white wood siding and green-painted eaves and rows of tiny shrubs across the front, every house identical. This house was different. It had been standing here for over forty years and the junipers rose in spires to the roof. The forsythia, at least fifteen feet in height, was a wild mass of yellow blossoms.
But the most spectacular feature was the tree, a giant willow tree. It was at the front left corner and completely dominated the house with large drooping branches which hung to the ground, twisted, black and gnarled.
Sandra leaned toward Harold and whispered in his ear.
"Darling, I think he's right. We won't find anything at this price ... and I just love it. Look at that willow tree. Did you ever see anything so huge, so magnificent."
Harold smiled, spoke briefly to the salesman, then to his wife. "Okay sweetheart, if we close the deal by the end of the month then I guess we can manage the financing."
"Of course we can," said Sandra. "After my transfer to the accounting department I'll get a raise, it won't start until next month, but we can easily manage a small loan. Well? Are we agreed?"
Harold bent over his wife and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Sure, we're agreed."
Sandra turned to the salesman who was pretending to inspect the forsythia.
"Mr. Cameron, we'll take it."
September, 1937
It took about four months to put the house into shape. The wallpaper was old and faded, the sink was stained and the plumbing was leaking. The shingles were replaced and the basement walls waterproofed. The hardwood floors were cracked and had to be covered with carpet. The paint was peeling on all four exterior walls and the porch railing was rotted. It had taken most of their savings, left after the down payment, but now it was finished and they stood at the sidewalk gazing up the paved driveway.
"Nice house you got there Sandra Bourden-Brown," said Harold.