27. Hailey
Hailey
I 'm back at home. After a few days away staying with the boys, True Heart Lodge seems if anything even more dear to me than it did before.
Dean has explained how the builders used only local Western Red Cedar timber, which lasts for many decades and yet is also very attractive to the eye.
So simple in its design yet nevertheless so beautifully constructed, my little home encompasses truly the best of all worlds—cheap to build, utilizing easily available, local resources, sustainable, long lasting, and good looking.
I think he's envious in some ways, although of course the boys' place is on a much grander scale than this little cabin.
Nestling as it does, by the edge of my little lake, and looking out across the trees to the line of the mountains beyond, I do not think there is any place so magical nor so peaceful as this.
No wonder my mom and dad fell in love with it.
How on Earth did they come across it? I wonder idly, as I sit on the veranda, waiting for Reed to show up.
I'd not been waiting long when I see his tall, confident figure, striding across the field to the fence that borders our two properties, neatly stepping up and over the stile that he’s constructed there to make it easier to visit each other, before following the line of the lake up to the lodge itself.
He gives me his usual, cheerful grin and says "Day off for you, eh? Dean can't make you muck out stables or paint fences whilst you’re safe on your own property!" He winks. "Can't say I blame you. I'd never come back, truly I would not."
"Don't you want me around?" I ask, smiling to show I'm only jesting. He puts up his hands in mock horror.
"Oh, far from it. I love having you around. While the General's busy working you, he ain't chasing Lennon or me." Another wink.
"Glad to be of service." I laugh.
"So… where's the beer?"
I sigh. "In the fridge. Help yourself." He heads inside muttering something about young people having no manners these days, and comes back out with a couple of beers, pops one and hands it to me, keeping the other for himself.
We clink bottles, chug. Somewhere out on the lake a bird lets out a call and there's an accompanying splashing sound.
Probably a duck landing over the water, I think.
We finish our beers, watching the sunlight dappling on the lake surface, hearing the occasional plop of a carp as it flicks out of the water to catch an unwary fly, hovering temptingly close to the surface.
I should give fishing a go sometime. There's a rod and some fishing line and stuff in the barn out the back.
"So," I say, cheerfully. "What's this all about, and why all the mystery? Why did we have to meet here?"
"You'll see." He smiles at me, a genuine smile. "Follow me."
We head inside, and Reed leads the way to my parents' bedroom—well, mine now, I guess.
"Just here." Reed's pointing to the bed.
"Reed, did you get me here as an excuse to?—"
"Don't flatter yourself, darling." He cuts me off. "Look more closely. What do you see?"
I look again. I'll admit that as a piece of furniture it's worth staring at.
Like the cabin itself, it's made from the Western Red Cedar that's so prevalent in these parts, but unlike the rest of the cabin, the headboard is heavily carved.
Cedar might be a bit soft for more delicate styles of carving work, but for the strong, traditional Ute tribe patterns and motifs that have been impressed into the headboard it's an ideal choice.
"I see a bed. And you're not getting me on it." He sighs.
"I'm not trying to get you on it. I'm trying to help you. Try to keep your filthy mind out of your pants for five minutes, girl, and look again… Now—what do you see? "
I offer Reed the benefit of my middle finger and concentrate on the bed. What the fuck is he on about?
"It's a bed. I see a bed for fuck's sake. Help me out here, Reed. Give me a clue."
"Okay, Hailey. But what's on the bed?"
I look again. "Sheets?" I venture. "A pillow?"
"No, no. Not on top of it. Actually on it. Or you could even say 'in' it. Now do you see?"
I look again. Staring hard. Light begins to dawn on me.
…you need to sleep on it.
The line from my mom's letter to me.
"It's the carvings—you're talking about the carvings, aren't you?"
He nods, grinning, pleased with me and with himself.
A few days back, we had all been relaxing in their kitchen, just kicking back and sharing stories. When it came to my turn, I'd told them about the mystery contained within my mom's letters to me. I cast my mind back now to those letters, recalling the main points one by one.
In the first letter—the one Tara had handed to me at my aunt and uncle's cottage—my mom had started by calling me by her pet name for me— munchkin —and the whole letter had been like a visit from a ghost, from a past I barely remembered, yet so desperately wanted never to forget.
Even now, standing here with Reed and thinking about it, it's hard to stop the tears from welling up. This won't do—I need to concentrate.
Now, what had the letter said? Oh yes, that's right, I remember now: When the drumbeat stops and the shadow climbs the third pine—that's where we gave it back to the land .
And I had remembered a vague, dreamlike memory from that time, when I had been such a very little girl.
A memory of drums, of dancing, singing, strange costumes, and huge bonfires, burning late into the night.
But I had been so small, and my memories are so confused.
It's frustrating, but I cannot remember enough to be useful.
Just images, sounds, smells, and feelings.
That part about the drumbeat and the pines had been repeated in the second letter too.
The second letter had arrived by post from my aunt's lawyer a few days after I arrived here, and there'd been something more in that one, what was it?
Yes, I remember! The second letter had gone on to say in a postscript: If you want the truth you need to sleep on it. It's knot hard to find .
Again, I could make neither head nor tail of it when I'd read it. Sleep on what? I'd asked myself. But now of course, thanks to Reed, it looks like I have my answer. And ironically I had indeed been sleeping on it (on and off anyway) all this time.
At this time of day, the sunshine streams into my bedroom, illuminating everything beautifully, including the old carved headboard. The two of us step closer, examining the carvings carefully.
Reed points to the headboard. "Three pines. Didn't your letter speak about three pines?"
I nod. " When the drumbeat stops and the shadow climbs the third pine—that's where we gave it back to the land.
" I repeat the phrase that my mom had written to me all those years ago.
And there they were, clear as anything—three pine trees in a line, with what must be the sun peaking through behind them, just rising to the top of the third tree in the row.
And there, beneath the pines trees is the lake.
I can tell it's my lake because beside it is a perfectly carved representation of True Heart Lodge, a miniature version, but true in every detail.
All around the lodge, the headboard shows people, some of them in unusual costumes—huge, feathered headdresses, some even in complete bird costumes with wings and everything.
There's a tall pole, and what looks like ropes attached to the top, held at the other ends by people surrounding it.
There're bonfires, huge flames leaping in all directions.
There are drummers, drumming, exactly like in my dreams, like in my mother's words to me.
It's all there, the whole thing, precisely as my mother had described, carved into the great headboard. What had Mom said to me? If you want the truth you need to sleep on it. Well, she was right there! But then there was that final line: It's knot hard to find. What did that mean, I wonder?
" If you want the truth you need to sleep on it. It's knot hard to find ." I repeat the words out loud.
Reed looks at me. "What?"
"That's what was in the second letter, in a postscript: If you want the truth you need to sleep on it.
It's knot hard to find. Obviously 'sleep on it' is referring to this headboard, but what does 'It's knot hard to find' mean?
It's not even spelled right. She spelled it with a 'k' at the beginning. "
We both stare back at the headboard, mystified. Then Reed gives a sudden start and cries out. "I've got it!" he shouts. He reaches out his index finger and gives a push. There's a loud click, a whir, and as if by magic, a hidden compartment slides open.
"I knew it!" Reed grins triumphantly. "An educated woman like your mother—she was an anthropologist, right?
" I nod, amazed he'd remembered such details from my story.
"Well, a woman like that—she's not going to misspell a word like 'not', is she?
So if she said 'knot' with a 'k' in front then I reasoned… that's exactly what she meant!
I look again at the headboard, and there within the carefully created carving, in the very center of the depiction of the sun as it rises above the third pine, is a knot in the cedar timber itself.
It’s depressed now into the headboard, like a pressed button.
That must have been what Reed pressed to open the hidden compartment.
The two of us look at the secret compartment, then at each other. There's a wide grin on Reed's face. "God, I'm good!"
"I have to admit it Reed, you were brilliant. You realized the reference to the carving in the first place, and then you found this hidden compartment. I don't know if I'd ever have gotten there on my own. Thank you."
"It's my pleasure, ma'am." He smiles, tipping a pretend hat at me. "All in a day's work up at the farm." We laugh together, sharing in the moment of discovery. Then my curiosity gets the better of me.
"So okay, let's take a look inside," I say.
"Hey, those are your secrets." Reed is backing away. "From your ma and pa. Personal stuff. Best you look at it on your own." Before I can say anything, he heads to the doorway, turning back to say, "I hope whatever you find, it sets your mind at rest, Hailey." And with that, he is gone.
I draw a deep breath and let it out again—feels like I've been holding my breath for ages. My heart is pounding, and I suddenly realize that my hands are trembling.
If you want the truth you need to sleep on it.
But what is the truth? And will I want to hear it? Will I finally know what happened to Mom and Dad all those years ago? Will I learn why they came here, and why they left this place to me?
Slowly, I reach my hand into the open space that has been revealed when Reed pressed the knot in the wooden board.
I grope around inside.
An envelope.
I draw it out. It's old, brittle, a little yellow from its time hidden in this secret drawer.
I read what it says on the envelope and smile, my hand over my mouth. I don't want to cry. Not now. Not yet:
Well done munchkin, you found it!