Chapter 18 Message
Message
Lydia Brown
My niece feels better after napping through a rainy Sunday, sipping ginger ale, eating chicken noodle soup, then sleeping twelve hours straight.
On Monday her energy is still lackluster, and a mild fever persists.
She stays inside and reads aloud to Uncle curled on the sofa beside her.
The cat is mysteriously domesticated and tamed and content, and they nap curled in a little ball.
I worry Gus will have a sleepless night and the light will stay on and she will roam the cottage restless, but again, her sleep is deep and restorative, and the house is quiet.
This early Tuesday morning, Gus is awake at first light and comes out of her room stretching and yawning, wearing Saturday’s clothes and the ghastly makeup.
I haven’t pushed her to move faster than she can.
With a sleepy mornin’, she heads to the bathroom, and I hear the water running in the tub for a bubble bath, then faint humming from a distance.
An hour later she emerges wearing faded jeans and a pink T-shirt with M E in big letters.
Mother Earth is scripted beneath. Mostly gone are the purple tint and spiked gel in her pixie hair that were meant to shock.
Gone is the ghostly makeup and the harsh liner around hazel eyes.
Only chipped black polish remains as a reminder of the Goth girl from before.
Like all young girls on the cusp of womanhood who don’t know their allure, Gus is achingly beautiful.
The skin as smooth as mercury, the blush that can’t be manufactured, the arched brow that isn’t critical, and the pouty lips that hold no disdain.
Every woman who gazes upon this bloom of freshness at thirteen wonders if she ever held such fleeting power.
A backbone effortlessly straight. Hips loose and limber.
Though Lucy may have tried to remold and change her daughter, Augustina Rose Flannery is a wild and perfect marvel.
I don’t do the foolish thing and ask why she put on her armor in the first place.
I don’t ask why she is now shedding it. This cottage in my haunted wood is a healing place where Gus feels safe and loved.
She pours a cup of coffee, adds heavy cream and two heaping spoons of sugar. With mug in both hands, she faces me.
“I had a dream last night,” she begins.
I look up quickly from my blueberry muffin. To rein in my sparking nerves, I tease, “For real?”
She nods. “It was about you.”
Oh my stars.
Suddenly I am intimidated by this girl standing barefoot in my space.
Is this how it felt to be on the receiving end when I was the young messenger that delivered dream truths or clues difficult to decipher?
I never thought about how unnerving it had been to have a girl bear news that hadn’t happened.
But this girl is braver than I was. Her voice is confident when mine was hesitant.
“Tell me,” I say and feel a flutter of fear but more excitement. I top off my cup of coffee and settle on a stool at the counter. When my hands tremble, I put the cup on the counter and clasp my fingers together to still them.
“Something is coming,” she says without preamble. She looks me in the eyes, and I am pierced. “It’s important in ways you won’t understand at first, but the something spans centuries, and it won’t be long now.”
I am unsettled the rest of the morning, trying not to dissect and overthink the cryptic message.
I find busy work to do before we leave for Baines Creek at noon.
I make my bed, water plants, sweep the porch, fluff the pillows.
We’ll meet Kate at one o’clock at the schoolhouse and I’ll get to lay eyes on the mysterious Books of Truth bequeathed to Kate Shaw.
I believe those findings might hold evidence about my birthmark and an understanding of the word Keeper.
The books might become a star in Special Collections.
Might be findings so rich and rare that Appalachian history will expand.
Jack would have been in his element today, and I regret he’ll miss this discovery.
The lingering question is whether my message from beyond is connected to Birdie’s books.
But her books have been written in one lifetime. They don’t span centuries.
I’m rinsing the coffeepot when the phone rings. It’s Kate. She has shocking news once more: Loretty Dillard has gone missing.
She was last seen yesterday.
Everyone is desperate to find her.
Nothing else matters.
I can’t come today.
Abruptly Kate hangs up, and I stand stunned, thinking back to that final Saturday in May when I was in Birdie’s yard.
What was it that she said to Kate and me about the child?
Did she ask us to watch over her? Keep her safe?
No, it was something specific. Y’all watch over this marked girl.
That was her cryptic request. Coming on the heels of Birdie’s death ten days back, this news must have Baines Creek reeling.
Against my wishes, Gus and I have a free day.