The Tree Goddess Page 25

  Although damaged and certainly beyond repair, Sara lived in a world where anything was possible. The coincidence of receiving calls from an unfamiliar number with Brian's voice, only to discover a cell phone near his grave, yielded quite an ironic overtone. She laid the old cell next to his grave and then pulled out her own while selecting the call option for the unfamiliar number.

  This time, Brian answered. “Hello?”

  “Brian, it's me! I'm sorry; I didn't know.”

  Waves of static overshadowed his distant, choppy voice until the message of “Lost Call” displayed on her own screen.

  Realizing how nearly impossible it was to reach the dead, Sara persisted by calling the number again. But the callout tone would only ring and ring. For some reason, Brian did not answer.

  How long could she stand over his grave while calling and calling? What if someone recognized her? What if she encountered a member of Brian's family? There had to be a way to hide the phone near his grave so she could continue until he finally answered. But digging a small hole near his grave would damage the sod and alert family members or groundskeepers to something buried. There had to be an alternative.

  Brian often commented on the strength of Sara's legs. Although nearly impossible to do, Sara pushed and grunted with all her might, ignoring her lack of knowledge of monumental masonry. Could a headstone break? Was the base heavy enough to damage the marker that displayed Brian's name? Cemetery desecration is a serious crime and toppling over a headstone, possibly damaging it, could be met with harsh penalties.

  Soon her deceased fiancé's headstone lay on its side as the bare ground that was underneath the marker only seconds ago lay exposed to the sun. With her fingers, Sara dug a hole into the dirt. The soil of her lover's grave caked under her fingernails. The phone equally as dead as Brian and found near his grave was dropped in the hole and then covered up with soil.

  But poor Sara learned that lifting the headstone back upright was twice as challenging as the near impossible task of toppling it over. She lifted and lifted with all her might, but efforts were in vain.

  And then Brian spoke out as he had always done since leaving this world, suggestions to help his struggling Sara. “Come on! Use those powerful legs of yours! You can't lift that thing yourself! Push it upright; don't lift it!”

  Sara called out, “I'm trying! Come on, Brian! You have to help me! This is not easy, this whole thing! Look at me; I'm a crazy woman who is playing with a grave!”

  Brian could only offer suggestions as he was dead. But he was correct to suggest that she used her legs. A few grunting-pushes landed the base and headstone back into place. Any possible evidence of molesting, Sara hoped, would be washed away in the next rain.

  As for Brian, he wasn't going anywhere. Brian was in that ground forever and would answer the phone eventually.

  Chapter 33

  Sound asleep on a crisp, October, Sunday night; Mary dreamed of her backyard where she stood overlooking the Hidden Lake. Suddenly, thoughts of that eye-sore-of-a-mausoleum invaded her mind. Fighting the urge not to look was impossible in dream world. Just thinking of the building caused its sudden view in front of her face.

  And who would appear from around Daren's mausoleum? It was Kelly who approached with a look of seriousness. “She's sorry, Mary. She wants you to know that she's sorry.”

  Poor Kelly; Mary never held anything against her. Daren should have been the bigger person, and Kelly most likely learned her lesson. Mary reminded the young girl of this, “I forgive you, Kelly. Don't worry about it.”

  Is the reader a dreamer, like me? Has the reader ever taken notice of the transition of motions and actions in a dream? If so, then you are quite aware of how the unusual communication took place. Kelly was already aware of Mary's forgiveness and let this fact known without even speaking. And then she continued, “It's the other woman who lives here. She's sorry and wanted me ask your forgiveness. I want you to know that she never did anything with Daren. But she did a lot of bad things in her life and she hopes someone could forgive her.”

  Mary awoke, lying alone in her darkened room. It was nights like these that she wished Daren lay beside her. Away in Omaha at another product demonstration, he wasn't in bed to draw close to and provide body heat and safety from another bad dream.

  Although forcing herself to pull from the residual fear, Mary remained trapped in her desperate need to understand the dream's meaning. What did Kelly mean by “the other woman living here”? And why was Mary suddenly an authority to give the Sacrament of Reconciliation?

  Piercing darkness penetrated Mary's nightshirt as her feet touched the floor and she drew close to the entry of the bedroom door. Slowly and reluctantly walking along the hallway where invisible fingers laid their undetectable touch to her skin, Mary approached the stairs. Just a breath away from screaming, she descended while fighting in vain with whatever forces possessed her to do the unthinkable.

  At the landing, her resistance to opening the main, entry door to the outside world was numbed by the seizing presence. The chilled, night air was most unrecognizable in comparison to the heavy, looming presence that blanketed the house and grounds. The deepest fear one could ever feel; the weight of the unfathomable ocean; it illuminated every pore on Mary's body. Still, Mary continued towards Daren's mausoleum.

  Around the tall bushes that perimetered the yard; Mary soon faced the back of the building. Crying, it came from behind the stone, brick walls. Was it the actual building crying, or was it someone inside? The faint light of early dawn revealed the mausoleum's texture and crevices along with a sickly color that appeared vile and repulsive. Still, Mary placed her ear against the wall, listening to the saddened cries. Maybe if she walked around to the front and listened through the door, the crying might be recognizable.

  She was greeted by the pale and deathly body of Kelly who stood before her with black, sunken eyes and lifeless expression. Is the reader a dreamer? Those haunted words of “I'm sorry” were never heard from Kelly's open mouth as Mary was quickly startled awake and sat up in bed.

  Daren lay beside her, snoring.

  Mary gave a quick pinch to her arm just to verify that she truly was awake.

  * * *

  Monday morning means that Mary must report to the flower shop for another 5 or 6 days of her job. And although a boring first-day-of-the-week sort of morning, Mary followed the practice of having a nice breakfast with her dear husband while he was home. Every bit of time together was precious as Daren often traveled out of state, demonstrating medical products. And precious time can mean, at times, to sneak a gentle mention of a concern that is hoped to be met with reassurance that all is well.

  Daren sat at the kitchen table, eating Mary's homemade French toast with bacon.

  Mary soon joined him with her plate and poured some blueberry maple syrup over her French toast. “So, I had a bad nightmare last night.”

  “A bad nightmare? What happened?”

  Nearly regretting her mention of the silly dream, deep down inside Mary needed her concern to be heard. “Well, I've been having these weird dreams since Kelly disappeared. It started one night when I dreamed that I was outside working in the backyard and Kelly came out from around the mausoleum, apologizing to me.”

  Daren looked up, “Apologizing?”

  “Yes. Well the dream was scary and I woke up. But then last night, I dreamed that Kelly came out from the mausoleum, again, and told me that the woman who lives there is sorry, too.”

  Daren wiped a dribble of blueberry maple syrup from his chin, “Huh? Wow!”

  She waited for any further comments from Daren and then continued. “Anyway, I thought I woke up, but was in another dream. You were out of town and I started to wonder about the mausoleum. And even though I was terrified, I went downstairs and out into the backyard. There was crying coming from the mausoleum! And suddenly Kelly stood before me like some walking corpse. She looked dead! Daren, it was scary!”

  Dar
en set his fork down and looked up at his wife in compassion. “Mary, I know this thing is really hard on you with Kelly suddenly disappearing. But I don't want you to blame yourself. You know how she was always the black sheep of the family, right?”

  “I know, Daren. I just… I'm looking for some kind of closure, that's all. I really think that if I went into the mausoleum, it would make me feel better.”

  Daren's face froze for a second, “Why would you want to do that? It's the family mausoleum, sacred.”

  Mary sat there in a silent expression of persuasion and a hope that her husband understood. And then she continued, “I know, Daren. But no one's in there and it would just make me feel better. It would help me stop having the nightmares.”

  Sitting back in his chair with a couple taps of his fingers, Daren agreed. “Okay; sure. Come on, let's go outside and you can see the mausoleum.”

  But Mary was cautious. “I'm sorry Daren. You're not mad, are you?”

  “No, I'm not mad. What's there to be mad about? Come on, put your jacket on and let's go outside. I'll get the keys.”

  Although no one would see Mary in her bathrobe, covered by a jacket, she still had a desire to step into a pair of pants. And then she followed Daren to the far corner of the yard where they walked around to the front of the mausoleum. Daren unlocked the door that smoothly glided open.

  It was the first time that Mary had ever seen the inside of the building. All that greeted her was a wooden bench at the center and two sidewalls of closed crypts. Daren walked in the building and over to the far wall where two sconces illuminated the area. Mary was invited to join him.

  While approaching her husband, Mary could see that Daren masked his rattled feelings. The building truly was sacred for him and allowing her to see the inside for the sake of Mary's piece of mind was quite a sacrifice.

  Daren commented, “See, this is where you and I are going to rest together. Isn't it nice?”

  And then his rattled emotions manifested. His voice rose, “What, you want me to open the crypts so you can look inside? You don't believe me? Here, I'll open one for you!” Daren walked towards the entrance of the building and undid one of the crypt locks.

  “There, see? No one in there! You believe me now?”

  “Daren, stop it!” How Mary wished she hadn't disclosed her silly suspicion! She was supposed to trust her husband but failed. No wonder he was so upset.

  But Daren continued, “No, why should we pretend? We both know why we're in here! You think that I killed your cousin and put her in here with someone else!” He pounded the hammer of his fist against the wall while shaking his head in disbelief.

  Mary laid her hand on his shoulder. “Daren, I'm sorry. If I knew it would have made you mad…”

  But he only shouted louder, “I just can't believe this!”

  The monster of years ago who was nearly abusive, suddenly appeared before Mary's eyes. She was about to experience words and behavior that hadn't been witnessed since before Daren cut back on his drinking.

  Daren now spoke like a ferocious demon with hands that could smash anything nearby. He was always frightening while doing this; and Mary often stepped back as she did this time, allowing Daren to yell. “I'm always gone, busting my ass, doing what it takes to make money! Then I come home and you ask, 'Gee Daren, did you murder Kelly and lock her in the mausoleum?'

  I'm sick of the suspicion and hostility coming from you! And let me tell you, there is truth to the statement of, 'wedding cake is the food that kills a woman's sex drive!' Ask if you want to have sex and it's like I'm the most disgusting thing, ever! And when I'm home, you feed me that down home cooking crap! Look at my stomach!"

  Such verbal damage seriously wounded Mary's feelings. The attacks were completely uncalled for. Mary understood the sacredness of the mausoleum, but did Daren have any sacred feelings towards his loving wife. All poor Mary could do was run off, crying. Why didn't she listen to Aunt Loraine?

  Before locking up the mausoleum, Daren opened his favorite crypt for a quick beer inventory. Running low, it would be necessary to visit the store while Mary was at work. And Daren didn't drink the low-carb/low-cal stuff, either!

  Chapter 34

  Weekdays were very much different than weekends for Sara in that she certainly couldn't sleep in late and then report to the nature path for a relaxing hike. There were things to get done throughout the workweek such as inventory, deliveries and other necessary tasks of running a business. And although there were no early, morning deliveries scheduled on a Tuesday morning, it was best that Sara maintained her weekday schedule and arise at 3:30am.

  The Sunday phenomenon at the cemetery had certainly changed circumstances for Sara. For you see, Sara had convinced herself that those fantasies of Brian's presence (shortly after his death) were nothing more than the harmful effects of imagination. And in the case of Saturday morning's “breakfast with Brian” at the bakery in Sillmac; again, it was fantasy that combined some prayers to Heaven as-if Brian could receive them and shine his light back down.

  But there was a new reality. Sara realized this as she picked up her cell phone in the darkened living room and dialed the once unrecognizable number which now belonged to her late fiancé. Fantasies used to be sweet while offering a brief escape from reality. But as the callout tone could be heard while waiting for an answer, the seriousness of what Sara was attempting ate away at her conscience. It was almost frightening and eerie. Who calls the dead from a cell phone?

  Sadly and equally relieving, Brian did not answer. Was he angry with her? Surely he had to understand what a confusing moment it was for his Earthly fiancée to receive a call from another world. And from what Sara remembered of him; Brian was a very, easygoing sort of guy who rarely became angered, much less hold extended bitterness for a silly misunderstanding.

  During weekdays, The Mapleview Coffeehouse opened its doors at 6:00am. Just like every Monday through Friday, Sara entered the backdoor of her business a couple minutes before 4:30am, and disengaged the alarm.

  Coffee was well overdue! Maybe the first chamber to be brewed would be the dark French roast followed by the regular blend. And of course the third chamber would be Mark's favorite, pumpkin spice. The sacred java could not brew fast enough as Sara waited while mentally planning the morning. She was just like her customers, depending on the fine blends of the Mapleview Coffeehouse to start the morning off right.

  Just then, the main business line rang. It was an unexpected sound that sent a jolt through Sara's body. But it was best for her to answer professionally, considering the possibility of a customer or vendor. “Good morning; Mapleview Coffeehouse.”

  It was a man's voice on the other end. “Yeah, I've got some paper supplies, boxes and bags.”

  Sara was confused, “Is this a delivery?” Boxes, bags and cup holders were not scheduled to be delivered until Thursday. This unexpected arrival would throw the morning off.

  The voice replied, “Yeah, I'm parked in back. I'm covering for the usual driver while he's on vacation.”

  That would certainly explain his strange way of delivery. The regular driver walked through the front door and usually came around midmornings. Although not even quarter-to-five in the morning, the untimely delivery was still needed as paper products were running low.

  Poor Sara hadn't a chance to drink her morning coffee as she answered, “Okay, I'll walk to the back and open the door. Be there in a second.”

  Walking past the small ovens, Sara turned the dials to preheat. A couple batches of pastries and other baked goods were needed for when the doors opened for the day.

  The unexpected, predawn delivery was certainly a bother. She deliberately scheduled visits from vendors during the later morning hours for when her employee, Dianne, could assist.

  Just seconds away from the backdoor, Sara's cell phone rang. It was Brian—unbelievable! Of course she would answer it! While pushing open the backdoor which automatically unlocked it, the speaker of the
cell phone went right to her ear as she spoke the word, “Hello?”

  * * *

  50 year old Dianne reported to the Mapleview Coffeehouse at her usual Tuesday morning start. Often is the case when she raps on the front door for her boss to open. But Sara did not appear on that Tuesday morning as Dianne continued to knock harder and harder.

  Sara had to have made it to work that morning; the lights were on.

  Pulling out her cell phone, Dianne called the Mapleview Coffeehouse and then Sara's personal number. Still, there was no answer.

  Being older with a trustworthy reputation, Dianne had been given a copy of the shop's key along with the code to disengage the alarm. These things were provided in the event of an emergency or for a possible morning when Sara would be unable to come in. Dianne walked around the establishment to the backdoor where the alarm could be disengaged if needed. As further proof to Sara's presence, her car was parked in the back. Where in the world could Sara have been?

  Walking in the backdoor, Dianne noticed that the alarm had already been disengaged and the aroma of coffee hung in the air. But something wasn't right. The morning smell of baked goods was absent.

  “Sara?” Dianne called out to her boss, but no answer. She walked past the ovens to take notice that they were preheated but no pastries. Did something happen? Did they run out?

  “Sara?” The cash register had yet to be opened! There was only one chamber of coffee brewed. Where was the pumpkin spice? Where was the regular brew? And why in the world hadn't Sara started baking?

  Dianne had seen nearly 30 years of marriage and the raising of three children. She wasn't about to face the morning completely helpless. Apparently there was a problem and the store was about to open. Hurriedly, she dashed into the freezer where an assortment of pastries and other baked goods were removed. And then she flung the frozen goods onto baking trays as if dealing a deck of cards.