The Mysterious Disappearance of Contessa Willoughby: Part Six
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Part Six
Reread Part Five if you wish to recall where we last left Contessa or continue reading.
They walked silently along a dirt path that cut across an undulating, patchwork landscape. The fields were mostly empty except for corn, which rose high above her. A few fields were burned, a practice Papa told her helped nourish the new plants.
Past the farmland, the dirt road gave way to a trampled path of grass that crossed with paths sheep had trampled grazing. To Contessa, the landscape lacked any significant landmarks. A rock outcropping here. A small pond there. Then a mist rolled so thick that she could scarcely see her feet beneath her. Gallagher slowed his paced. Without him, Contessa was certain she would be lost.
They continued on. By midday, the fog had lifted and the sun, like a yellow diamond, sparkled in a sapphire sky. Gallagher and Contessa stopped to sit in the shade of a sycamore tree to eat the lunch that Nara packed.
Contessa bit into an acorn biscuit. “Delicious! Tastes just like the biscuits my mother makes.”
“Aye, Nara’s quite the baker. She keeps me fit for winter.” Gallagher let out a jolly laugh, and pat his belly.
Contessa leaned against the tree. Suddenly, she heard the faint sound of a heartbeat again. It wasn’t her tummy grumbling. And she wasn't in the cave. So where did it come from?
“Do you hear that thumping sound?" she asked Gallagher.
“What is it, dearie?"
“It’s coming from the tree. It’s the same sound I heard beneath the oak above your burrow. “Here," she turned her head on its side to rest on the tree, “Put your ear to it.”
“Won’t matter if I do, Contessa. I can’t hear it.”
“Am I going mad? What is it is?
“Ahh, no dearie. You aren’t going mad. I was wondering when you were going to ask. There’s a legend about it we learn as children. Me mother and father told me it, and I will tell me children the story, too. I guess in your time it’s been forgotten. No good, I fear. Every animal knows the story, humans too, but I’ve never met anyone until you who has heard the sound of the heartbeat.”
“Well, what IS it?” Contessa was polite, but there was impatience in her voice. “Please tell me where it comes from.” She finished her biscuits and brushed the crumbs from the front of her dress. Gallagher folded his cloth parcel and handed it to Contessa.
“Come,” he said, “Let’s walk and I will tell you. We must get to the tree before sunset.”
When the sycamore tree was behind them Gallagher began:
Once upon a time, there was a boy who spoke to all the animals. One day, the boy stopped to rest from sowing the field and sat beneath a nearby oak tree. At first, he thought it was a faraway drum, but the beat grew louder. The boy leaned his head against the oak’s bark, and just when he closed his eyes, the sound was in his head. It was the tree!
"Hello," came a voice in the wind. Now, this boy knew from a very young age that animals could speak, and at this time most every human could speak to animals, too, but no one knew of a talking tree, let alone one with a heartbeat.
"Tree, can you hear me?" he asked with intention.
"Yeessssss. Weeeeee neeeed yooooouuuuurrrrr heeeeelllllpppp."
At this, he turned around and hugged the tree. "Tell me, what can I do for you?"
"Our mother tree is dying," the tree answered. "The one seed that grew to be her offspring was dug up and stolen to live in an evil sorceress’s garden. When she dies, we will die -- for her heartbeat provides all of us with life. As you are the only one who can hear the heartbeat of trees, therefore you are the only one who can save us."
The boy didn't hesitate. He set off to retrieve the tree from the sorceress’ garden, a place fraught with tricks and traps. One after another, he passed each test and was able to vanquish the sorceress. When he came upon the tree, he immediately dug it up and returned it to the land of the mother tree. Just as he replanted the tree, the leaves of the mother tree began to turn yellow and dropped to the ground. Her bark faded to gray.
The boy began to cry. He knelt at the thin trunk of the child oak he planted, and when his tear touched the ground, the tree’s trunk widened and shot up. The boy jumped back. It grew until it was soaring into the sky, over one hundred feet!
I aaaaaaam stiiiiiilllll heeeeerreeee, came the voice again. Beeeeeeecaaauuusse of yooooooouu.
The boy hugged the newly grown tree. "I will always protect you," he whispered. From that day on, the boy and all of his descendants were able to hear the heartbeat of the trees, one chosen among every generation to serve as the protector of the mother tree, Druantia.
Gallagher stopped. “Contessa, you are the latest in the line of protectors. You are a direct descendant of the boy, me dear girl.”
Papa must be one, too, she realized. Contessa often saw him standing under the oak tree alone, lips moving, as if talking to the wind. She had always thought he was talking to himself, but now she wondered if it was the tree. And what did the old oak tree tell him? How lucky to have such friendships in the world. Was it only trees? Could he, like her, also speak with animals?
Her thoughts grew dark. Perhaps this is why he had gone missing. Surely his disappearance was connected to the burning oak. The magical wooden horse. His talk of other realms. Would they ever be reunited or must she accept she would never see him again?
I don’t know about you, but wherever things are bad, my mind races to the worst-case scenarios, even the improbable ones. Do you do this? It’s an ancient way humans learned to protect themselves in the wild, but as we’ve evolved, it's made us scared of our own shadows, too.
In Contessa’s world, there were real shadows, indeed, very dark ones. None of what was happening to her made sense, of course, but Gallagher’s story gave her a better understanding of the situation she was currently experiencing: On a journey talking to a squirrel and listening to the heartbeat of a tree.
Contessa’s mind raced. She had so many questions for Gallagher, but just then, they came upon a dark wood.
“We must keep going, quietly,” Gallagher whispered. "These woods aren’t friendly.” Contessa wanted to ask why, but the tone in his voice silenced her.
Sunlight dappled the ground. Gallagher’s light steps could hardly be heard, but the leaves crinkled and crunched beneath Contessa’s feet. A good rain would have muted them, but she was also grateful for the dry weather. She didn’t have a coat.
Contessa and Gallagher walked in silence. There were several hours left of daylight, but in the woods, it felt like the sun had already set. Contessa enjoyed the stillness of the old forest. Despite Gallagher’s warning, she felt safer in the company of trees than standing on the open moor. Trees could protect you. The moor, though magnificent with purple heather and yellow gorse, was too revealing. Contessa had always preferred the dark mysteries of the trees.
Her mind began to wander back to Gallagher’s story about the ancient oak. Papa was its protector. Was her mother, Papa’s daughter, too? Not likely. House plants were doomed to die the moment they entered their house. Her mother couldn’t possibly be a protector of trees when she could scarcely keep a philodendron alive.
She had an aunt — Aunt Sylvie — who she hadn’t seen since she was a baby. She had no memories of her, but there were pictures. Aunt Sylvie pushing her on a swing or cradling her in her arms. Aunt Sylvie with her impeccable style and a twinkle in her eye. When Contessa asked about Aunt Sylvie, her mother would tell the same story, “Aunt Sylvie is doing important work, Contessa. We mustn’t worry ourselves over her. She will be home when she can return.” But her mother did seem worried. And she never came home. Not at Christmas. Not ever.
Just then, a twig snapped. Gallagher halted. He held his paw to his lips to quiet Contessa. She scanned the tree line. Between the dark foliage of ground shrubs, she saw a pair of glowing eyes.
“Who’s there?” Gallagher called. There was silence.
Gallagher took a step forward. Contessa stayed still. “I say, who’s there? Me friend and I are just passing about. We want no trouble.”
Another twig snapped, this time the sound came from a few feet away from them. A fox emerged.
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