Almost Eden Page 14
Anyways, we weren’t going anywhere, not with a bull pawing around the tree and that creep hanging around the gate. Another good thing. The man couldn’t get to us either, not as long as that bull stuck close. As scared as I was of the bull, I was awful glad we’d run into him because I was still more scared of the man. I never would have thought I’d be so happy to be chased up a tree by a bull.
And that’s pretty much how we stayed, for I don’t know how long. Hours. If there was a God, he was a real practical joker.
One time, the man climbed through the fence and came walking toward us, until he wasn’t much more than a stone’s throw away. He started whooping and hollering at that bull, trying to scare him off. Only I guess the bull didn’t scare too easy and didn’t much appreciate more uninvited company in his pasture because he took off after the guy. The man scrambled back over the fence just barely in time to keep from being turned into a shish kebab.
For hours that ornery old bull would trot off a little ways, then come charging back to see if we were still there. Then he’d trot off again toward the truck and just stand there, keeping an eye on things, pawing the ground and shaking its head every once in a while, to make sure we knew who was the boss of this pasture. It was pretty scary, when he charged at the tree. But then if he got too far away, Lena and I hollered and hooted until he came back to see what all the commotion was about. Because that man in the truck was staying put, and I knew as soon as the bull disappeared he’d be coming after us.
We ate our lunch up in the tree. At least we ate the sandwiches. I thought we should save the apple and cookies because who knew how long we’d be stuck up here? But the bull all of a sudden got bored and started to trot away, and even when we hollered, he didn’t come back. I grabbed my pack and swung it around and threw it as hard as I could. I forgot the apple and cookies were still inside it. At least the bull trotted over to investigate. He nosed around, pawing at the pack with his hoof. By the time he was satisfied, he had done a pretty good job of trampling my pack into the dirt. But he stuck close after that, maybe waiting to see what else was going to fall out of that tree, or maybe just enjoying the only bit of shade in the pasture. Whatever the reason, it was worth losing the apple and cookies.
Lena was starting to look not so good. She was awfully pale. The tree at least gave us some shade from the sun. That guy in his truck must be burning up. I hoped he was. I hoped between the bull and the sun he’d have to give up soon.
“We could sing,” I suggested. Singing might even drive the man away. Beth was always saying how neither one of us could carry a tune. Hopefully the bull wouldn’t mind.
Anyways, we had to do something to keep from thinking about being scared. So we sang. First we sang songs from Mary Poppins and My Fair Lady and The Sound of Music. Then we sang all the camp songs we knew: “Row Row Row Your Boat,” “Land of the Silver Birch,” “This Land is Our Land.” We sang songs from church choir: “Joy is like the Rain,” “Dominique.” We sang Christmas songs: “Away in the Manger,” “O Tannenbaum,” “Silent Night.”
We sang “Jesus Loves the Little Children” and “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands” about a hundred times. First we sang all the regular verses, and then we sang a bunch of made-up verses like “He’s got little sister Lena in his hands,” and “He’s got that big old bull, in his hands.”
In between singing we tried to remember all the books of the Old Testament and we recited Bible verses. To keep Lena’s mind off things, I said we should have a contest to see who knew more. I’d already had years of looking up Bible verses during sword drill at school, so I knew I could beat her pretty easy, but in the end I let her win by pretending I didn’t know John 3:16. As if. And then I taught her to recite the poem “Abou Ben Adhem,” which Mom had taught me in grade 3 already, but I knew it still. I wondered how Mom was doing, whether she was as scared as we were. So scared my skin was gooseflesh all over inside and outside never mind how hot it was.
“Do you think God is watching out for us right now?” Lena asked. “Do you think He’ll send someone to chase the bad man away and get that old bull out of here so we can climb down?”
“Maybe.” I thought about praying, just in case there really was a God. It couldn’t hurt. Unless there really was a God and He was maybe mad at me for not believing in Him until things got bad. It didn’t seem right to turn to God only when there was nothing else left to turn to. If I was God, I wouldn’t like being a last resort.
I was getting awful tired and uncomfortable. Even sheltered in a tree, the heat was starting to get to me. The hotter it got, the more bugs and bees there were checking us out. We had no food and no water. And Lena’s eyes were starting to close. If we went to sleep up here we’d fall for sure.
“Let’s sing some more.” I tried to perk up and sound cheerful.
“I don’t know any more songs,” Lena whined.
“Sure you do.” But the only songs I could think of that we hadn’t sung yet were hymns. I sang quietly, because I didn’t have much voice left.
“The love of God is greater far than tongue or pen, could ever tell. It goes beyond the highest star and reaches to the lowest hell”
It used to be one of my favorite hymns, when I went to church still. Lena joined in on the chorus.
“The love of God, so rich and pure, so measureless and strong. It shall forever more endure, the saints’ and angels’ song.”
Usually the songs we sang in church gave me a nice warm feeling inside, especially this song. I didn’t think I would feel like that today. I was too tired and too sore and too scared, and I was stuck up a tree after all. But singing was the only way I knew to keep from being still more scared yet.
“Could we with ink the ocean fill, and were the skies of parchment made, were ev’ry stalk on earth a quill, and every man a scribe by trade; to write the love of God above would drain the ocean dry; Nor could the scroll contain the whole, tho’ stretched from sky to sky.”
I leaned back against the tree trunk and peered up at the huge blue sky that stretched as far as I could see in every direction. Puffy, white cottonball clouds floated across it. The fields of grain on the other side of the rolling pasture shone all golden in the sun.
All around us everything was so beautiful. Even stuck up in a tree with a mean old bull waiting to rip our guts out, and some creep hanging around hoping to get his hands on us, the world still looked beautiful.
The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. The familiar psalm ran through my head. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside still waters. He restoreth my soul.
Well, we weren’t exactly lying down, but for sure we were in a green pasture.
The thing was, I did feel better. Calmer. Lena felt better, too, I could tell. Hurt as she was, she sat beside me, swinging her legs, singing, and smiling.
For a little while, I forgot to be frightened and tired.
And then I heard the truck engine start up.
“Look!” squealed Lena. “He’s leaving!”
Sure enough. The truck turned and drove away. We watched it circle around the barn and could hear it still as it gunned across the farmyard, and after a bit, we even saw a cloud of dust off in the direction of the gravel road.
“Holy Moses. He gave up,” I whispered. “He got fed up with waiting.”
The relief was so huge we couldn’t help it. Lena and I hugged each other and cried. Then we started singing again, only this time we weren’t singing because we were scared, but only because we were so happy.
Our singing was pretty bad, I guess. We’d never make it to Hymn Sing, anyways. But it wasn’t so bad as to scare off the bull. He stayed right there under the tree, every so often wandering over to push at my pack with his nose. Until one time when he tossed it around, one of the straps caught on his horn. When the bull shook his head, the pack twirled around and landed on the back of his neck. That set him off. He snorted, shook his head again, stomped, and charged around
and around the tree in circles.
We nearly laughed ourselves to death, sitting there stuck up a tree, singing our hearts out.
Thunderclouds began to build later that afternoon. Maybe it was evening already, for all I knew.
High in a tree in the middle of a pasture wasn’t the smartest place to wait out a thunderstorm, but it looked like that’s exactly what we’d be doing. We were going to get soaked yet on top of everything. I held on to Lena and we watched the storm come closer while we kept getting more and more tired and stiff and hungry.
Thunder started to grumble. At first it was off in the distance, but it got closer all the time. Clouds started to billow higher and higher, as if they were climbing over each other to see how high they could get. It was kind of neat, watching that, seeing the storm growing.
Probably the bull didn’t like the look of what was coming either, because just like that, he finally gave up and trotted off out of sight. My pack was still swinging from one of his horns.
Before we left the shelter of the tree, we took a good look around for any sign that the guy had come back. The coast was clear. Scrambling down from the tree took a whole lot longer than scrambling up had. For sure we were too stiff and sore to set any speed records, but we pedaled back to the farmyard as fast as we could in case that bull decided to come back after all. By the time we reached the barn, the sky was dark and the first big fat rain drops were beginning to splash into the dirt. Suddenly the sky lit up, and this huge crack of thunder, almost on top of us, made our hair stand on end.
We needed to find shelter quick. The house seemed like a better place to wait out the storm than the barn, where who knew what kind of animals were living. So I picked up a good-sized rock and threw it as hard as I could through a window. I felt a bit guilty, but not so guilty to keep me from doing it. Once I knocked out the glass with a stick, I crawled through and got the door open for Lena. Just in time, too.
It was all of a sudden like the sky opened and the water just came gushing out.
Flash after flash of lightning lit up the sky. Thunder rumbled through the house with hardly any break. At first it was scary, but pretty soon we got used to it.
For a long time we stood at the open doorway, watching the storm settle in around us. One thing for sure, we weren’t going anywhere until it let up.
I was so tired I couldn’t think. I knew we needed to get to a house and use a phone. We needed a hot bath and something to eat. We needed a soft bed. Any bed. We needed Mom and Dad and Beth, too.
Only all we had was each other. And a place to get in out of the rain, even if it wasn’t much to look at. A thick layer of dust covered everything and kept making us sneeze. In some places the floor was rotting so we had to be careful where we stepped. Water dripped from the ceiling.
“I don’t want to stay here.” Lena whimpered softly.
She’d been so brave. I never knew how brave my little sister was before. For sure she was no dishrag.
“We’re having an adventure, that’s all. Just like in a story.” Only in stories the kids always seemed to have everything they needed with them, or else they found what they needed right around the corner. In the adventure stories from the library, Jack and Lucy and Philip and Dinah always had rugs and ginger beer and torches and food, no matter what kind of scrape they got themselves into.
“I’m sorry I got you into this mess,” I said. “And I’m sorry about shoving you into the pool the other day.”
“That’s okay,” she said.
We found a corner without any drips and huddled together. Lena snuggled against me. Lucky for us it was the middle of the summer, so it wasn’t really cold or anything.
“I want to go home,” she said softly.
“Me, too. Soon as the storm lets up.”
“What if that man comes back?”
“He won’t. Not in this storm.” Just in case I got up and shoved an old chair under the doorknob.
“Do you think Dad is looking for us?”
“Sure he is. When the rain stops we’ll phone him up and he’ll come get us.” I figured Dad would have started to worry when Lena didn’t show up for church. He’d probably have checked with the Sunday School teachers right away after the service. When he saw our bikes were gone he’d probably have called Jillian’s to ask if she knew where we were. Maybe he’d have driven down to the pool, or even checked if we had gone to see Mom at Eden.
But when we never showed up for faspa, then he’d probably called the police. They’d be out looking for us already. Only problem was, no one would know where to look. Everyone would be frantic. I’d stirred up a whole lot of mouse this time, that’s for sure.
“Where will Tommy go in the rain?” Lena muttered, already half-asleep.
Tommy. I’d almost forgotten the reason we were out here, it seemed like so long ago since we’d left on our search. “He’ll find a dry spot to hide, like under a log or something. Tommy’s a pretty smart cat. He’s managed to stay alive this long all on his own, hasn’t he?” Here I was, starting to sound like Dad yet.
Something scritched in the wall behind us. Mice. I shuddered, but was too wiped out to give a care. As long as it wasn’t rats.
Lightning flashed through the house, making all kinds of creepy shadows rush toward us. I’ll just close my eyes for a little while, I thought.
Dear God, I started praying. I was too tired to think of what to pray for, so I just said the prayer I used to say all the time when I was little even though it always sort of scared me because I didn’t want to die in my sleep, and anyways, what if God thought I was dead when I was really only sleeping and came and took my soul away.
Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.
I didn’t remember that I didn’t believe in God anymore until I was finished praying already.
The dark was so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front my face. Beside me, I could hear Lena’s soft, even breathing, and close by, the slow steady drip, drip, drip of the leaky roof.
Until a few seconds ago I’d been sleeping, too. I was wide awake now, though, listening to Lena breathe–and something else, too. Something else had woken me up. My heart jumped. The panic sat there, a lump in my throat that wouldn’t go back down. I froze, listening.
Was someone trying to get in? For a long time I couldn’t move.
Finally, I inched up the wall until I was standing and groped my way to the door. All the time I held my breath, listening to the silence. There was no sound of a truck engine or footsteps or rain or–anything. It was almost too silent.
Slowly, carefully, I moved the chair, opening the door just enough to peer outside. I still couldn’t see or hear a thing. So I pushed the door wider, holding my breath, waiting. Waiting to hear what it was that had woken me up. After a long time surrounded by silence, I worked up the nerve to step outside.
Then I knew how come I couldn’t see anything, why the world seemed so silent.
Ghosts drifted by. Fog ghosts curled around the farmyard. Ghosts with yawning grins that swallowed trees and bushes whole, then spit them right back out again. Ghosts that circled fences, ghosts that slithered up hydro poles, and hollow-eyed ghosts that peered into windows. Ghosts that swirled around outbuildings, slid between the cracks of loose boards, and crept in and out of the barn. Bits of the farmyard disappeared, then reappeared. Now you see it, now you don’t. I’d catch sight of a bush or a fence post, then it would vanish and something else would appear out of the mist.
After a while I thought I noticed a rhythm in the way things appeared and disappeared, in the way the ghosts moved. It was like they were dancing. The rhythm of their dance was the same as my heart thumping in my chest. If I stayed perfectly still, I could almost hear the music, somewhere deep inside me.
All is calm. The familiar words were there in my head. Anyways, Lena and I had just been singing them when we were stuck up the tree.
No moon shone. No yard lights or house lights or streetlights. There was only the night and the dancing ghosts. And me.
Something told me to close my eyes. Right away I did, never stopping to wonder why I’d want to do that. I put my head back, tasting the mist on my lips, feeling it brush my face, then tickle my spine with light, shivery fingers.
Then–I felt something change, like a pause in the music. So I opened my eyes again. And all my breath just went out of me.
Holy Moses. Holy Moses.
The mist had parted. It was hugging the ground now. And above me the sky exploded with stars.
There in the heavens were stars of every kind you could imagine–sparkling diamonds, flickering fireflies, and tiny pinprick stars yet, too. I walked out into the middle of the farmyard. Everywhere I turned there were stars.
Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright.
The sky flowed over. Stars spilled from the Milky Way. There was hardly sky enough to hold all those stars. They were too brilliant almost to bear.
They were so brilliant, it hurt to look at them. It hurt to breathe. I thought my heart might burst.
Glory streams from heaven afar.
The fog and the stars were alive. The night was alive. Pulsing. Everything was alive and part of everything else and the crazy thing was that I was part of it, too. It was all too huge for words.
If I believed in God still, I’d think maybe this was the sign I’d prayed for. I’d think maybe I was having a vision. A glimpse of heaven.
I was standing there all alone in the night, only I wasn’t so alone anymore. I felt peaceful. An ache I didn’t know I had even was gone, and for the first time I could remember, I felt right. I felt whole.