The Voice of Reason...No, Scratch That: The Voice of Sheer Panic

Oh I have so much to say and I don't know where to start.

OK, first, let me post the part of this blog that I began on Saturday, but haven't finished because I was working on my new short story (and, yes, we'll get to that too, just be patient).

Here's what I wrote on Saturday:

I think many of you will be very proud of me right now. I just emailed a voice teacher in Park Slope about the possibility of taking lessons from her. Let the rejoicing begin. This has been building for a while; over 2 years, actually. It started with me joining the Park Slope Singers, and while I love singing in a choir, I'm starting to realize that I'd really like to develop my voice in a new direction. I've trained classically and in musical theatre, but I have never tried singing rock/pop. Except to the radio, of course.

It took me a while to realize that not all pop music is bad. Yes, it's true that A LOT of it is bad, but there is a fair chunk of it that is soulful while still being fun and catchy.

New, but related, thought: I want to perform more. Listen, I'm putting this out there so that I'll think about it and maybe even do something about it: I'm sure there are plenty of amateur-night opportunities where I could perform once I get some songs under my belt. There, I said it. It's out there now, and maybe something will come of it, or maybe not. Maybe I should start small, like karaoke. Maybe I should just start with lessons. Yeah, baby steps.

I told my mom once, "I think I could be a rock star. Unfortunately, I know even less about that than becoming a famous actor. Maybe I should take it one impossible dream at a time."

And while I'm at it, I could be a successful author, right? Who says I have to take one dream at a time. I'd like to be all of those things and more. I'm interested in stuff, and I should feel free to pursue anything and everything while I'm still young enough to do it. Am I still young enough? Sigh. Sometimes I don't believe so, but right now I do, and I'm going to run with the feeling as long as I can.

It took me 2 years to get new headshots, and within a week of putting them up on Backstage.com, I was contacted by a movie director looking to replace his lead. SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU TRY JULIA? Let that be a lesson to me. It's a lesson I've learned over and over and over...still hasn't stuck.

End of what I wrote on Saturday.

So, an update on the voice lessons, I just traded emails with her again and we settled on a time next week. And here's why it has to be so soon...

I'm going to audition for The Voice.

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

The very thought makes my heart shoot up where it bounces of the top of my skull and returns on a downward trajectory into the pit of my stomach.

But, and this is where I start to really open up about "Julia" here, I have decided to live my life. I have been afraid for so long. Afraid to pursue my dreams, to take wild chances. I feel like I haven't really LIVED, you know? Where was my wild youth? What am I waiting for? What is the worst thing that can happen?

Failure is the worst thing that could happen, but is it still failure if I've done my best, and given my all, and fought for my dreams?

Here's the really terrifying part: the auditions in NY are July 23. That's only 3 weeks from now. I have to learn how to sing pop music in three weeks. And for one and a half of those weeks, I'll be in Erie visiting my mom and sister.

There goes my heart again. Ping, splat.

You might be asking, "Why The Voice?"

I've never really watched American Idol, or even been all that interested, but when The Voice came on, there was something so compelling about it.

First of all, the coaches have their backs to the people auditioning, so they can't be influenced by how the person looks. And honestly, I've always thought Idol was more about being cute and skinny and perfect looking and less about talent. And, yes, that's incredibly biased of me, and probably not true. But I do know that the original age range for Idol was 16-24. A Google search shows that they've extended that a bit, but I think it shows that from the beginning Idol was geared toward a teen and young adult talent base and audience. The Voice, while it does have some young undiscovered talent, is more about seasoned musicians who have hit a wall in their career and need guidance to break down those last few walls.

I also like that there are coaches instead of judges. They work with their teams one on one to help them develop their own unique sound. They also get emotionally invested in the artists they coach. Just look at Blake Shelton nearly in tears over having to say goodbye to 16 year old Xenia, to whom he'd become a big papa bear protector.

OK, I won't go on much longer. It's just that Idol has always seemed about being cruel and making fun of people, or putting them down instead of building them up. It feels emotionally sterile. The contestants themselves might be emotionally interesting, but the way the show itself is run feels very clinical, but maybe that's just because I've only seen pieces of it. The Voice is about developing an artist's craft, and encouraging them to find who they are deep inside and not let anyone tell them they have to be something they're not. Just look at Beverly: she's a bald forty-something lesbian with weird piercings and tattoos, and she's a favorite to win the show because she has an incredible voice, and the ability to put her heart on the line with every performance.

Seriously, if you haven't seen this, watch it now.

Did you hear what she said? She said, "I would like to win because I would like to give my music wings. The wings that it hasn't had...for twenty years."

And you hear that, and then you hear her perform with such fire and soul, just laying it all out there, and it makes you want to cry. (Or at least it should, if you have a heart.) To live each day like that, so fearless, so willing to experience everything that life has to throw at you....I can't even imagine.

I want to be that free. I'm so sick of hiding behind my walls, of being afraid to live.

My drama teacher, Mrs. Gibson, told us not to let the fire die. She said that sometimes when people become grown ups, they turn into robots, so weighed down by the trials of life, they forget to enjoy things, to take risks. I think about that a lot these days.

Wow. Well, now you've seen the innermost neuroses that make up my personality.

Awkward.

And that's why I want to audition for The Voice. Panic.

Three weeks...I'll do my best.

OK, I know I promised to talk about my new short story, but honestly I feel exhausted after all of that, so I'll have to save it for another day.

Cross your fingers that I actually like this voice teacher once I've met her, and that she won't laugh at me when I tell her I'm auditioning for The Voice in three weeks. Gulp.

The Man In the Forest Part 9: The End

She planned to stop only briefly at her house for a rest and to check on the chickens and Flora before continuing on into town. But when she arrived, she saw another horse in the barn which she recognized.

She dismounted, tying Ichibod to the pasture gate, and went inside. Tom was standing in her living room, staring at the mural in awe.

“I was coming to see you,” she said, and Tom jumped. He looked around at her, clearly surprised.

“Honey…what?” he looked back at the mural, “What is this place?”

She stepped up beside him and stared at the mural. It was complete except for Laknir’s face, which she had left blank. And as she looked at it, she began to cry.

“Honey,” Tom murmured, and moved to embrace her, stopping himself at the last moment, as though unsure. She took that last step herself, moving into him, wrapping her arms around his middle, and crying into his chest. She felt his arms envelop her, stroking her back as she cried. She quieted after a time, her head throbbing and her throat raw and sore. She had cried more in the last two days than she had in her entire life. She leaned back to look up into his face, reaching up with both hands to draw him down to her. The kiss was hesitant at first, and then it blossomed. Warmth radiated out from her belly, spreading throughout her body. Laknir’s kisses had been all fire and sparks: consuming. But Tom’s kiss filled her, comforted her, made her whole. And she knew she had made the right choice.

“Tom?” she murmured.

“Yes?” he answered, sounding slightly dazed.

“Can we go now? I don’t want to stay here.”

Tom pulled back so he could look into her face. Whatever he saw there kept him from asking all that he was burning to know. He nodded, and together they went out of the house.

Ryan never saw Laknir Lodge again. Tom took a small group of friends to pack up her few belongings as well as the chickens and, with Flora in tow, headed back to the town. A cat watched them from a nearby tree, and he was such a curious animal Tom was tempted to ask Ryan about him, but he didn’t.

He did ask her about a dozen times if she was sure she didn’t want to go back.

“I’ll go with you,” he said, afraid that she was giving up her home for him. “I would live on the moon if it meant I could be with you.”

She smiled, and shook her head. “No, I can’t go back there.” He eyed her carefully, but still didn’t ask any questions.

They sold the chickens and Flora to a small farm on the edge of town, and Ryan moved in with her mother and sister.

She was very quiet in those first few weeks, but then, she’d never been overly talkative and her mother tried to just be happy her daughter was home and safe. She spoke to Tom the most, though she still said nothing about her time in the woods or about the mural she’d painted. And Tom made her laugh, and the laughing began to get easier.

She loved Tom, she knew that. But she hadn’t realized just how…attached she had become to Laknir. She missed him like one might miss a hole in their heart, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized it was the ease with which she’d loved Laknir that she missed the most. Loving him was not scary as loving Tom was. She could lose Tom, and that terrified her.

She fought every day to allow herself this love for Tom, to keep herself from shutting it out the way she had before. And, to her surprise, every day it got easier.

Many months after she left Laknir Lodge for good, a small cottage on the far side of town came up for sale. Tom took her out the see it.

“Do you like it?” he asked, after they had taken a turn through the house and garden. She looked around at the simple space, then out the window to the unkempt garden. Beyond, she could see rows and rows of plowed fields. It was on a little hill just off the road to the city, and there were neighbors within walking distance. She could just barely see the tops of the forest trees way off in the distance.

“Yes,” she said, smiling up at him, “I do.”

He smiled back with relief. “I was afraid it would be too far away from the forest,” he said.

She shook her head slowly, “No, it is just the right amount of far away.”

A year later, they were married. She moved into the little cottage with Tom, and set about putting the garden to rights. Tom had given up on the university saying that he’d only gone to put his mind off his broken heart, and instead worked with his father as a carpenter. Ryan began painting dowry chests again, and found that she could enjoy the work now. She also did the occasional commissioned portrait, learning to flatter the subject without compromising too much of the truth in her art. Animal portraits came into style, and she began making painting after painting of dogs and horses and the occasional cat, which she much preferred to human subjects, even when the cats stared at her as though they could see right down into her soul.

She was happy, and if she thought about Laknir the sorrow was small compared to the joy in her new life.

It was nearly a year after they were married before Tom attempted to broach the subject.

“Do you think you might ever be able to tell me about it?” he asked one night. She thought for a long time before answering.

“Yes,” she said at last, “someday, but not tonight.” She leaned over and kissed him and smiled, and he answered that smile. She settled into his arms, certain that a day would come when she did not remember Laknir with sorrow and she might tell her husband the story of the man in the forest freely. Until then, she was content to wait.

The Man In the Forest Part What are we up to now? 8? I told you it was long.

The next morning, Ryan got up early and saddled Ichibod. She had put her conversation with Tom out of her mind, and let the anticipation of seeing the meadow again excite her. Once she was settled on Ichibod, she looked around, unsure of exactly how to get there. Fortunately, Ranth chose to appear long enough to point her in the right direction.

As she traveled, she began to recognize the path she’d taken, and this time when she stepped into the clearing with the waterfall, she was fairly certain she knew how to get back.

Laknir was waiting for her under a tree on the other side of the river. She headed for the shallowest part, and forded it on Ichibod. The water licked at her feet, cold and shocking. On the other side, she dismounted and Laknir folded her into his arms. They stood together for a long time, until Ichibod tossed his head impatiently, jerking her arm which still held the reins.

She pulled off his gear, slinging her pack over her shoulder, and turning Ichibod loose to graze in the meadow. Satisfied that her horse would be safe and content, she turned back to Laknir who took her hand, and led her toward the house at the other end of the meadow.

As they drew closer, she began to realize just how large it was. The house stood at least seven stories high, with two trees even taller flanking it, and a third which grew right through the middle of the house. When she stepped inside for a moment the tree was all she could see. It grew right in the middle of a large open room, its trunk wider than she was tall, reaching up through a hole in the roof before opening it’s huge, leafy canopy. She could see birds nesting in the smaller branches inside, as well as in the high rafters of the roof itself. Laknir led her to the right of the tree, passing into another room with a long, rectangular dining table set in front of a bank of windows which looked out over the valley. The windows reached twice her height so the room was bathed in sunlight. They continued into the next room, the kitchen. Ryan laughed when she saw it. It was a normal kitchen such as one might find in any town home. It had clearly been added on to the house more recently because it was only as tall as a regular kitchen, and had plain stone counters and a brass wood-burning stove with an ordinary chimney.

Laknir grinned at her, obviously pleased that she approved.

“Did you build this place?” she asked, looking back through the door to the dining room.

“Yes,” he said proudly. “It took me many years. The tree was only as tall as I when I began, but I looked at her, and knew what she would grow into, so I built around her.”

“You told me when I first met you that you can speak to the forest,” she said, shyly, unsure if such questions were allowed. They hadn’t spoken much in their meetings. At first, she had felt too overwhelmed by him to articulate all that she wanted to ask, but then, the silence just seemed so easy she was afraid to disturb it, that they would lose something that way. But in his opening his home to her, she felt that he was opening other parts of himself as well, and the truth was he fascinated her.

“Not in the way you think of as speaking, but yes, I meant that I speak to the trees, and the plants. I speak to the rain that falls, and the earth beneath our feet. It is why your garden grows as well as it does. I have used my…influence to make it thrive.” He took her hand again, and his palm seemed to vibrate, sending silent thrills through her body. “Come,” he whispered, “I wish to show you something.” He led her back through the dining room, then around to the back of tree where there was a staircase she hadn’t seen before. They went up and up and up a long spiral until she felt dizzy, and clutched nervously at his hand. It opened up onto a flat area on the roof where a small space had been created with a bed and several long, low couches. The tree’s canopy was spread above them, thick enough that she thought it might even protect them from rain. That is, she thought wistfully looking out over the meadow which was bathed in sunlight, it ever rained here. She could see Ichibod, seeming no larger than one of her chickens, and was grateful for the low wall which encompassed the flat area.

Laknir was waiting for her to finish looking around, and when she turned to him, he reached for her, and she went willingly into his arms.

************************************************************

It was some time later that she awoke. She lay for a long time looking up at the branches of the tree, watching the birds hop and flutter and chirp happily. She stretched, feeling content, and then she realized that Laknir was gone. She sat up, looking for him, and a gust of wind whipped by, tearing at her hair and the bedding which she clutched desperately. She drew her knees up and hugged them to her. It had been warm with Laknir up there with her, but now she felt cold and alone. It was dark, and she could smell rain on the wind. And then suddenly, horribly, she felt homesick; not for the home she’d made in the woods far enough from human contact that she could ignore the emotions which had been building for some time, but for the home she’d known as a child in town, surrounded by people. She missed her mother and her sister and her father, and, most horribly of all, she missed Tom. Unable to stop herself, she began to cry, and the wind tore at her tears, freezing them on her cheeks as she shook with sobs. Blindly she dressed herself, the wind toying with her, dragging at the clothing in her hands. The sun was masked by clouds and she heard the rumble of thunder in the distance. Desperate to get off the roof, and still sobbing uncontrollably, she threw herself down the spiral staircase. The rain began to fall just as she disappeared down the stairs, taking them so fast she was in danger of falling.

When at last she reached the bottom, she raced around the tree, her breath heaving in her chest, still blind with tears. Laknir came running from the dining room and caught her just as she passed. She struggled against him for a moment as he tried to hold her. She was wailing now, a sound so foreign it took her a moment to realize it was coming from her own mouth. And under the wailing she realized that Laknir was speaking to her.

“Please, Honey, please don’t,” he was murmuring to her. Stupidly, the only thing she could think was: how does he know my first name?

The wailing stopped, and she collapsed into his arms, letting him cradle her as they sank to the floor.

“I’m sorry I’ve hurt you,” he said, the pain evident in his voice. “I’m so sorry.” He stroked her hair and continued to apologize over and over.

The sobs faded to silence, the only sound that of the rain outside.

“I was hurt before I met you,” she said finally. Her voice was hoarse and flat, her emotions spent. And when she said it, she knew it was true.

He held her for a long time after that, listening to the sounds of the storm outside, as she fought to understand her own emotions. It was a very long time before either of them spoke again.

“It is a hard thing, to love an immortal,” she whispered, trying to keep her tone light. There was silence, and for a moment she thought he hadn’t heard her. Then, he released her from his embrace and turned her to look at him, grabbing her chin and forcing her eyes to meet his.

And, with perfect calm, he said: “Honey, you do not love me.” She was struck dumb because it seemed so ridiculous. What was this need she felt if not love? Could he really have misread her so catastrophically; he, who could so often pick out her very thought from the slightest gesture or expression? Or did he see something she couldn’t?

“You are surprised,” he continued, smiling as one might smile at a child who did not yet understand the world, “but you shouldn’t be. You already know the truth, and you have been lying to yourself for a long time.” She stared at him, trying to understand what he meant. He laughed gently at her confusion, and it sparked anger in her.

“And you haven’t?” she spat back, moving further away from him. “You hide away in your forest, so afraid of human beings you have built yourself a fortress in which to cower! Oh yes, you sought me out, the one human who is just as alone and damaged as you are, someone who is perfectly willing to hide with you behind these walls and this forest, and will never push past that coat of armor. You told me when we first met that you wanted to connect with someone. A human with whom you could share complex emotions, and yet you chose someone unable to feel such emotions because I have just as many walls as you!” He looked astonished at her outburst, and a tiny part of her wondered if she had gone too far, but the rest of her was seething and didn’t care. His expression changed from surprise to hurt as her words sunk in, and some of the anger leaked out of her. “Don’t you see?” she continued in a calmer tone, “I can’t connect. I shut myself off a long time ago.”

“No, you’re wrong,” he said firmly, tucking the hurt away. “You have more love in you than anyone, and you are afraid of it, so you keep running away. But it’s there. Your heart is ready to open, if only you will take the chance.”

“I thought you said I didn’t love you? If this isn’t love, then I will never feel it.”

“You aren’t listening,” he said, shaking his head, “You don’t love me; you can’t, because you already love someone else.”

She stared at him helplessly, certain that he was wrong, that he’d been away from humans so long he didn’t even know what love looked like. But then, as she looked into his face, her mind flashed back on the dozens of times she’d tried to paint that face, and how it had never come out right, and suddenly, she knew why. She hadn’t been painting Laknir’s face at all; she had been painting Tom’s. Over and over she had tried to put Tom’s face on Laknir, trying to reconcile the clash of emotions in her own heart. At last, she understood: being with Laknir was easy because she didn’t love him, but her subconscious had fought to show her the truth. And now that she knew, she couldn’t continue to lie to herself.

“You will leave me now,” he said, and there was an edge of sorrow in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” she said, knowing it was not enough. Laknir had given her access to her own heart, and she had betrayed him with it.

“Don’t be. You made this world real for me again. My heart beat for you as it has beaten for nothing in over two centuries.”

“You could come back with me, to the town,” she suggested hesitantly. Laknir shook his head.

“No, it is better if I stay here, in my forest. It is a difficult thing, getting attached to mortals. They always leave…” he trailed off, a faraway look in his eyes as though he were thinking of a time long past, and she suddenly realized how little she knew about him. There had been so much she’d wanted to ask, about his life, how he came to be here, and if he’d known Albert Rothcarpe, and why the house Albert built was named Laknir Lodge. But she’d let him sweep her away with his kisses, and now she would never have answers.

“I will think of you, from time to time,” she said, haltingly. “Part of me does, and will always, love you. It is the same part that loves this forest, and it is why I can never come back here.” She didn’t know why she was explaining, he already knew this. But she wanted to be clear that this was the end, they would never meet again in this lifetime. She moved back into his arms, and he held her in silence.

Night fell, and the storm moved off. She fell asleep on the floor near the trunk of the tree, still in his arms. And when she awoke, he was gone.

The door was open to the meadow, and the sun was bright and welcoming. She didn’t look for him; they had already said their goodbyes. She looked up once at the tree before turning away and going out the door. She found Ichibod, none the worse for wear, waiting for her under the tree where Laknir had greeted her yesterday. She saddled him, and rode him across the shallow end of the river, up toward the tree line. She stopped just short of the forest and looked back. The meadow was breathtaking in its beauty, bathed in golden light, the wildflowers nodding gently in the breeze, the sweet, wet smell of the waterfall in the air. She took it all in, committing it to memory, then turned and left.

She half expected to see Ranth on her journey home, but perhaps he was busy comforting Laknir. A pain went through her when she thought of him, and eventually, she learned not to say his name, even to herself.

The Man In the Forest Part 7

Over the next few months, Ryan saw Laknir almost every day. She would set out in the morning, not knowing where she was headed, and find herself in areas of the forest she’d never seen before despite the time she’d spent mapping it in her mind. And always, he would find her. She would paint him over and over, but she did not improve. His face never came out just right, and she felt sometimes that she would go mad with frustration.

Laknir never commented on her paintings, nor indeed, hardly even look at them, but he would sit or stand for hours without moving, allowing her the attempt to capture him.

When she was too exhausted to continue, they would break bread and nestle together sometimes speaking, sometimes just being. And then the kisses would come and overwhelm her. Every time felt like it would be the last time, and she would return home feeling lost and empty. He never brought her back to the meadow where they’d met, and she would bite her tongue to keep from asking.

At home, alone, she would try to remember that place; the waterfall throwing rainbows in the sunlight, and the way the golden grass rippled and moved in the breeze. And the house, she especially couldn’t get the house out of her mind. It had been difficult to tell much about it except that it was very large, and had a tree growing through the middle. She wondered what it looked like inside, and just how tall it really was, and where Laknir slept…if he did sleep.

One evening, after coming home from spending the day with him, she found herself staring around her house at the unpainted walls unhappily. Without thinking, she picked up her brush and began to paint. At first, she couldn’t even tell what it was she was creating; she moved her brush over the wall in a fever. After a while, she found that she was so close to the wall her nose was in danger of smudging the paint. She stopped, realizing that night had fallen and she could hardly see what she was doing. She dropped her brush on the table, and went to fetch candles and lamps so she could see what she had done. Once everything was lit and arranged so that the mural was cast in a warm glow, she stood back and looked at it.

It was the meadow. She had begun by painting some of the wildflowers she’d seen there, but she could see the river taking shape and where the waterfall would go, and the barest outlines of the house. And there, in the middle of it all was Laknir. She’d nearly finished his body, his tall, lanky frame standing slightly turned, his hand out as though to lead her back toward the house, but his face remained blank. She was astonished at how much she remembered of the meadow, for she was sure she’d never seen those particular wildflowers anywhere else, and she knew she’d gotten the blue of the river just right.

Her evenings became filled with the painting of the mural which seemed to grow larger with every stroke, and she began to neglect her other duties. A storm came through and ripped off some of the shingles on her roof, so now when it rained the water leaked into a pot in her bedroom, but she kept putting off fixing it.

And if she didn’t have to go into town for new brushes, she might have stopped going altogether. She certainly spent less and less time there, and when she spoke to people they noted that she seemed distracted and withdrawn. Her mother mentioned on several occasions that she looked pale and asked if she felt all right, but Ryan said she was a little overworked and agreed to have dinner so that her mother need not worry too much.

The mural began to devour her almost as much as her need to be with Laknir, but as much as she worked, as much as she studied him, she still couldn’t capture his face. She wondered dejectedly one night whether she would ever see the meadow again, and if maybe the magic of that place would help her paint him.

The next day, as she was once again trying (and failing) to recreate his likeness on canvas she blurted out, “Will I ever get to see your home?” He blinked at her for a moment, and she wondered if she’d crossed a line and now he would leave her and never return and she would pine for him until the day she died.

“Of course, if you wish,” he answered, sounding surprised.

“Oh,” she said, taken aback. “When?”

He thought for a moment. “Tomorrow you go to market. The day after, I will show you where I live, if you still want to see it.”

She frowned. “Of course I’ll still want to see it, why wouldn’t I?” she asked. But Laknir just shrugged in that unreadable fashion. She hated that she couldn’t decipher him, that there was still so much she didn’t know about him, and didn’t know how to ask. But then, maybe that unfathomable quality was exactly what kept her interested.

She went to market the following day, just as he’d said, and was so excited about the prospect of seeing the meadow she hardly heard a word that was spoken to her. She began to pack up her things early (she’d brought so little it took hardly an hour to sell everything) and it was a full minute before she realized someone was saying her name.

“Honey?” the voice said. She was surprised because whoever it was had called her by her first name, which is also why it took her so long to respond. No one called her by her first name… She looked up to see Tom standing shyly a little ways away.

He was broader in the shoulders than she remembered, and he was pale, no doubt from having spent too much time indoors poring over books. He also had a close trimmed beard and had cut his hair short. She supposed that was the fashion in the city. But even through all these little changes, he was still Tom, though she’d never seen such a serious look about him. Where was the Tom who had dragged her out into the sunlight and led her on an adventure through the abandoned chapel on the outskirts of town and told her ghost stories in the graveyard? He’d twisted his ankle when a rotted floorboard gave way in the chapel, and she’d wrapped it with cloth torn from her apron. She’d been so scared for him, insisting that he’d been reckless and that he should take it more seriously. But he’d laughed through the pain.

“It’s my own fault for not looking where I was going,” he’d said, waving away her concerns. “Anyway, if you never take the leap you’ll just get stuck in the mud.”

Tom was always like that: eager where she was cautious, silly where she was serious. He knew how to wear his heart on his sleeve, knew that if you didn’t take chances, you couldn’t move forward.

She thought all of this in a matter of seconds then pushed those thoughts away, letting a mask of indifference settle over her features.

“Tom,” she said, with a polite nod.

“Your mother told me I would find you here,” he continued, still looking unsure. She went to Ichibod and tied her baskets to his saddle. “She also told me you were acting like a child,” he said when she didn’t reply.

“I’m not acting like a child!” she said, rounding on him angrily. Tom raised his eyebrows at her, the trace of a grin behind his eyes, and she realized he’d just said it to get a reaction from her.

“You’re ignoring me,” he pointed out.

“I’m not ignoring you, I said ‘hello’, I’m just busy,” she replied in an icy tone turning back to Ichibod.

“You didn’t say ‘hello’ you said my name,” he shot back, moving to Ichibod’s head so he could see her face as she checked the saddle bags.

“You’re right,” she admitted quietly, watching him stroke Ichibod’s nose and murmur something to him. “Mrs. Pennyweather would deplore my lack of manners,” she continued, a small smile tugging at her lips. He looked up from Ichibod and caught the smile, answering it with one of his own.

She saw hope rising in his eyes, and she turned away. She couldn’t bear to see that hope. Laknir is taking me to the meadow tomorrow, she thought, and Tom is going back to the university.

“I’ve wanted to see you,” he said softly, “but I thought it might be too hard, after what was said…” He made a frustrated, helpless gesture, but didn’t continue.

“Yes, that’s why I stayed away as well,” she replied. “I didn’t wish to hurt you further.” She looked up into his eyes, pleading with him to understand. And in her mind she saw him again that day before he went to the university.

“But why the university? I thought you wanted to be a carpenter like your father?” she asked imploringly.

“I do,” he said and hesitated. “Ry,” he stopped, deep in thought, then, as though he’d come to a decision, he looked up at her with an expression so intense it shook her to the core.

“Tom, what is it?” she said, frightened that there was something very wrong.

“R- Honey,” he said, and it surprised her because he never called her by her first name. “If you tell me you love me I’ll stay.” She stared at him. “Tell me it’s even possible, that someday, five, ten, fifty years from now you will love me. And I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you until the ends of the earth if I have to. But if not…I have to leave. I can’t stay knowing you will never love me as much as I love you.”

She couldn’t speak. Her heart was pounding in her throat, her fingers throbbing with the pulse of it, and her chest felt tight, like it was being squeezed from all sides.

“Tom,” she choked, barely getting the sound out. There was a burning in her throat and behind her eyes, and she swallowed over and over trying to force her heart back into her chest. She couldn’t speak, but he had his answer in her eyes. He looked down at his feet, and when he looked back up, his eyes were over-bright.

“Goodbye, Honey,” he said, his voice breaking. But he didn’t leave. He stood there, staring at her as she struggled to breathe. And then he stepped forward, and bent to kiss her. It was soft, just a small goodbye kiss, and her heart dropped from her throat into the pit of her stomach. He was gone before she opened her eyes.

“But I couldn’t stay away after I spoke to your mother,” Tom said, bringing her back to the present. “She’s worried about you. Said you were acting like you were under some sort of spell.” She tried to hide her shock. She’d had no idea her mother believed she was under a spell. Sometimes she believed it too, but she feared that it was not a magic sort of spell, only a spell of the heart.

“You can tell my mother not to worry,” she said.

“But she’s not wrong, is she?” he said narrowing his eyes as though he could see the magic on her. She started to protest but he cut her off. “Maybe not about the spell, but something did happen to you out there in the woods.” Ryan fiddled with one of the saddle bags even though she’d already checked it twice. Tom sighed. “Just tell me you’re all right,” he said in a tone of defeat.

She turned to look him in the eyes. “I’m all right.”

Tom shook his head saying, “I wish I believed you.” He walked away, disappearing into the crowds at the market, leaving her to stare after him, lost in thought.