Willow’s Tale

Lewis

            “We’ll be together soon. I promise,” she says, attempting to rest her ghostly hands in mine. “I swear.”

            “How though?” I ask, looking into her remarkable green eyes.

            “I found a spell,” she whispers, a twinkle to her eyes.

            “What?” I ask, surprised.

            “Yes!” she beams. “A fellow spirit gave me guidance.”

            I stare at her, curious if what she says is really true. It isn’t that I don’t trust her, it’s that an opportunity this sublime wouldn’t befall me. For a seemingly endless time we’d been planning this, but now that it’s here I’m slightly doubtful.

            “Lewis, it’s the honest truth!” Willow begs. “Please, believe me?”

            “Very well then,” I say, looking off into the distance not meeting her eyes.

            She begins to call out in excitement, but I raise a hand.

            “Willow, please do not harm anyone.”

            She withdraws her transparent hands from where they lay and asks, “Why would you think such a thing?”

            I can see from the look on her face that I’ve offended her. Promptly, I make an effort to apologize.

            “It’s just, you know how spirits can get,” I tell her.

            She sighs and walks down to the lake edge, where the water hugs the shore. She doesn’t sit, only stares across the great expanse of water towards the rising sun.

            “Believe me,” she pleads in a low voice.

            I stand, unmoving, as her phantom appearance fades away.

***

Edward

            “Clara, darling, do you desire to go on a walk?” I ask, watching my wife who watches the ongoing life of the outdoors through a window. Her flaxen ringlets cascade over her shoulders, an obvious sign something is plaguing her. While she does cherish the outdoors and the adventures it has to provide, she loves her ringlets more.

            “Not now, Eddie,” she says, without a glance toward me.

            “Darling, you need fresh air,” I tell her. “You won’t get any staying indoors.”

             “All right,” Clara says, gradually traipsing over to my outstretched hand.

            I hold out my arm for her and she clutches onto me.

            “Let us go to the willow tree where we met!” I say, dimpling.

            This is the first time in days that she has agreed to anything.

            When we arrive at the willow tree, I drop down against one of its countless protruding roots. Clara walks over to the lake and gazes out at its waters. There’s a gentle wind, which ruffles her skirts and blonde hair. It reminds me of the first time I saw her: she stood exactly where she stands now.

            Each day I would come to this tree and watch its leaves sway to the movement of the breeze. Day after day it was always the same: arrive alone, sketch alone and depart alone. There was a particular time I didn’t do that, because an hour after I arrived this petite girl with abounding ringlets showed up. Either she was conscious of my presence, or not, but I acted as if she wasn’t aware. Her frame and features of which were visible were exceedingly ideal for sketches that like any bloody creep I had began to sketch her. The drawing was almost completed; nevertheless, she turned around. There was a sort of yelp from her and then:

            “Who are you?”

            “Edward Farrington,” I had said and tipped my hat. Then I had said, “And you?” After a second more thought I had added, “If you don’t mind me asking?”

            “Oh, all right then. Clara Bell. Nice to make your acquaintance Sir Farrington.”

            I had chuckled and said, “No one has ever called me ‘sir’.”

            With a smirk she comments, “There’s a first for everything.”

***

            Her voice dragged me back into reality.

“What are you grinning about?”

            “What?” I ask. “Oh, nothing.”

            “Sure,” a slight smile upon her countenance.

            As she plops down, she rests her dainty head against my chest, my head on hers. This moment, so perfect in the present, makes me think of the past few days and all the happenings she’s had to deal with. Hopefully this is helping her.

            “You know,” I begin, reaching up my arm and plucking one of the willow leaves off the tree. For an instant, the tree trembles, like me removing a leaf hurt it. I shake off the thought. “Willow trees used to heal aches and pains.”

            I hand her the leaf but she only scoffs at it. “Yeah, for headaches. Not the pain I’m feeling.”

            “Please, just to satisfy me?” I implore.

            She leans her head back, looking at me. Then she takes the leaf and places it elegantly into her mouth. “Happy?”

            “Remarkably,” I respond, smiling profoundly.

***

Clara

            Later that night, when Edward and I had retired to our bedchambers, I had an urge to write a letter to someone named Lewis. In all my life, never had I met a Lewis nor planned to. The sensation of not knowing, yet inexplicably knowing, bewildered me.

            Edward was already asleep, which made it all the more easier to sneak off. As I wrote, the words spilled out of me and onto the page, forming sentences. Finishing up, I darted down the stairs as quietly as possible. Fortunately, the butler was still awake and at the bottom of the stairs; he promised to have it sent out.

            When it was all over, I stood at the base of the stairs, curiously looking around. How’d I end up here? I was just next to Edward in bed. Maybe I slept walk?

***

Lewis

            Her letter excited me, and yet frightened me at the same time. Would this really turn out all right? What she was doing didn’t seem right, but I guess as long as we end up together everything will be fine.

            These thoughts were on loop in my mind as I sat against my willow tree. For so long, I had thought the willow tree was majestic, ever since I was a child.

            Laughing brought me out of my reverie. Looking up I saw a man and woman striding toward my willow tree and I. The woman looks up and I catch a glimpse of her brilliant green eyes. Brilliant green eyes that for so long I’d loved.

            “Willow?” I call, stumbling to my feet.

            The man and woman halt and the green dissipates from the woman’s eyes. Both of them glance at each other then me.

            “Sorry sir, no Willow here,” the man, says.

            “Oh,” I say, embarrassed. “My apologies.”

            The woman leans into the man, whispering privately between each other. I don’t know what she says, but I imagine it involves me. No doubt there. They conclude with their clandestine whispering and continue on towards the lake.

***

Edward

            She’s been acting strange for the past couple days. To begin with, she wore her hair down, and then choosing a dress I had bought her, which she abhors. Another strange occurrence is when we were leaving for the picnic and the butler lets Clara know that her mail was sent out. Clara had looked utterly confused by this statement. Now a stranger mistaking her for someone called ‘Willow.’ Even though this all happened, I try to enjoy Clara’s positive attitude as much as possible. For the first time in months she seems . . . light.

            “So,” Clara begins as we sit down on a spread out blanket, “what did you have packed for us?”

            “Well, hopefully something you’ll enjoy.”

            “Crumpets?”

            I was pulling out the food when she said this. Her question made me pause and glance up at her. I wonder what is going on, too many strange phenomenon’s in such a short period of time.

            “Clara, you detest crumpets!” I say.

            She laughs and says with a shrug, “I’m trying something new.”

            “Clara,” I say, setting the food down. “What is going on? First the hair, then the dress and now this!”

            “I’m exploring,” she says simply, attempting to reach for the food until I interrupt her by clutching onto her hand.

            “Stop it!”

            “Stop what?”

            “Acting strange!” I bark.

            Clara looks around, perhaps worried about someone hearing. “Love, please don’t raise your voice. You don’t want to lose it.”

            This certainly is not the Clara I know and love, because the Clara I know is adventurous and doesn’t care what others think others. Suddenly, I can’t take any more of this foolishness.

            Getting up, I say, “I have work to attend to. I can’t deal with bloody crumpets.”

            I stride off, leaving her to clean up the picnic.

***

Clara

            Again, in the night, I walk off. Again, I quietly leave Edward’s side. And again, I feel the peculiar sensation of not knowing but knowing. It’s different this time and maybe it’s the fact that I quietly get dressed into something warm and then sneak off into the night. Or maybe it’s the fact that I know I won’t be returning. Or it could even be that no one is around to see me leaving.

            That last thought makes me freeze in my tracks: where is everyone? Shouldn’t there be at least one person awake?

            I wonder for several seconds, idiotically standing there waiting for an answer. Then it registers that I had sent all the maids and butlers to bed early. How did I not remember that? Was there anything else I had done in my stupor?

            I continue on to the willow tree. Coming into the vicinity of the tree, I see a man standing at the lakes edge. His head is lifted, perhaps searching the stars for answers.

            The night is cold, and my dress is frilly and light. Not a smart choice; however, it is his preferred color, green. I was smart about choosing to wear a cloak and hood. When I’m right next to the willow tree I lean against it and pull my hood down, which reveals my alarming white hair. 

            “Lewis?” someone calls.

            I look around for the voice, but see no one save for for the man in standing at the lake. When the man turns and spots me, a grin lights up his face. I grin back and realize it was me who had called his name. How’s that possible?

            You know him, a voice inside me whispers.

            This whole situation alarms me. That doesn’t prevent me from running into his arms and letting him swing me around.

            “Willow!” he shouts. “I have missed you dearly.”

            “Oh,” I say, sighing. “Me too, love.”

            Setting me down, he looks me straight in the face.

            “What?” I ask, a blush creeping upon my cheeks.

            “Sorry,” he whispers, a crooked smile etched on his face. “I missed your green eyes.”

            “Green?” I screech, startled and perplexed and elated all at the same time. “B-I don’t have green eyes.”

            His face turns from adoring to anxious. “Willow?”

            “Sorry, I’m fine.”

            He takes a double look at me before saying, “Right then, you ready?”

            “Of course! I was the one who planned this! Was I not?”

            He smirks again and I recall how much I missed him; his gentle caresses, disorderly raven colored hair, warm eyes and tender grin.

            We begin to walk away, hand in hand before a voice calls out, “Halt!”

            Turning back, I find Edward running toward us.

            “Clara, what is going on?” he asks.

            I look from Edward to Lewis and back; too many emotions and yet, only one moment. How could I love Edward and yet . . . Lewis looks so devastating standing there with his hands tucked into his pockets. It all happens in a flash. Everything goes dark, two separate voices yell out into the night and something like a weight leaves me.

***

Lewis

            “What did you do?” I thunder, swooping down to Willow’s side.

            If he hadn’t of shown up, Willow and I could be long gone. Instead, the girl collapsed because of him, because she was confused.

            “Me?” he asks, rushing to his wife’s side. “Clara, wake up darling. Please!”

            “Lewis?” a familiar voice says from behind.

            Looking behind me, I spot Willow in her ghost-like appearance. She’s a spirit again: her whole body is translucent and the hem of her dress blows in a nonexistent breeze. I open my mouth to speak but I find that nil comes out.

            “It’s ok, I know,” she whispers.

            We stand in silence; however, when the man screams for his wife to wake up, Willow floats over to him.

            “She’s safe. Both of you will be fine.”

            I watch as the man silently nods his head, then picks up Clara and walks off to the large house in the distance. Willow’s gaze follows them for a few steps, then turns to face me.

            “Lewis, don’t look so down.”

            “How could I not?” I complain, rising to my feet. “We can’t be together anymore.”

            If she’s sad, she doesn’t reveal it. “Lewis,” she whispers floating over to me, and if she were whole right now then I could’ve wrapped her in my arms. “I will find a way. A way better than this.”

            “How can you be so calm?”

            “I’m not, but you know me. I need to stay tough.”

            “When?” I implore.

            “I don’t know,” she says sadly. “One day.”

            She freezes up and I know why. Looking out at the horizon, I see the sun inching up and up.

            “Lewis,” Willow starts hurriedly, “Stay with me, with the willow tree.”

            Again, I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

            “Goodbye, I love you,” she mouths, fading away once again.