The Mysterious Disappearance of Contessa Willoughby: Part Seven
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Part Seven
Reread Part Six if you wish to recall where we last left Contessa or continue reading.
At that moment, Contessa was relieved. They hadn’t seen a single soul since they left Gallagher’s burrow early in the morning. The fox was dapper, with a shiny russet coat and gleaming yellow eyes.
“Ferand,” the fox boxed his head, “a pleasure to meet you. I too, mean no trouble and offer only help. But if I may ask, where are you going? It will be dark soon and the woods are thicker and deeper than you think.” Ferand stepped towards Contessa.
“Gallagher, here,” he said, stepping between them. “I’m just helping this young lady to her grandfather’s house on the other side of the wood. That’s all. Her mother asked me to accompany her.”
Ferand peered closely at Contessa’s clothes, then looked back at Gallagher.
“I see,” he said, “Her mother. Well, at any rate, you won’t make it through the woods before sunset. If I may be of assistance, I can help send a message to this little girl’s grandfather that you all won’t make it tonight.”
Ferand whistled, and just then a raven appeared on a nearby branch.
“Raven, these two need a message sent to the little girl’s grandfather. Now, what town? Name, please?
Despite the coolness of the woods, a damp sweat appeared at Contessa’s brow. Gallagher didn’t trust Ferand. Why? What would he tell him to ensure their secrecy?
“Peter Smith’s the name. A lock maker in Hoarwithy, the next town over. He’ll be expecting Contessa. Can you get him a message that we’ll arrive mid-morning instead?”
The bird didn’t speak. Off it went up and above the trees, letting out a robust caw-caw mid-air.
“Come,” said Ferand, “Let’s build you a fire before it’s too dark. Get you some food, too.” They followed him off the path to a small clearing in the wood.
Contessa looked up. The trees opened above her. The sky was clear, a shade of purple as twilight set in. She would be able to see the stars tonight.
Ferand and Gallagher gathered sticks, and soon a small fire blazed between them. Ferand scrounged up some berries and pointed Gallagher in the direction of nuts. Together they ate a light supper.
“You two are quiet,” said Ferand.
“Aye, you’re right. It’s been a long day. We were hoping to be at the next town this evening, but I suppose it is what it is.”
Contessa didn’t know what to say. She worried anything thatch might say would betray their mission, so she popped another blackberry into her mouth.
“Contessa, is it?” Fox asked. “What a beautiful dress you wear. I’ve not seen anything quite like it before. Your mother must be a fashionable one dressing you in such a way.”
In the dark, Contessa blushed, the red lost in flames. She was not a liar. The most she had ever fibbed was when she earned the highest marks in class but never told her parents. Later, when her mother found her report card, Contessa confessed it felt like bragging to share the news.
“Yes, my mother is quite remarkable and an excellent seamstress.” In fact, her mother had made her dress. This much was was true.
“So, how is it you found us?” Gallagher’s nose twitched, as he glanced over at Contessa.
“Why, don’t you know? We foxes are anything but day creatures. I’d just woken up when I heard your trampling through the woods.”
“Quite a ways away, I’m sure,” Gallagher added, “You know foxes have exceptional hearing and smelling, and of course seeing.”
“It’s true, I was underground when I heard you. Not too far away. At any rate, I came to investigate. We rarely see many visitors. Except those of course on pilgrimage to the tree.” At this comment, his eyes shifted and narrowed at Gallagher.
“The tree?” Gallagher replied, displaying nothing but honest curiosity in his voice. Contessa shifted her legs, they cramped beneath her.
“Yes, the tree. Why I had thought that is why you were here, but alas, you say you are on your way to her grandfather, so there is not much to say. Or is there?” He let out his odd giggle.
“I love stories,” Contessa lit up. “Do tell us, Ferand.”
“Yes,” Gallagher added, “What’s the point in making a fire if there’s no story to share ‘round it?”
“Yes, well, right then. Since you’ve both finished your suppers, I will tell you what I know.” Gallagher settled by Contessa’s feet, and the Fox began.
The tree I’ve mentioned is not like any other tree in this woods. It’s been here since before this wood existed. Many believe it just appeared, but certainly, it grew from something.
Anyway, this tree is a kind of portal.
“A portal?” Contessa asked.
“Yes, on the edge of the woods. You see, everyone thinks it's hidden deep within these woods, but it’s not. It's in plain view. Why I suspect you two will even pass it tomorrow.”
Gallagher remained silent, but Contessa couldn’t help herself. After all, Gallagher never told her how the time-traveling trees worked. Why for example, could they not just travel through the tree she arrived in.
“But if it is a portal,” she asked, “How does it work?”
“That, my dear, is a good question,” Ferand spoke with authority. “First, you must know that not everyone can use them, let alone know what they are. I suspect based on all your questions, you have never heard of such things?”
She couldn’t lie. She paused, weighing her thoughts. Then finally, “Yes.” She didn’t need to tell him that she only just recently learned about them, let alone passed through one herself. She looked over at Gallagher. He seem stared into the fire, pleased, she hoped, with her answer.
“So then, this tree — and others like it, for there are many like it, in fact, — is connected to a tree of great importance.”
“A tree of greater importance?”
“Now my dear girl, how am I to ever finish this story if you keep on interrupting?”
Gallagher noted Ferand’s agitation. “Don’t mind her. She means no harm. She is just a curious gal.” Then to Contessa, “Me dear, let him continue.”
“As I was saying, the trees — oak, that is — are connected to a tree of even greater importance, which has been protected by a kind sorceress. Of all the plants in the world, the trees were her favorite. They provide us with shade, keep us warm, even give us food. Have you ever had birch syrup? It is quite delicious.”
Contessa had tried it — her grandfather made I — but let Ferand continue.
“Now there was one tree that she loved most of all, the oak tree. She learned that there was an oak tree wise and knowledgeable, whose offspring she wished to have among the other trees in her grove. So one day, she journeyed to this tree and the tree gave her one of its saplings to plant. She took it home and planted it in her garden.
One day, while the sorceress was sleeping, a young boy slipped into her grounds and awoke her. After a horrible duel — which she lost — the boy dug up the sapling, which had grown very little since she planted it and vanished with it. It is said that when that sapling is found, all will be able to use the tree for its intended purpose and not just a select few.”
Contessa couldn’t help herself. “And what exactly is its intended purpose?”
Ferand leaned into to both of them as if to pronounce a secret. “For time travel, of course. The sorceress could never figure out how it worked.”
Contessa and Gallagher were silent. “Well, what do you think?”
Gallagher spoke first, “I think it’s a fantastic fiction.”
“A delightful story.”
“But do you believe it?” Ferand peered at them.
“No,” Contessa and Gallagher said at once. Contessa worried they were too much in unison.
“Well, a good fireside story it was then. I will leave you two rest. Of course, I’ll be awake nearby should you need me in the middle of the night. I wish I could offer better hospitality but piles of leaves are all I could procure on such short notice.”
“No worries, and thank you,” said Contessa, stretching out on the ground beneath her. Nearby, Gallagher burrowed into a small hole. An urgent sleep swept her away.
∆
“Contessa.”
Contessa turned.
“Contessa,” came the voice again, but it sounded far away.
“Wake up.”
Contessa rolled on her side to the sound of the voice. She opened her eyes. The fire had gone out and it was dark, but she could see yellow eyes.
“Ferand. Is that you?”
“It is. And you must listen to me. I know who you are and you are in danger.”
Contessa’s pulse quickened. “Danger?”
“Yes, you see, I was told you had arrived and that I was to protect you.
People are looking for you. It’s not good Contessa.”
“Looking for me? But why? I mean, after all, I am the one looking for my grandfather.” She decided that if he knew this much already, it didn’t hurt telling him the truth.
“Yes, I know. That much was made clear to me. You certainly won’t find him in the village over.”
Contessa remained silent.
“Look, I know that you think Gallagher is a friend, but what do you really know about him? Do you not think it odd that a squirrel you do not know would guide you so far away from his home to help you?”
“I thought it odder that he spoke to me at all. And that you did too if we are being honest.”
“Indeed. Well, as I explained in the story, the trees must be restored to allow everyone to use them. Can you use them?”
Contessa wasn’t sure how to answer, but again, she couldn’t lie. “I can, but I don’t know how it is done.”
“Well, here’s the thing. I suspect, though I may be wrong, Gallagher has not told you much about this journey you’re on.”
“That’s true.”
“And he has perhaps told you another, similar story about the trees?”
“Yes, that’s also true. In his story though, the boy saved the tree and I am his direct descendent.” She couldn’t help being honest.
“Well, which one do you believe?”
“I don’t know.” Usually, when Contessa wasn’t sure about something, she would talk to her grandfather about it. He would tell Contessa to grab a basket, and together, they would gather nettle, an herb he often made a tea of for them. Then they would bring the herb inside and Papa would put the big red tea kettle over the fire and when it was piping hot, he’d pour it over the tender green leaves.
After the tea steeped, he’d pour her a cup, and say, “Ok, what does your heart say.” Her mother called it something entirely different, intuition. She told her that people say women have, but never believed she did or that it mattered since it couldn’t be measured anyway.
But Papa taught her that intuition was real. It worked like this: Over time, she would have a feeling in her tummy, and then a thought would pass her mind, and she might suddenly decide to study. Then the next day, her teacher Mrs. Pendleton would have a pop quiz on the very material she reviewed the night before. Or, there was that time — she didn’t know why — but asked her mother to make an extra sandwich for her. During lunch that day, Stella was near tears after opening her book sack to realize she had left her lunch at home. “Here,” Contessa appeared beside her, “I have an extra sandwich for you.”
What did her intuition say now?
“Well,” said Ferand, “Who do you believe?”
There was no nettle tea to simmer over. “I really don’t know. I mean, sorceresses are bad, are they not? At least they are in all the fairy tales I’ve read.”
“Well, don’t you think that everyone should be able to use the trees, and not just you?”
Contessa thought a moment. Yes, why was it that only her family could use them? Perhaps this descendent of hers was being selfish and the idea of protecting them was merely a way for his family to keep them as their own.
“I think you are right. Time-traveling through the special oaks should be everyone’s right.”
“Okay then, we must go.”
“Go where?”
“Well, if you continue on with Gallagher, you will never find your grandfather.”
“How do you know about him?”
“The animals are talking. Rivalries are forming. Whose side do you want to be on? The one that shares the trees or the one that keeps them for their own?”
He made a good point. Sharing was a good thing.
“Let’s go.”
“But what about Gallagher? Shouldn’t he come with us too?”
“Absolutely not. He will only seek to divert you. After all, why do you think you are staying in these woods tonight. He would have known that he would have never made it through them to the oak before nightfall. We must get to the oak before him.”
Maybe Ferand was right. If Gallagher claimed to know so much, why did he stop in the woods for the night?
Contessa quietly rose to her feet. Gallagher lightly snored in his shallow burrow, undisturbed.
“Come now, girl. We must go.”
Together, they headed deeper into the woods.
∆