Waiting for Harvey (The Spirits of Maine) (14 page)

“I have no idea how to cook things like that,” I told him.  I had no great understanding of the woods.  Foraging and living off the land were fun things for John, but I wanted reservations at a five star restaurants or highly rated take-out menus at the very least.

“There is no need to cook them.  Simply peel it away and eat it.  If you want to chew less then cut the inner bark in strips and boil them,” he smiled sincerely.  I wondered if he could be trusted.  He did hurt me seriously, and it was quite deliberate.  Yet he stated that he believed I cursed him.  Could it be another simple misunderstanding between us? 

“Boil water and steep the pine needles in it. You will appreciate the tea you’ll get from it.  More importantly the pine needles will heal your leg.  Place the thinnest pine boughs above and below your bad leg.  With one thick branch on each side, it will make a strong splint, secure it as tightly as you can.”

“How do pine needles help?” I questioned.

“The pine against your skin will act as a medicine.  They will reduce the pain and help it to heal.”

“That is hard to believe,” I responded, annoyed by the ridiculous idea.

“Believe or don’t believe it is an old remedy that works.”

“My quilt…” I commented and gestured toward the pile at the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes,” he nodded.  “Put the remaining pine boughs on your couch and cover them with the quilt.  They will also help with the healing and the pain throughout your body.”   

“How?” I pressed, skeptically.

“I can’t say,” he shrugged.  “It is an old cure that the Indians used.  I learned if from friends in this region.  Many of the elderly used them to relieve their aches and discomforts in their later years.”

He remained in the chair, observing my efforts, but offering no assistance.  I guessed that he lacked the ability to assist me physically.  Pushing me off the stairs was apparently the only touch he could offer.  I felt bitter and hoped he would be leaving soon.  I was struggling to remain civil with him.

“You touched me!” I accused, looking up from my work.  The thin pine boughs covered my leg, and I struggled to maneuver the roll of duct tape over and under to secure them in place.  I had tried tying it with the twine, but that didn’t work.

“You professed that I be damned!” he snapped and the dark mist materialized around him.

“It’s just something we say!  I didn’t mean that you should actually be damned.”

“It is not something that anyone should state in anger.  It’s not something to use as a common threat.  Why would you think that is a reasonable thing to do?”

“You pushed me, Harvey!  You touched me with your… your fingers.  You could have killed me!”

“I was enraged that you would use a hex against me!”

“It was no hex!  You lashed out at me deliberately and left me to die!”

“No, I was wrathful but I never meant to harm you.  I exerted my force and was gone for more than a day afterward.  I had no choice in that.”

“Where did you go?”

“To the place where my bones lie.”

“Is there a cemetery or a grave here in the woods?”

“You pry too much,” he responded.  He waved his arm and I saw the disturbance in the air growing around him.  “The wolf won’t harm you,” he assured me.

“Is he like you?”

“No,” he chuckled, humorlessly.  “He is a living animal from the woods.”

He paled until he was no more than a faint shadow.  The scent of wood smoke and copper hung in the air.  I heard the whispering of two men as if they were arguing furiously in a busy library.  All traces that he had been there were gone.  Bewildered, I sat on the couch, staring at the empty chair. 

Exhausted after completing the tasks that Harvey recommended, I let my head fall back and my eyes closed.  The scent of roasted pheasant woke me.  I drew in a deep breath and moved to remove the pan from the oven.  I ate quickly and cleaned some of the mess in the kitchen.

I shambled back to the couch and read for just a few minutes before my eyes closed again.  I slept through to the next morning.  I hated to admit that Harvey was right, but the pain in my leg seemed milder.  Soon after putting more wood into the woodstove, I was stretched out on the couch again.  I was spending far too much time sleeping, but I didn’t care.  It provided an escape from the pain and unpleasant thoughts.

*

As the days passed slowly, little changed.  Daily I heard the crying child outside the door.  It troubled me that I had begun to look forward to the anguished cries.  The sound that horrified me when I first heard it had come to represent sustenance and survival.  It comforted me and reassured me that I would have food and other necessities for another day.  The idea weighed heavy on my heart.

Equally troubling was my growing attachment to Harvey.  Lonely and depressed, I lay on the couch waiting for my bones to heal.  His visits that had distressed me greatly in the beginning had become welcomed daily occurrences.  When he appeared unexpectedly it no longer startled me but instead caused me to smile.  Our conversations satisfied a deep hunger for both of us.  He provided companionship that I needed desperately.  It didn’t matter that he was not of the living.  He had become a valued friend.

I guessed that a month had passed.  I had come to think of the falling incident as an accident that resulted from a simple misunderstanding.  Harvey didn’t intend to hurt me when he pushed me from the loft.  He confused the meaning of my words and reacted without thinking.  I couldn’t fault him for that.  He was my friend and the mistakes of friends should be forgiven.

I was relatively confident that February had gone by.  A brief warm up melted the snow layered on the roof.  For more than an hour I sat in a chair in the doorway.  The fresh air was wonderful, and it was good to feel the sun on my face.  But too soon the harsh winter weather returned and I was confined to the cabin again.

My ribs healed and the pain in my back faded.  My left leg mended, but it wasn’t right.  The pain was all but gone, until I stepped down on my left leg.  It appeared to be angled slightly, and I felt a quick jab when I shifted my weight to it.  I knew the bone was misaligned after the break, and it healed badly.  There was nothing I could do about it.  Gradually I adjusted to walking with a limp. 

Weekly, I tempted fate and showered.  I desperately wanted to make it a daily thing again.  The hot water felt great, but feeling unstable on the wet shower floor made me feel anxious.  I knew eventually I would be comfortable with it.  Continually I assured myself that I just needed to be patient until I could retrain myself to the new limitations. 

Fresh pine boughs were left on the porch for me.  I secured them around my leg and placed the sturdy branches at both sides to stabilize it for just another week or two.  I was pretty sure that enough time had passed, and it had healed as well as it was going to.  I could have dispensed with the branches that formed my splint.  Yet it provided comfort and I needed that.

With the aid of the thick walking stick, found on the porch, I managed to get around the cabin better.  I had yet to attempt to climb the stairs to the loft or to step off the porch.  Fear and trepidation kept me bound to the couch more than was necessary.  I cooked, cleaned, and retreated to the couch again as soon as possible.

The length of the days made me think that it was early in March.  Soon it would be time for the Daylight Savings clock adjustment.  It wouldn’t impact me either way.  The batteries had died in the clock on the wall so there would be nothing to reset.  I slept too much both night and day, so the time change didn’t matter anyway.  I knew I was depressed but didn’t care to seek any remedy for it. 

Sitting on the couch, early in the evening, I ate the venison left for me.  When I responded to the cries that afternoon, I found the leg of a deer on the porch.  Ironically it was a left leg.  To round out the meal, I boiled strips of the inner bark, peeled from the underside of the pine bark.  The texture reminded me of cooked pasta.  I would have enjoyed a pat of butter or some spaghetti sauce with it, but it was still flavorful.  I wasn’t complaining.  Harvey taught me a good deal about surviving without trips to the grocery store, and I was grateful.

My leg and ribs had healed, and I moved easier though there was no change in my left arm.  I believed that the shoulder had been disconnected in some vital way.  It was still attached to my body yet inside it had been unplugged.  Everything from the shoulder down had simply disengaged.  It hung lifeless at my side, and the muscles had diminished visibly.  I feared it would never be revived again.

“Harvey, tell me your story,” I implored.  I had asked him repeatedly over the previous weeks, but he brushed off my request.  It was late in the day and the sun hid behind the trees.  Outside the window, the pale blue grew darker by degrees.  The full moon would be rising on the other side of the trees.  Within the hour, the howl of the coyotes would be heard.

“It is not a tale you will enjoy,” he said as he waved his hand at me dismissively.

“Tell me,” I encouraged.  “I do want to hear it.”

“I am dead, what more is there to tell?  The life I lived no longer matters.”

“How did you know about my mother?” I whispered, and my heart fluttered.

“She came to you here the night she died,” he answered.

“Here… here in this cabin?”

“She gave a last kiss to you and your brother.  She whispered an apology.  Quickly she was gone.  I envied her so.  She simply left this place painlessly.”

“What keeps you here, Harvey?” I sought a change in the subject as I choked back tears.  I didn’t think of my mother often but when I did it elicited a strong emotional response in me.  “You are a strong… being.  Why can’t you just leave this place?”

A hostile silence settled over the room.  I had asked the question before, and he continually refused to answer.  The uncomfortable feeling kept me from pushing the issue.  Part of me regretted prying though I desperately needed to know.  I struggled to find some way to revive the conversation.

The shadows moved from the corners to steal the last of the light.  Awkwardly, I stood and limped toward the door.  I flipped on the light switch and felt the room grow warmer.  I would not admit it, but I had become afraid of the dark.  It was not a feeling that I brought with me when I arrived at the cabin.  I tossed another log into the woodstove and refilled my cup of pine needle tea before I settled on the couch again.

Sitting at an angle, I lifted my bad leg and let it rest on the battered old coffee table.  I watched his image fade, and I knew he would be gone again soon.  I would be left alone through the long night.  To escape the loneliness, I would go to sleep early.  My sleep schedule revolved around when he chose to come and go.  My greatest fear was no longer that I would remain; it was that Harvey would not return.

The days grew longer, and the weather changed gradually.  There were far fewer bitter cold days or frigid nights.  More snow melted and little new snow fell from the sky.  Spring was coming.  I was certain that April was near.  For the first time in months, I felt a strong urge to leave the cabin.  Not necessarily to escape it but to go out for a while and enjoy the fresh air.

The change in the weather sparked hope that happier days were just ahead.  Suddenly, the idea of going far from the cabin filled me with dread.  If I went away, I would be going alone.  Harvey would be left behind.  I had grown so dependent upon him; I couldn’t imagine leaving without him.  For long hours, I stared out the window and contemplated my options.  Spring was coming, and I would be forced to make choices.

*

A cold drizzle fell through the afternoon.  I had finished my meal of wild turkey, boiled pine bark, and fiddleheads.  With my coat zipped closed and my hood up, I limped out onto the porch.  Awkwardly, I gripped the railing and stumbled down the steps for the first time in at least eight weeks.  It was not as bad as I had feared. 

Cumbersomely, I moved toward the wood pile.  I was amazed at how much of the wood had been used.  It would fuel the woodstove for no more than a few weeks at best.  When I no longer needed to heat the cabin, I would still need the stove to cook with.  Studying the landscape, I wondered how close the month of May might be.  Much of the snow and ice had melted, and the green of the trees was a brighter hue.

Carefully, I climbed the steps again and walked along the porch to the front door.  I wiped my muddy boots on the coarse mat by the door and carried the small load of firewood to the box.  I had developed a fondness for the pine needle tea and I prepared a fresh cup.  With thoughts and worries whirling around in my head, I retreated to the couch. 

The first clap of thunder startled me awake.  Rain tapped against the windows and the breeze swelled to a violent gale.  A lightning bolt shot across the darkening sky and the room filled with the vibrant blue light.  I shivered and pulled the quilt over me.  It was warm in the room, but I felt an icy chill.

Another flash of lightning streaked across the heavens.  I flipped the light switch as the last traces of daylight bled away.  A shiver traced down my spine and I turned to find Harvey sitting in the chair.  I made a wide circle on my way back to the couch.  Something sparked in the air and for the first time in weeks, I was distressed by his arrival.