The reporter from LA approached the old woman's house with caution. He'd been told she was fiesty and more than a bit strange. As he stepped up onto the porch, she met him at the screen door."They told me you were sniffin' 'round town. Knew you'd be here sooner or later. Come on in.
So you want to hear it, do ya? She seems to be quite the thing since that city man wrote that awful book. He lied about her and me. Never should have talked to him. You'd better promise to tell it right, or there'll be hell to pay, son."
He assured her he'd write exactly what she told him. She sat quietly in a rocking chair, looking out the window at the meadow beyond the fenceline. As he turned on the tape recorder he sensed she'd already forgotten he was there.
"We were born on the same day, Rachel and I. My mama was Rachel's mother's daughter. So aunt and niece were born on the same day, at the same time, and became closer than sisters.
Before Rachel was old enough to start talking much, something began growing on her throat. There was a great to do about it all, my older brothers said. The doctors operated on her and had to remove a cancer on her vocal cords. Mama and Granny were afraid that she'd die. But she came through it well. Except, Rachel didn't speak. Not a word.
Oh, the specialists all said they could see no damage that would prevent her from making sounds, but she just never did.
She learned to read and write, but refused to learn finger spelling like it was evil. In small rural towns the number of "odd folks" is substantial, so she was accepted at face value, and became part of the personality of the place.
Rachel was very pretty. Long rust colored hair, big green eyes that had a tendency to flash like lightening when she was mad. Slender fingers like a lady and legs that could out run any boy in the county. Someone once said she had an other world look to her when she was daydreaming. I always wondered what she thought behind those eyes and silent lips.
When Granny died, she didn't cry. Everyone was worried what her reaction would be. After all Granny doted on her from the day they cut that thing out of her throat.
At the funeral she stood outside the church until the service was over. She waited till they carried the casket to the churchyard cemetary and everyone had gathered to pray. She walked right up through the crowd, sat beside the box, leaned her head on it and wrote 'I love you' with her finger on the wood. Daddy carried her home and put her in my bed. She never left. She lived with us. We became sisters.
As we got older and went to high school she became more withdrawn. Mama said she was growing up. The town boys always wanted to date her, but she wanted nothing to do with any of them. She would help me get ready to go out, but never accepted invitations for herself.
When I married I moved into Granny's old house with my husband and Rachel came with us. It was just understood that we'd always be together. She helped with my children when they came and they loved her. I couldn't imagine life without her.
Then one day she went missing. I didn't even notice she was gone at first. She was hanging out the wash, a chore she loved. One of my children went to fetch her for the noon meal, and she was nowhere on the place.
I truly panicked. Never in twenty seven years had she gone off like this...not for more than an hour anyway. By dark the whole town turned out to look for her. The woods was where they thought she'd gone which terrified me. We were rural enough to have bears and bobcats and God knows what all out there.
They were out all night. Not one sign of her anywhere. The men had been to the cliffs, to the river, through the thickest parts of the woods and she wasn't to be found. For a week they did this, until my husband broke the news...
'Charlotte, they found this piece of her apron out past the old sawmill at the far end of Cooper's Meadow. Looks to have been chewed on by a bear.'
He handed me a calico scrap, and surely it was hers. They declared my Rachel dead. I cried for a week.
I gathered myself together. I had a passle of kids, a husband to take care of and I had no choice but to go on living. God how I missed her. I thought of her every day and wished I had had a chance to tell her I loved her.
Five years later something happened. The kids were off haying with their father. I decided to try to find enough berries for a pie and headed off for Cooper's Meadow. The day was hot even for July, but I enjoyed the picking. Soon I had a whole basketful and figured by the look of the sky it was well past two.
'Guess I'd better get back' I said out loud, and turned back to the path toward home.
It was then I heard it. Someone talking, but kind of muffled. It seemed to be coming from the trees behind the old stone wall on the south edge of the meadow. I followed the sounds and came to a small cabin in a stump strewn clearing. Just some hermit, I figured. Shrugging my shoulders, I was turning away, and stopped dead in my tracks.
I saw Rachel. I watched as a horribly scarred lame man hobbled out of the cabin and she helped him sit in an old rocking chair. She knelt before him facing away. He had an old silver hair brush and began to stroke her hair with it. Looked to me like it was some regular ritual they were used to.
The she opened her mouth and I tell you the music she sang sent chills down my spine. I stood shivering like it was December. Clear as a bell she sang one of the old songs Granny used to sing to her. It was so perfect. The man so obviously adored her. She turned to him, and I could see that she loved him too.
It must have been her guardian angel that stopped me from revealing myself to them. Something told me to walk away and let them be. The scarred lame man and my mute Rachel .had something rare and good. So good, I walked away, back through Cooper's Meadow toward home. I didn't returned.
I thought many times of that day. Ten more years passed and I was at peace that she was happy.
Then she came home.
'Charlotte! They found her! This morning! No one knows just what happened, but come see!'
In the church yard, in a beautifully carved burial box, lay Rachel. Dressed with care, all in white, flowers in her hair she lay there like some beautiful doll. Believe me or not, I tell you the truth. She hadn't aged one day from the day she went missing. It was unearthly. Someone had dug a grave beside Granny's for her. She had been brought home to us looking young... as if only a day had passed since she left. We were all confounded.
Days later, after the funeral, I went alone out to Cooper's Meadow. The path was clearly marked, but the cabin and the man were gone without a trace. On a stump I found a carved box with Rachel's name on it. Inside was the rest of the calico apron, two wedding rings and a note that read:
'Thank you, Charlotte, for letting me go. I love you.'
You're welcome Rachel. I love you, too."
Charlotte's tears settled into the wrinkles on her face. Not wishing to disturb her the man from LA crept quietly from the house, and did as he had promised. With his pen he sang Charlotte's song for sister Rachel.
Your Dream Weaver, White Rose
copyright 2001
do not reprint without permission
