Into the Woods: Tales from the Hollows and Beyond(126)
Author: Kim Harrison

The two women gazed at him with the infinite wonder of youth and the eternal hope of the old. "How much do you have in your pocket?" he asked his grandfather’s sister numbly.

With trembling fingers, Ms. Temson brought forth a faded coin purse and extended two coins. Feeling his chest tighten in what might be grief, Will accepted them. The thin weight of them rested in his hand a moment, and then he threw them into the woods. The sound of their fall never reached him. Instead, a delighted cry and a giggle came drifting upon the heavy air, hazy and golden with the unseen sun. "Your lawyer can draw the papers up on Monday," he said, knowing he had given Ms. Temson her life back, even as he felt something indistinct and indefinable slipping from him.

Sitting ramrod straight before him, Ms. Temson silently started to cry. He said nothing, knowing she’d be embarrassed. Diana begin to fuss over her, sneaking glances at him. "I beg your pardon," the old woman warbled. "The cold is seeping into me. I think it best we go."

Helping her up, Diana looked at him with a new light in her eyes, as if seeing him free of the shadow of her fear for the first time. He held himself back as they moved to leave. Standing apart, he took a shuddering breath. His hat felt rough in his fingers. With a last look, he hung it forlornly on a dead branch and turned to follow them out.

"Plenty of good timber in there, Billy."

"It’s William. William Temson." Will scuffed the dry, waist-high grass, looking for the rich loam he knew would be there, smiling as he found it. Sunlight pressed down like a physical sensation, maddening the cicadas into a shrill protest and driving the last of England’s chill from him. From beside him came Diana’s almost imperceptible sigh as she took in the gently rolling hills of his homeland. It had surprised him when she insisted on coming back with him, and even though it was only to help him pick out his land, he hoped she would stay.

The farmer sucked his teeth, and shrugged. "You want it then?"

Will wrote a figure and passed it to him. The money had come from Ms. Temson. "A loan," she had said as she had pressed the check into his hand and strode quickly away into the crush of airport traffic. The iron-hard look in her eye had forbidden any protest; her stiffly held back demanded they not make a scene.

The man stared at the paper for a quiet moment. "More ‘n what I’m askin’," he said, the scrap clutched in his thick hand.

"I want it all. The entire valley."

"We-e-e-ell, I was gonna give my Peggy the lake as a weddin’ present. Build her a house."

Will shifted impatiently. "That’s why the extra."

The man scratched his stubble. "I want to keep the huntin’ rights."

Beside him, Diana shook her head and pulled him down to whisper in his ear. Will wrote a new figure.

"You sure you got that much, son?"

Will nodded.

"It’s yours." The man’s eyes glazed, and he turned to the rusting pickup. The door creaked open, and he looked back. "You coming? It’s a long walk into town."

"No, go ahead." The wine bottles were heavy in his pack, and the seeds were light in his pocket, sifting through his fingers like dry rain. "I think we will just stomp about for a bit."

Diana’s hand slipped into his, and the man grinned knowingly. "Suit yourself. Watch out for the snakes, miss." He laughed uproariously, revved the engine, and was gone.

Together, he and Diana stood and listened. Slowly the humming silence of insects, wind, and grass reasserted itself. As one their heads lifted to the lake. "That way, I think," he whispered, and they began to walk.

Spider Silk

"Spider Silk" is another one of my ventures into exploring dryads where the tree is a prison not a sanctuary. I’m not sure I like this bloodthirsty, devilish, sentient version that might be real or might be a mental delusion passed from mother to daughter. Though the story is told from first the grandmother’s, and then the mother’s point of view, Meg is the character that I’m most interested in, the one that I’d follow if I ever took the next step, curious to see how she handles twenty when the curse falls upon her fully. But seeing the beginnings of a dysfunctional family has its own appeal, and I hope you enjoy it.

PROLOGUE

The half-heard singing of her granddaughter Meg was as cheerful as the sparkling creek, low enough to safely play in now that drought had taken more than half of it. Even the water spiders braved its reduced flow, and they danced around Meg’s calves as she turned over rocks in her search for crayfish. Sitting on the simple car bridge that spanned it, Emily dangled her feet over the water, weighing the trouble of taking off her shoes and tying up her skirts to join the nine-year-old. Days like this were rare. Something in the wind spilling from the surrounding wooded hills reminded her of her own youth-holding the promise of something new-something all her own she would never have to share.

"Little copper penny, stuck in a tree," Meg sang, head down and her feet finding purchase on the cool stones below. "Tree falls down, and you can’t catch me. Little copper penny, as lonely as can be. Nothing lives forever but my penny and me!"

Emily’s smile faded, her gaze rising to look past the farmhouse she shared with her daughter and granddaughters to the woods beyond. No. God, no. It had to be a mistake. Leaning forward, Emily clasped her arms around herself, cold. "Meg, where did you hear that?"

Oblivious to the warning in her voice, the little girl straightened, water drops sparkling on her arms. "Penny," she said, beaming a squinting smile up at her with one eye open, one shut. "I can hear him singing right through my toes. Gram, can I ple-e-e-ase go for a walk in the woods? It’s too hot in the pasture. I’ll stay on the path. I promise."

Fear caught her breath, memory folding time as if the last five decades hadn’t happened and she was fourteen, balanced on womanhood and fighting for her life. Penn. Penny. How long had Meg been singing that song? Days?

"Ple-e-e-ase?" Meg begged, her creek-cold hands making a spot of ice on her knees.

Emily’s breath came in with a gasp. Reaching down, she yanked Meg from the water, her back all but giving way as the little girl protested when they fell together onto the dry, sun-baked wood. Emily blinked fast as Meg regained her feet, complaining.

"Meg, go in the house."

Looking at the water, the little girl protested, and Emily reached up, pinching her arm. "Go in the house! I’ll get your shoes," she said again, and, looking sullen, the little girl went, rubbing the grit from her arms.

Heart pounding, Emily looked past the farmhouse. The sun still sparkled on the water, enticing her to come and bathe in its coolness. The wind in the woods promised sweet release if she would slip under its soothing umbrella-it was a lie.