Underneath The Willow Tree: Chapter 1
“Are you sure?” Father searched my expression. His grey thinning hair and the bold wrinkles around his eyes showed the evidence of time. Standing before this man, I saw him the way I’ve always seen my father; strong.
My hand trembled. I gripped the jeweled handle and centered myself. Exhaling slowly, I responded with a cool nod. With my sword unsheathed, my eyes met the pathetic pile of sin in front of me.
“Are you aware of your crimes and the punishment you will receive?” My father’s voice broke the heavy silence. His face had become stern and unforgiving. The surrounding scene demanded my attention. I could feel the hot dirt under my feet, the burning sun on my back, and the warm wind pushing the trees around us. The faceless members of the crowd revolted me as I looked upon their wide eyes starved for entertainment. They reminded me of vultures.
Beyond my father (who was listing the disgusting crimes of the man) and the crowd was a vast emptiness. The immense pressure of the nothingness strengthened with each one of my breaths. Logically, I knew where we were; this place had been my home years ago. Now it was a distant memory even though I was standing in the road with the same people I grew up with. The vultures I saw now were once my childhood friends, family, and teachers. Now, I couldn’t identify anyone by name, or by memory. I didn’t think I could if I wanted to.
The pathetic presence kneeling before me was unnecessarily bound by rope. He barely resembled the man who committed the crimes my father listed. Could I really do this? Myself, my beliefs, my entire existence challenged itself repeatedly in what felt like a fiery eternity but, timed by my Father’s words, was only a minute.
My father listed the last crime; the worst crime. I shivered despite the heat. This was the crime that had shaken me to my core; the crime that turned my world upside down and made it meaningless. As he recited the crime that changed who I was forever, my resolve hardened.
I peered down into the old man's sweaty face, searching - and then saw the truth lurking there behind his dark, cruel eyes. He smiled. I could think only of her as I raised my sword. . .
Chapter 1:
I met her at the age of thirteen. On a day like any other, Marge attempted to teach me to fix a tear in my pants. Everyone here had the same clothing, and all of us had little of it. Our village was neither rich nor poor; we were independent. We lived off the food the land had given us. Hunting, fishing, and gathering were done almost every day. The roles were not one person’s, but a collective responsibility. What you can do, you do. Father and the other villagers taught this to me effortlessly, while patching lessons from Marge ended with tears in my eyes or tears in the fabric.
“My word girl! How will you ever survive without me? Keep this us up and when I’m gone, you’ll have to sprint the rest of your life so no one will see you stark naked!” She ripped the pants away from me and undid the stitching I tried, then re-did them properly. Marge’s ebony fingers were nimble; mine had always been awkward. Despite her stern tone, I giggled at her words. She furrowed her brows at me, but I could see the corners of her mouth fight off a smile.
Marge was there the night my mother died. My father refused to leave her bedside until she coughed her last breath. Marge held me tight in her arms, away from the scene. Father told me that she cooed and rocked me for two days afterwards. Of course, I couldn’t remember when that happened. Instead, I remembered all the times Marge helped me brush my hair and bathed me. She had always saved me the best vegetables from her garden. She loved me as a daughter, and I loved her like family.
“Thank you,” I said as I put my now repaired pants on and kissed her cheek. As I started towards the opening of Marge’s shelter, I heard a few of her mumbled words, “. . . mother’s daughter.”
I tiptoed through the vegetables to the road. Across the road from Marge’s was our wooden home. My father and I were lucky to have a doorway, a floor, four walls and a tipped roof made of fine wood from the trees that surrounded our village. Marge’s home had a roof supported by three walls and opened to her garden. Her home was the only one without a floor. She preferred being grounded with the dirt. It was rare to see her without a small shovel in her hand.
There were only six of these mix-matched homes along the road which made our village. Each hut different depending on what resources were available. Three on our side of the dirt road, and three on the other. The road lead into the forest from either direction, stopping at the tree line. The neighbors told me of the days Marge and father laid the dirt, after fighting younger me for custody of it.
I wish I would have known to appreciate the seclusion that we had. I did not yet know of the terror that lay beyond the forest, hiding in wait for ignorance to spring its trap.
“Sylvia!” My father called, “Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Yes sir,” I said as father approached me.
Father placed his hand on my shoulder as I looked up at his furry, kind face. “I don’t know if I should take you out today.” He paused and glanced at my expression before continuing. “But I fear my heart should break if you continue to look at me that way.” He chuckled and patted me once again before walking down the road, queuing me to follow.
I tried to copy his strong, paced walk behind him as we entered the trees.
The sun on our backs, we began our mission. I followed father’s lead. The morning dew and the running sounds of the stream close by enveloped my senses. I peeked behind us and could no longer see our home.
“Take in your surroundings, Sylvia. Our steps, what we can smell, what we can see, and how the air feels on your skin.” I walked straight into father as he stopped. Instinctively, he steadied me. I recovered as he knelt to have his face level with mine.
“Do you hear that?” He whispered.
I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing; I tilted my head to one side. There was a rustling above us in the trees. My eyes popped open.
“Very good,” Father whispered. He pulled a knife from his satchel. “Now I want you to go up into that tree and bring me down the animal. Remember to be quiet, but quick." He handed me the knife handle first.
I put the knife between my teeth and climbed. I tested the branches as I went, if they creaked, I looked for another. Hand, foot, hand, foot, I thought to myself each time I reached a new and terrifying height. Finally, I saw the squirrel munching away on a branch two feet from my face. I wrapped the tree with my legs. In an unending moment, I reached and skewered it before it noticed. With the squirrel bleeding on my shoulder, I let myself breathe again.
I planted both feet on the ground. A proud smile formed on my face as I presented the prize to my father. He took the squirrel but refused the knife I attempted to give back.
“That is yours now, I made it just for you.”
“Thank you, father.” I stuttered.
“Now for the second and final thing I will teach you today,” My heart palpitated at his words. “Close your eyes.” He whispered again.
Without hesitation, I closed my eyes. I waited for an order.
And I waited.
Was this a test to see how long I could obey?
I counted my breaths. It had almost been an hour before I gave in. I opened my eyes to see that father was no longer there, and dark clouds ominously blanketed the top of the forest. The tree and my knife gave me no comfort as my shallow breaths then became rapid.
I was truly alone. There was no sense of freedom, only panic. I pried my shoulders away from my jawline. Father's words rang in my ears: our steps, what we smell. . . the air on our skin.
With the tree I climbed behind me; I walked forward with a false confidence. The village was just south of the stream; I only had to find it. I was familiar with the stream, its soft flowing current and the greenest grass surrounding it. The water from it supplied our village. It helped to ease my mind as I thought of Marge walking with me, hands intertwined with pales larger than myself. I chuckled at the thought of the curses she spewed after I had pushed her in. Maybe Marge had been right to fret about this. I had pleaded relentlessly for father to take me hunting in the forest, to venture further than I ever did gathering with Marge . . .
The cool droplets icing my skin interrupted my thoughts. My heart raced faster than the pellets fell around me. The rain seemed to target my eyes, filling their sight as fast as I could wipe them away. I tried to listen for the stream in the hopes to guide my steps. I mustered every ounce of power I had, I willed myself to remember what flowing water sounded like.
The root of a tree attacked my ankle, cruelly indifferent to my struggle. I heard the stream the second before I was immersed. The cool water slapped the skin on my body and face. Silty mud squished between my fingers as the water tried to keep me submersed. The stream was shallow enough where I fell that I could ease my way out of it.
Panic and the coldness shook me. I wrung out my clothes and hair under the shelter of a willow tree. The rain pattered around it slower than before. I ran my hands over my arms and legs as I waited for it to stop. The willow tree whooshed above my head, as if welcoming the scattered droplets as an old friend. My breathing slowed as I watched its enticing rhythm.
The stream splashed. My body stilled.
Every inch of me watched as a figure rose from the water. A girl. Her wet hair dark, unlike mine. It flowed past her shoulders and cascaded down her back as she whipped the moisture from it. Her features were pointed, not sharp. I wasn’t sure if her cheeks were flushed from the cool water or were naturally rosy. Her skin was pale, like the sun never touched it. I had so many questions, but no words to form them.
“It looked like so much fun when you did it, I thought I would too!” Her laugh was feminine and lovely, but shaky breath interrupted the sound.
“And who are you?” I asked.
She walked effortlessly through the stream I had fallen into. She stopped beside me while continuing to wipe away the moisture. I couldn’t move. After she looked at her surroundings, and leant against the willow tree, she rested her eyes on mine.
Her irises were the color of a light milky brown, complimenting and making the whites of her eyes look like the finest silk. The eyes that stared into mine were bright, like liquid gold had blessed them with dancing flecks.
“I’m Rebecca Honnete,” She looked down at her dress. It was light blue. Different from the clothing we had in the village. Special. “I seem to have lost my way,” Rebecca continued, “My mother. . . I-I'm looking for people.”
“There’s just my people. There are few of us in a village near here.” I stopped, “Where are your people?”
She shivered. Either from the cold rain or possibly from my question. “I lost them.” Her smile faded. I pledged internally to do anything to restore it.
“I’m sorry, I…” Was that my voice? It sounded foreign. Rebecca’s eyelids were lined red with irritation. She had been crying. Half-moon crescents indented her palms where her fingernails must have been. “Would you like to follow me?” I decided that she was out of place. Rebecca was far too clean for the woods.
“That’s better than leaving me here,” She smiled.
A high-pitched and unnatural laugh escaped me. Rebecca seemed amused as I reached my hand out from the willow tree’s shelter. The icy rain had stopped. The tree itself had stopped swooshing as the wind retired.
Rebecca shivered. Her dress held the moisture tight to her skin. I wrapped my light jacket around her shoulders. I blushed at her earnest thanks. “What’s your name?”
“Sylvia,” I spoke as she walked beside me through the trees.
The clouds seemed to lighten as Rebecca sang, “Syl fell into the stream!” She laughed again; this time uninterrupted. I smiled. She walked close enough to me our shoulders brushed. “Where are we going?”
“My home, the village.” Rebecca looked thoughtful at my words.
“What’s it like?” She giggled before continuing, “I suppose that’s hard to answer.”
“Hmm,” I looked at Rebecca’s special blue dress. I looked at her clean skin and hair before looking at my own fingernails. A small buildup of dirt from the day underneath them matched the dust on my clothes. “The village is like me.”
“Good.” Rebecca looked pleased. I tried to hide my confusion.
The sun made its presence known in the sky as we reached the clearing. I watched through Rebecca’s eyes as she stared at the homes and dirt road. Father was about to come greet me but stilled, just as I had, when he saw I wasn’t alone.
To an outsider, my father was intimidating. He had a short beard and his hair was dark. He stood tall and proud, exaggerated by his strong figure. What an outsider couldn’t know, was that father was cunning and wise. He had led us through drought and sickness with kindness and intelligence. Pride filled me every time I thought of him.
Marge met us with warm wool blankets and wrapped us without hesitation. “I told your father you weren’t ready for the forest yet! Soaking wet, trembling.” Marge shook her head while uttering a tut-tut. She dried out our hair as she looked Rebecca up and down, before deciding she wasn’t a threat. “And what brings you here, dear?”
Father stepped forward before Rebecca could answer, “How did you find us?” I had never heard this raised tone from him.
Unphased, she answered, “My name is Rebecca. I was traveling west with my mother when a stranger stopped our wagon.” She looked into her palms by her waist and furrowed her brows. “We were separated. I was completely lost in the forest. I was scared until I saw her fall into the stream.” Rebecca tilted her head towards me and smiled. “Then she brought me here.”
The fire from father turned towards me with his glare. Marge spoke before he could. “That’s enough, Rowan.” She looked at him sternly. “Take some time to make the fire before it gets dark. I’ll fix up these two.”
Father returned Marge’s stern look before sighing. I could see him shake his head as he walked to the firepit. I had never seen father so angry before. I wondered why, as Marge withdrew with the damp wool blankets from us.
“Thank you,” Rebecca smiled brilliantly, “for helping me.”
“It’s nothing.” I said a little harsher than I wanted. Heat burned in my cheeks as she continued smiling. Something was going on in my chest and stomach. It was a fluttering feeling, as if it was pride’s sister. I took Rebecca’s arm and led her to the fire father had finished making. We sat down on a half log that had been cut to make a long bench-like seat.
There were no barriers or fences to separate the properties. In the village we didn’t think of it as properties, as everyone contributed to all. It was simple; it was connected. The fire we sat by was in between our home and the neighbors. Beside us lived an older man and woman that the other villagers called doctors. Douglas and his wife were sincere people.
“Sylvia,” My father called me in a tone I didn’t recognize. He beckoned me, and I stood quickly to follow him into our home. I looked once more at Rebecca before leaving.
The door barely closed behind me as father turned and grabbed my shoulders. “What were you thinking? Bringing her here? She could be dangerous. She could lead others!”
I shrugged his hands off and took a step back. “She was lost. The stream froze us. She couldn't harm anyone! You taught me to care for everyone here like family. Why shouldn’t that extend to her?” I took a cool breath as I tried to stop my hands from shaking.
Father sighed. I tried to pick a piece of grass from my shirt as I listened raptly for him to speak again. He instructed me to sit before kneeling down in front of me.
“I’m only telling you this now, because I believe you’re ready. Everything here is a choice. A choice made by your mother and I, a choice made by Marge, our neighbors, and soon even you will have to make the same choice. Our choice is to live here away from others that did not accept us or worse. Some wanted to hurt us.” Father rubbed his eyes. His dry fingers left red marks on his cheekbones. They highlighted the wrinkles around his cool blue irises. A few gray hairs shone in his hair and beard. We had a hard time keeping track of the adult’s birthdays, but I’m sure he must have been nearly fifty years old.
Father continued, and I listened patiently. “Your mother and I came from a town, there are a lot more people in a town than there are here in the village. Over a hundred- “
“A hundred people?”
Humor escaped father’s eyes, “Yes. There were individuals’ homes just like here, only more of them and with less space between them. Despite less space, they were more separated than here.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
“The people weren’t connected like they are here. Most people didn’t know their neighbor’s names.” Father paused and studied my expression. “Your mother and I might have been the only neighbors to pay attention to each other. She was kind where I was, and she was kind where I was not. She was as beautiful as you.” This I had heard many times before. Father would describe my mother whenever I asked him to, and even when I didn’t.
Father placed his hand gently on the side of my face and I leaned into it. His smile offered me a little relief. He continued.
“We loved each other easily and from the very start. It was open and honest and simple and beautiful. But there was something I didn’t know about your mother until after we were married. Her father was a violent drunk.”
We had alcohol made from grain Marge and a few other neighbors grew. It was a treat the adults would partake in once every few months. I’d only seen Darcy, an older man who lived with his grandson, roaring drunk. He pulled my hair and called me pet names before falling onto the road and staying there for the night. I didn’t like the idea of alcohol after that.
“I came home one day, to your mother on the ground cupping her face. Her father had hit her, and I could smell the whiskey on his breath from across the room.”
“He would be my–my grandfather?” I felt sick.
“Yes.” He replied
Father took a deep breath, “When I saw your mother on the ground and hurt, I shoved her father hard. He fell backwards on our wooden floor, and he hit his head on our fireplace. That’s how he died.”
It was as if my mind fought with itself, “So, you killed him?”
Father nodded. He looked vulnerable. I had never seen him like this before. I placed my hand upon his knee. My head reeled as I’m sure my eyes pleaded for him to continue.
The fire sparked outside. It was getting dark. I listened for Rebecca’s voice while letting myself be comforted by the fact we were here.
“In many towns and cities, there’re more laws than we have here, and the punishments are more severe.”
Punishments? Father had only used that word once to me before. I heard him use it when I had forgotten to put out the fire before going to sleep. My punishment was to gather firewood for the entire day until we had enough to last us the season.
“Killing someone, even by accident or out of defense, is punishable by death.” Father said. “My only choice was to run. I helped your mother off the ground and wiped the soot from her dress as I tried to tell her goodbye.”
“Your mother glared at me. I will never forget how she stood, her face swollen and eyes with their fiery glow as she yelled at me, ‘I will not bring a baby into this world without her father. Where you go, I follow.’ And that was how I found out about you.” Father’s eyes glistened.
“We traveled through the forest leaving everything behind. After weeks, we found a road which led us to this clearing. There was a small home, with three walls and an opening to a garden. There we met a kind lady who helped us build our home and prepare for you.”
Marge. My respect for her grew as father told me how she helped my mother and even more so when she became sick. By the time I was born, two more families had joined the village, escaping their own demons.
I sighed loudly. The worst was over.
“So, you see, it’s been years since anyone has come. And if we are found out by people involved with the law, none of us would be safe.” Father paused, “This is why I am worried about Rebecca.”
I nearly forgot about all the events of the day. Father wasn’t angry before; he was scared. We embraced each other without hesitation. “I know that I need to care for her. Like I’m meant to. I’m… connected to her somehow.” Father raised his eyebrows as he nodded.
“All right, Sylvia. From now on, we will accept her, but must watch the woods vigilantly.” Father then sat at his own stool and began smoking tobacco. “Go enjoy the fire.”
Lighter, I returned to Rebecca at the fireside. I exchanged pleasantries with the other villagers and sat beside her on the half-log bench. Rebecca told tales of her home and other strange things. It seemed the whole village had gathered to ask questions and share stories in return.
Rebecca woke me when everyone had gone, and the fire dulled to a few lit embers that crackled. Despite the dark blanket that covered both of us, Rebecca’s face was illuminated. I couldn’t stop myself from staring.
“Are you all right? I'm not sure your neck is supposed to bend that way,” Rebecca giggled as I rubbed my now sore neck. My body cracked as I stood. She followed me into my home. Inside, two bedrolls were on the wooden floor. Father had set up the extra in my absence.
Father slept deeply in his bed across the room. Rebecca looked around with hushed excitement. The two bedrolls were near the door by the corner closest to the firepit outside. Rebecca took off the slips on her feet and revealed blisters that had formed. She placed each foot on the cold wooden floor, sighing in relief. I knew she had gone through much more than she had said.
Everything in the house was wood, except for the beds and material that hung from the small square windows on each wall. The house was never cold nor too hot. The thick wooden walls insulated us against the damp of the winter and shaded us from the sun in the summers.
Marge had lain clean nightgowns at the end of each bedroll. She had attempted to teach father and I to wash our clothes once and laughed at our deep concentration. She never gave us time to wash our clothes after that.
Rebecca and I stepped to the end of the bedrolls. Both of us turned away from each other shyly as we undressed and put on our nightgowns.
“You look so cute!” Rebecca whispered. I gawked at my bright white legs.
I covered myself before slipping into the bedroll. Rebecca did the same with much more grace.
“Goodnight, Rebecca,” I whispered.
“Goodnight, Syl,” I smiled and could see her doing the same.
When we awoke, our hands were touching. I blushed.
It had been a few weeks since the night father told me everything. Since then, helped by Rebecca’s arrival, the neighbors opened up to me. They told me the reasons they now live in the village. Darcy, who liked to drink more than he should, told me stories of how he was a knight. He served the King dutifully for years. When he lost his sword arm, they wanted to put him down like a horse with a broken leg. Miss Lane, despite being too old for the title she had joked, had been married. Her husband would beat her to near death. Divorce was against the law, so Miss Lane fled.
My picture of what life was like outside our home became clear. It perplexed me why Rebecca wanted to go back. Although she seemed content going out and gathering with me, I could tell her thoughts were somewhere else. Mostly, I was sure, she missed her mother. It took a long time for Rebecca to tell me about her.
After gathering for most of the morning, we sat beneath the fully blossomed willow tree. The weather had warmed over the weeks. The sun playfully scattered through the willow tree’s leaves and warmed my skin in small areas where it touched. We had picked berries all morning, and I placed some in Rebecca’s hand. The sun’s reflection danced on the stream as Rebecca watched in silence.
“Syl?” Rebecca spoke. “Do you think I’m a coward?”
I chuckled, “Definitely not. Not many cowards jump into a freezing stream.”
This didn’t cheer her. “I’m scared that your opinion of me will change if I tell you something.”
I shook my head. Nothing could change my opinion of her.
“The day I met you? I was running away.” Rebecca blurted. She studied the berries in her hand. They had stained her palms red.
“Why?”
The tears that had been brimming fell on Rebecca’s cheek. I placed my arm around her and she leaned into me suddenly.
“We were taking the same road we always took. Papa is a horse breeder, and often has to go to Dax to sell and buy. But this time Mama and I had stayed home. After a few days she worried and wouldn’t tell me why. Eventually, we went to see him. We took the wagon and Mama put some jewelry in the lockbox. She said it was for emergencies.” Rebecca sniffled, “We were halfway there when we came upon a man standing in the middle of the road. Mama stopped the wagon. This man wore a strange lavender coat, his coat tails nearly touched the road. His smile and how he bowed towards us seemed pure evil to me! Do you believe in evil, Sylvia?”
Rebecca leaned back to search my eyes with her own, which were swimming with tears. Her face was so close to mine. Anything that could commit the offense of bringing tears to her eyes must be evil. “Yes.”
Rebecca placed her head back onto my shoulder, relieved. My breath returned to me.
“He beckoned my mother to come down off the wagon. She did, guessing he was a salesman. They went to the back of our wagon, and I didn’t think much of it. Until she screamed for me to run.” Rebecca’s tears fell onto my shoulder. I held her tighter. “I ran,” her voice shook, “into the trees off the road. Then I hid. I hid behind the biggest tree in sight. When I finally settled and counted to a thousand breaths, I approached the wagon.”
I strained to hear her. Her voice had become hoarse and quiet.
“There was the wagon. No sign of the man. The horse was fine, and the wagon seemed untouched except for the lockbox, which was broken. It was as if someone else controlled my eyes as I looked towards the wheels and couldn’t look away. Mama’s finest day shoes were there on the ground, covered in dirt, and attached to the rest of her. I couldn’t move. I called out. I called her and called her again. Somewhere inside I knew why she wasn’t answering. I knew why she wasn’t moving.”
My heart was impossibly heavy. Rebecca stopped crying, and calmed herself.
“I saw her blood pool closer to her feet. Then I walked into the forest and didn’t come back.”
I rubbed her arm with my hand. She placed her hand on top of mine before looking at me.
“It had been three days when I saw you fall into the stream.” She tried to smile. “You saved me.”
There were no thoughts as I tucked Rebecca’s hair behind her ear and out of her face. “You’re no coward.”
I placed my hands back into my lap. Rebecca threw her arms around me and we stayed like that for a long time. That night Rebecca asked to move her bed roll closer to mine.
Spring bloomed into summer, and the forest canopy grew thick and green. Rebecca and I couldn’t be separated. The only times apart was when I went hunting with father. He trained me more with the knife and helped me make a bow. Father teased about leaving me in the forest to find more girls.
Every day after I came back from hunting, Rebecca and I would go gathering. We’d gather firewood, water, berries, and anything Marge asked for. I looked forward to gathering as much as hunting, but I had a feeling that had to do with the company. Every night we would go to our bedrolls and lie across from each other and talk about everything. My favorite part of the day was after we finished talking, both tired from the day but not asleep yet. We let the quiet surround us, it was as if it was just us there for all time.
Rebecca acclimated to the village easily. She had a talent to make everyone feel comfortable. She knew when to ask questions and when to not. It was as if she could feel exactly what others around her felt. As if she had always been a part of the village.
The possibility of Rebecca leaving loomed over me like a rain cloud. It threatened to spill a little more every day.
I couldn’t help but poke the threat one night, disrupting our quiet surroundings. Rebecca’s eyelids closed heavily with each blink.
“Rebecca?”
She smiled to show that she was listening.
“Are you. . . happy?”
Rebecca blinked a few times, waking herself up. “There’s a lot of badness,” She whispered, “But you make everything seem like it will be all right. I’m happy to be here with you.” Rebecca giggled as she poked my nose.
I was grateful for the darkness as I felt my face turn red. “But--” Why do I keep talking? “--Do you miss your old life?”
Rebecca thought to herself again. I cursed myself until she spoke, “You make it better. But yes, I do miss some things. I miss my mother and my papa.” She stopped my face from cringing by kissing my forehead. “Now go to sleep!”
I awoke in the middle of the night. I listened to Rebecca’s deep breathing. Father’s light snoring echoed throughout the home. I sat up to stretch and placed my hand unknowingly on Rebecca’s pillow. It was damp. She must have been crying.
I was as helpless as the night father told me everything. Gut wrenching guilt, and the weight of sadness covered me. I thought how I never felt so many things before meeting Rebecca.
She heard me sigh, and her breath became less deep. Rebecca faced away from me, her hair touching my outstretched hand. She stretched, picked up her pillow, and moved it onto my arm before laying on it again. Without the pillow her head would be on the inside of my upper arm. If she breathed deep enough, her back would touch my chest. I hoped she would. Instead, she placed the back of her legs on mine.
Can Rebecca hear my heart racing?
I realized that while Rebecca had been moving, I raised my other arm on the off chance it would disturb her. Now it was getting heavy. It swung precariously in small circles. How would she react if I put my arm around her? I chased the thought away. Another tormented me; would she find it odd? Would she think it funny? My mind raced as fast as my heart when I gave in.
I put my arm around Rebecca’s arm and stomach and she reacted instantly. She grabbed it and used it to turn around towards me. Both of my arms were now around her back and her face was snuggled into my collarbone. Rebecca then put her arm around my waist.
Sleep came far too easily.
The next day we woke up giggling. Father stood in the doorway, arms crossed, as he watched us fix our bedrolls.
“And why are you two so giddy this morning?” He asked.
This made us laugh harder.
Father and I skipped hunting and helped the villagers prepare their homes for winter. An autumn wind started the day prior. Our village never became too cold, but in the winter months, it rained a lot. If there was snow, it would sprinkle but didn’t stay on the ground for long. Marge had said that most of the prep was to ward off the damp.
Contentedness filled me as Rebecca and I headed into the forest to gather. We never ventured further than the stream. I would with father, as his sense of direction was better than mine. Rebecca had another hidden talent of having no directional sense at all. We walked the same path to the stream every day, gathering berries along the way, when she would turn. I had to stop her and lead us in the right direction.
“I’m going to have to follow you everywhere to keep you from getting lost.”
“Oh! What a burden I must be for you!” Rebecca laughed and threw berries at me. I couldn’t help but laugh as I threw them back.
We both watched the stream as we sat. It was mid-afternoon. The gentle willow tree protected our eyes from the sun’s glare. The stream reflected the brilliant greens and yellows of the surrounding trees. The night before played in my mind when Rebecca broke the silence and I blushed. To my surprise, Rebecca was blushing too.
“Syl?” Her voice sounded nervous.
“Yes?”
Rebecca’s hands were trembling. “I think. . . ” She paused, “I think I love you.”
“What do you mean?” My voice cracked. Blankness enveloped my mind.
Rebecca leaned towards me. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to. She kissed me on the mouth before leaning back to watch my face flush. A smile formed on her face. “Um,” was all I could say. I touched my lips with my fingertips. I could still feel the kiss.
Rebecca grabbed my hand and rested it on her face for a moment. She put it back on my leg, stood, and ran away with her berries in her hands.
I grabbed both of our baskets and ran in time with her. A smile had formed on my face so big it hurt. The trees seemed to flow past us instead of us running through them. The fresh air filled my lungs as I let the happiness flow over me. Every day it was impossible to be happier with Rebecca. Every day she proved me wrong.
Rebecca stopped. We were at the tree line. I hadn’t noticed until she dropped her berries. They rolled away from her. My heart dropped when I followed her gaze.
At the opening of the forest into our village, a horse-pulled wagon accompanied by another horse rested brazenly unaware of how out of place it was. I put both of our baskets on the ground. I led Rebecca by hand to the wagon.
We sidled around to see the scene unfolding on the road. My father stood proud as he talked to a man I had never seen. He wore a brown suit. He was big in the middle, and like the wagon, unaware to the extent of how unwelcome he was. All neighbors stood outside, on edge.
Is it him? I willed Rebecca to read my mind. When I looked towards her, I knew instantly that she recognized the man. Her eyes filled with tears. I grasped my knife and tried to prepare. I could never have prepared for this.
“Papa! Oh Papa!” Rebecca called.
She ran to him with open arms. The man picked her up and held her to him. Happy tears rolled down both of their faces. They were the only ones joyful.
I put my knife away and walked towards them. My heart was heavy, and I felt a stabbing sensation in my chest. I had to stop in front of the wagon and rest on it. I’ll never be able to move again. Realizing that this was inevitable gave me no relief.
“Thank you so much for my little girl! I have been searching for her non-stop for months. How can I ever repay you?” Rebecca hung on to him as he spoke.
My father kept his voice even, but there was no mistaking the gravity of his tone. “With your silence, we enjoy our private life here.”
“But of course! Of course! If it weren’t for her mother’s wagon, I never would have found this place. I fear I never would have found her! You must accept the reward I posted for her safe return.” He turned to Rebecca, “You gave me such a scare, sweetheart. I’ll never be able to leave you again.” He laughed and so did she through tears.
A kind of peace formed between my head and heart. Joy for Rebecca, and the pain that this day was our last. My stomach wanted to reject its lunch.
The reward was a purebred horse. It stood away from the wagon, tall and whiter than parchment. It had a saddle and reigns. It was the most Rebecca’s father could offer, and he felt no remorse parting with it, if he had his daughter back.
My father collected the horse graciously and patted Rebecca’s shoulder. “We were happy to have her here. She’s a lovely young girl.” Rebecca beamed at him. Father walked away with the horse in tow towards the forest. He was never one for prolonged conversations.
My heart refused to cease sinking since we first saw the wagon. I didn’t know how much further it could go, and I doubted it would stop any time soon.
“We should go, Rebecca,” Her father said before kissing her forehead.
“I must say goodbye to Syl, Papa.” He nodded in agreement.
Rebecca ran into me with such force we both fell over. The tears I had been holding back committed the treason of breaking free. Rebecca’s tears hadn’t stopped.
“I’m happy for you.” We wrapped our arms around each other on the grass.
“We will meet again,” Rebecca said defiantly. “We will.”
She kissed my cheek before accompanying her father on the wagon. They both waved one final time before disappearing into the trees. I watched her locks of hair sway until I could see them no longer.
That day was the happiest, and absolute worst day, of my young life.
-END OF CHAPTER 1-
Title: Underneath the Willow Tree
Genre: Teen Fiction
Sub-Genre(s): Romance, Adventure
Age Range: Teen - Adult
Word Count: 6827 words, word count of whole novel: >47,000 words.
Author Name: Jessa Dawn
"Why your project is a good fit?": Racism, sexism, gender inequality. Over it? So am I! At the beginning of this project I had had enough of searching for representation, and when I finally found what I was looking for, I found that nearly every piece of work was littered with outdated tropes. Unprecedented and unnecessary coming of age plot points that have been done over and over again that focus solely on the labels instead of the people encumbered by them. The best way to describe these pieces of work (especially concerning those involving LGBTQ+ plots) are TIRED. What else could I do but lead by example?
The Hook: Society has been struggling with the same issues for as long as there has been a society. As people, do we give up on it or continue the same fight we've always fought?
Synopsis: Sylvia grew up knowing only of her village and the people she grew up with. A mysterious arrival of Rebecca into Sylvia's life enchants her. Young romance blossoms before the two girls are separated. Years pass and the village needs saving. Only Sylvia can save everyone dear to her by setting out into the cruel world to find the help needed. She experiences the true natures of society and the scum that seem to make the rules. Along the way, Sylvia and Rebecca find themselves and their resolves by fighting the villainous society as well as the roles that had been forced upon them. Above everything, Sylvia and Rebecca fight to be together, but will it be enough?
Target Audience: Teens, LGBTQ+, any and everyone who has faced discrimination and wonders what a world without it could look like.
My Personal Bio/Platform: Growing up in a small town, I learned to appreciate antiques, elders, and people from all walks of life. Working towards a Bachelor of Education, I strive to help people express themselves and reconnect with empathy and compassion (which can be scarce to find in this day and age). I'm a fierce warrior for equality and representation.
Education: Working towards a Bachelor of Education (Enlish Language Arts).
Experience: No published works.
Personality: Calm and introspective.
Writing Style: Chicago Manual of Style.
Likes/Hobbies: Cats, animals, streaming, reading, gaming, archery, and of course writing!
Hometown: Small town. Population <4000 people.
Age: 22.