The Fallen Silk

nostalgia

A new beginning, a chapter in her life that she had never thought she would reach – Effie Wickes was free from one thing, just to be captured and caged by another.

She changed the CD and turned the volume up, humming along with the notes of Tchaikovsky. Her GPS beeped, reminding her to pull into the turning lane in five hundred feet. The drive up the coast had been magical – the towering trees and the crashing waves, the foggy mornings and misty sunsets; her trip had taken two days longer than originally anticipated due to her frequent stops and photography opportunities. However, she was glad she had taken the time to document her journey, for it would be her first writing topic once she got settled into her new home. She lifted her hand-held tape recorder from her purse and placed it on the dashboard, pushing the record button.

'I crossed the state line maybe thirty miles ago; and now, only fifty more miles until I reach my destination. Less than an hour and I'll have a cup of tea and a good book in front of a fire. I'm proud of myself for doing this, for being brave enough to make the journey without her.' She flipped on the turn signal and followed the exit. 'I remember the first time she brought me to Norswood – I was five years old. My father had just passed away and she wanted to escape into the woods to mourn his death and recollect her thoughts. Even at five, I knew she was struggling to keep herself balanced. I didn't learn what was wrong for years, but I knew something was wrong with her at that young age.' The road she turned onto was single lane and lined on either side with Beech trees whose leaves had already turned a golden-bronze colour with hints of green splattered like paint in between, here and there. She pressed the record button again and leaned forward over the steering wheel, gazing at the height of the trees.

'Just like she had all those years ago, and every year after, I told everyone I needed some time to clear my head. I told everyone that it was time for me to lose my mind in the forest in order to find my soul. The city sucks it all out, it destroys you slowly. I think that is what took my mother – the city. Perhaps not in a literal sense, but I truly believe that if she had moved back to the cottage when she had wanted to, she would still be alive.' She took a deep breath of the air flowing through her open window. 'I needed to get away from it, from the condo, and that is exactly what I've done. It is true that the spirit needs to escape to a place in nature where human hands have not changed the landscape – in my case, I am escaping to a mostly unchanged area. I'll take what I can get. I miss her. I'm not sure what I am going to do without her, but hopefully the forest will help me figure it all out.'

***

She pulled into what could be considered the driveway – it was really just a leaf covered turnaround, barely wide enough for her car. The house sat perhaps one hundred feet away from the turnaround, with bushes littering the forest floor and the trunks of trees standing watch over the structure. Through the branches, she could see the double doors, and on either side rested a window, and one above the porch roof. The house was made from a dark brown wood and trimmed in white – the front porch was lit by a single bulb over the door.

She carried her suitcase and her typewriter case to the door and noticed a piece of yellowed paper taped to the glass.

Miss Effie Wickes,

Welcome back to Norswood, though the circumstances are less than favourable. We are happy to have you here, and grieved at your mother's passing – she was a bright soul in a dim world, and we will all miss her dearly. We invite you to join us in our Autumn Celebration this weekend. We had the caretaker clean up the house to make sure you get the most out of your time here. We hope to see you at the festival, as well as in town. Again, welcome back to Norswood and we hope you enjoy your stay!

Mayor Nels Anderson and Mrs Carolyn Anderson

As she folded the paper and stuffed it in her coat pocket, she remembered speaking with Mrs Anderson about the forest cottage – the woman had been pleasant on the phone, and the letter was further evidence of how welcoming and kind the town was. She remembered all of the great things her mother had boasted about the quiet town: low crime, good education system, local produce and meat sold at the shops, and quite the budding art community. As a child, it had been a town filled with remarkable adventures and experiences; as an adult, it seemed to be heaven on earth to Effie, who never had adjusted to life in the city.

She unlocked the door and stepped into the house to find that everything had been dusted, polished, and cleaned. Sparkling china rested in the hutch next to the archway leading to the kitchen and dining nook. A small desk sat in the living room, in front of one of the windows. Effie placed her typewriter on the desk and went to the stairs – even the banister had been wiped down and polished.

The bedroom was simple but lovely – a full sized, four poster, wrought iron bed was centred against the opposite wall, under the window that looked out over the turnaround. There was a black wrought iron vanity to the left with a large mirror and cushioned stool, and a large dark oak dresser to the right of the bed. She unzipped her suitcase on the bed; shirts in the middle drawer, bottoms in the bottom drawer, undergarments and socks in the top drawer. She had two more suitcases in the car, but decided to bring them in after a cup of tea.

Downstairs, Effie found a tea kettle and a lovely assortment of teas in the cupboard to the left of the wood-burning stove. She filled the kettle with water and opened the door – the caretaker must have loaded the stove in anticipation for her arrival, which was thoughtful. She opened the damper and pulled out a grill lighter from the drawer next to the stove; now, she needed only light the crumpled pieces of newspaper and watch the fire catch.

As the fire took hold and sent a pleasing aroma through the kitchen, Effie sat back on her heels watching the flames. The sting of the life she had lived only a few days before was still raw in her heart, though she had fought the tears for the entire trip. She knew she had made the correct choice in moving to Norswood; her mother had left the cottage to Effie in her will, and there was work to be done in sorting her affairs and going through the boxes at the cottage – and of course, the added advantage that her ex-husband had no idea where the small town was, nor that she had left in the first place.

She had to keep reminding herself that it was the right choice, that she needed to leave the city and reconnect with whatever it had always been that balanced her in Norswood. She had felt off-kilter ever since the divorce had gone through, and with the constant calls from Henry and her mother's illness, Effie had longed to run away to the forest and hide amongst the towering trees. There was no point in dwelling on the past as the present began to feel so real, so she pushed the thoughts from her mind and placed a floral smelling tea bag in the cup. She covered the bag with boiling water and looked around the kitchen for biscuits or crackers – she was able to find a fresh box of blackberry jam biscuits near the ice chest.

The wood stove had heated the living room to a cosy temperature, and she was comfortable leaving the coals going in the firebox, just in case she wanted another cup of tea. Once she found a comfortable position on the couch, she lifted a book from her bag and opened it to where she had left off. It had been her mother's book, and Effie had picked it up the day her mother had died, trying to find a piece of her to hang onto.

Theola Wickes had been a lover of the classics – her favourite author had always been Jane Austen, though she would read anything written before the 20th century with a hungry mind. She had passed that same love and passion to her daughter, who felt that she should have been born closer to the Victorian era than the modern. Effie could almost hear her mother reading to her, sitting on the same couch years before, tea in their cups and biscuits on a tray, the soft sounds of rain against the glass soothing them both into an afternoon nap.

She found herself daydreaming, instead of reading the book, which was an indicator that she needed to get busy and keep her mind from wandering too much. Putting the book and cup on the side table, Effie stood from the couch and took inventory of what she had already brought in from the car. The final two suitcases held mostly clothes and a few books with some toiletries littered throughout. After finding a place for everything (and putting everything in its place), Effie slipped her arms into her jacket and zipped it up; she placed a scarf around her neck and tied her boots. A short walk in the cool evening air would help her find her balance and calm her mind again.