Songs of Love & Death

It was simple, really. All I needed to do was gather my courage, unlock the gate, and drive in. Breakaway Farm was mine now, and nobody but my lawyer knew that I was moving here. There was nothing to stop me. Nothing but my own fear. The question was: Was I ready to face the past and conquer my demons? Or maybe, a little voice in the back of my mind whispered, the question I should be asking myself was really: Was I ready to face the future?

Could I accept what I’d done, learn to live with it, and get on with my life? Even harder: Could I accept what had been done to me? It’s one thing to live with your own sins, quite another to be forced to relive the sins of another every time you looked in a mirror.

I rubbed my throat where the scars lingered. Their crimson brilliance had long faded, but the thin, white lines were still visible, and when I touched them, they burned. I knew it was all in my mind; it had taken only a few weeks for the actual slashes to heal, but every time I thought about them, the images that flashed through my mind were as fiery and painful as they had been that night.

A loud mew from the backseat startled me out of my thoughts. I turned around. Circe wanted out of her carrier.

“You’ve been such a good girl.” I stroked her ears between the bars of the cage. She’d slept for most of the drive over from Seattle. “What a good girl!”

As I stared into her emerald eyes, the calico chirped, her squeaks intermingled with the rumble of a purr. She trusted me. Maybe it was time that I learned how to trust myself again.

Taking a deep breath, I looked at the gate. It was now or never. Either go forward and risk the unknown, or admit failure. I couldn’t very well return to the dead-end life I’d left behind in Seattle.

My stomach in knots, I fit the key into the lock. The gate creaked open, protesting years of disuse. As it swung wide, I latched it to the post to keep it from crashing shut, and then, with one last look at the highway behind me, climbed back into the SUV and slowly edged along the graveled road bordered by tall cedar and fir trees.

Huckleberries littered the ground, along with fallen trees covered with moss and toadstools. A flicker of movement caught my eye. A fox? A coyote? A neighbor’s dog? It had been a long time since I’d set foot in the country. Unnerved, I rounded the curve. The drive opened into a semicircle parking space in front of a footpath leading to a three-story house hidden behind a veil of tree limbs and bushes.

I turned off the ignition and squinted at the tangle of vegetation. It would be nice if my Muse would give me a sign—any sign—that I was doing the right thing. I waited. Nothing. Why couldn’t she reassure me that I was making the right decision? But no lightbulbs appeared over my head, no sibyl sang her song for me. This was my journey, and my journey alone.

As I climbed out of the car, exhausted by the turmoil of the past few months, all I wanted to do was to sleep. But I hadn’t slept through the night since… hasty backpedal. No, not ready to go there. Not yet. A glance at the eastern sky showed dawn giving way to day. Thin clouds blended into the pale blue that passed for morning.

I poked my head into the backseat. “Hold on for just a few more minutes longer, babe. I’ve got to check out the house first.” Circe stared at me, blinked slowly, sniffed the stirring of fresh air, then promptly curled up and fell asleep.

Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I set out for the house.

The path was crowded on both sides by a thick row of late-blooming herbs. They grew wild and tall, gone to seed, but still their fragrance lingered in the air, musty and old. Dizzy from the scent, I stumbled and almost blundered into a spiderweb that an orange and black striped argiope had spun across the path. It reared, crooking its jointed legs in the air, and I pulled back as it scuttled away into the lilacs. Spiders made me nervous, with their quick, darting movements.

Breathe deep, calm the soul. That’s what the doctor had ordered. I inhaled slowly, holding my breath for a count of four, then let it out in a slow stream. As the stirrings of panic subsided, I plunged through the arbor to the end of the drive and out.

And there it was… Breakaway Farm.

Framed by two spectacular cedars, the house looked part castle, part cottage. Toss in a southern front porch and five acres of thickly wooded land and… bingo… Breakaway Farm.

I sucked in a deep breath, staring up at the old house. She might be lonely and abandoned, but she still had life to her. That much, I could feel. The morning light reflected off an unusually clean pane of glass on the second story as a gust of wind elicited a ringing peal from a set of wind chimes.