Letters Home, Section 2, December 31, 1999

December 31, 1999

Lisa stood at the kitchen sink, washing her hands when Monica came in. “How is she,” Lisa asked, her face showing the fatigue from a day of cleaning, of preparing for the inevitable.

Monica inhaled deeply, having had enough experience in caring for the elderly to know that the end was near. “She’s asleep, finally. She’s been restless and mumbling, but I can’t understand most of it. She’s a determined lady, but I don’t think she’ll be here much longer.” Monica’s words were gentle, her eyes reddened, tired from sitting with Christina in a dimly lit room so that the light would not disturb Christina’s sleep.

Lisa quietly looked out the window, staring into the dark winter night and supporting the weight of her body on the edge of the sink. “Tomorrow is her birthday. Can you imagine being a hundred years old, living for that long?”

“No,” Monica replied as she leaned against the counter and ran a hand through her hair. “She was very weak this morning, but she insisted on sitting up at the desk and writing. And, when she had finished writing, she let me put her to bed. She just laid there for a while, quietly, like she was thinking. But, when she finally began to drift off into sleep, she seemed aggravated. I gave her the pain medication the doctor prescribed and that seemed to help a bit, but she’s still mumbling as if she’s talking to someone.”

“I visited with her a few times this afternoon and, each time,” Lisa said, continuing to stare out the window as if reflecting, “she wanted the bedroom window open.”

“Hum, that was one of the words I was able to understand when she was mumbling, window.” Monica took a cookie from the platter beneath the glass globe sitting upon the prep table. “I’ll be checking on her periodically throughout the night. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

“Won’t have to worry about the window anyway,” Lisa muttered. “Remember,” she motioned to Monica, turning partly towards her, “Christina kept opening the window in the autumn and early winter, so we had it nailed shut. It would take one of the field hands hours to get those windows open.”

“Oh, and it was such a shame,” Monica mentioned as she took a bite of her cookie. “When I would sit with her by an open window, Christina would speak about the Oak and its history, about the Earth. She loves it so. She was an environmentalist before there was such a thing.”

Lisa shook her head, turning to face Monica. “Christina Allgood had a wealth of knowledge to share and an army of demons to fight. And, in the last few years, I think she was actually beginning to win the war. It’s too bad it took her so long.”


Christina’s body lay there in bed, her eyes shut but her ears hearing the wind knocking at the window like a visitor wanting inside.

“Do you hear me, Christina,” a silent voice asked through the window. “Open the window and come with me.”


A light flashed and Christina awoke. “I don’t even know how I got here,” Christina said, her voice echoing in the stillness of the air. Christina’s eyes roamed the landscape. No signs of life existed here, the wind silent of birds and the land free of animals. As she slowly turned to survey the area, the sound of her feet dragging against the pavement seemed to echo the silence. The world seemed to have deserted this place, taking with it all signs of direction when it left. Christina just stood there in the middle of the road and studied the area in the setting sun. The cold stones covering the earth seemed to her harsh but lifeless, separated only by sand and dry soil that had cracked from the sun, and the old road, which seemed to reach out into an eternity of emptiness, was dotted with small pebbles that had worked loose from the many potholes. The only structure was a stone mound that sat near the road as if ruling the landscape, a mound small enough that Christina could see barren land on either side but tall enough that it seemed to lurk over her like a nightmare.

Christina walked, each breath and each footstep echoing, studying the sky with no ceiling, the road with no end, listening to the unmistakable silence. She said not a word as she walked, slowly taking each step as she studied the sand, the pebbles along the road, and the stone mound that seemed to follow her with invisible eyes. Yet, the further she walked, she discovered that she remained in the same place, there in the nothingness, there by the stone mound, as if the road were some sort of treadmill that kept her walking but took her nowhere.

“Hello,” Christina whispered, wondering if anyone would respond. “Hello,” she swallowed hard as she said the word a bit louder, her voice still quiet yet echoing as if she were speaking into an empty well. Christina inhaled deeply, trying to gather her strength, and then exhaled slowly, a sound that bounced between the stone mound and the ground as if they were mimicking her. “Is anyone there,” she cried out.

A blood-curdling scream rang into Christina’s ears, her own voice it was and yet she was making not a sound. Christina bent over in shock and feeling pain within her soul, uselessly covering her ears with her hands. And, the scream continued on as if it would not end, blending with a roaring, increasing in volume, like a tape rewinding at top speed, then beginning to play too quickly, distorting words, until slowing down so that the words could be understood. And, as the scream silenced, a moment followed of voices not her own, critical voices overlapping each other, talking quickly, squeezing her heart with fierce claws of cruelty. And, then it was over, and, once again, there was silence all about.

Overwhelmed, she sat in the middle of the road, in the darkening silence, wondering, overwhelmed, disheartened. Christina, unable to forget the scream, the voices, began to remember.

And, Christina remembered… A young Katrina, holding the locked box, knelt by Christina as Christina began to dig with a small spade. “A time capsule. Just like we learned in our lessons,” Katrina explained to Whiskers, her voice muffled a bit.

“And on the eastern side of the house so that the sun will always rise on our capsule,” Christina added, getting dirt on her dress as she dug.

Katrina placed the box in the ground, Whiskers sniffing about it, and Christina began to cover the box with the loose soil. “This way,” Katrina said as she helped to move dirt over the box with her hands, “we’ll always be together, sisters, forever.” Katrina turned to Whiskers, “Nothing will ever break us apart. That’s why we put our picture in there, Whiskers.”

And, when the box was completely covered, the sisters stood, and Katrina leaned her head on Christina’s shoulder. “You’re my best friend. I don’t know what I’d do without my sister.” And, the two girls set out to walk through the fields of wildflowers.

And, Christina remembered… “Oh, Christina, wasn’t it a beautiful ceremony,” Katrina, still in her gown of white, said as she spoke with Christina in the kitchen.
“You were certainly the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen,” Christina assured her.
Katrina’s expression grew more serious. “Robert and I will be leaving for the coast immediately.” Her eyes began to tear. “It will seem so strange not having my sister with me always.”

Christina tried to hide her watering eyes. “You’ll make a good wife. And, we’ll write and visit and there will be holidays and special occasions and we’ll still be sisters.”

“Like the time capsule,” Katrina reminded Christina, “we’ll always be together, if only in spirit. We’ll always be together, we’ll always be together…” The words rang through Christina’s mind, a broken recording of days gone by.

And, Christina remembered… “I’ve heard from family members who work for her that she’s very ill, Christina,” Lisa said, pouring Christina’s coffee into a porcelain cup as she ate breakfast in the dining room, sitting in the chair so that she could see the window and the china cabinet, hoping for a glimpse of the past.

“Who?”

“Katrina,” Lisa said, astonished at the question. “I’ve been telling you for days now that I’ve been hearing that Katrina is ill.”

Christina did feel within her heart an uncommon twinge, an emotional concern for her sister. “What’s wrong with her, do they say?”

“They think her heart is failing. They say it’s serious, Christina, very serious.”

Christina swallowed hard, looking out the window into the sunshine as Lisa grunted and returned to the kitchen.

As days passed, Christina became more agitated, the pain in her heart growing. With tears in her eyes, she made her way to the phone, dialing the number but then hanging up before a ring could be heard, frightened that her sister would not wish to speak to her after all these years. Again, she tried, but the strength would not come until finally, on the third dialing, she was able to summon the courage. “I’d like to speak with Katrina, please.”

An anonymous, mechanical voice responded, “I’m sorry, ma’am. Katrina is deceased.” The voice noticed the pause. “Ma’am, are you still there? Hello, can I help you.”

And, Christina hung up the phone, her prideful tears flooding her face. After making her way upstairs to the old oak desk in her father’s office, Christina took out paper and pen, staining the letter with tears. “Dearest Katrina, my Sister, I’ve been such a complete and utter fool. I let my anger keep us apart for most of our lives, and now I’ve waited too long to try to make amends. Katrina, can your spirit hear me, my Sister….” And, when the letter was completed, Christina put it in an envelope and placed it on the corner of the desk in the light of the sun.

Christina sat during the graveside service, looking into the closed casket of a sister she had not seen in decades as the preacher spoke of the kind and generous spirit that the world had lost. Many attended the service, all seeming to know Katrina and speaking only well of her. Yet, Christina spoke to no one, her shame too great, and no one spoke to Christina though she heard several whisper about the irony of the family resemblance hidden behind a black veil since Katrina had had no sister.

Christina continued to sit in the middle of the road, the pavement beneath her beginning to cool. She watched the sun set without the splendor of color, a blazing ball of fire simply fading to black. Hot tears slowly ran down her face as her head, feeling heavy and unanimated, lowered to stare at the pavement, noticing the disruptions in the evenness, the specks of dust that had landed carelessly here and there.

And, Christina remembered… “Father, Father,” Katrina hollered as she ran into his office. “Look at what I did,” showing a finger-painted version of the Oak.

“Well, it’s beautiful,” Father exclaimed, his arms enfolding the little girl as she climbed into his lap.

“Look at mine,” Christina asked as she watched the scene from nearby.

“Why it, too, is lovely,” Father exclaimed as he put his arm around Christina’s shoulder.

And, Christina remembered… “Where did you get that dirt on your dress,” Mother asked.
“We were digging a hole for a time capsule, Mother, like in our lessons,” Christina responded.

“You’re a mess,” Mother said as she turned Christina around and sent her upstairs with instructions to clean up. “I do declare, why can’t you be more like your sister?”

And, Christina remembered… Mother and Betsy sat on the porch in the setting summer sun, the rocking chairs creaking as they rocked. “Kids can be a handful,” Betsy laughed, as she took another drink of her lemonade. “Christina will grow out of it.”
Christina watched, unobserved, from inside the kitchen.

“Sometimes,” Mother said, “I wish there was only one of them. Life would be so much easier.”

There in the middle of the road, Christina rocked back and forth on the pavement listening to the silence of the darkness, her head throbbing and her body beginning to chill. Earlier, hot tears had felt as though they had melted through her skin but now she felt that there was not even a tear left inside of her, empty. Christina leaned to her left until, without intention, she was laying on her side, her arms haphazardly placed in front of her and her head leaning downward into part of a pothole, seemingly unaware that a stone was piercing her side. And, the memories continued, yet unseen frames connected to her life being shown to Christina.

And Christina remembered… He had had business dealings with Father, and now he dealt with Christina, the light of her heart dimmed by Betsy’s recent death. And, now, the businessman wanted to speak to Christina in his office.

“I should be used to this by now,” Christina thought as she prepared for what usually followed, the calm she always promised herself to feel gone as quickly as a drop of rain over the Atlantic blends into the ocean. Sitting down across the table, Christina felt her body begin to shake, her chest begin to hurt, and sensed the tears beginning to rise from somewhere in her stomach. She swallowed hard and, having been through this so many times before, began to shut down so as to drown part of the terror to follow.

And the man exhaled loudly. “What…,” his voice began to rise to a fever pitch until he was standing and banging his fist on the table. “I don’t….,” he continued, though Christina’s mind tried to block the words.

Christina’s tears began to flow as she sat by the table, unstoppable like a flood that had busted a dam, and her chest was heaving as she tried to choke down the fear. Staring at her knees to prevent angering the man further, knowing what angry men could do, and trying to focus to keep from shaking, Christina felt sick to her stomach as usual. It was always behind closed doors, and Christina knew no one would ever believe her if she tried to explain what happened in that office. Christina thought about how close she was to the door yet how far away.

“You’re the problem…,” he continued to yell, “….do you understand…” Finally, the words that always ended were said, “Now, I’ve said all I want to say. You can go.”

And, Christina remembered… There, in the banker’s office, Christina made no time for idle chatter, simply beginning with the reason for her visit.

“You’ve made a mistake with my account,” Christina stated, her teeth clinched, her voice stern, her eyes focused on the banker’s nameplate, trying to not tear at his first name being Thomas.

“Well, we’ll certainly be glad to review it and correct any error, Ms. Allgood.” The banker, a youthful man with bright eyes, smiled sincerely as he began to open the books. “Where is it that we’ve erred?”

Christina pointed out the incorrect arithmetic in the credit column, and the banker made the correction immediately. “That should do it. We do apologize for the error, but mistakes do happen. I’m glad you caught it and brought it to our attention. Mistakes are more easily corrected when they’re caught quickly.”

“There is no room for error, Sir,” Christina angrily stated, staring at the man coldly as she stood and left the room. “See that it doesn’t happen again.”

And, the man’s eyes began to dim.

“Ben,” Thomas said after Christina had left, “get in here.” Thomas’ voice became angry, slamming the door after Ben, a young clerk, entered. “A mistake was made on the Allgood account. I want you go over every detail with a fine tooth comb and make certain there are no more errors.”

And, Ben left Thomas’ office with shaky knees, wondering what he had done wrong, doubting his ability, doubting himself, and thinking of how to prevent Thomas from being angered again.

And, Christina remembered… Katrina lay in a hospital bed, get well cards adorning the walls and balloons hanging in the corner of the room. Surrounded by family, with friends waiting outside, Katrina suffered through periods of restlessness and mumbling between periods of restful sleep and peacefulness. In her waking moments, she would speak of someone known only to her memory, forgotten to the rest of the family.

“Christina,” Katrina would mumble, her aged voice soft and trembling, a tearful cry to the name heard mentioned between beeps of the mechanical equipment attached to the heart. “Is she here?”

Katrina’s heart was causing her great pain, often medicated by the hospital in hopes of relieving her distress, but they could not heal the true pain. “Christina,” Katrina would call out. “Has anyone heard from her? Is she okay? Where is she? Where is my sister?” And, again, at the urging of the family, the hospital would increase or decease medication to prevent Katrina from having such illusions since they knew of no sister.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her so,” Katrina would say now and again, tears streaming down her face as she would say the words. “She’s my sister. We were supposed to be together forever, but I wasn’t a very good sister. Find my sister, for me?” Several times, the hospital tied down Katrina to prevent her from trying to get out of bed, from trying to find Christina.

“Has Christina called,” Katrina would ask upon waking.

“Is Christina here yet,” Katrina would ask at other times.

“It’s probably the medication effecting her brain,” the doctor told the family. “Perhaps she once had a friend or someone named Christina, someone that may be she thought of as a sister?”

Little Robert, now an elderly man, spoke up, the only one yet able to recall a memory of the name. “There once was someone with that name, but I cannot recall the relation and they have been long since been dead.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault,” Christina repeatedly said within her mind.

Enveloped in darkness as she lay on the pavement, Christina closed her vacant eyes and carelessly drifted into sleep, memories returning as dreams haunted her mind.

Christina awoke with the taste of sand in her mouth and the burning heat of the sun on her face. Unlike the glorious sunshine she was used to, the sun in this desolated place seemed angry, hostile, unforgiving. Slowly, she lifted her body into a sitting position and her eyes, still feeling swollen from the tears, looked down the endless road. But, although the silence was still about and the stone mound still hovering over her, the road was now different, a fork having presented two paths from which to choose, but both roads seemed to stretch out into eternity, reaching out forever.


“Christina,” Monica gently said as she placed a cool compress upon Christina’s forehead to soothe a fever. “Can you hear me?” Monica looked at the clock upon the mantle, the time being nearly nine-thirty on the last night of the year.


Christina had grown silent, her mumbling ending when the fever began. The room was quiet, the clock heard ticking and the snow heard falling outside the window. Monica looked through the window into the night, and then her glance was drawn down to the pile of letters sitting upon the desk.
Monica gave Christina the required injection of medication and placed Christina’s arms under the covers to make certain she remained warm. “Would you like me to read to you, Christina? May be it will help you rest.” And, Monica took the letters from the desk and began to read aloud to Christina. But, shortly, the mumbling began again.


Somehow, Christina found the strength to stand, slowly walking to where the roads meet. Looking down the stretch of both roads, she could see no difference between the two. “How do I choose,” she asked only in her mind.

“It’s a question of hope,” a kind and gentle female voice said on the wind, though no body was around.

“Hello,” Christina asked. “Is someone there?” Christina looked about, listening, but the voice did not come from any direction, seeming, instead, to be all about her.

“Someone is always here, Christina,” the voice answered, but still no body was seen.
“Where are you?”

“I am everywhere. I am all around you.”

“But, where are you? I don’t see you.”

“You won’t see me. I have no human form.”

“What’s your name?”

“I have no name. I am simply a presence, a voice in the darkness.”

Christina looked around the landscape, confused. “Are you real or am I hearing things?”

“I am real, as real as you want me to be.”

“Where am I?”

“This is the Valley of Death.”

“Why isn’t there anyone here with me.”

“There are many souls here, Christina. But, like you, they see no one else about them.”

“You know my name?”

“I know everything about you,” the female voice said, “up until this very moment.”

“Since it was nighttime, am I still alive, did I survive the night, did I turn a century old?”

“Your body is still alive in the world you have known, though night there has not yet passed.”

“But, I saw the sun go down here,” Christina questioned, looking about the area, continuing to think that a form of some type would appear.

“There is no time here, no yesterdays or tomorrows, no night or day. There is no age here, as you know it, no health or sickness. Everyone here is equal. Light or darkness is determined by what’s in your heart, your soul.”

“So, everyone must pass through here?”

“Yes, everyone.”

“Why can’t I see the other people? Why can’t they see me?”

“Because souls influence one another and there is a question that you and you alone must answer. It is a question that you must answer for yourself, a question that no one can answer for you. And, it is a question that you must answer, indecision is not an answer.”

“What’s the decision,” Christina grew nervous.

The voice remained calm. “Whether you will choose the road of hope or the road of despair. Yet, your time is limited, Christina, and God will determine indecision as a choice to follow the path of despair, of darkness.”

“How do I know which road is which,” Christina asked as a cloud of dust began to stir, filling her eyes with sand as she raised her arms to protect her face. And, when the dust settled, Christina sat there, where the roads meet, wanting to go home.


“Christina,” Monica said as she quietly read aloud the letters Christina had written to Katrina, “you must have written nearly every day, or at least once a week, for years. Why didn’t you ever mail them,” Monica asked, knowing there would be no response since, again, Christina’s mumbling had ceased, leaving her able to rest more comfortably. “You had so much to share, Christina, so much you had experienced, so much you had learned. In just the little bit I’ve read, you’ve inspired me. I think I’ll write to my own sister tomorrow. It’s been a while since I’ve talked to her. And, as long as there is still time, there is opportunity for change, hope, right?”

And, Christina rested, lying there in her bed, until the mumbling began again.


Christina sat where the two paths meet, looking upward to the burning sun and looking over at the stone mound that still seemed to be watching her every move. The silence was deafening again, no voices about, and the sound of her own breathing sometimes seemed louder than a train, an undeniable volume that seemed to be like a clock, counting down to the end time. In front of her, in the sand between the two paths, Christina drew a smiling face, a finger drawing as a child might do, with jagged lines but good intentions.

And, Christina remembered… “Christina, look,” a young Katrina exclaimed as her fingers parted the grass. The day was sunny and bright, but a spring breeze blew through the fields. “A four-leaf clover! I found a four-leaf clover.”

Christina went to Katrina to study the plant, counting the leaves to be certain it was a lucky clover. “You really did. I thought Mother and Father were only making up such stories.”

“What do we do with it?”

“We have to leave it there, Katrina,” Christina replied. “Surely, pulling it up like a weed would be bad luck. May be if we leave it there, it will bring good luck to the Oak, to all of us.”

“You’re probably right.”

“But, we need to mark it somehow so that we know where it is and can find it again.” Christina picked up Whiskers who was trying to paw at the clover. “I know. We can put a stick in the ground nearby so we’ll know.” And, with that thought, Christina found a short stick that had fallen from a nearby oak tree and, with some effort, planted the stick vertically near the lucky leaf.

For the rest of the season, the young girls would go to the location of the stick almost daily and find the four-leaf clover, studying it and discussing it’s good fortune, but never removing it from the Earth.

And, Christina remembered… Flashes of Mother’s face and Father’s laughter and Katrina’s eyes ran through Christina’s mind, sweet memories of olden times recollected as if they occurred just yesterday.

And, Christina remembered… “You’re doing fine,” a teenage Christina hollered from the side of the creek as Katrina delicately balanced on a tree that was crossing over the water, trying to make her way to Christina. “Stay focused on the side of the creek. Don’t look down. If you look at the log, then stay focused on the log. You can do this, Katrina, you can,” Christina encouraged.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Katrina hesitated on the middle of the log, swinging her arms outward to try to balance herself.

“Remember, Kat,” Christina spoke calmly, trying to reassure Katrina, “it’s just a creek. If you fall in, you’ll get a little wet, but you’ll only be in a few inches of water and the log is only a few feet above the water. If I got across, you can too. It just takes some practice and a little bit of courage. That’s all. I know you can do this, Kat. Just take one step at a time. They can be little steps, but just take some steps.”

With shaky knees, Katrina took a step, followed by another, leaning heavily from one side to another at times in an attempt to balance, making her way to the side of the creek where Christina awaited her.

“You did it.”

“I did it,” Katrina exhaled. And the two girls rejoiced.

A smile came across Christina’s face as she sat where the two roads meet, continuing to retrace the circle with her finger around the smiling face. And, the anger of the sun eased and the beams of light became less harsh, and the rays of the sun began to gently twinkle in a familiar way.

And, Christina closed her eyes and remembered moments of joy, reflections of the past that filled her heart with the tenderness of happy memories as images returned to her. In her mind, Christina saw two children, running through fields of wildflowers on a bright summer day, the light shining through the windows as Katrina walked toward her husband-to-be, the gentle smile upon her mother’s face. In her mind, Christina heard the laughter of her father and of Thomas, the gentle sound of an autumn rain falling upon the Earth, and the sounds of rocking chairs rocking on the front porch of the Oak. In her mind, she smelled the aromas floating out from Betsy’s kitchen and the scent of lilies on a spring breeze. And, in her mind, she remembered the softness of Whisker’s fur, the intense gaze from the horse’s eye, and the tall strength of the oak tree down by the water.

When Christina opened her eyes, sitting there in the still silence of the valley, she looked out at the choices before her. And, along one path, she saw a single rose beginning to grow.

And, a loud cry wailed in Christina’s ears, a cry coming from within though she made not a sound. Again, Christina covered her ears, to no avail, the sound lingering, breathtaking in volume. Christina began to cry, and the rose began to wither.

And, Christina remembered… Christina sorted through the mail as she walked through the door, deciding which post to read first. A letter from Katrina was found at the bottom of the pile, and Christina opened it quickly, mentioning to Betsy that Katrina had written as she did so.

“Well,” Betsy asked, “what does it say?”

Christina smiled as she began, “It looks like everyone is doing fine. Robert is considering opening another bank in a nearby town on the coast. Little Robert is doing well, but Katrina says that he has the same fondness for getting chocolate all over himself as she and I did.” Betsy chuckled as Christina held her finger on the paper to mark her spot. “I’m glad she’s happy, but I do miss her.”

“We all do. Well, read on,” Betsy encouraged, leaning somewhat on her broom as she listened.

“The weather is still warm down there,” and Christina’s smile faded. “Oh, she won’t be able to visit because she is with child again.”

“She delivered Little Robert with no problem, so there’s no reason for concern, Christina,” Betsy assured.

“I,” Christina stuttered, “was hoping to see her. And, I was hoping that she could see Mother. She hasn’t been feeling well, you know.”

Betsy’s expression grew more serious as she looked up the grand staircase toward the second floor. Swallowing hard, Betsy’s continued, “Well, the coast is a long ways away and, well, sometimes that’s just the way life is.” Betsy paused, noticing a suddenly sorrowful Christina. “Now, you be sure to take that letter up to your mother and read it to her, okay?”

And, Christina remembered… Christina came through the front door shaking off the rain from the umbrella, placing it beside the step as Betsy had always taught her to do. Looking about the room, Christina sensed that the Oak was missing Betsy on the rainy, autumn afternoon. Sorting through the mail, she noticed a letter from Katrina, tossing it aside as she walked, the letter landing upon the floor.

Betsy’s daughter, who had cared for the Oak since Betsy’s death, picked up the discarded message, putting it in her apron pocket as she had all the others, later placing it in a box in the kitchen in case Christina ever wished to read them.

And, Christina remembered… Christina awoke, tearful and doubtful of what to do, her stomach churning, her heart in pain. She dressed and ate and prepared for travel, asking that her trunks be taken downstairs. Standing at the top of the grand staircase, looking down upon the entrance of the Oak, she remembered the guests at her wedding, George leaving, and herself sitting at the bottom of the staircase in her gown of white. As she looked at the front doors, Christina began to feel ill as she remembered Steven.

“Shall I load the car,” a field worker said, having just walked in to perform the task and noticing Christina’s blank, watery stare.

Christina swallowed hard, anger rising to replace the tears. Lifting her head so that it sat sternly on her shoulders, she walked down the steps. “No,” she ordered. “Take the trunks back upstairs. And, then see to it immediately that the front gates are locked. No one enters the Oak without my prior approval.”

“Ms. Christina,” the worker said, confused by the change in plans.

“I will lock up the house. No one but those who work here shall enter. Understood,” she said coldly as she passed by the worker without meeting his eyes, walking to the door and bolting it shut before heading to the kitchen to do the same, taking off her traveling hat and coat, throwing them over a chair on the way.

And, Christina remembered… Thomas stood there, his overcoat in hand since the sun had come out and warmed the day, graciously tipping his hat and saying, “Good Day,” to passers by as he anxiously waited at the station. Standing by his traveling cases, he inhaled deeply and checked his watch. The train would be leaving soon, but Christina had not yet arrived.

“Where you headed,” the elderly ticket-taker asked Thomas when the other passengers had been boarded.

“The capitol. I’m waiting for my bride-to-be.” Thomas looked down the road from which Christina would come. “She hasn’t arrived yet.”

“Well, sometimes the ladies get cold feet,” he said as he patted Thomas on the arm and returned to his counter.

Thomas waited, indecisive of how to proceed when the last call to board was hollered from the platform. Making his way to the ticket booth, Thomas asked, “Is there another train leaving for the capitol soon?”

“Tomorrow morning will be the next one out.”

“Oh,” Thomas muttered as he walked off, looking down the road again but still with no sign of Christina. Soon, the attendant mentioned that if Thomas was going to be on this train he needed to board immediately. But, with dimmed eyes, Thomas waved off the attendant, mentioning that he would catch the next train.

For hours, Thomas waited, wondering if Christina had misunderstood the time, wondering if Christina cared for him as much as he cared for her, his heart beginning to fracture with each chime of the station clock.

Later that day, standing at the gate of the Oak, requesting entry, Thomas was told by the gatekeeper that Christina had ordered the gates locked and that no one was allowed entry. And, his heart broke as he returned to his car, tears streaming down his face.

And, Christina remembered… The sound of a gunshot blasted inside Christina’s head as she rocked back and forth on the ground where the roads meet, remembering looking down upon Steven, lying dead amongst the trees, covered in blood. And, the smell of alcohol consumed her as she viewed images in her mind of Joe’s Tavern.

And, Christina remembered… “How many times have we been over this,” Christina ranted at the young housekeeper, pointing out a smudge on the glass. “The windows must be kept clean so that the sun can come in.” Christina continued to yell, though, even if her own mind, she wondered why this was bothering her so deeply.

“I’m sorry. I’ll get it right next time,” the housekeeper said, lowering her head to try to hide the tears, her knees shaking, her hope being stolen by anger and her faith being shattered with verbal stones. This wasn’t the first time, and the housekeeper knew it would not be the last.

“Clean this up now,” Christina exhaled. “One more chance,” she ranted. “Just one more chance. There is no room for mistakes here. None.”

Christina walked from the room, her feet pounding the floor with each step. And, the further away Christina walked, the more tears that fell from the housekeeper’s eyes, her esteem crumbling, her courage gone, her pride in invisible pieces on the floor. For a while, the housekeeper simply stood there, no energy within her body to move, frightened to err again.

Christina laid down in the shadow of the stone mound where the two roads meet, beginning to cry harsh tears that burned the skin. The wailing that seemed to last for an eternity subsided, and the sun faded into blackness without the beauty of sunset.


“What do you think I should say, Christina,” Monica asked, expecting no answer as she felt Christina’s forehead, “in my letter to my sister? Your temperature seems to be rising again. We’ll keep an eye on that, okay. You just rest.” Monica readjusted the blankets on the bed and continued reading the letters written to Katrina.
Christina’s restlessness and mumbling was settling, but, after a brief period of rest, it would soon begin again.


She could feel sand in her hair and in her eyes as she awakened, the night having turned again into a harsh day, the sun beating down on Christina with yellow fists of rage. Looking down the path where she had previously seen the growing flower, she saw only the remains of a dead plant. Christina crawled on the sand between the two paths, her body aching as she slowly reached the flower. Brushing away the sand from its stem and trying to shade it from the sun, Christina tried to find the faith to wish it good morning, to wish it well again.

“Where is the voice from yesterday,” Christina thought as she tried to help the plant.

“I am here, Christina. I am always here though you may not always hear me. To hear me, you must first desire to hear of me,” the female voice said with a tone that reminded Christina of a loving Mother, gentle and nurturing, nourishing life. Still, the voice seemed to have no direction, completely surrounding and comforting Christina.

“You said that I must choose between the path of hope and the path of despair.” Christina said as she sat by the flower, providing it shade, love, yet looking about hoping to see a form. “So, one of these roads is hope and one is despair?”

“Yes.”

“So, how do I know which is which?”

“Do not concern yourself with the solid path beneath your feet. Choose in your heart which path to follow and I will see that you walk along the path of your choice.”

“What happens if I just walk down one of the roads I see?”

“They are just images, Christina, illusions to help you understand that there are only two options from which to choose. You may step upon one or you may step upon the other, but neither physical road will remove you from the valley or from the decision you must make in your heart, the decision to follow the road of hope or the road of despair.”

“Why would anyone choose the road of despair?”

“Souls sometimes do, Christina. Souls sometimes do.” The voice paused, but continued. “Time is running short, Christina, your death in the world that you know will be arriving soon, and you must make your decision before then.” A cloud of dust stirred, and Christina was again alone, shadowing the flower and trying to return it to life.

A voice exhaled, a male voice coming from nowhere yet coming from everywhere.
“Christina, Christina, Christina,” the male voice said, much more animated than the female voice but with a sense of displeasure in his voice. “When will you learn,” he said.

Christina looked about, yet there was no body in the area. “Hello,” she said, her eyes roving the dry and lifeless landscape for some sort of form.

“You’ll never bring that thing back to life.”

Christina looked to the flower, still withered but with more color to its form than it had had as the night fell. “Do you have a name?”

“Well, I have many names, but we don’t really need to concern ourselves with that. What’s in a name anyway. Look at you. Your parents could have given you any name, but you’d still be who you are, wouldn’t you?” The male voice chuckled, seeming more alive, more human than the female voice with no name.

“Well, what do I call you?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll know who you’re talking to.” A deep inhale was heard from the voice. “So, Christina, what brings you hear,” he chuckled. “Just a little joke. Sorry.”

“Who is this voice,” Christina thought to herself as she looked about the area, confused, looking for answers.

“I am the voice of truth,” he said.

“Truth,” Christina questioned in her mind, sitting by the flower and noticing it unchanged.

“Yep, truth. I’ll tell you things that your little friend from earlier won’t bother to tell you,” the voice said sarcastically. “I’ll tell you things you know are true, ask the questions you really want answers to. Unlike your so-called friend from earlier, I’ll tell you what you really want to hear.”

“Did she lie to me?”

“Well, lie is such an ugly word,” he said. “Let’s just say she didn’t cover all the details.”

“What about the two choices, the road of hope or the road of despair?”

The male voice made a sound as if clearing the throat. “Well, you do have two choices, although I’d hardly call my road the road of despair. As governor of this little road, I like to think of it as the road of opportunity.”

“Opportunity for what?”

“Well, Christina, it kind of goes back to that truth issue I mentioned earlier. See, you go with her and you must bow to all sorts of regulations, no questions, no arguments. Any dissatisfaction will get you kicked out faster than a drunk in a saloon that hasn’t paid his tab in a few weeks.”

“And, with you?”

“You follow my road, you can experience all sorts of things, feel real emotion, feel the result of true freedom.”

“And, you are known to all of the other souls that come here? The souls that are here, but I can’t see?”

“Yep, everybody. I am a man of the people, a leader of those who want to have a voice that can cry out into eternity, ‘freedom.’”

“And, you know all about my life?”

“Christina, Christina,” the male voice taunted. “I know everything about you. We’ve met before. You just didn’t know it. Why, we’re old pals, you and me. I’ve had a grand time with you. We go back ages.”

“Who are you?”

“You keep asking that question,” the voice said, a bit more angry than before. “I told you, it doesn’t matter.” The voice continued, returning to the animated voice of earlier. “Now, you have a choice to make and time is running out. I’d love to have you on my side. All that energy, all that spunk of your youth.”

“But,” and before the word was uttered, a cloud of sand clouded her eyes and the voice went away. When Christina returned her attention to the flower, she saw that it had died, burying itself in what was like a hot tomb of sandy ash.


“Is her temperature down any,” Lisa asked as she looked over Christina’s body, lying there in the blankets in the dimly lit room.

“Some,” Monica responded. “It is lowering now that the mumbling has stopped and she’s resting again.” Monica exhaled as the clock chimed eleven. “One more hour and she’ll be a hundred years old.”

“Come on, Christina,” Lisa said as she sat on the bed and held on to Christina’s hand. “You can hold on for that long.”

“I’ve been reading the letters to her. Would you like to hear some, Lisa? She’s been writing about forgiveness and hope.”

“Please. I could use a little hope right now.”


Christina sat in the sand between the fork in the road, uncovering the flower from the sand, praying for its recovery, trying to send it happy thoughts of hope and of faith. Hours seemed to pass, the harsh sun becoming more joyful than angry, the sand less blistering as Christina recalled the past.

And, Christina remembered… Katrina, her husband, and Little Robert were visiting the Oak shortly after the baby had been born. “Here, Christina,” Katrina said, a big smile upon her face as she placed her young son in the arms of Christina. “Isn’t he perfect? So tiny and innocent, so dependent upon me. Sometimes, I wonder if I know enough to be a mother.”

Christina held the tiny infant in her arms, cradling it and gently laughing at his little fingers and little toes. “He is perfect. I have no concerns about you being a mother and you shouldn’t either. You were always the more nurturing of the two of us. And, it looks like, so far, you’ve done well. He’s clean, he’s healthy, he’s happy. That’s all you can ask for. I have faith in you, Katrina. You’ll do well by this little boy.”

“I still miss my sister. I wish you were with me to watch him grow.”

“I am always with you, Kat, always.”

And, Christina remembered… “This is for you,” Thomas said, smiling as he presented Christina with a single bright red rose.

Christina removed her view from the camera that had been set up in the field as she prepared to take a picture of the lake and saw the rose, gently taking it from him and holding it between her fingers.

“Thank you,” she smiled back, enjoying the light in his eyes and the breeze dancing with the hair outside of her hat.

And, Christina remembered… the angel sitting in the bedroom window, acting as a prism of the sunrays, directing colorful beams of light about the room, the feel of the brush running through her hair, the aroma of vanilla in the air, and the sound of Mother leaning over the bed saying morning prayers.

And, gardens of flowers seem to grow in the sand along the path where Christina sat, the sun sparkling above like a friend, full of hopeful rays of tomorrow.


“She’s resting well now,” Lisa said.

“Yes,” Monica replied. “What do you say we go to the kitchen for some coffee and cookies. I could use a break now that she’s sleeping more soundly and isn’t mumbling. It worries me when she mumbles, when I can’t understand what it is she needs.”

The two ladies made their way to the kitchen, turning on the light that seemed to burn their eyes after sitting in Christina’s dim room. After reaching for cookies off the prep table, Lisa stood by the sink as she always did and Monica leaned against the stove while pouring two cups of coffee.

“This property is so beautiful. Has it really been promised to the State?”

Lisa finished a bite of cookie before responding. “It has, but it will be interesting to see what becomes of this place when Christina is gone, the last remaining Allgood descendant. I wonder if the State will cherish the Oak as much as Christina does?”
“In the letters, Christina goes on and on about the Oak, about how much she loves it. She speaks of it as though it’s alive.”

“It’s the only home she’s ever known. She’s never lived elsewhere and she’s never been away from the Oak for very long at a time. It’s the closest thing she has to family.”

“What about all of you that work here? Aren’t you family, too?”

“Christina always made certain to take care of the staff, but she never really learned how to get to know people, how to get close to people, how to let people get to know her. The staff love it here, but it’s more because of each other than Christina. Most people see her as cold and distant. Only a few people even realize how much she cares for this house.”

“What a shame,” Monica commented, “from a soul with so much to share.”


“Christina,” the female voice returned. “Time is nearing.”

“There was a man who spoke to me,” Christina began.

“I know of him,” the voice interrupted. “He will lead you down the path of despair if you so choose.”

“I really don’t like that word,” the male voice returned, commenting arrogantly. “You do this on purpose, just to confuse people. Don’t listen to her, Christina.”

Still, no bodies appeared in the valley.

“Christina,” the female voice spoke calmly, soothingly. “You must make a decision.”

“Where is my sister? Where is Katrina? Which path did she choose?”

“That,” the female voice said, “I cannot tell you. This is a decision you must make based on your own heart, not the heart of your Sister.”

“What about you,” Christina said to the male voice. “Can you tell me.”

“Uh, well, I could, but she’s right. You really don’t, shouldn’t, consider Katrina in these negotiations. This is your decision.”

“God can grant you peace, Christina,” the female voice said.

“Please,” the male responded. “Christina, they don’t even care enough about you to send the Big Guy to talk to you. Now, I’m here for you. I made the trip, put forth the effort. They just sent a representative.”

The flowers about her began to change, some fading until invisible, some dying on the vine, and others retaining their beauty. Christina looked toward the stone mound, still hovering over her, seemingly watching her, she felt the stillness of the air as it echoed her own voice and the burning sand beneath her, and she heard the silence of the lifeless valley surrounding the two voices coming from all around.

“God loves you, Christina.”

“God loves you, Christina,” the male voice mocked. “Really, then where was that God, Christina, when Katrina left you all alone? Where was that God when you needed help, guidance, and protection? Where?”

Christina felt the hope within her heart fade, seeing some of the flowers bury themselves in the sand. “Well,” she thought.

“Christina,” the female began, “God does love you. He doesn’t promise a life without struggle or a life without pain. But, He does promise to help you through it, to be with you always, if you believe in Him.”

“Loophole,” he responded. “Just His way of taking joy in watching people suffer and then trying to draft them to His side, Christina. He’s a charlatan, a fraud. You can’t just love Him. Oh, no. You have to follow all the rules, play the game. This is just a game to Him. He won’t let you in.”

“What do you mean,” Christina asked.

The male voice began again, as taunting as before. “Well, let’s see. First you have those commandments. Ten, aren’t there? Let’s see,” he paused. “Uh, there’s that honor thy Father and Mother. You kind of come and go on that one like you can’t make up your mind. Then, there’s the one about not committing murder. Oh, Chrissy, you blew that one right off the books. Let’s see, what else. Oh, yes, don’t take that God’s name in vain. Well, let me tell you, Christina, when you get angry, you can let it rip.” He laughed. “And, let’s see, you put the Oak above anything and everybody. But, the one you really had trouble with is that one about coveting. Yeah, that was a real deal breaker. Christina, you coveted Katrina’s happiness, her very life, along with other things. Come to think of it, you didn’t do too well with those seven deadly sins either. Do you really think that if you take that long walk with them they’ll let you through the door when you get there. You didn’t play the game by their rules, Christina. They’re just waiting for to pounce the punchline on you.”

Christina began to cry, her tears as blood as it dripped onto the sand.

“God forgives, Christina,” the female explained. “He doesn’t expect anyone to be perfect. Humans aren’t perfect, but God is and God will forgive transgressions if forgiveness is truly requested in the heart. God wants you to feel peace, the peace you’ve been without for so much of your life. That is His gift to you.”

“Don’t listen to them, Christina. I’m telling you. It’s a loophole, this forgiveness.”

“So, everyone can be forgiven,” Christina sobbed.

“Yes.”

“Think about that for a minute, Chrissy,” the male said. “Think real hard about what that means. Forgiveness for everyone. Everyone, Christina. No one is eliminated. Everybody can be forgiven. Think about that.”

“I don’t understand,” Christina sobbed, the blood solidifying the sand, yet her hands beginning to sink between the grains.

And, the male voice paused and then whispered. “Steven.” And, again, he whispered. “Steven.” His voice a bit louder he said, “Oh, and George. Don’t forget George, Christina,” his voice rising. “If everyone can be forgiven, do you really want to spend eternity in the place where those two might be, a place willing to let them in? He expects you to have a forgiving spirit. But, what about all the pain you felt? Isn’t that worth anything? You come with me, and I’ll give you the right to feel that pain. I’ll encourage you to feel however you feel.”

Christina continued to cry, and the blood continued to pool, Christina somehow sinking into hardened, solid pools of burning sand and blood.

“The one you hear will offer you an eternity of physical and emotional torment, Christina. The pain that you’ve felt in the life you have known will be increased a hundred fold and be with you throughout eternity. God offers you peace, redemption, safety, and, yes, forgiveness for the wrongs you have committed as well as forgiveness for those who have committed wrongs against you. Which path do you choose, Christina? The time has come and you must answer. Indecision will be considered by God as choosing the path of despair.”


Christina became more restless, laying there in bed, as the snow fell outside. She continued to mumble, though there was no one about to hear, Lisa and Monica having ventured to the kitchen for coffee when Christina was resting comfortably. Christina’s eyes were shut, but her ears heard the wind still knocking at the window like a visitor wanting inside.

“Christina,” the voice said, “come with me.”


Dust and sand began to cloud and fly about, circling Christina’s body. The still, silent air became a fierce wind, lashing about and screaming as Christina continued to sink in the bloody sand.


“What is death like,” she hollered above the wind.
“It is simply like falling asleep,” the female voice answered calmly, finding her way through the wind as if the wind were not present.

Christina looked up toward the harsh sun that had turned black and the vacant sky that had become dark, with gathering clouds filled with rain. Then, two hands came down between the clouds, opening into a receptive position like a Mother preparing to pick up her babe.

“The time is now, Christina,” the calm voice said. “You must choose.”

And, Christina sobbed, “’Our Father which art in Heaven, Hallowed by thy name…’” Over and over Christina repeated the prayer. And, the screaming ceased, as did the harsh winds. And, the rain fell, removing her from the hardened pool of burning sand into which she had been sinking and cleansing her of the blood she had cried.


This work is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to any situations or persons living or dead is coincidental and unintentional.