Letters Home, Section 3, The Present

The Present

No one really knew the truth about what happened, and what has no witnesses has many interpretations. Henry’s body had been found upon the land, and the rumors began that he had been pushed out of the window, another victim of the haunted Oak, while other rumors ruled the death as suicide, Henry preferring to take his own life rather than face the truth of the loss of his development deal. But, no one had seen him fall and the sheriff could never determine one scenario over another.

When the sheriff came out to continue the investigation of the fallen porch that had claimed two lives, he found Henry’s body beside a vacant field. The Oak was gone, disappeared without a trace, the green grass free of any sign that a house had sat upon it for over a century. Yet, there, beside the place where the grand house had stood, remained the flower garden, brilliant hues of reds and yellows, purples and blues, greens and pinks filling up beds of Earth and ceramic pots, rows of life dotted with oak benches, stone angels, and, in the center of the garden, an Oak tree, living but carved into its trunk a brilliantly accurate life-size replica of a gardener, a limb growing from the tree appearing as his water hose.

The restaurant, the restoration building, and the other structures built by the State had burnt to the ground shortly after Henry’s death, each one struck by lightning during a storm that, according to the townspeople, hovered over the Oak for most of a day, lightning repeatedly striking from the sky in angry bolts aimed directly for the structures. Over the years, the ash that remained sunk into the Earth and fertile fields of plants and young oak trees returned to their rightful places.

Though years had passed, the gates still stood to the entrance of The Oak, a paved drive winding its way to an open field, circling at the top in such a way so that upon leaving the heart was led back, letting anyone who entered know that they were welcome. The fields of clover still led down to a lake that reflected the sun in all its glory, beams of yellow and white playfully dancing on the surface of the water. Woodland animals strolled in and out of the barn, though there was no longer any one about to clean the stalls or place feed in the troughs, and many of the newer walls had fallen, caved in from their own weight.

The fields were alive again, reeds waving to greet the sun each morning and the trees moving about their branches in the breeze as if speaking to each other, sharing the tales of centuries gone by, rustling leaves sounding as the laughter of old men just having shared a story from long ago. The birds returned, gliding through the air across the property with hope beneath their wings and happiness in their hearts, singing to the Earth and delivering messages amongst the living beings upon the land. The birds seeded the land here and there, stalks of corn and grain growing without human aid, and the orchards began to thrive.


“Mrs. Russell, you have a call on line one. Mrs. Russell, line one,” Mike said as he came through the small office door, placing his cap on a file cabinet and dusting his pants one final time of any loose soil before sitting in the chair near the desk. Leaning back as he laughed, he continued, “How often do they say that in a day anyway?”

“Many,” she replied with a smile, checking the lights on the phone to make certain Mike had only been teasing, “and each one is a call that grows this business and will help put our children through college.” Putting away a file in a cabinet and looking over the desk she gently asked, “Did you just get the floor dirty?”

“No,” he said, looking about the floor, “clean as a whistle. I’m good about leaving the dirt outside, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are! I was just making sure. We have clients that will be here in an hour or so.” Returning to her seat, she straightened her blouse and jacket and looked about the office as she rubbed the crucifix hanging about her neck. The walls were filled with signs of accomplishments, degrees and thank you notes, and family photographs sat upon her desk, pictures of outings with Mike and the kids, amongst files and paperwork, pencils and pens and canisters.

“Mrs. Russell, you have a call on line one. Mrs. Russell, line one,” the voice over the intercom said.


Mike laughed quietly. “It’s not me this time.”
“Hello,” she said into the phone. “Yes, one o’clock,” she paused. “We’ll see you then.”

“Don’t you think it’s weird,” Mike began, crossing his arms and leaning them on the desk for emphasis, “that we keep dealing with a secretary who makes appointments for these people, but we don’t have any idea what they want or who they are?”

“Well,” she paused, “they’re calling us, so apparently they want some type of construction.”

“Well, I know that, but usually people give us some idea ahead of time as to what they’re looking for, price range, something.”

“Let’s just wait and see. Anything could happen, I guess.”

“Lisa,” Mike began.

“We can always tell them no if we don’t want the project. We both have to agree to take a project. Remember? That’s the deal we made when we started this business.”

“I thought the deal was you design them, I build them,” Mike asked with a grin, his teeth white beneath the tanned, leathery skin.

“That, too,” Lisa smiled back, her eyes roaming to the window as they had so often in these recent days.

Mike watched her for a moment before beginning. “You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you,” he asked in nearly a whisper, never truly understanding her fascination with it all. “It was just a house.”

“I know, but it was home and sometimes it just calls to me like it’s calling me back. I don’t know why I’d be thinking about it now,” she exhaled. “We’ve been busy lately and, usually, when we’re busy the Oak doesn’t cross my mind.”

Mike sat quietly, never exactly certain what to say in these matters. “Do you think it would help if you went back? You know, for a visit or something? Just to see how everything is?”

Lisa continued to look out the window at the sun beaming down upon the street and bouncing into the tiny office like a child’s rubber ball, though her spirit seemed to see further than the city street, past the people and the walls and the buildings, across the fields and state lines, over the mountains, through the valley and onto the property.

“You spent your whole life there. So much happened to you there.”

Lisa returned her concentration to the office. “Uh,” she began.

“We’ve got some money saved. The trip may settle some questions for you.”

“I’ll think about it.” She exhaled and repeated herself. “I’ll think about it.” And, she returned her gaze to the window.

“You want to go get some lunch before the one o’clocks get here?”

“Yes,” Lisa said quietly, still battling her thoughts from returning at will to The Oak, the angels in the windows, the roses in the garden, and the crystal blue eyes of the rabbit. “I keep having the strangest craving for sourdough bread.”

“Uh, craving,” Mike asked with wonder. “Are you trying to tell me something? The last time you craved sourdough bread,” he began.

“No,” Lisa interrupted, a small laugh in her voice, gathering her purse and heading around the desk, “it’s just a memory.”

But, lunch at the shoreline had not helped her to focus, Lisa’s mind returning to The Oak and all there that had occurred. She thought of Hope, up north in her clinic counseling the troubled, and she remembered the expression on Hope’s face as it had been on that first day they had met when Hope came walking up the drive towards the house. Lisa thought of Monica, of the advanced nursing degree she had earned since leaving the Oak, of Monica’s spring wedding to Joseph Walden and the heartwarming toast that Monica’s sister had made about getting to know Monica again and wishing her the best of happiness, and she remembered how kind and patient Monica had been with Christina on the night Christina died.

It felt so strange to her, focusing so much on The Oak. Since the day that she had driven away, Lisa’s life had been so different from those last few months at the house, first earning her degree and then marrying, having children. She had found herself over the last few years happy, content, and hopeful, unafraid to take a risk now and then, able to focus on the positive, and looking forward to the future instead of merely waiting for it.

Except on those few rare occasions when someone of similar build or facial characteristics passed her on the street, Henry and Spike no longer crossed her mind, buried in the dark recesses of the mind like the forgotten lyrics to songs or the sound of a certain storm. Yet, she thought often of Christopher and Mary Alice, their advice, their natures. And, yes, she remembered Christina talking of the past as she sat at the old oak desk, looking out the window over the fields of clover and down towards the lake.

Lisa looked up from her desk towards the office door when she heard someone clear their throat, trying to get her attention. “Well, we do have a one o’clock appointment,” Monica boasted as she stood in the office door, exhaling dramatically and putting her hand to her forehead. “And, we are such overworked ladies, aren’t we,” she asked, her tone as if she were on a stage as she walked in to the office, met halfway by Lisa, for a hug.

“What are you doing here,” Lisa asked, a smile in her eyes and a tear in her voice, barely able to form the words from the surprise of seeing Monica there.

Monica simply laughed, her voice returning to normal as she sighed. “We wanted it to be a surprise since it had been so long since we’d seen you, but we really are the one o’clock appointment.”

“We?”

“Well, friends don’t let friends travel alone,” Hope said as she entered behind Monica. And, Hope embraced Lisa.

Mike bounced into the room and grinned broadly.

“Did you know about this?”

Mike shook his head. “Somebody had to arrange all this. Besides, it is business. They actually have a project for us to consider.”

Seeing Lisa’s confused expression, Hope explained. “Why don’t we have a seat and we’ll answer all the questions.” Informally, they sat about the small office as Hope began. “Getting straight to the point, my clinic has been doing well. So, I think it’s time to open a bigger clinic, something I’ve dreamed of for a long time.” Hope paused, wondering how Lisa would take the news. “I’ve bought the Oak, and I’d like to build a new clinic there. Twin Oaks, is what I intend to call it.”

“Is this the type of clinic you’ve spoken about before? What kind of clinic will it be?” Lisa spoke with excitement as she requested more information.

“Something of a foundation of healing. That place is so special. It helped me a lot when I was there and I think if other people can stay there for a few weeks or so that it may help them too. In-patient, very minimum security, counseling, and the freedom to roam about the property. I really think it could help people to begin to heal some difficult wounds.”

“Wounds of battle, huh? That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

“And, Monica has agreed to come on board as the nurse in charge.”

“That’s great,” Lisa added, turning her smile to Monica.

“And, my husband, Matt, is going to serve as the facility’s attorney.”

“Keeping it in the family, I see.”

“And, Monica’s husband has agreed to serve as the psychiatrist.”

“Really keeping it in the family.”

“But, we need a building. A good building. A building that has the type of atmosphere that the Oak did when I was there, a building that feels like home to everyone, you know what I mean?”

“You need a place of healing,” Lisa replied. “You need another Oak.”

“Yes,” Hope answered. “I don’t know if you’ve seen the property lately, but the house is gone and there is plenty of room to build a facility, regardless of the size, but I’d prefer something smaller, something that doesn’t feel like a huge hospital or something like that. I want a place that feels like home. And,” Hope paused to look towards Mike, “there is one more thing.”

Mike smiled as he looked at Lisa. “The property is huge, more than they would need even for a clinic like this. So, Hope had divided off part of the property for the clinic and the rest has been divided into three large sections for private ownership.”

“We’ve bought one. Joseph and I intend to build a little cabin on it,” Monica added.

“And, my kids love the country, so we’re building a house on the second,” Hope said.

“And, of course, they need an architect,” Mike added before continuing.

“Who bought the third,” Lisa asked.

Mike grinned. “I thought we’d take a look at it. Talk about it. See what we think.”

“And, the project,” Hope asked.

“Okay.” Lisa looked towards Mike and saw his nod. “I’ll need a little time, but I think I can come up with something,” Lisa paused, her eyes drawn back to Hope and Monica, noticing the sunlight streaming in through the windows, highlighting Monica’s hair and the face of Hope, brightening the room as if the answers to prayers were cascading in. “Hope, I’ll need to see the property again to really understand how it looks right now and what type of building would work with the landscape.” Turning her attention to Mike, Lisa continued, “It’s time to go home.”


“True small towns never change too much,” Lisa thought as the family drove past the city limit sign, fields on both sides of the road. Looking out the window, Lisa viewed the newly born sprouts of spring lined up neatly in long rows that stretched out across the rolling hills and around an occasional tree or pond, new life emerging from the encouragement of life much older. “It still looks the same,” she thought, her gaze held through the window as the fields slowly became wooded areas accented with a stream here and there.

The car seemed quiet, the radio playing softly and even the toddlers playing quietly with their toys, the sound of the wheels against the road sounding like a tune being hummed by the Earth calling Lisa home. Seeing Lisa’s lost expression as he drove, Mike rubbed her shoulder but said nothing. Words were of no use now, Lisa understanding his tender touch and placing her own hand upon his, lightly grabbing hold but never removing her eyes from the landscape.

The school was the first building to come into sight, sitting on the left side of the highway as it always had, advertising the tryouts for the next season of athletics. The baseball fields to the right were freshly lined, anxiously awaiting for night to fall so games could begin, the cheering of the crowds could be heard, and the lively heart of trying could be felt across the park. Driving along, Lisa could already hear sounds from the past, the loud speakers announcing the score or excitedly describing a home run, she could smell the popcorn and the sweat of summer fun, she could hear the conversations in the small crowd about a particular play, how a child was doing in school, or who had just gotten married.

A bit further down the road, the car drove through the area where Lisa had first seen Spike in that old Charger with the gun pointed towards her, but the memory no longer haunted her as it used to. The pharmacy was still there, fresh paint upon its side, and Lisa could recall the sounds of the boards creaking as she had stepped upon them. Some of the smaller businesses remained along the little stretch of road, though others had closed, large pieces of wood boarding up windows, planks crossing doors to prevent entry. The old co-op had burned to the ground years earlier when antique wiring could no longer maintain the strain of the building, and a new one had been built on its foundation to serve the farmers about the area, a shiny new sign above its doors.

And, just a short distance from the co-op sat the old train station. Though long since closed and out of use, the depot and the old platform still stood proudly by the tracks, open to visitors as a welcome center with pamphlets of tourist attractions in the area and operated by the volunteers from the historical society. One shiny, bright red caboose sat in the glare of the sun next to the small depot, ready for children of all ages to walk through and enjoy, pretending to be the engineer or acting as though they were shoveling coal.

Then, past the train station, fields alternated with wooded areas, passing for miles with an occasional body of water living upon the land, a stream twinkling in the sun or a pond or lake reflecting the sky.

“Here it is,” Mike said as he saw the gate to The Oak approaching, his words barely a whisper though they seemed to ring through the air, catching the attention of Lisa and the children as everyone looked toward the entrance. The old guardhouse was still there, sitting just outside of The Oak, but vines had grown up about the unused little building and the limbs of the trees had wrapped themselves around the upper portion in a tight hug as if trying to pull it back to the other side of the gates.

“Stop for a moment,” Lisa whispered as she leaned toward Mike, her mouth dry as the car waited just outside of the entrance. Surveying, Lisa studied the towering arch where the name of the property was written, the living tall oak banisters on either side of the drive cradling in their arms the black iron sign. Wooden areas, trees with intertwined roots and branches sat on each side of the drive and pastures of green sat across the road. Though the blacktop continued on into the distance, providing a choice to travelers to travel on, to return when whence they had came, or to enter The Oak, Lisa felt the old familiar pull into the drive, down the path, and up towards the house that used to be.

“Are you okay,” Mike quietly asked Lisa as the children, in their broken speech, pointed and exclaimed at the deer walking next to the line of trees just inside the gate. The deer, sensing no danger, continued to sniff about the grass, looking at the happy children in the backseat with curious eyes and friendly smiles.

Lisa shook her head at Mike, soothing his concern as they turned their attention to the children in the backseat and to the deer at the side of the road.
“Yes, we see them,” they both agreed.

“Can you count how many there are,” Mike asked the kids as he noticed a fawn lift a leg in such a motion as to appear to be waving directly at the children. “No, couldn’t be,” he thought, turning back around.

Lisa unlocked and opened the black iron gates beneath the property sign, her key still fitting after all these years. Motioning for Mike to enter, she closed the gates behind him once the car was safely inside and reentered the vehicle. Closing the door behind her, her gaze was drawn just past Mike toward a tree stump at the edge of the drive. The children had already seen the white rabbit, one of his crystal blue eyes winking at them as they pointed and happily cried out to hold the furry creature. Mike noticed the interaction, shaking his head. “No, couldn’t be,” he whispered to Lisa, almost beneath his breath as he sat in astonishment.

“It can be at The Oak,” she replied.

“I thought you were just joking about all of this,” he questioned, but she simply nodded in return with a smile.

Slowly, they inched on, taking in the beauty of the oaks and the animals as they made their way further down the drive. Shortly, a blue bird landed upon the hood, balancing on the motionless windshield wiper, stretching out a wing now and again as he sang as if he were guiding a tour, pointing out important facts along the drive and introducing the family to the trees and sharing the stories of the past soaring upon the wind.

As the drive left the wooded area and entered the fields of green, Lisa felt the protective watch of the mountain reigning over the valley. She saw the small reminder of winter at the top of the mountain peaks and she saw the stone reminder of history resting at the bottom of the mountain beneath engraved concrete slabs. Looking across the property to the lake, the sun smiled upon the water, a special ray of light cascading down upon the graves of two sisters buried near the old oak tree, separated only by a stone angel saying a prayer above them, guarded by two stone lions nearby.

Mike parked at the top of the circle drive, near where the front doors to the house had once stood tall and proud, facing the fields of clover leading down to the lake, the mountain behind them. The fountain still sat in the center of the circle drive, some birds bathing in its flowing water and a squirrel standing atop for a distant view. Though the house garden still grew blazes of color amongst stone and oak sculptures, wildflowers were in the fields where they had always grown and wildflowers had now also grown where the house once stood.

“Okay,” Mike began as he got out, turned around, and pulled up the seat, “I bet you two are ready to get out of this car for a while.” The toddlers unfastened the buckles of their car seat, jumping to the floorboard and making their way in tiny steps to their father, excited to be able to explore. “Stay close to us, okay,” Mike told them as he put each down on the ground.

Lisa shut her door, standing outside the car and looking about at what she saw before her and remembering what had been. Walking into the house garden, she stood before the oak tree carrying the likeness of Christopher, touching his face with her hand and receiving the sensation of a smile coming from within the wood. Don’t look back, she thought she heard it whisper. And, bending down beneath the white rose near the bench, using her finger as a pencil and the Earth as a canvas, Lisa sketched Twin Oaks, the future, a place where souls wounded in the battle of life could begin to heal in a home filled with windows inviting in the sun, guarded by angels and surrounded by walls able to reach out and embrace the heart, with hope leading the way.

“What an amazing place. It’s like Heaven or something,” Mike said, returning to Lisa’s side after walking through the fields and down to the lake.

“Yes,” Lisa whispered, looking back towards the oak, “Heaven or something.”

“You know, I wouldn’t mind having a house out here. Maybe a vacation cottage or maybe even relocate nearby if there’s enough around here to support the business. It’s so peaceful here.”

“I like that idea. We should give it some consideration. It’s a wonderful place to write. And, suddenly, I feel a need to do a lot of writing, letter writing,” she smiled. Then, returning her attention to the nearby field, she called to her children, “Christina, Katrina, don’t wander too far now.”

And, as the gentle breeze of spring danced across the fields, carrying in its sails the sweet fragrances of new beginnings, and the sun playfully sent beams of light to the Earth to sway through the applauding trees, two young girls, two sisters dressed as one, with sparkling eyes of green and hair of gold, ran laughing through fields of wildflowers.




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