“Yes,” I whispered. “She is.” Had I even heard Edith’s voice? I couldn’t be sure. But I was sure of one thing: Thais was a remarkable young woman. You would’ve loved her, Mom. Josie, Tara—you all would’ve loved her.
After Hallelujah, and then Danny’s Song, Thais insisted the band play something upbeat and fun, and the camp went to their feet again and danced until they couldn’t dance anymore. I watched from the sidelines with my injuries. Ossie, and his granddaughter, Ona, played their fiddles with enthusiasm and skill.
Thais practically fell next to me, exhausted from so much dancing, and she laughed and smiled and coiled her fingers around mine and lifted my hand to her lips. “The last time I had this much fun,” she told me, her voice rising over the music, “was at the cabin with you and Jeffrey—remember?”
How could I ever forget? How could I ever forget even the smallest of details in my time with her? The way she always chewed on the left side of her mouth when she ate. How she would check me out when I was shirtless, and she thought I didn’t notice. The way those cotton pants I took from the farmhouse looked on her: a little frumpy in the back, and made her butt look bigger than her head—but I adored it. Or how when she cast her fishing line, or pulled it in, she always squinted one eye and bit on the tip of her tongue. Or the time—
I turned her hand over, raised it to my mouth, and kissed her knuckles. “Of course I remember,” I said warmly.
Ona came running up, took Thais by both hands, and she lifted her from the log.
“You promised to tell us a story,” Ona said over the many conversations and the lingering music.
With Ona eagerly tugging on Thais’ hand, Thais leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the edge of my mouth. “I’ll be back soon!” she told me, and I watched her slip through the crowd.
“You made a good decision,” Edith said, and I felt her hand patting my leg, “to marry that girl tonight. Can’t be wasting time anymore. If you love somebody you better grab ‘em early and hold on to ‘em for as long as you can. In the Old World, people were lazy. They didn’t worry about anything. They thought they had all the time in the world. But then they woke up one day and saw that all along the Devil had been covering their eyes with his hands. Truth was, they had no time. It was all just an illusion. A dream. A lie.”
I looked over. “You like Thais a lot,” I commented.
Edith nodded. “Uh-huh. I do.”
I paused, searching my mind. “Well, I was…just wondering why exactly”—I chuckled—“did she help birth a calf, or save somebody from drowning while I was unconscious? I guess it really wouldn’t surprise me.”
Edith’s shoulders bounced lightly underneath her blouse. She patted my knee. “No, son,” she said, “I just know good people when I see ‘em. That girl’s been through a lot; doesn’t seem to have a hateful bone in her body—a little vengeance and justice in there, but no hate, and that’s exactly what the world needs. She’s special. Just like my sweet granddaughter, Ona. They’re both special. They’re the future.”
I watched Thais talking with Ona. Yeah, she’s something special all right. Thais wore a thin, ivory dress that fell to her ankles; the short sleeves cascaded with flowing ruffles that hung around her upper arms; around her waist was a little cloth belt tied into a bow; more ruffles cascaded down her hips, and her legs. The dress had been Ona’s, Thais told me. Ona was to marry a man last fall, but he died before their wedding, and now Thais would wear it to hers.
Edith looked at me, and feeling the pull of her stare, I looked back at her. “I’m no fortune teller, but I’ll tell you what I believe is gonna happen to that girl,” she said.
I swallowed nervously. Of course, I didn’t think she was a fortune teller, either, but that didn’t stop me from worrying about whatever she had to say regarding Thais’ future.
Edith took my hand, squeezed it firmly, and then patted the top with the other; her skin felt warm against mine. “She’s gonna live a long life,” she said, nodding as though sure of herself. “She’s gonna die an old lady. But before that’ll happen, she’s gonna grow, and she’s gonna be like water, carving a path through the toughest rock.” She patted my hand once more, smiled so lines deepened around her mouth, and then she faced forward just as Thais was taking center-stage in front of the dwindling bonfire.
I looked down at my hand where Edith’s had been, feeling the warmth left from it slowly fading away; Edith’s surprising words doing the opposite: they bloomed like wildflowers touched by sunlight, and made me feel weak in the chest with equal parts love and fear about the woman’s prediction.
A hush fell over the camp. The fire behind Thais had dwindled to a calm, dancing flame no higher than her knees. The people watched Thais with fascination and patience, and when she stepped onto the flat surface of a tree stump so she could be better seen and heard by everyone, their eyes followed without waver.
“I was asked to tell you all another story tonight,” she said aloud, “but I’m afraid I…well, the one I told you last night, it was only fiction. The poetry I recited wasn’t even mine; it was my sister’s, Sosie Fenwick, who died not long ago. The songs I sing, I sing from the heart, but like the stories that are not real and the poetry that is not mine, the songs I did not write, either, therefore I’m only a voice carrying on a message that belonged to someone else.”
A light flurry of whispers passed around the crowd, but everyone remained still and patient and eager.
I straightened my back, and propped my wrists atop my knees; anxiously I listened, with a little fear in my heart, though I wasn’t sure why.
“So, tonight,” Thais continued, “I would like to tell you all a true story, one that is as tragic as any poetry I’ve ever read, and as soul-healing as any music I’ve ever heard.” She looked right at me then, and my pulse quickened.
Thais paused thoughtfully, winding her fingers together down in front of her. I could tell she was nervous.