“Quiet,” he signed. “Listen.”
I did so. Only the hum of insects, the trill of an occasional bird. Something plopped into the water nearby. Nothing from Simone. We were either too far away to hear her, which didn’t seem possible, or she had given up. Also unlikely.
“But, Win, he doesn’t know—” Pia started.
I shushed her and we women huddled together, heads nearly touching. Dean stood apart from us, listening so hard he appeared to vibrate. The trees, the air, sky, the thrum of the insects—-everything that seemed hellishly the same to us told him some sort of story. At the surface of the water a snake wriggled by, a long striped muscle.
Dean pointed excitedly to our right and with no discussion splashed through the muck in that direction. We could only follow.
47
Pine trees rose straight and strong around us, spaced at such gentlemanly intervals that we could see our way to the clearing where the river tumbled by, genies of fog swirling up from it. The forest gave off an air of cultivation, as if someone had planted these trees just so, but I couldn’t be sure. We slowed our pace for several minutes on the bank, drinking from the river as we gazed across it at what looked like a field of Christmas trees.
Downriver on our side, the stretch of red pine marched up a steep embankment. We slogged up the slope in worn-out silence while Dean sprinted past us to the top. In minutes, he came crashing back down to where we’d stopped to rest, nearly plowing into us.
“Cow,” he signed excitedly. “Field.”
I translated for Pia and Rachel. We ran on bloodied feet to the top of the hillock and looked out and down.
“Holy shit,” Pia said. “Thank you, God.”
Fifty yards away, a cow stood in a meadow banked by the river, which now ambled tamely and lushly by. Wide brushstrokes of goldenrod and purple loosestrife colored the tall grasses. Along the bank, pussy willows waved in a brisk wind, their plum-size sacs ripe to bursting. The rain had quit for the moment, perhaps gathering itself for another round.
But—the cow. That simple domesticated beast. The sight of it filled me with joy. Rooted in the undulating grass, vast black-and-white nethers toward us, it swung its anvil-shaped head around and gazed our way as it chewed. A crumbling stone wall ran along behind it, disappearing over the hillside.
“Can you see the cow?” I asked Rachel, who squinted toward where I was pointing.
Her eyes teared up, and she managed a smile. “No, but I believe you.”
Pia unstrapped her helmet and let it drop with a thud to the hard ground. Rachel did the same, and I followed suit. They looked like a pile of skulls.
Over the next hill, the pasture unspooled before us as the river widened and mellowed. We staggered through meadow weeds and sedge that raked at our bare legs. Twenty or thirty cows, black-and-white, or brown-and-white, standing or lying down, watched with little interest as we passed. Steam rose off their big warm bodies into the cool morning air, and we smelled their wet coats and dung. I could have kissed every one of their sweet, endlessly stupid faces.
The field crested once more at a cluster of shimmering yellow trees. Long slender branches hung mournfully down.
“Look,” Pia whispered. “We’re at the Willows.” Soundlessly, she began to cry.
I looked up. Blue sky, windswept. Bruised-looking clouds scuttled across the horizon in full retreat, their shadows racing across the field. We wandered among several dozen willows that grew in stands of five or six, as if they favored small groups, the long tresses of those near the bank cascading into the river. Rainwater soaked us as we stepped through golden curtains. It felt as if the trees were there to comfort us; it was like a place seen in dreams, lit by otherworldly light.
Thunder rumbled around us. We squinted up into sunlight, wondering. Another round; this time the earth shuddered beneath our feet.
Beyond the grove of willows, a sparkling gray ribbon spanned the river at what looked like its widest section before disappearing into an expanse of green.
“Wini!” Pia shouted from a few yards ahead of me on the bank. “It’s a road!”
A truck laden with logs barreled over the bridge with the booming roar we’d thought was thunder moments ago.
Rachel took a few tentative steps forward. She lunged at Pia’s belt, hooking herself on with both hands. “Pia, what are we waiting for, come on!”
I stood next to Dean, watching him. He’d stopped short and squatted in the tall grass, one fist jammed into his open hand.
Pia turned back to me, patience gone. “Let’s go!”
“Come on, Dean,” I whispered. “Get up.” His forehead creased with worry. I could feel the fear pulsing off him as he stared glassy-eyed at the road.
“Go ahead,” I called out to Pia and Rachel. “I’ll catch up with you.”