The Fall of the Year (29 page)

“That I'd like to see.”

Louvia gestured toward a transparent blue shower curtain that hung across the doorway to her bedroom off the kitchen. It was rumored that as part of her fortunetelling, she sometimes sat behind this sheet of plastic, which she called the Eternity Curtain, and pretended to be a spirit. Through the Eternity Curtain tonight I saw a candle burning on her bedside table. Suspended in the air above it was an old-fashioned speaking trumpet.

“Isn't the astrologer in league with the forces of darkness to destroy this unsuspecting young man?” Louvia said to the floating trumpet.

“Yes, mother,” replied the instrument in a faraway hollow voice. Then the candle flickered out and the trumpet vanished. It was all I could do not to laugh.

Louvia looked into her gazing stone again, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “My Daughter and I might have made a miscalculation with Marie,” she conceded. “I know a widower, a pinch-fisted old farmer, who'd love to get his hooks into that six thousand dollars. What we actually intended was for you to see a girl from Pond in the Sky. This one will knock your socks off.”

I glanced toward the Eternity Curtain, but the bedroom beyond was dark. “I'm glad to know it. Tell your Daughter thanks, but no thanks. Ask her where Chantal is.”

“The new girl will be waiting for you tomorrow night at six-thirty by the old Pond in the Sky roundhouse,” Louvia said. “Her name's Gloryanne. She's not a day over sixteen. You can take her to the drive-in in Memphremagog. For that matter, if you give her the money for the drive-in, she'll let you take her to the local gravel pit for the evening instead. She reminds me of myself when I was her age. A real hot ticket.”

“Just because I've put off my plans to enter St. Paul's this fall doesn't mean I want to spend the next year in jail,” I said. “Thank Gloryanne anyway for me.”

Behind the blue shower curtain the candle flame appeared again, and the illuminated speaking trumpet gave a wild laugh. Now it appeared to be drifting around the room at about eye level.

Louvia jerked her thumb at the laughing trumpet. “My Daughter thinks you should let Gloryanne have her way with you. Sex is a sovereign antidote for despair, you know. If nothing else, it would take your mind off the astrologer usurper.”

“Chantal's not a usurper and I'm not in a state of despair!”

“She'd only drive you to an early grave, Frank. Look what she did to the old priest.”

“I honestly think she loved Father G as much as I did. Louvia, listen to me for once. I know you're trying to help. I don't want you to suppose I don't appreciate it. But these matches you want to arrange. They aren't going to help me find Chantal.”

From behind the curtain the spirit-trumpet blared out a great blast of derisive laughter.

“What's the matter?” Louvia said to me, pretending not to have heard anything.

“That idiotic trumpet. How do you get it to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Who's back there, Louvia? With the megaphone? Give me a straight answer for once.”

“No one,” Louvia said. “No one alive at least. It's the spirit of a dead relative. I had a little daughter once, now long lost to me. Still, it's a comfort to know that even on the other side infants do grow up.”

“I didn't know you ever had any children.”

“This is between you and me and the lamppost. The child was the result of an indiscretion. A one-night stand. I could never acknowledge her. It was probably fortunate for all involved that she died. As you can see, she visits me now and then from behind the curtain. I must say that she's grown up to be a beautiful young woman and smart as a whip, if rather on the willful side. No doubt she gets that from me.”

“I'd like to meet her face to face.”

“That's impossible. However. She's taken an interest in your welfare. She has someone very special in mind for you, if you want the truth. She was just testing you with the others. Now we'll get down to business.”

I held up my hand. “No, thanks. Not unless her name's Chantal.”

Behind the curtain, the candle went out. “There,” Louvia said. “You've hurt my Daughter's feelings. I hope you're satisfied. We won't see her again now for who knows how long. See how sensitive she is. And what a temper.”

“Where's she gone?”

“Back across. But I can handle matters from here. The new girl is a prize, Frank. I guarantee it on my reputation as a matchmaker. She's a teacher up at Memphremagog and shares any number of interests with you—fishing, book reading, sports of all kinds. A true companion. She's cute as a button into the bargain. You'll adore her.”

“Thanks just the same. I can find my own companion to adore.”

“She has a boat and wants to take you fishing on Lake Memphremagog.”

“I'm a stream fisherman.”

“Sunday afternoon at two. She'll be at the boat ramp.”

“So you've got it all arranged?”

“I'm just trying to give you a choice, Frank. I still don't see why you don't whisk Gloryanne up to the gravel pit, you'd feel like a million dollars afterward. But not to worry. The new one teaches biology. She can show you a thing or two along those lines herself.”

“For God's sake, Louvia, I'm still considering the priesthood.”

“Then why are you in such a white heat to find the astrologer?”

“To apologize to her. For supposing she was after Father George's money.”

“Never mind all that. You never heard me apologize to anyone, did you?”

“No one could accuse you of that.”

“Or the old priest you claim to have thought so much of. I don't recall that he was much given to apologies.”

“He used to apologize to God quite frequently. For getting mad at Him.”

“How foolish!”

For a minute neither of us spoke. Then Louvia nodded toward the Eternity Curtain. “I might be able to coax my Daughter into making a quick reappearance. Just for a moment. If you once laid eyes on her, you'd trust her. She's a famous beauty over there, you know.”

Louvia thought for a moment, then sighed. “You have no idea how hard raising a deceased daughter has been. When she was a teenager, she wouldn't listen to a thing I said. We fought like cats and dogs, and for nights on end she'd stay away. Now she appreciates my advice. She's actually thinking about getting married herself—oh, yes, Frank, they marry over there, too. I talked to her for a solid hour the other night about certain intimate matters. I can assure you, her husband will go to sleep on his wedding night a happy man. If he goes to sleep at all.”

I laughed. “I'd like to talk with this Daughter of yours myself. Maybe she'd go out with me.”

Once again the candle flame flared on in Louvia's bedroom and the levitating trumpet boomed out, “Marry the schoolteacher and be done with it!”

This time I couldn't help it—I laughed out loud.

“I could talk to the teacher for you, the way I talked to my Daughter,” Louvia offered. “She's a long-legged young number. With the right instruction, she'd give you a run for your money.”

“I want to know right now, Louvia. Who's behind that curtain?”

“Nobody,” Louvia said, and the candle went out.

 

Louvia picked up an open copy of
Gone with the Wind
that was lying face down on the table and pretended to read for a while. Outside, it was completely dark.

“How many times have you read that book?” I said. “One hundred?”

“Probably more. I'll tell you what, Frank. I'll give you an address in Montreal. You can go there this weekend with fifty dollars in your pocket. I'll even float you a loan. That will put all thoughts of the priesthood out of your head forever. You'll thank me for the rest of your life.”

“Louvia, I don't intend to spend the weekend in a Montreal whorehouse. I thought you were going to introduce me to your Daughter.”

Louvia thought for a minute, then shook her head. “That's not a good idea. My Daughter thinks people are basically well-meaning, if you can believe a child of mine capable of such a delusion. At heart she's hopelessly romantic. A dangerous outlook at best.”

“I think she and I might hit it off.”

“Don't be absurd. You need a much more down-to-earth woman. Besides, you can't go to bed with a specter, you know.”

“Go to bed with her! I just want to meet her.”

Louvia thought for a full minute. Then she sighed again. “All right, Frank. But don't say I didn't warn you.”

“I'll take my chances. Especially if she can help me get Chantal back.”

“I'm going to leave now, and I have no idea whether my Daughter will show up or not. But if she does, don't, whatever you do, mention Chantal. The girl is murderously jealous. I'll leave the lantern on for you. Good luck!”

 

Across the river in the village someone was burning leaves in the darkness. Crickets sang in the dooryard. Beyond Louvia's shack, the brook murmured. I had no idea what to expect next. Did Louvia have a confederate? Or was the fortuneteller even now creeping around to the back of the house to sneak in and light the candle herself? If so, who had lighted it before? I knew very well that the Eternity Curtain and the talking deceased Daughter were part of the elaborate gypsy confidence game Louvia had played on credulous villagers for years. Even so, I was excited.

I sat at the table, waiting. From the crossing in the village the Northland hooted. The door was ajar, and on the warm breeze the scent of burning leaves was very strong.

“Turn out the lantern,” said a sad-sounding voice from the bedroom.

I turned out the lantern on the table and sat in the darkness, my heart beating fast. After some minutes I thought I heard a noise outside—no doubt Louvia slipping into the house with the speaking trumpet. But when I looked toward the bedroom, the candle on the bedside table was lit, and the spirit-trumpet sat on the table beside it.

“Where's ma mère?” said the same sad and distant voice.

“She left for a while.”

“I told her not to do that. But no. Ever the matchmaker.”

“I thought I was going to meet you in person,” I said. “How can I do that with the curtain between us? This is like talking to a shadow.”

“I am a shadow,” the trumpet-apparition said in its sorrowful voice. “This is a poor thing that my mother has done, Frank. Arranging this meeting between us. You and I both know that nothing can ever come of it.”

“Pull back the curtain and we'll see for ourselves.”

“That I can't do.”

“How about if I pull it back?”

“Then you'll never lay eyes on me. Tell me. What is it you truly want? Perhaps I can help, as long as you don't ask for the impossible.”

“You know what I want. And who. You and your mother both know.”

The supposed apparition was silent for a time. Then it said, “What did the old man tell you to do? What did the priest say to you at his camp?”

After a pause to collect my thoughts, I said, “He said we'd go to the woods one last time. And then I'd understand.”

“Then why haven't you gone there? Isn't that the least you could do, for him if not for yourself?”

“He said we'd go together. Then he died.”

“So?”

“So I can't go with him.”

The candle started to flicker. This time I was ready. I jumped up and yanked back the curtain. The room was empty, but on the table next to the extinguished candle, where the spirit-trumpet had been, was the bird's-eye maple box containing Father George's ashes.

 

“Do as she said and take them to the woods.”

I whirled around. Louvia was sitting at the kitchen table by the lantern, now lighted again.

“Where in the woods?”

She shrugged. “You'll figure it out,” she said. “Take your old friend to the woods one last time, Frank. There you'll find the answers to all the questions that can be answered.”

“What about Chantal?”

“How many times do I have to tell you? No one can predict the future. It's the second greatest mystery there is.”

“What's the first?”

“Love,” said the fortuneteller. “Love is the greatest mystery and most powerful force in the universe.”

10

In the fall of the year Lord's Bog is the most beautiful place on the face of the earth, so beautiful that if you go there alone, it hurts your heart not to have someone to share it with. To me, it has always been emblematic of the fundamental goodness of Creation.

—Father George, “A Short History”

 

T
WO DAYS LATER
I rose in the dark before dawn, took my fly rod and shotgun, and went alone to the woods at the head of Lord Hollow. I took Father George's “Short History” and, in the bird's-eye maple box, his ashes.

In the pale early light I drove Father George's Buick out the county road, thinking of the changes the Kingdom was undergoing, beginning with the death of my adoptive father and mentor. But everywhere I looked, things were changing. Along the river east of the village, where within my memory there had been a score of working farms, fewer than half a dozen barn lights now glimmered through the mist. A few chalets, second homes of city people, were already going up here and there in the woods. A ski resort was being planned for Jay Peak. A four-lane superhighway connecting Boston and Montreal was snaking its way up from southern Vermont, though it hadn't yet reached Kingdom County.

I passed the junction with Lost Nation Road, leading up to the long-abandoned Lecoeur family homestead and one-room school. I continued east along the Upper Kingdom River, steaming in the cold dawn, sending its crystalline breath twenty feet high to delineate its course through the coloring hills. I turned north up Lord Hollow, as Father George and I had done together so many times: in the spring when the hardwoods were just leafing out and the hills were a pale gold; in high leafy summer; and in foliage time, the fall of the year, days like today, when our mountains seemed to glow with an inner incandescence. The road grew steeper and narrower as I entered the woods.