When Autumn Leaves: A Novel (2 page)

“What’s that, then?” Autumn asked, her fingers lightly touching the item in question.

“Oh, I think you know,” Neal said seriously.

Autumn picked up the paper, unfolded it carefully, and read the names. “This has got to be some kind of a joke.”

“You know that it is not,” Neal answered, her smile completely gone.

“Well, you lot have made a mistake,” Autumn blurted.

“You know that we do not make mistakes,” Neal said tightly. “The Vedea has been the Jaen oracle for thousands of years. It is never wrong. Sometimes it is hard to accept, hard to understand, certainly, but never wrong.”

Autumn had to tread lightly. Neal was her friend, her Sister, but also her superior. “I don’t even know some of these people. Never even heard of them. Ellie Penhaligan? Who in the hell is that?” Autumn took a deep, seething breath, trying to calm herself. “I assumed I would be choosing from a pool of women that I’ve been working with. Some I have even been grooming, personally, for years.”

“Well, you assumed too much. You knew this wasn’t only your decision to make. You made a vow, Sister Autumn, to serve the Jaen, as it has served humanity since before humans even knew how to record their own history. And so you will serve.” Neal took a sip of tea. She exhaled and softened her face. “Look, I’m sure there is some leeway here. This is a guide—but a guide you cannot ignore. These women must be included in your decision-making process. And after all, you get the final say. I cannot for the life of me imagine why that’s not enough for you.”

A bureaucratic loophole! Autumn felt some relief. “I’m sorry. It’s just that . . . actually, I thought I wouldn’t be given a choice at all. I thought the Vedea would know, somehow, who I had in mind, and that would be the end of it. I thought I could use my year’s warning to prepare that person. I didn’t think I would have to use that year to choose.” That new thought—that she’d only have a year to make this decision—suddenly made Autumn a little frantic.

“So now you don’t want the choice at all?” Neal’s eyebrows rose. “I could go back and ask the Vedea to come up with something more . . . concrete,” she suggested.

“No, no, of course not.” Autumn clasped her hands together solemnly. “I will use the list. I’ll investigate all the candidates with due diligence. I’ll make the right choice.”

“Of that I have no doubt. You have the added advantage of having so many talented women to choose from. There really is no other place on earth like Avening. You have been blessed.”

Autumn nodded. She didn’t want Neal’s kindness. She didn’t want to hear how wonderful Avening was. She knew. And it hurt.

Neal reached across the table and took Autumn’s hand. Her grip was gentle and wise. “We are Jaen, but we are also human. We need change. It keeps us vibrant, helps us grow and makes us better. You need the change, Autumn. You have another chapter in your life to begin. And Avening needs a change, too. Fresh blood. A new perspective. It’s time.”

“I know,” Autumn agreed. “I’m just being nostalgic. It’s hardly productive; don’t mind me.”

“It’s fine, dear. Things are happening, moving forward. You’ll think on many things now, not just the decision before you. That’s the way of it,” Neal said as she stood. “I have to go. I’m sorry, Autumn. But thank you for the tea.”

Autumn nodded, unsure herself of whether or not she wanted Neal to stay.

“Goodbye, Sister,” Neal said before her gate opened. “Please, please call me if you need to talk about this. If you need some objectivity. We worry sometimes that you’ve grown too used to being on your own. And like it or lump it, we are family, Autumn.”

Autumn embraced her friend and promised that she would call, that she would keep them involved in her progress. It was a promise she meant at the time. Autumn closed the door so she wouldn’t have to hear the gate. She put the note in her pocket, never wanting to look at it again, but then yanked it out only a couple of hours later. The Winter Solstice was approaching, the time when the winter’s longest and darkest nights subsided and gave way to light and sun. Autumn knew she should be taking advantage of this particular celebration to start her own life-changing process, her moving on and forward. Besides, there was just no point in avoiding it any longer.

Like the first time Autumn saw it, the list seemed wrong. But wrong simply wasn’t a possibility. Each name on the list was there for a reason, just like Neal had said. The problem was that she personally knew women who seemed far better suited to the task than some of the women on the list. Maybe the Vedea hadn’t gotten it wrong per se; perhaps it had simply overlooked a few. Or maybe this was all part of some bigger test. That particular idea made her stomach flip. She was too damn old for such things.

If only she could have an interview process, like with any other normal job: take out an ad in the paper, just put it out in the universe. Then, possibly, the universe would take care of what the Vedea may have overlooked. Autumn bit the end of her pen and looked up at the ceiling. Why not an ad in the paper? This was her call, and Avening was a different sort of town. The people here thought she was a witch (which was hardly the case, but let them think it) and plenty of them had seen her Book of Shadows.

That afternoon, Autumn came up with a plan. If she said she was looking for a protégé, if she made it almost like a contest and had the interested candidates write an essay, then she could really see where their heads were at, where they stood spiritually. The idea that these women would be participating in such an important choice also made her feel good, less deceptive. It seemed so much more modern and egalitarian for women to step up on their own, to voice that they themselves were ready for their lives to change, than to receive some ominous Jaen tap on the shoulder. Would people understand she was leaving? She doubted it. Even if she were to come out and say so, she feared no one would believe her. She was so much a part of that town.

Autumn made her arrangements—she dialed up Tucker Bradshaw, a devilishly handsome reporter at the
Avening Circle
, about an article she hoped he’d write on her search for a protégé. Less than an hour after she hung up the phone, it rang again. On the other line was Ellie Penhaligan, who turned out to be the
Circle
’s researcher. That was a laugh—one of the names on her list that she hadn’t recognized, and the universe was already sending her avenues of communication. One of her candidates was now helping to set the wheels of her plan in motion.

By the time the Winter Solstice celebration came around nine days later, the word had spread around Avening like wildfire. Autumn was looking for an apprentice. But she wasn’t, not technically. What Autumn really needed was a replacement.

E
LLIE PENHALIGAN WAS A SLOW WALKER. IT WASN’T that she was unwell, and she wouldn’t have called her ambling “philosophic.” It was just that Ellie knew exactly how long it would take to arrive at any given destination. That’s the kind of person she was.

On December 21st at 8:15 a.m., there Ellie was on Brigid’s Way, making her slow and deliberate steps, one foot in front of the other. If you were an average person walking down that same street on that very same crisp morning, you probably wouldn’t notice Ellie at all. Even if you were acquainted with the woman, more likely than not you still would fail to see her. Invisibility was Ellie’s own special magic.

When she was younger, Ellie used to believe that her invisibility was a metaphor for something else, assuming it was her awkwardness, her fear of saying or doing the wrong thing. She had thought as she grew older, more confident, wiser, she would outgrow this not being noticed. But lately, Ellie really felt like a ghost. She would be in a place, but not really there. People looked through her, past her. Her invisibility had taken on a life of its own. It wasn’t a metaphor anymore, or a defense mechanism or eccentric little tic. She was actually invisible. At least, that was how it felt to her.

Ellie wondered whether her parents were to blame. They were, after all, children of the sixties who had met at a love-in or lie-down or something of that sort, about which Ellie knew little except that a lot of drugs had been involved. Could Ellie’s lack of physical presence be a genetic mutation caused by acid or mushrooms? Ellie grew up on their hippie commune among the highest, densest redwoods, where they dug their hands deep into the soil and grew their own food, made their own clothes. So perhaps it is there that the mystery is solved. Ellie indeed was a child of the earth, a baby of beiges and taupes and browns and muted greens. Nature doesn’t scream and shout, demanding constant attention, and neither did Ellie. Maybe her invisibility was just her blending right in.

Ellie pulled her long camel coat close and shoved her hands deep into the pockets. Even with gloves on, she could feel their tingling. It was desperately cold, too cold even to snow. She needed the jolt of caffeine as much as she needed to wrap her hands around something warm for the remainder of her walk. She stepped inside Hallowed Grounds, the coffee shop, and stood momentarily to let the heat of the colorful little café find its way into her bones. Besides the selection of tea and coffee, Sean sold an assortment of baked goods made by his wife, Rona. And although Ellie could never quite taste it, she figured Rona must use an abundance of cinnamon in all her creations, because the smell of it always stayed in Ellie’s hair and on her clothes long after she had left the coffee shop.

Ellie was pleased to see Sean today. There was something about him, something that made her feel like she’d been given a big cat tranquilizer. He wasn’t handsome in any kind of conventional way; truth be told, he was not even that friendly. But she could tell that he liked who he was. “Hi Sean. I’ll have a latte, please.”

Sean looked at Ellie and his mouth curled into a half-smile. She knew this smile all too well. It was the relay of a spinning brain, a brain working to figure out who she was and how he knew her. Ellie had come to accept it in her everyday interactions with people. She was unremarkable, though her stomach flinched a little as she thought so.

“Uh, Sally, right? No, let’s see, Lori?”

“Close enough. It’s Ellie.” Ellie smiled to let him know that he was entirely blameless.

“Right, sorry about that. A latte, was it? Is it cold enough for you then, Ellie?” Sean punched some buttons on his cash register. “Or are you one of those strange birds that love being at the very heart of winter?”

Ellie beamed at him. “Yes.”

Sean’s eyebrows rose. “Yes, you love winter? Yes, it’s cold enough for you?”

“Uh, yeah, I, yes, I do. Yes, it is.”

Sean shrugged and turned to make her latte. How had she managed to screw up casual barista banter? She closed her mouth and waited for her coffee. Sean handed it to her after taking her exact change and looking over her shoulder to the next customer.

Despite her rather clumsy answer to Sean, she was thinking how much she really did love winter as she slipped out the door. Walking down Brigid’s Way, Ellie noticed how many lights were already strung. Before the night was over they would cover every roof and tree. Tonight, Avening would honor the season with its traditional Solstice Lighting ceremony. Every shop and storefront would decorate in its own special way. There would be nothing mundane or predictable about these lights. Some would be white, some pink. There would be glittery snowflakes and plastic reindeer. Avening would come alive with the stamp of each individual character, and there were a lot of characters in this town. Ellie and her coworkers at the
Circle
had a tradition of throwing their own Solstice party. In doing this, those who ran the paper were immensely relieved that they’d avoided the gauntlet of political correctness—“Happy Winter” was so inclusive that it sidestepped offending anyone. Ellie was excited to go; she liked being in the spirit. But first, she needed a pair of shoes to wear.

It only took her two minutes to get to Justy Bluehorn’s shop. Justy was a cobbler, a real, honest-to-goodness cobbler. Rumor had it he had been a fairly famous actor way back when, had traveled all over the world performing in exotic locations. He gave it all up to be a shoemaker. Ellie believed it. She’d seen his shoes, and there could be no doubt that he was indeed an artist.

She’d been in his shop only once, about a year after she first moved to Avening, to drop off a pair of shoes to get resoled. Immediately upon entering his shop, she was mesmerized by his display. Ellie knew that she didn’t have a clue when it came to fashion—no one saw her anyway, so it didn’t matter what she wore—but Justy’s shoes were, without a doubt, the most beautiful shoes she had ever seen. They were delicate, and yet there was a solidity to them. They felt heavy in her hands when she picked them up. And the colors! Hues she had never seen before, that she could not have imagined. She had been tempted to splurge, but when she found the particular pair she liked, a soft brown Mary Jane, she felt suddenly unworthy. They seemed too perfect. She put them down but resolved to come back and buy a pair when she had an occasion or lifestyle worthy of them. As of that morning, she still didn’t.

She was, however, dropping off a pair of shoes. They needed to be redyed, or fixed, or polished, or something. They were the only dressy shoes she owned, and she’d owned them long enough to be embarrassed by their age. She had called Justy yesterday and asked if there was anything he could do on such short notice, since she wanted to wear them for the office party.

Justy had said that he was sure they could figure something out. So with twenty-eight minutes left before she had to be at her desk, Ellie Penhaligan entered the Dutch door of Justy’s workshop with her fingers crossed.

Ellie was surprised to find the shop exactly as she had remembered it in her mind’s eye. The walls were the same velvety maroon, the shoe display possessed that same magnetic draw, the low counter still looked as if Justy had assembled it from a piece of old barn siding. She was about to call out, but at the very moment her mouth began to open, Justy emerged from the door leading to his workshop.