Stranger in the Forest

 

Stranger in the Forest

Will didn’t have much time for the government, even though he had twenty odd years’ service as a government employee working in the forest. It could have been due to his experiences during the war; that those in charge ‘weren’t fit to herd sheep’, but he didn’t talk much about it. People just said he had a chip on his shoulder. Two years after he’d returned, his missus had died and he simply buried her on his small, country property without telling anyone, but as is always the case some nosey parker potted him to the authorities. One day they came and dug her up, and gave him a grilling to make sure she hadn’t been a victim of foul play, and they left thinking he was an eccentric old fool. They buried her in the town cemetery, which meant he wasn’t able to put flowers on her grave on Tuesdays, as he had been doing… Tuesday was the day of the week she had died.

If people let him alone, he didn’t bother them and he worked in a gang of six in the forest; he was recognised as being skilled at his job. Some time back, he started to bring a flask of whisky to work and had a couple of snorts on the quiet at lunch time. It didn’t seem to alter his quality of work, but one day the boss caught him with the flask to his lips and asked him to hand over the bottle. ‘Just let me have one more swig?’ Will asked and quickly swallowed the last of the dregs. The boss was a live and let live sort of a fellow, and told Will’s leading hand to let him know if he noticed anything serious about his whisky drinking… and he didn’t.

The old gang truck had a canopy with an open back, and when the weather was dry the road became dusty, causing dust to wafted in covering the men. Will didn’t like the dust so during such times, he would opt to walk home, especially on Fridays… anyway he didn’t like listening to the others yakking about their plans for the weekend. He’d only have to walk a mile or two to the forest boundary and from there it was half a mile to his gate and another half up to his house. He didn’t find the walk onerous and he enjoyed the chorus of the bellbirds and tuis. At home he had his dog and his horse for company, and because his missus had died a decade back, he was used to his routine.

It was Friday afternoon again, and Will had opted to walk, so waited until the dust from the leaving truck had dissipated. About a mile down the road, there was one section where the road passed through some mature trees; there was always certain gloom there. Will blinked when he thought he saw a girl standing there in a faint blueish glow. He blinked again because she was there for sure, and without the glow, she’d have been difficult to see. He guessed she’d be sixteen or seventeen.

‘Who are you?’ Will had stopped and lifted his hat to scratch his head, but he spoke quietly.

‘At last, you speak to me.’ The girl replied quietly and with a smile.

‘You know I’ve seen you.’ Will said. ‘I’ve seen you out of the corner of my eye for a few years past. It didn’t occur to me to speak to you. You’re not real… are you?’ And he scratched his head again.

‘You don’t recognise me?’ Will didn’t know if it was a question or accusation, but her tone was soft.

‘Yeah, I’ve seen you… just glimpses. But know you, I don’t.’ Will shook his head.

‘I’m Lizzie Robinson.’ The girl said. ‘You might remember the name.’

This startled Will. ‘Lizzie… of course I remember the name. I’ll never forget it.’ And he sat down on a rock to gather his thoughts.

‘I just want to thank you for your act of kindness.’ The girl said quietly.

‘Thank me… for what?’ Will asked. ‘Twas a sorrowful time.’

The girl sat down on the grass beside him. ‘Nevertheless, your kindness,’ she paused, and wiped a tear, ‘helped.’

‘Well truly I’m pleased I helped in some way, but I don’t understand how.’ Will scratched his head again. ‘I don’t understand any of this.’

‘Then I’ll explain.’ She said quietly. ‘I was riding my horse on the trail above where you were walking.’ Will remembered this well, but he didn’t interrupt… he enjoyed the lilt in her voice. ‘The trail gave way under us and Pally, my horse and I tumbled down the hill. Pally rolled on top of me squashing my ribs and head. You must have been right there. My head… face was damaged too, which is why you don’t recognise me. You crouched beside me and pressed a small, green feather into my hand, moments before I died… “Don’t be alarmed.” You said, “You need this feather more than I.” and you closed my hand on it. You put my body on Pally and led him to the main road to flag down assistance.’

“Ah, Lizzie,’ Will whispered, ‘I remember it all. That feather was from a shining cuckoo, their feathers are supposed to bring good fortune. I picked it up no more’n five minutes before I found you.’

Lizzie stood up and kissed him on the cheek… but he didn’t feel it. ‘Thank you for your kindness.’ She said. ‘It eased my pain… and did something else. My mother kept the feather.’

‘Blimmin’ feather didn’t bring much good fortune to you, lass.’ Will observed with some bitterness. ‘I wish it had done.’

‘I’ve come to know you over the years.’ Lizzie said. ‘Both of us understand the circle of life where nobody can undo whatever is done. Be at peace. You’ll not see me again, but you’ll never be alone either.’

 Will didn’t need to look; he knew Lizzie had gone… if she had ever been there. He got to his feet and walked on home. Somewhere along the road, the realisation dawned on him that the cloud over his heart wasn’t for his late missus, that cloud had lifted years ago, the cloud was for the girl. Now it was gone. At home, he cooked himself a meal and while sipping his tea beside the fire, he thought about the aftermath of the accident. The police weren’t too happy about him removing the body from the scene, but the evidence was clear. The police had showed no empathy for Will… but he was stoic enough to put them out of mind. As he stirred the fire with a stick he became aware that he hadn’t reached for a bottle. A smile creased his face.

 The next morning, Will was woken by the call of the shining cuckoo, which he put down to a strange coincidence. From now, he was going to associate the shining cuckoo with the lass, Lizzie. She had mentioned the circle of life… he knew the cuckoos would migrate during autumn and return in spring, when it was time to plant his spuds. There and then he made the decision not to go back to work, instead he would tend his farm properly, and you never know, he might stumble upon another shining cuckoo feather… rare as they might be.