© 1991,2003 Watts Martin
In September, a month after she arrived, Elise decided she might not be able to stand the mountain winter. She refused to worry. If she froze, she froze on her own terms.
Her nights were spent alone in the one-room cabin, fifty yards from the river and a dozen miles from the nearest town. She wanted her days to be creative, doing things she had dreamed of but never found time for in the real world, for that was how she thought of it—distinct from the place she had retreated to. Writing, painting, weaving, gardening. She did a little of each. Mostly she found herself sitting sunrise to sunset by the river, in the shade of a looming evergreen, watching the otters.
She wasn't sure where they lived, but each day at least one came by, swimming one way or another. They stopped being skittish a few weeks after she started to watch them play. Now she and her lawn chair were just part of the scenery.
It was late afternoon. Elise was almost finished with the book she was reading, but that was all right; she had brought a crate of them, and at the leisurely pace she was reading she wouldn't need to get more for a half-year. She brushed her unkempt blonde hair from her forehead with a sun-darkened hand and leaned back in the chair, frowning.
One of the otters splashed up onto the shore, stopping about ten feet away from Elise's chair, and barked at her inquisitively.
"I'm not going to feed you," she said.
The otter slid up to her, closer than one had ever come before, until it was within a whisker's length of her feet. She held her breath, trying not let her surprise show; she didn't want to startle it. It nosed her leg and barked again, then shot down the slippery bank to careen into the river with a satisfying splash.
Elise frowned again, then chuckled wonderingly.
* * *
That evening she cooked a simple dinner, as she usually did; the garden was beginning to flower, and the carrots were some of the best she had ever tasted.
After she ate she went over to the old typewriter—it was electric, but not electronic, for word processors were too close to her past life—and sat in front of it, her stare as blank as the paper in its carriage. Was electricity itself too close to that life? The thought occurred at least once a week; in principle, living "off the land" did not have to include power lines. In practice, refrigeration won out over idealism.
She was never very good at poetry, and no inspiration for how-to craft articles, the ones she told herself she should be writing, came to mind. After a few minutes, she gave up, flicking off the light and dropping into the huge wooden bed. She'd invested and saved enough that the loss of her pension didn't bother her yet. But savings wouldn't last forever. If she didn't start bringing in even a modest income, the decision about whether or not to cut the power would be made for her.
* * *
The next afternoon the otter—she assumed it was the same one—came back. In a foolhardy moment, she reached out to stroke its head; she thought better of it a half-second later, but the animal neither snapped nor pulled away. It waited until she withdrew her hand, then jumped onto the chair, wobbled into her lap and licked her on the neck.
Elise flinched, nearly falling out of the chair.
The otter barked twice, turned and used her legs as the top of a waterslide, rejoining its companions with a splash.
After she caught her breath, she looked at the river. Three otters stared back, solid eyes intense rather than playful. Then all of them turned to look at each other; one yipped softly and dove under. The other two followed.
She stared at the spot where they had been for long minutes.
* * *
Dinner was just fish and rice this evening; she had not felt like gardening. The knock at the door came halfway through the meal. It was so faint she wasn't sure she had heard it—but then it came again.
"Who on earth?" she said aloud, pushing back from the table and heading toward the door.
"Who is it?" she said, her hand on the latch. The knock came again. "I said, who is it?"
"Urrf roond," came a noise.
"What?"
"A friend." The voice was low and throaty, not particularly pleasant, and was not that of a "friend" Elise remembered ever having.
"Son of a bitch," she muttered, making sure the chain on the door was secure. "If you're selling anything I don't want it. I came out here to get the hell—"
"Urrf. No," the voice came, sounding frustrated. "Please. Open?"
"Goddamn son of a bitch," she said, a bit more loudly. She cracked the door open without removing the chain. "All right, what do you—" She stopped, drawing in her breath.
A slim girl stood outside the door, not possibly more than sixteen. Her skin was dark, almost rose-colored, her features vaguely Indian, waist-length black hair framing an elfin face. She was completely nude.
"My God," Elise whispered. The girl stared back, her head cocked to one side, obviously waiting for Elise to say… something more.
Well, I guess you're not what I came out here to get the hell away from, after all. But what are you?
By all rights, freezing.
If Elise let her in—
But she was clearly unarmed.
Elise pushed the door to, unhooked the chain, and opened the door fully. "Hurry up," she whispered.
With three quick steps, the girl walked inside, stopping to gaze around the little cabin with huge dark chocolate eyes. Elise suppressed a sudden, irrational pang of jealousy; the girl was beautiful—not in the way of a fashion model, but the way of a classically perfect sculpture, a red marble statue given breath.
She shook herself and slammed the door shut, brushing past the girl on the way to the closet. "Get some clothes on, child." She threw a robe at her; the girl caught it and stared at it in fascination, running a hand up and down its length, sniffing at it and rubbing her face against it.
"Put it on, don't play with it," Elise snapped.
The girl looked at her curiously, cocking her head to one side again, and held the robe loosely under one arm. Then she walked around the room slowly, running her hand across the books, the typewriter, investigating the table, as if all the experiences were new to her.
Then she sat down on the bed, dropping the robe into her lap, and looked up at Elise. "This…" she said finally, her low voice jarringly rough coming from that body.
Elise licked her lips nervously, realizing she was sweating, and pulled a chair around from the table to face the bed and sat down, studying the girl. The brown eyes were intense and crystal clear; either she was dangerously crazy, or unnervingly sane.
"This is beautiful," the girl finished, staring earnestly into Elise's eyes. "What… do you do here?"
Elise folded her arms and blinked at the child. Shouldn't I be asking you the questions? "I don't know what you mean," she said at last.
"Do you live here now? You were not here last summer."
"No. Not last summer." She pursed her lips. "I'm staying here. I'd like to live here. What about you?"
"If you want to, why not live here?"
"Things aren't that simple. I'm just renting; I haven't found…." She sighed, stopping herself from rambling. "I don't have anywhere else to go, so for the time being I do live here. Why were you wandering around out the backwoods naked, child?"
"I live here," she said simply. "I am not a child."
Elise grunted. "There aren't any other cabins around for miles. How far did you walk?"
"Is this what you call a cabin?"
She stared at the girl for a second, then laughed. "There are stories in the National Enquirer like this, aren't there?"
"What is—"
"Never mind. Please, put on the robe, don't just cuddle it. Do you have a name?"
The girl looked at the robe, then picked it up again, struggling into it awkwardly. "What is your name?"
"Elise."
"Elise," she repeated. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know," Elise said, surprised. "It's just… a name."
"Oh." She looked thoughtful. "What do you call the trees that line the banks of the river, Elise?"
"There are lots of them."
"Your favorite one?"
"I don't know. The evergreens—firs, pines…."
"Evergreen, then," the girl said. "My name is Evergreen."
"I see." Elise leaned back in her seat, fidgeting, then looked back at the girl. "Do you drink hot chocolate, Evergreen?"
"I do not think I have ever had it."
Elise rose to her feet and headed to the kitchen. "Somehow I knew you were going to say that."
* * *
Evergreen spent the night on Elise's couch. She'd tried to climb into bed with Elise, but the older woman guided her firmly back to the couch, getting out sheets for her. The girl seemed not to understand why sleeping together wouldn't be proper, or why Elise felt uncomfortable about undressing in front of her. If Evergreen wasn't so clearly sincere Elise might have suspected an elaborate practical joke.
The next morning, Evergreen watched from the couch, sheets in disarray around her, as Elise made breakfast. After they had eaten, Elise again asked where the girl had come from.
"I live here," Evergreen repeated, cocking her head to one side.
"So you don't live in a cabin. And you don't live in town. And you live someplace where you can wander around with no clothes."
"Yes," Evergreen nodded, obviously pleased that Elise was catching on.
"And you know how to get back to where you live from here?"
"Yes."
"Won't somebody be worried about you being gone overnight? Parents? Friends?"
"No," Evergreen said in a confused tone. "My friends know where I am."
Elise let out a long breath, considering. "Do you believe in magic, Evergreen?" she said suddenly.
"Of course, Elise. Don't you?"
"I've always hoped," she said softly, looking out the window toward the river. Then she stood up. "Come on."
Evergreen put on the robe and followed Elise to the river bank. Elise sat down in her chair; Evergreen sat down next to her.
"You asked what I do here. This is it," Elise said, gesturing at the water. "I try to do other things, too, but… I always seem to end up back here."
Evergreen nodded. "Why do you watch the river?"
"Do you know what accounting is, Evergreen?"
"No."
"Don't learn." She gazed into the river's shallows, as if studying the pebbles along the shore. "Working at a job you don't like, doing something that doesn't matter, to earn enough money for the privilege of living in a place you don't like. For three decades.
"You don't really understand that, though, do you? I don't think you'd know the real world if it bit you on the ass, child." The words were spoken without rancor, and Evergreen did not seem to take offense.
"Perhaps we know of two different 'real worlds,' Elise," the girl said softly. "Is there so little for you in yours that you long only to watch the water move past?"
"The water and the otters." Elise leaned forward, causing the chair to tip ominously. "They have it better than we do. They don't have to worry about anything but surviving."
"But that is what you worry about, too." Evergreen smiled. "You like the otters."
"Yes." She told the story of the otter leaping into her lap yesterday, and Evergreen listened attentively. "So I suppose at least one of the otters likes me, too," she finished.
"She wouldn't have made friends with you if she didn't." Evergreen turned to face the river. "They have responsibilities, too. Their world is not yours, but it is as real."
"I'd trade in an instant," Elise said, laughing.
"Would you?"
Elise looked down at Evergreen. The girl's eyes were bright and serious.
"It's an idle thought," Elise replied, a small, crooked smile on her face. "I suppose we all want to be what we're not."
"You would wish to be an otter?"
"I guess I might at that."
The girl/woman turned away from her, staring back at the river. "I understand," she said softly. "You can visit their world, but you cannot be part of it without being one of them."
"Do you think the otters think the same thing about the human world?" Elise said with a smile.
"Yes." Evergreen glanced back at Elise. "But I think they would only visit. You have to choose one life or the other." She looked back at the river again.
* * *
As they ate dinner, Elise's gaze traveled around the cabin at the civilization she had brought with her. Appliances, books, pictures, the omnipresent telephone. Useless, except the books. Her friends, her family—she could get by without them, didn't miss them.
Most of the time. That was what the phone was for, after all. She had made some friends in the closest town she hadn't planned on. The general store owner—they had a real general store, still! And the editor of the weekly county newspaper, the one looking for a part-time bookkeeper.
Evergreen, still in the robe, stretched out gracefully on the bed, then rolled onto her stomach and stared up at Elise. "If you could make the choice. Which world would it be, Elise?"
Elise stared at the phone, at the books, at the typewriter. "Why are you asking me, Evergreen?" she said.
The girl sat up, flowing rather than moving, and cocked her head once more, her eyes capturing the orange glow of sunset reflecting from the river. She remained silent.
Elise sat down on the bed beside her, and sighed. "It would be very tempting, Evergreen. I haven't gotten along well with the world. All my life I've dreamed of… not something more, but something better. Something different. I imagined I'd leave my life behind on a moment's notice."
"But?" Evergreen prompted. She smiled, but with sadness in her eyes.
Elise looked away, gaze settling on the phone. "I can't very well do the things I've never done here if I'm somewhere else. I think I've been putting off what I could make of the life I have long enough."
"Perhaps… some summer," Evergreen whispered.
Brow furrowing, the older woman thought for a few moments, then nodded slowly. "Perhaps some summer."
Evergreen slid into Elise's lap, hugging her, delicate lips resting against her neck.
She froze for a moment, unnerved by the intimacy, but returned the kiss on Evergreen's cheek, holding her close.
After a minute had passed the girl rose. "I may keep visiting you until then?"
"I'd like that," she said after a moment. "I'll be here."
Evergreen nodded, and let the robe slip to the cabin floor. She turned and walked away.
When she opened the door, Elise called her name. Evergreen turned again. "Yes?"
"Can I visit you?"
"Sit right by the river, under the closest evergreen, and watch the otters." She smiled and closed the door behind her.
Elise stared at the door for long minutes after the girl had gone, then wiped away a tear she did not remember crying.
Then she stood up and crossed to the phone, flipping through her address book until she found the right number.
"Carol," she said into the handset, "this is Elise. I've been fine… good. …I've been thinking a little about the position, yes. But I'm wondering if we could talk about a garden column, too."
– end –