Cat Dubois' Odyssey to Enchantment Page 23

  “Catherine, dear, could we take a walk to where my Jeep hit the rail?”

  “You hit the rail on the bridge?”, Cat responded.

  “Yes, I think so. How far is that from here?”, Eleanor asked with concern, after her victimization by the interrogations. “I must see for myself”.

  “A mile and a half, or so,” Cat informed her.

  “Shall we? Will you go with me? I need to see the Jeep and its condition,” Eleanor insisted.

  “Please, come with me. I’d feel better with company.”

  “The road is slippery, and it’s damn cold out there,” Cat said. She thought this was a useless, pointless walk.

  “We will bundle up, and put our boots on,” Eleanor said.

  “Boots? You brought boots?”, Cat asked.

  “Of course, dear,” Eleanor said, smiling. “I always carry goulashes for the snow.”

  “Where are your boots?”, Cat wanted to know.

  “I have some. Don’t worry,” Eleanor said, lightly. “Are you game?”

  “Alright. We can try,” Cat said, all the while believing that Eleanor was playing a mind game and needed to prove her story. So, Cat agreed to play along with the silly stunt.

  The two women, dressed in warm clothing and boots that Catherine supplied, as she didn’t believe Eleanor’s assurance of her having come prepared. And, Eleanor took the boots to appease Catherine. “These were my mother’s boots,” Cat said, quietly. “What size do you wear?”

  “These will do,” Eleanor said as she eyed them. She knew they would fit.

  They started out through the front door, making foot prints in the pristine snowy blanket. They walked down the wintry-white road, slipping occasionally. They managed to get part of the way to the scene of Eleanor's accident after thirty minutes of careful foot placement. Huffing and puffing, the two out-of-shape women decided it was best to look over the rim of the ledge, rather than going any further. After all, uphill in the cold snow was much worse than walking down.

  “Let’s look from here,” Catherine said. They held onto a boulder near the rim of the ledge. Neither of them wanted to venture any closer than necessary. At one point, Cat held Eleanor back with a warning hand on her arm. “Don’t go any closer. I don’t know how much is snow or ground. The drifts are deceiving.”

  Close enough, approximately a half a mile at visual distance, was the yellow rental Jeep. There it rested upside down, smashed on the rocks below. The hillside was deeply covered in snow all the way across to the next hill. From under the white snow, the yellow side of the Jeep stuck out like mustard on a white cotton shirt. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and Eleanor gasped.

  They walked just a little further, stopping at the top of the hill as the air was too cold, and thin. Both women were winded from fighting the slippery conditions, and they decided to stay there, still observing from the distance. A helicopter flew around the area again, and, then, away from the crash site. Cat and Eleanor continued to watch from the higher point.

  The eastern hill was higher than the others and allowed them and eagle’s-eye view the wreckage of Eleanor’s Jeep. The crash site was perhaps a mile and a half further from the manor, as Catherine figured, mentally calculating the distance from her home and down the mountain. She wondered how an eighty-to-a hundred year-old woman could walk out of a crash like that and survive, then, to walk almost a mile and three quarters up the slope of the mountain to her home—impossible. She had to have had help. So, who was her accomplice?

  Cat looked at Eleanor. She looked innocent, but it was impossible to be absolutely sure. The valley below them was clear, but fog could be seen. “The ghostly cold grey fog will roll in soon,” Cat said to Eleanor as she pointed to the expected area of concern. The threatening coldness seemed to creep forward from the east.

  “Oh, dear, I didn't realize how steep the cliff was. I'm glad I passed out,” Eleanor said.

  Totally bizarre and totally impossible, Catherine just kept trying to figure it all out, as she simply stared at Eleanor, then back at the crash site. She looked at how far down the Jeep had tossed and turned, end over end, until it hit the rocks and boulders below—for Eleanor to have survived was almost impossible, in an of itself. There were so many reasons this scenario was wrong. Something was missing here. She had to have been saved by someone. But, there were no tire tracks in the snow on her driveway; and, there was only one set of footprints in the snow, not two, leading up to her house. Suspicious as she was, here this odd English woman stood, walking, talking and present beside her in the snow—against all odds. This fact was undeniable and Catherine couldn’t argue with that fact. Could there have been a man who brought her to the house? But, no, Cat reasoned. There was no one standing there, but Eleanor. The snow was deep enough that had there been any wheeled vehicle present, there would have been evidence—tracks and two sets of footprints. As far as Cat could tell, there had only been one set of small prints leading to the house, and none leading away. Either way, the circumstances of this event were getting weirder with each moment. Both women stood quietly, looking at the situation. The Jeep was not hanging over the side of the cliff as Eleanor had described. It had obviously broken through the rail due to a strong force. It was obvious that Eleanor had been moving quickly, and the Jeep had violently spun out of control, hitting the railing before it busted through with such force, that it spun the vehicle in mid-air, suspended for a moment, then toppled end over end, before it came to rest on the boulders, upside down. It was smashed just like an accordion, with parts still attached to the yellow frame. And, Eleanor didn’t remember any of it. The forensics of the obvious accident could even be solved by a novice like Cat, who could now clearly see what had occurred. She is one lucky person to be alive. Cat thought like a detective, but there were so many hint’s that didn’t connect.

  “We must go back. The weather is going to change for the worse again,” Catherine said. “This is the worse accident I’ve ever scene.”

  “Worse? It’s “worst”, you know. English dear, that’s British terminology,” Eleanor snickered, for a moment, and then sobered. “The Jeep must have plummeted after that man got me out. I couldn’t have gone over the side.” Those words were whispered to herself, as if she were trying to convince herself that was the case. They both solemnly turned away from the scene.

  Trying to change the visuals of the horrific crash site and to cheer Eleanor up, “because she could have lost her life,” Cat thought, she cleared her throat. “The winter scenery is breathtaking, isn’t it?’

  “Yes, it is. The cold fresh air smells clean up here,” Eleanor said. The two women spotted an eagle flying overhead, through the treetops. “Majestic. Just like God, eh?”

  Cat shut down almost at once. She didn’t see God in the eagle. There was nothing symbolic to her.

  “Look again. See the magnificence of its freedom?” Eleanor pointed with her left hand as her right hand grabbed Catherine’s.

  Cat pulled away. She didn’t want to see God’s glory. Especially from anyone else. After all, who is this woman who would mention God?

  “Resistant, are you?” Eleanor questioned her withdrawal.

  Catherine started moving forward silently. Walking carefully and slowly, they took a shorter route back to the Manor. Their teeth chattered and their feet were frozen. Because of how cold it was and how long it was taking, Cat chose to try the footbridge. She thought the shortcut would help them cross the ridge in a third of the time of the other option. But she soon realized the footbridge was treacherous and too slippery. During the summer and when hikers were exploring the area, the footbridge provided a faster way of transport by walking the narrow bridge that hung between hills. It hung between two points from two large and high hills. It was wobbly and resembled the bamboo bridges found in Thailand, joining jungles. Though sturdy in the summer, it swayed in the wind or bad weather. Children were not allowed to cross unless accompanied by adults. The Appalachian Tourist Bureau discussed removi
ng the bridge, due to the high-risk threat of someone falling to their death, but nothing had been done about it. When they reached the footbridge, Cat went first. Ten feet out onto the bridge, she discovered there was no traction due to the icy wooden planks. The hand rails were large knotted ropes and also freezing to the touch. Her gloves could hardly grip the large knots and the bridge swayed from the cold wind. A howling noise echoed from the sides of each mountain, the sounds of the wind—“Ooo…Ooo…”

  It was the Eastern weather front coming into Glory Town. Again that night, they would experience another storm. The wind was warning them. “Turn around, this is too dangerous!”, Cat called out.

  Once safely on the starting side of the ledge again, Catherine decided they should take the road instead of using the footbridge. She pointed back to the same way they came. “This way,” she said.

  Eleanor thought Catherine was a coward, but she accepted Catherine's lesser plan graciously. She rolled her eyes in frustration, but Cat didn’t notice. After all, Eleanor really had no fears—not usually—but Catherine did. “We must turn around. Catherine is afraid,” she mentally told Tadhg.

  “Good idea,” Tadhg chirped into Eleanor’s mind. “Catherine is correct this time.”

  “Hush, Tadhg. I have this one. No worries,”Eleanor chirped back at him.”

  “Now, do you, friend? Remember you’re seeing things from the flesh, not the spirit right now. The flesh will fool you. If you were in the spirit, you would know that no a human, nor mammal could make it across that bridge and see the other side. It’s covered in ice, friend. Don’t be so bullheaded.” Tadhg reminded Eleanor of human capabilities, and right now, she was fleshly and capable of dying again.

  “You know we could have made it.” Eleanor said to Catherine, nodding in the affirmative to her brave statement.

  “Really? Then why did you agree to turn around?”, Catherine so curiously asked.

  “Well, dear, I saw the look on your face—dread, pure terror and fear.” Eleanor used Catherine as a scapegoat.

  “Yeah right,” Cat huffed.

  Silence came upon them as they were out of breath from the walk from the path to the road. But Catherine was able to eke out, “You have way too much pride, Eleanor.”

  The women slipped and slid their way back to Dubois Manor without any falls from the icy roads. They were quiet as they went, saving their energy from talking. Energy was needed to help them get up the side of the hill, and then to get to the road which was now uphill of that. It was over a mile-long trek and more difficult for them on the return trip. “Can you do it, Eleanor?”, Cat asked. “I can go get the four wheel truck. You can sit on the boulder.”

  “No, I’m walking. I’m good to go,” Eleanor puffed. “Besides, I want to walk. Get some exercise, you know.”

  As they approached the manor, drained of breath, both women noticed some things on the front porch. As they drew nearer, they could see that there were three brown boxes there. As they approached, it became clearer that the boxes were very large.

  “How did those boxes get here?”, Cat wondered. She looked around the property and the driveway. Once again, there were no tire marks; they had neither seen nor heard any car engine; and there was no way of traveling the roads, no possible way to deliver the boxes except by helicopter, and that would be obviously impossible with no clear landing. “So, how did the three boxes arrive? And, who put them there?”, Catherine thought, perplexed. Raising her brow, she scratched her head. “What are these about?”

  It had been many years, since she’d had so many activities and surprises—and from only one guest. She’d been with Eleanor for most of the morning and wasn't buying the idea that all the energy going on around the home happened to be pleasant coincidences. The years made her suspicious and slightly paranoid, so Cat wasn’t going to accept these odd happenstances as innocent. Everything— including magic—had an explanation; everything could be rationalized using logic.

  “Oh, my things have arrived! I hoped they would come, but, with the weather, I thought they would be delayed,” Eleanor said, exhibiting sheer joy about the arrival of her belongings. She moved more rapidly towards the porch. Smiling ear to ear, she said, “Let’s hurry, dear. There is something for you, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, I see things have arrived,” Cat said, in perplexed restatement. “How were they shipped?” Catherine knew the winter weather was too bad for any delivery. That was why she usually waited on a weather change—and that was, most usually, not until spring.

  It was obvious now that Eleanor was planning on an extended visit. Unannounced and by surprise, yet again, Cat wondered, why, how, and to what end this all amounted?

  “Airmail, of course—no other way to go these days,” Eleanor said, calmly. Eleanor read her mind. She answered her question—“How did they ship here?”—without actually hearing her say the question aloud. And, the three boxes bore a postmark from “Somerset, UK”.

  Catherine’s eyebrows furrowed in question. “Yes, of course,” she said temporarily surrendering to her questions which had no logical answers. She couldn't deny their existence, because three boxes were right there on her porch.

  Eleanor began to quicken her step. “Let’s get them inside. I must have my things, at once.” They moved the boxes inside. Eleanor asked Catherine, “Where is the magical little girl who use to accept miracles? Where is that child?”

  “What are you talking about?”, Cat answered defensively.

  Eleanor gave her and encouraging smile. “Let her return. You’ll be happier, dear.”

  I Am…Box One

  As the two women approached the three boxes, Cat abruptly grabbed one in her arms like she was a super hero.

  “Be careful dear. That one is extremely fragile.” Eleanor directed her movements.

  Cat looked to see if the box had the words FRAGILE written on the outside. It didn’t. “How do you know it’s fragile?”, Cat asked sarcastically. The box had many holes in the sides and top.

  Eleanor was thrilled like a child to see the arrival of the boxes. She giggled like a child on Christmas morning. “Let’s see, which one is for… Here it is! ‘Elizabeth Catherine Dubois.’” She smiled like a kid.

  Catherine, as usual, slowly and cautiously allowed herself a peek from around Eleanor's back as she bent over the largest box. There it was. It was marked in large bold letters. Eleanor read it aloud, “‘For Elizabeth Catherine Dubois: Please, Open first! Open Immediately! This is a special gift for Elizabeth Catherine Dubois.’”

  The largest box, with the card addressed to Catherine, made a noise. Cat heard a faint cry or whimper coming from it. She tore open the box, easily grabbing one of the many vented places. “What in the world? I thought these boxes were your belongings? What is making that whimper?”, Catherine asked, followed by a steady stream of more excited whimpers emanating from the large box. Catherine’s eyes lit up when she noticed the puppy within—so small and wearing a red collar— trying its best to stand up in the box with its wobbly legs.

  “My, God. How did a puppy survive the distance and time without its mother? Having no food, no water, and no evidence of relieving itself?”, Catherine asked. She found, once again, that life was stranger and stranger with Eleanor around—explanations just didn’t work. “And, who would send a puppy?”

  “Oh, dear, you ask so many irrelevant questions. The fact is, the puppy is here, right now, with you, and is a gift,” Eleanor said brightly. “Perhaps it was magic? Oh, yes, I forgot, you no longer believe in magic? Too bad. You need to trust more coincidental happenstances that could be God, or magic, and not coincidence at all!” Eleanor sharply threw the lack of magical faith idea at Catherine, and shared her expression of disappointment, clearly, in the wrinkles of her face. “My, my, a tough one you are,” Eleanor continued, but smiling now, making her point complete with “God help her.”

  “The box was addressed to a ‘Ms. Elizabeth Catherine Dubois,’ dear; it’s as simple as that.�
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  “But, who would send me a puppy? Or even a gift?” Catherine wanted to know. She looked despairingly at the gift, and appeared somewhat angry. “Who knew my whole name? No one calls me by that name. Only my mother.”

  Eleanor knew there was a distinct possibility that Catherine might reject the puppy—but she surely hoped not. It was one of the most delightful parts of her and Tadhg’s carefully-weaved plan to help Catherine. Eleanor was banking that a puppy might be the door to the first enchantment she could enjoy since all the years of loss she felt since the fire. The puppy could be the catalyst to melt her heart and reopen her closed door—one of many closed doors, that is. The puppy love door might be the start to a happy ending.

  “I don't know, dear. Maybe someone loves you.” Eleanor's left eye had a shiny tear gathering at its corner, just before she smiled with her usual warmth and glowing expression. She felt such gratitude at the idea of bringing love to Catherine. However, Catherine was a hard case, and Eleanor was well aware of her potential rejection, before they arrived. She and Tadhg had done their homework, studying Catherine’s hurts, trials, pain and losses throughout her disappointments. Eleanor took a minute to remind herself and Tadhg, making a mental note not to give up.

  This was only the beginning of an awakening for Catherine, and a few hours was nothing compared to the expected outcome. One step at a time—one door to pry open, before another, and then, the domino effect would take over. The laws of physics in the spiritual world proved this to be true. The most difficult door to open is the first. Eleanor and Tadhg knew that a puppy present, although the first response would most likely be rejection, would be the one possible gift that would do the trick. They had to try it.

  Cat attempted to come up with some reasoning to explain this new situation. “There is a puppy in a box that came from England without food or water, and looks perky and alive. Oh, the list of suppositions I could think up will go on and on, I’m certain, if I let it…” Cat snarled to herself. So instead, she pouted because she couldn’t accept this, or anything anymore, as faith in magic, God, or the blessings of Jesus Christ.