Excerpt: The Stranger and Winifred Godding

Another excerpt from the latest draft of Hiram Falls where The Stranger and the crow come upon some revelations.

This is a sample from the latest draft of the novel and is another exchange between The Stranger, variously called The Ancestor or the man and a crow with a white feather. They are spirits. Feedback welcome.

One night the crow flies down to land on the ground at the mouth of the cave. It is early night. There is a full moon.

Wake up, the crow thinks.

The man is surprised. Don’t you sleep?

I take naps. Come. I want to show you something.

The man rises and follows the crow out the cave, down the path, down the Lincoln Hill side of town until they get near the bottom, the valley, and come in behind the big stone building set back from the road, back from Main Street. The building with books, the crow thinks. 

But the man only sees the largeness of the building. The stoneness of the building. Like his cave. He is hypnotized by the bright yellow light pouring out the windows into the night. It is a cold night; the snow is deep; the man does not notice. And the crow doesn’t care. The moon keeps darting behind the clouds which roll along like they’ve got some place to go. In a hurry. The man stands beneath a giant spruce. The crow is on a branch above him.

It is called a library, the crow tells him. They have books that you can read, they say, though I can’t read, and I don’t know a crow that can though plenty of ‘em claim they can. Blowhards. None of us have ever been able to get inside. 

Suddenly, the door opens sending a flood of yellow orange into the night and Winifred Godding, a thin, small woman with a black hat and black coat and black gloves and black boots comes out the door and down the four stone steps and walks down the freshly shoveled path towards Main Street. She passes the big spruce and the man comes out from behind it and walks towards the library.  

I want to go inside, the man thinks. 

I do, too, thinks the crow.

Winifred feels the biting wind and realizes her friend, Midge Rawlings, sometimes frets about having to walk home to the upper village on Wednesday nights when she has to keep the library open late. So Winifred turns, quickly, and heads back. It happens so fast the man cannot move and she is upon him in an instant and is just walking past when he is overcome with a sadness, her sadness. Her loneliness. It floods his mind. An image.

In his mind’s eye. He sees her arguing with her husband, Sidney, he in the bed, coughing, she standing on the other side about to pull off the covers and slide in, he insisting that she go sleep in another room because he is not feeling well and doesn’t want to keep her up all night with his coughing and sneezing, she insisting that she stay, until finally he yells, cruelly, “Goddamn it woman, don’t you do anything I ask?” And so she leaves the bed they’ve slept in together for 39 years and goes to one of the kids’ old rooms and sleeps little if at all and arises at 6 a.m. She makes tea and toast and brings it into her husband and as soon as she enters she sees right away that he isn’t moving and she drops the tea cup and the plate of toast with a shatter, the hot tea slightly scorching her left ankle though she doesn’t notice it, and rushes to him but loses her balance, slightly, and falls forward onto his chest and he lets out a huge sigh and she starts to laugh and says, “Oh my God, Sidney. I thought you were dead,” but when he does not draw in his breath, when he stays still as a rock, when she feels his coldness, she bursts into sobs and stays there, on his chest, for more than an hour.

And the man feels all this, sees all this, as Winifred Godding, all bundled and clutching her books to her chest, walks right past him no further than an eyelash away and walks up the stone steps. The man is stunned. She cannot see me. She cannot see me at all.

Yes, she cannot see you. 

So the man follows her up the stairs and inside, just cutting in as the door swings shut, and he hears her leather-soled shoes made a tacktacktacktack green, cold sound as she walks across the stone floor to the desk where Midge sits in a yellow glow, removing this strange thing from the front of her eyes and smiling at her friend.

“Forget something?”

“Yes. Just thought you might want some company on your walk home.”

“Aren’t you sweet. That would be wonderful. Library’s empty so it’s high time I called it a day. Let me get my coat and boots.”

And the man sneaks along the wall to the rows and rows of shelves behind the woman at the desk who’s gone for her coat and he pulls a book out and opens it and sees lines and lines and lines of black marks, all neat and orderly and many of the marks looking the same as others. He is intrigued. He looks closely. He returns the book to the shelf as he hears the woman returning, is getting on her coat as she passes him. She does not see me, either. She does not even know I am here. 

The woman switches off the desk lamp, walks with Winifred to the door and flicks off all the lights. They leave the man in silence. In darkness.

The man follows. But the wooden door does not move. He is confused. He frets. He feels an emotion that is new. I want to leave. I want to get out of here. And the man thinks of the crow sitting on the lower limb of the spruce tree, sees him sleeping on the branch because that’s what crows do when they’re not chattering and … POOF! … the man is standing in front of the tree.

That was impressive, the crow says, flapping its wings slightly.

Yes. Yes it was. Thank you. 

Do it again.

I am not sure I can. This is something new.

Think.

So the man goes back up the four steps and stands at the door and imagines the inside of the lobby of the library. He imagines the sound of the woman’s shoes on the shiny stone floor and the warm orange glow from the desk. … POOF! … He is inside the lobby of the library. He turns, stands at the door and imagines the tree and the crow and the cold, and … POOF! … The crow jumps off the branch and flies in tight circles around and around and around and flutters back onto the branch.

Whoa. Now that was really impressive. Stupendous. Wondrous.

The man doesn’t understand why the crow is so excited. He is thinking of Winifred Godding. He is thinking about what he felt when she walked by.

I think I know her, the man thinks.

You do.

How do you know that?

The owl told me.

The owl told you that I know the woman who just walked by us?

No. The owl told us who you are.

Who I am? Who am I?

I cannot say.

Why not?

The owl.

Who cares what the owl thinks?

We all do. You don’t mess with the owl.

The man feels something new again. He cannot figure it out.

You are angry. You are agitated. I understand. But I still can’t tell you.

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What do you think? Does this work? Do you understand what the man, a.k.a the stranger, is? Do you want to read more? Are you confused by anything? I would love to hear your thoughts as I near the final draft (an editor will soon have this draft to comb over and make suggestions so I’d love to hear yours.)

And note to Vermont followers: From Dec. 14-18 another chapter, and new character, from the book will be presented on stage as part of the Winter Tales. For more: Vermont Stage Company.