I tried to play with her. I didn’t quite do it right, but she no longer seemed to mind. She was like a child desperate for attention. Always desperate. Always lonely. Always alone.
“Don’t go!” she’d say whenever I had to leave.
“I have chores. And schoolwork.”
“You don’t need that. Play with me. Stay with me.”
“I can’t stay. Remember? We’ve discussed this. I don’t live here.”
“But you could. It’s nice here, in the sunshine. No chores. No school. We could dance and play forever.”
“I don’t want to dance and play forever.”
I don’t want to be like you, dead and rotting beneath the soil.
Sometimes, I thought of telling her the truth, so she’d understand why I couldn’t stay. But I didn’t. I feared it wouldn’t matter.
No, I feared she already knew. That she’d realized why she was trapped there, and she knew exactly what she was suggesting when she asked me to join her.
As I grew older, I visited less frequently, going only once a month, as I had in the very beginning. As much as I dreaded those visits, I owed her that much.
Soon, I turned fifteen and had to drop out of school. My mother said I’d had enough education. It was time for other things. Time to move on with my life, whether I wanted to or not.
I didn’t tell Amelia that I’d be leaving home soon. That would’ve been cruel. So I played with her, and I listened to her. One day, when I was nearly ready to go, something caught her eye, and she spun, saying, “Who’s there?”
I looked over quickly. The forest seemed empty. Amelia ran to the edge of her glade and shaded her eyes.
“I saw you,” she said. “Come out and play with us.”
No answer. Then, off to my left, twigs crackled underfoot.
“Who’s there?” I called as I strode toward the noise.
A figure stepped from behind a tree. Tommy Lyons. My future. That’s what my parents said. Tommy and I were to wed when I turned sixteen. Our families and our farms would join. That was my future. My fate. Standing in front of me.
“Who were you talking to?” Tommy asked.
“You.”
“Before that. I saw you in that clearing. I heard you talking to someone.”
“Myself,” I said as I brushed past him.
He grabbed my arm, hard enough to hurt. “Only crazy people talk to themselves. You aren’t crazy, are you?”
I considered telling him that I was. Maybe then he’d refuse to marry me. That wouldn’t help, though. If Tommy rejected me, I’d never wed, and I’d be trapped here with my mother’s endless chores and Amelia’s endless pleas.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It won’t happen again.”
He peered at the clearing. Then at me, his eyes narrowed. I tried to shake free, but he only tightened his grip and marched me back toward the house, saying, “Stay away from there.”
AfterTommy warned me to stay out of the woods, I went there even more often. I couldn’t help it. I used to flee my chores. Now I fled my life.
“You aren’t happy,” Amelia said, spinning through the glade. “I can tell.”
“Am I usually happy?”
“No, but you aren’t sad, either. You’re sad now. And I know how to fix it.”
