4. William and me
He wanted to take me to a show in Knoxville or even as far away as Nashville the other day. I told him I couldn’t leave Lady, Sylvia, Chance and all my others to their own devices.
He said, But what about that young girl that’s always hanging around... what’s her name?
Chastity, I said.
Chastity, he said. Why not ask Chastity to help out?
She’s a sweet girl, I told him, but I just can’t trouble her with the care of all those silly little lives.
William accepted this, as he accepts all of my small, pale falsehoods.
We went walking instead. We climbed a rocky path which the recent rains had eroded, our feet sinking into mud as soft as fresh-baked bread. Old growth tulip trees, maples and hemlocks that the settlers never felled crawled halfway up the valley. Their farms were long gone and the greatgreat-great-grandchildren of apple trees they had brought from the old world as seedlings gazed down from the fog upon their bones.
We passed a few young hikers as we ascended.
We’re too old for this, I pointed out.
He agreed, and we stopped for breath just shy of the cascades and listened to the roar of the descending waters. There was a gray old beech which lovers had adorned with their vows, carved deep into its pliant skin.
In the wind from the river he took me in his arms like a silent movie lover.
When? He asked me.
Like a silent movie lover, I looked away.
William is a good, God-fearing man. He’s handy around the house. His eyes are blue and sparkle like the seafoam. His voice is deep and soft. He never talks politics and his after-shave is sweetly redolent of pine sap and he’s deeply in love.
William is as patient as he is perfect.
He’ll wait for me for all of time.