The Clearing (16 page)

"Wel now, look here—she walks in beauty," said Grandpa, gesturing with his pipe. Henry looked up from setting out the checkers and saw Amy strol ing out of the mist and onto the path to the house.

She was dressed in one of his mother's hand-me-down dresses—the blue shirtwaist—but on Amy, it looked like new and fitted perfectly.

Instead of leaving her hair loose, she'd fashioned a pretty ponytail and combed her bangs to one side. She moved into the porch light, and Henry noticed the lack of sparkly eye makeup on her face. She looked natural, bare, except for a rosy red shade of lipstick. If he hadn't known better, he'd have easily thought she was a schoolmate, or a girl from the town.

He was struck by how easily she could blend into his world, but at the same time, he was painful y aware she could never truly be of their time.

"Wel , good evening, Miss Amy." Grandpa rose from his chair as she approached.

Henry fol owed suit, abandoning the checkers. "Hel o, Amy."

"Oh, don't get up—I didn't mean to interrupt anything," Amy said softly.

"Nonsense. A lady approaches; gentlemen rise." Grandpa gave Amy a wink and then settled back into his rocker seat. "What brings you down our piece of road this fine evening?"

"Just visiting, I guess." She gave Henry a shy, uncertain look.

Suddenly, Henry thought of the kiss on the stairs and wondered if Amy was angry with him for taking such liberties. "Nice of you to visit again," he said, feeling unsure of himself.

Amy's smile faltered, for an instant. "Yeah, wel , I wanted to come over. I needed to, um, talk to you."

The nervousness in Henry's stomach intensified. She was angry, he supposed. And rightful y so. What was he doing kissing her, when it was impossible—
they
were impossible?

"Please excuse me, Amy. I was just about to go trouble Henry's mother for a bit more dessert," Grandpa said, rising from his chair. "Would you like me to fetch you some?"

"Oh. Sure ... um ... yes, please. Her cooking is so yummy."

Grandpa grinned at Amy. "If that's what you young people are cal ing
delicious
these days, I'd have to agree." He went into the house, the screen door banging closed behind him.

Amy took a seat next to Henry on the porch swing. She smoothed the dress over her legs.

He moved closer to her, close enough to touch, but she kept her hands in her lap. "You look so pretty tonight, Amy. Mother's in the kitchen. I know she'd be tickled that you're wearing the dress she gave you."

"Thanks," Amy murmured, her gaze lowered.

Henry worried again that she real y was upset about the kiss. "Say, what's the big idea about coming over at night?" He played off his fear with a little laugh. It sounded weak, even to his own ears.

Amy shrugged. "I had to see you. I had to wait until Mae went to sleep. I don't want her worrying about me."

"It's awful y dark out there. Weren't you afraid to cross the clearing?"

"Scared of what? Disappearing into the mist? I've never been scared of that."

He nodded. No, Amy didn't seem scared about the clearing. Then again, she hadn't anything to lose.

She fixed him with a stare. "Look, there's something we need to talk about," she said.

"I figured you were sore at me," Henry said. "It's just that when I was with you in the hal way, I couldn't control myself. I hope you'l accept my apologies."

"It's not that," she said. "That was al right."

"Good." Henry exhaled and reached for Amy's hand. "I'd never do anything to hurt you, Amy. I'd never jeopardize ... wel ... this."

"Right. This." Amy's smile faded away. "I'm not sure what
this
is."

"Yes. Good point. It's a little confusing, isn't it."

"Yeah."

"Then why does it feel so right when you're with me?" Henry stroked Amy's hand in his, and she moved closer to him on the swing, resting her head against his shoulder.

"I don't know, Henry," she whispered, "but this can't last."

Henry wanted to pretend he hadn't heard what she'd said, but his throat went dry. He didn't want Amy to think that way. He didn't want anyone to think that way. "We have this moment. We have this time together now."

"Sorry to be a downer, but what if this time now isn't enough?"

"It's al I have. It's al I can give you."

Amy searched his face and Henry steeled himself for what was to come. His deepest fear was that Amy would tel him she was never coming back, and yet somehow, he couldn't believe she would do that. Sitting next to her on the swing's bench, the slow movement rocking them together, the sounds of the orchestra on the radio sailing out like a serenade, the moment was perfect. He couldn't believe she would risk destroying that with pragmatism.

"What's on your mind, then?" Henry asked. "I know I've been thinking about you."

Amy let out a sigh and looked up at Henry with a crooked smile.

"What? Did I say something funny?"

"No, it's just that I can't believe it when you say things like that to me."

"What do you mean? Do you think I'd lie?"

"No." Amy chewed her lower lip. "But guys don't usual y mean it when they say stuff like that."

"Am I just some
guy
?" Henry said, sounding hurt.

"I don't mean it like that," Amy said. She sat up straight on the swing bench, making Henry feel farther away. "You're not just some guy." She folded her arms across her chest. "But some of them have said some pretty lame things."

Henry couldn't hold back this time. "This boy," he said, "the one who real y broke your heart—I'd like to break his legs."

"Maybe it was my own fault. Maybe I made some dumb choices," she murmured.

"Loving someone isn't dumb," Henry said. "I mean, I don't know a whole lot about love, but I don't think it's dumb if it's real."

"But how do you know what's real?" Amy said. She unfolded her arms and leaned back into the swing. "I mean, at the time, I thought things were real between me and this guy—Matt. I thought he real y cared about me. He made me feel special, I guess. But then I found out that everything had been a lie, that he wasn't who I thought he was."

"We're always who we are," Henry said. "Mostly people don't show you al sides of themselves. I'm pretty sure it's impossible to become someone else suddenly. Human nature is to hide the parts that aren't pretty to look at. It's easier to hide than to be your ugly real self," Henry said.

"Yeah, wel , some people hide a whole lot of ugly," Amy said with a bitter laugh. "I moved to my aunt's to get away from Matt and everyone.

To start over somewhere where nobody knew me." Her eyes looked fiery in the porch light. "I didn't think I would find someone like you. I mean, this wasn't what I was expecting. I don't think most people would believe this was real like I do, anyway. I have a hard time believing it myself."

"But this
is
real. It couldn't be more real. I don't think anyone could make up the way I feel about you, or could dream it up, even," Henry blurted out.

Amy's cheeks darkened with a blush.

"Oh, gosh. Sorry, I don't mean to keep saying the wrong things," Henry said, shaking his head. "I'm a heel. Al I have to do is open my mouth and these stupid words fal right out."

"But they're not stupid. That's the problem," Amy said softly.

Henry took her hand in his. "I can't help it. I've never met a girl like you before. Never, wel , never felt like this, I guess."

Amy closed her eyes, leaning into Henry. "Me neither," she whispered.

Henry lifted her chin, noticing tears on her cheeks. "Don't cry, Amy. I don't mean to make you feel bad," he said. "Did I say something stupid again?"

"No. It's just ... look, I have to tel you something. I have to tel you something, and I'm afraid al of this wil end—that you wil go away when I tel you. I'm afraid of what wil happen to us. God, did I just say
us?
I must be crazy." Amy swiped at her tears with the back of her hand, but Henry stopped her.

"I'm not going to leave you," Henry said, kissing her tears. "Now that I found you, I don't see how I can let you go."

The screen door banged open and shut. "Here we are, Miss Amy. Strawberries for the prettiest little girl around," Grandpa said, coming out with a tray of dessert. He caught sight of Amy's expression and turned to glare at Henry. "Brought one for your
cad
of an escort, too."

Henry straightened up on the bench, and Amy sniffled away the last of her tears.

"Oh, my dear Amy, I should have warned you," Grandpa said, handing her a glass parfait dish and a spoon. "I've done my darnedest to raise a gentleman, but it looks like my lessons didn't take."

Henry rol ed his eyes and reached for a dish of dessert. He real y wanted to keep speaking with Amy, but strawberries would have to do for now. He couldn't imagine what was on her mind, but he feared she'd final y decided that she wouldn't come back, couldn't. If that was the case, he was glad of the interruption.

"No, he's being a gentleman," Amy said.

"Hmm. Wel then, if you're not the cause of Amy's long face, I apologize, Henry. And Amy dear, have some strawberries; they ought to cheer you up." Grandpa saluted them both with his spoon, and then the three of them dug into the parfaits.

"I meant to compliment you on how lovely you look tonight, Amy," Grandpa said. "I asked Alma, that's Henry's mother, to come out and say hel o. She's resting in the parlor now, but she said she'd like to visit with you. She's lonely for a woman's company," he added.

"She doesn't have many friends out here?" Amy asked.

Grandpa nodded. "Used to have quite a few, but recently, wel , al summer, the folks just seem to stay away. Caught up with the war effort and their own families, I reckon." He took another bite of strawberries and gave Henry a pointed look.

Henry raised his eyebrows at his grandfather. "How is your parfait, Amy?"

She clinked her spoon back into the nearly empty dish. "Very good."

"Mine, too," Grandpa said. "I'l go see if Alma can come on out."

"Oh, that's okay," Amy said. "Just tel her hel o from me."

Grandpa col ected the dishes. "Henry, you behave out here," he said, carrying the tray off to the kitchen.

Amy turned to Henry. "Walk me to the clearing," she said.

***

"So your grandpa and mom don't know what's going on, right?" Amy said. "So why did your grandpa say that thing about no one coming around?"

Henry slowed on the path, stopping at the apple tree. "He's changing, Amy. He and my mother, both. Al these summers, al these days, we've lived them the same and they've never questioned it. In fact, they didn't believe me when I told them what was happening."

"Isn't that a good thing, then, that they're final y getting what's going on?"

"I don't think so," Henry said slowly, watching Amy's face in the faint light.

"Why not? I don't get it."

"I always felt that this was fragile," Henry said. "At any moment the bubble could burst and everything bad would unfold—al of it."

"But you don't know that everything bad unfolds."

"Oh, yes—I know," Henry said. "I don't want to live through that night with my mother again. She couldn't take the bad news about my brother."

Amy studied him, and Henry was glad she didn't ask questions about what had happened. He didn't know if he could bear to think about it, let alone repeat it al out loud. He closed his eyes and smel ed the sweetness of the apple tree on the breeze, the warm scent of earth coming up from the garden. Music from the house drifted out over the backyard—Glenn Mil er playing "Stardust"—the strains of the orchestra floating al around him in the dark.

"So you're holding al this together with a prayer."

"I was, I mean, I am," Henry said. "It's been different for me lately. Different since you came along." He opened his eyes and found Amy looking at him with a serious expression, her mouth a thin line.

Amy glanced back toward the house. "Don't you ever wonder what would happen if you went forward? Don't you think people have the ability to change—to choose different outcomes?"

"If I went forward..." Henry repeated. The breeze rustled the leaves on the tree, and goose bumps pricked on his forearms. "If we went forward, nothing good would come of it."

"What if you went through the clearing to my time?" Amy asked, her voice softening. "I mean, what if you came into my world? Al of this is wonderful, but if I can come through to see you, can you come through to my side?"

Henry gave her a smal smile. "I don't think crossing the clearing would be a good idea, though. I don't know for certain it would work for me.

What if I couldn't get back? What if something happened to Mother or Grandpa over here, and I was stuck? I can't risk that."

"Are you going to tel me what's so awful about reaching the end of the summer? What is so terrible that you would stop everything from happening?" She looked about to say something else, but held it back.

Henry's jaw clenched. "My mother, Amy—she's not wel ." He wanted to tel her more, but he worried that if Amy did come back, she might say something in front of Mother, something about Robert, and that would push Mother over the edge again.

"And to keep her wel , you'd deny yourself the opportunity to move forward with your life. I mean, don't you want to go off to col ege, have a great career, get married, have a family someday?"

Henry's heart clenched in his chest. He did wish for those things—had found himself wishing for them more than ever since he'd known Amy.

But there were other things keeping him from realizing those wishes, other things holding him back. "Amy, I'l most likely be drafted this summer."

"So," she said softly, "you'l be shipped overseas to who knows where."

Henry nodded. "Our boys took Normandy. I imagine it wil be Europe."

"Or the Pacific," Amy said.

Henry shrugged.

"So you'd stay this way—here—eighteen your whole life, not experience anything, not see the world."

"I have the people I love with me."

"But you don't get a chance to love anyone else," Amy said.