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Sometimes when Ophelia, or Phee for short, dreams she dreams of a great old tree deep in an ancient forest. She blames it on too many fairytales, her nose always in a book, imagining a time when the world was wild.
Her life is anything but wild, she spends her days at the library, shelving books and directing folks to community rooms and their desired section in the stacks. It's a mix of tedium and novelty that keeps her from floating away to greener pastures, rolling hills and deep mystical forests. When her mind wanders it makes her wonder if people really do have past lives, but the lives she dreams of are too magical to be real. So she goes about her current life; reserving community rooms and refilling the stacks in the space between letting her mind float to the world of her dreams.
Sometimes in those fantastical escapes with the big tree there's a man too. He’s tall and broad like the tree itself, with dark hair and a beard. He always looks so stern and serious, his left arm in a sling. There's a word that comes to mind when she thinks of him and that tree. Cursed.
Phee isn't quite sure why, it's not a word that she thinks about often.
But when she gets picked to go to a conference out east she can't help but feel lucky. A work paid trip isn't exactly a vacation but it's still sort of exciting. Phee enjoys the learning opportunities and seeing what other libraries are doing in their communities but the part she's excited about most is exploring someplace new. She loves that the conference is in a historical district, just a stone's throw away from a national park. Phee decides to take the opportunity to add a couple of days to her travel, and take advantage of going on a hike through ancient forests.
Time flies in the weeks leading up to her trip, so she blames her strange dreams on the stress and exhaustion of closing up the summer programming and moving into the fall. Not to mention the added anxiety about traveling alone. Still, she's excited to get to her destination, so much so that her flight feels long and arduous and is impatient for the conference to be finished so she can spend the weekend hiking in beautiful forests and exploring quirky shops.
She signs up for a hiking tour. It's a small group, the tour guide explaining the history of the Appalachian mountain chain. Phee mostly keeps to herself, only making small talk with a few of the other tourists as they take in the changing fall foliage. They stay on the trail for the most part, only taking little side quests when the guide thinks they’ll enjoy the view.
There’s one look-out in particular, where the water moves over the rocks just before he drops over the falls. It's pretty, picturesque as the leaves begin to turn. Phee takes a few photos, admittedly getting so lost in the viewfinder and the sound of rushing water that she doesn’t notice her group begin to retreat back to the main trail.
It's not until she lowers her camera, mainly because she’s out of film, that she realizes she’s alone.
Not thinking anything of it she follows the footpath back to the main trail. Except that the underbrush seems thicker, and taller the leaves that remain on the branches are even more sparse as a cold chill blows all too easily through her thin jacket and against her bare face. She frowns, everything about this feels wrong.
“Hello?” She calls, looking around her for any sign of another person. “Hello?!”
All she hears is a few cawing birds and the faint rush of water beneath the sound of the wind.
Phee turns on her heel, half expecting the stream to have disappeared with the trail but she can still hear it, and just make out the way the land drops off to form the falls through the branches. She calls out again, trying to swallow the panic.
The age old question rises. Should she stay? Or should she go? Lost hikers should stay where they're at rather than risk getting more lost. But Phee doesn't feel lost, she feels misplaced.
Phee frowns and nibbles her lip as she takes a few more hesitant steps forward, stumbling into a clearing as if passing through a veil. Then she sees it, tall and broad, reaching high to the sky. The great old oak tree from her dreams.
For a brief moment she blinks up at it, feeling as if she’s in a trance. She realizes that it’s the only tree here that’s covered in leaves but something about them feels wrong. She squints up at it and realizes it’s not the tree’s leaves that she's seeing but mistletoe.
“Oh,” she gasps sympathetically, recognizing the parasitic plant.
Phee approaches the tree, looking up at it to see how gray the bark is and how it looks withered and brittle. It makes her sad to see the curse that’s been wrought against this formidable tree.
Curse , she thinks to herself. It's strange how the word abruptly fills her head.
Suddenly she remembers she's been left behind by her group and looks around. It feels like an eternity ago, even though it couldn't have been more than a few moments that have passed.
She looks down at herself, notices that her jeans and hiking boots have been replaced with a roughspun cloak. She frowns. Something feels funny, like she's forgotten something. She looks around the clearing and hears voices in the distance.
Phee’s heart races and icy fear trickles down her spine. She doesn't call out, doesn't chase the sound, instead she cowers against the tree as if it'll protect her and shelter her from the threat that approaches.
There's a cold breeze, bringing with it a few snowflakes. It's the solstice, she's running out of daylight.
Phee freezes for a moment, uncertain what to do, should she run? She looks at the tree again, she can't leave him like this. She's been looking for him for too long. Her fingers trace a curve in the bark like it’s the curve of a familiar cheek. She jolts when she hears the distant baying of dogs and she knows she’s short on time. With her heart racing, she imagines plush lips and eyes the color of the amber. She leans up on her tiptoes and kisses the tree, it's bark rough and punishing against her delicate lips. With a sigh she falls back on her heels, uncertain what to expect. Less than certain that it worked.
“Come back to me,” she whispers.
There's a snap of a twig just behind her and she turns. She can see the band of men approaching.
Taking one last look up at the great tree, she makes a break for it. Her feet lead her through the underbrush, the sound of her flight alerting the search party that's just on her tail.
She runs, hiking up her skirts so they don’t get snagged on the twigs and leaves that litter the forest floor. She doesn't get far before comes to an abrupt halt as she sees the great drop to the river below, water rushing over the cliff. She turns behind her, sees the approaching men and takes a great big leap.
She wakes with a sputter and cough, cold and shivering as someone sits her up. She’s soaked to the bone, wearing her jeans and hiking boots.
“There ya go, darlin’,” a deep voice drawls as he pats her back. “Took a tumble, think you hit your head.” He says, moving her hair out of her face to inspect her temple.
She winces as his fingers brush over what must be a sizable goose egg before turning to look at her savior. Phee finds a sturdily built man with dark hair and amber eyes, dripping wet with his clothes clinging to him. His whole being is familiar to her even though she’s certain she's never seen him before.
“Let’s get you out of that wet jacket,” he suggests helping her out of her coat and into one that’s warm and dry. It must be his. It’s in the exchange of sleeves that she realizes that he’s missing a hand.
“Clyde?” she asks, looking up at him again. She's not sure why she knows that name. Or why she's certain it's his.
“Course, darlin’. Must have really hit your head. You see me okay?” He lowers his head to be eye level with hers, his brow furrowing in concern.
She nods, frowns at the ground.
“Let’s get you up and to the truck. Get you warmed up,” he says gently.
“Truck?”
“Sorry. The car. Forgot we’re on vacation,” he says with a nervous chuckle.
He helps her up and leads her down the mountain trail to the parking lot.
Everything feels strange, dream-like. Although she recognizes the trail and the ranger’s station at the trailhead, even the main road as Clyde drives them out of the park with the heat blasting from the vents.
“You feelin’ okay?” he asks, glancing at her.
“I… had a strange dream,” she mutters. Yet again she feels misplaced.
“Oh? What was that?”
“That I came here alone,” she says with a shake of her head.
“You came without me?” He looks a little amused by her statement.
She nods. “But I got separated from my tour group and… there was a big old tree, covered in mistletoe.”
His expression turns thoughtful, almost serious.
“I kissed it and ran and that’s.. That’s when I woke up… after you pulled me from the water.
“Sounds serious. You have been under a lot of stress lately.”
Her fingers touch her temple again, uncertain if her injury is even real. “It just… the part about traveling alone… it felt so real.”
“Oh, darlin’, you ain’t been alone for a coon’s age. Ain’t gonna be again if I have any say in the matter,” he says reassuringly as he turns into the parking lot of the hotel. He follows her to their room.
“I’m gonna go take a hot shower. Freezing after being in the water like that,” he says when they get into the room.
Phee nods, takes the opportunity to change into dry clothes, hanging up Clyde’s damp coat on the back of the desk chair.
She strips out of wet clothes and puts on dry sweats before crawling into bed and under the covers. She flips through the little touristy guidebook on the nightstand, but doesn’t hardly look at the pages. Her mind is too full yet too blank to notice the little pamphlets about historical sites and witch trial reenactments.
She's almost relieved when the water shuts off and she has a reason to put the binder back on the nightstand as Clyde comes out with a towel slung around his hips.
Phee can’t help but avert her gaze, her cheeks heating as if it's improper for her to look at a man who clearly knows her so intimately.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, coming around the bed to look at the lump on her forehead.
“I think… Just tired,” she says, realizing that he doesn’t have a suitcase in the room. She frowns, feeling like she’s forgetting something again. It’s been constant since Clyde pulled her from the water. Why can't she remember him being with her in the woods?
He leans forward, gently kisses the lump and as if on autopilot she tilts her chin up to offer her mouth. He of course, kisses her. It’s soft, chaste and he pulls away with a frown.
“Remember,” he whispers pleadingly.
“What?” she asks.
She blinks and suddenly it’s as if a switch has been flipped. She sees Clyde gathering herbs in the woods, in his white linen shirt and tan breeches. Sees them walking hand in hand in the forest, swimming naked in the creek. Then there’s Sarah Grayson, with all her magic and all her power, confining Clyde to the tree for punishment for daring to expose her evil tendencies. Phee sees other witches, her coven, burned at the stake and she runs with a heavy piece of parchment tucked in her robes.
She blinks and again doesn’t know how she got here, sitting in this hotel room, when all of those memories feel so real. She’s torn between the visions of her past and whatever this modern life holds for her.
“Ophelia, tell me you remember,” Clyde says, his hand on her shoulder and his eyes desperately searching hers.
“I— You— You were the tree.”
He nods. “You found me, darlin’. Took you centuries but you found me.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know how.”
“You found the way. You made the portal, kept me safe and came back when you were able to make sure we'd both be free.”
“I don’t know how,” she says with a shake of her head. It's not that she doesn't believe it, it's just that she doesn't remember all the pieces. Or how she's been strong enough to live without him.
“Doesn’t matter now. You did it all the same. It’ll come back.” He sits on the bed, and takes her hands in his big one before wrapping his other arm around her.
His touch soothes and calms in a way that this body hasn’t experienced, as if it knows it’s supposed to be with him. She leans forward, rests her head on his shoulder and he wraps his arms around her tight, his beard scratching her forehead, his wet hair making droplets trail down her cheek and neck.
“Does it feel like home?” he asks with a hint of strain in his voice.
“How’d you know?” she asks, wondering if he could divine her thoughts.
“You told me that when we first danced around the sacred fire.”
The memory of that night comes back, autumn and crisp, flames licking the sky. Wine flowed freely and limbs moved to the beats of drums. She’d taken him into the woods, laid down among the freshly fallen leaves, their bodies entwined in bliss. She'd never felt so complete.
“I remember,” she says in awe. A giggle bubbles out of her throat. “I’ve dreamed of you. And the tree,” she says, blinking away tears. Joy and happiness swirl and bubble as bits and pieces of their shared life come back to her. “You can drive?” she asks in surprise as the pieces finally all fit together.
“That little bubble I was in let me see what you see. It’s taken you so long to get to me.”
“Too long,” Phee says, wrapping her arms around him. He crawls into bed with her and tells her about all the lives he’s lived through her eyes.