“Two hundred years. That explains the wrinkles,” I shot back.
“Like your Tanner, I trained as a druid, Miss Calliope. I’ve lived a long time. But then I met Abigail.” He rubbed his knees again and lifted his chin, his gaze flickering over the vulnerable young trees. “Eventually I told her what I was, and although she wanted to join me on the path, she could not withstand the rigors of training. So, I made a decision. I’d had a long enough life, and it occurred to me the best way to honor my love for Abigail was to age with her.” He looked over at me suddenly. “We’re doing everything we can to make it to one hundred, but we have a pact that if one of us goes, the other will follow.”
“That’s quite a story, Cliff.”
He nodded. “This orchard will be in good hands. Our grandsons know what to expect.”
“You’re talking about more than what it takes to grow apples, aren’t you?”
Cliff nodded. “We sent the boys off to train as druids when they turned eighteen. They’re in their thirties now, but I imagine they’ll look a good ten years younger. And stay that way as long as they can.” He winked at me and rubbed his knees. “All of this will be theirs: the enchanted trees, the tunnels, the burial mounds. And they will share it with the trolls and other hidden folk.”
“Burial mounds?” I asked.
Cliff stood slowly. His knees popped and he gripped my shoulder until he stood tall.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you. They’re in the oldest part of the orchard.” While we made our way along the path, Cliff continued to speak of the garden trolls. “They never came all the way to the house, least not in my memory, and I was always too tall to follow them into the tunnels. They could cover themselves—glamour, it’s called—and work undetected by the neighbors and other curious folk who’d stumble onto the property.”
We were in the dry season, so most of the grasses growing around the trees were tan and crunched underfoot. The few apple trees within view were branch-bound, with inedible fruit, but off to the left, between the orchard and ridge of fir trees that followed the shape of the rising mountain, were a series of burial mounds. At least three of them were ringed with local boulders and looked like those made by First Nations peoples.
Two low, conical mounds stood out. They were covered with grass, and the grass was green and well-tended.
“I found the bodies tossed some distance from the heads, but I didn’t tell my wife. I felt it would put too much sorrow into Abigail’s heart, and I didn’t know if she could withstand it. So I came out here myself and buried them in that one,” said Cliff, gesturing to the closest conical mound. “They were given full rites and sent off with prayers.”
“May I bring Tanner here?” I asked. The solemnly quiet air wasn’t inviting further discussion.
“Of course. Any time. No need to ask first.”
I took one more long look around before pulling out my phone. “May I take a couple of pictures?”
“You can, but the mounds won’t show up,” he said. “You’re here with me, and I’ve made them visible to you, but they’re invisible to modern technology and the uninitiated.”
I tucked my phone back into my bag and took hold of Cliff’s elbow. “Thank you for protecting this place.”
Cliff gazed at the mounds for a minute longer, made a series of gestures with his hands, and shuffled his feet in a box-like step.
“We can go now.” He turned and led me out of the sacred area and along a path that cut through the ‘happy humming’ ground. The closer we got to the house, the more the air filled with the scent of Abigail’s soap.
Clifford stopped us at the bottom of the porch stairs.
“Calliope, there’s one more thing.” He pulled a blue-bordered handkerchief from one of his pockets, lined up the corners of the fine cloth, and blew his nose. “I used to be diligent about keeping up the protective wards on this property, and I am sorry to admit I’ve been remiss in my duties—to this land and the hidden folk who’ve helped us keep the trees safe. I feel…” He lifted his head, and I couldn’t tell if his eyes were seeing the land and sky around him or if they were looking back to some other time. “I feel horrible. If I hadn’t been derelict in my duties, those dear souls might still be alive.” He blew his nose once more and re-pocketed the wadded up square of fabric. “And now I have to live with the consequences of my neglect. If you could ask Tanner and River to come back as soon as they are available, I could use their help fortifying the old wards.”
“I will do that, Cliff, and I’m willing to bet at least one of them will be here first thing tomorrow.”
After leaving Cliff and Abi, the call of an old roadside cemetery was too strong to drive by without stopping. A wrought-iron railing defined a roughly square plot, and the stones were uniformly splotched with lichen and moss. I pulled over, intent on meandering until I could find words to honor the murdered hidden folk.
For whatever reason, I assumed stones as old as these would be neglected; they weren’t. Many were adorned with necklaces of small white shells or garlands of wild flowers and tiny roses. Smoothed rocks, fist-sized or smaller, sat at the base of a few headstones, stick-in-the-ground vases for flowers and votive candles near others.
