The men stepped into a glaring January sun. The air was bracing and Terah sadly felt the cozy fantasy being relayed in Moby’s house dissipating as real life intervened.
“The saw mill is our communal gathering place. Long ago we decided food in the cabins only encouraged rodents, so we all eat at the mill. No set times. We do have a nightly gathering, and most people come to that. First, though, we have to look at the menu.”
They stopped in Mr. Hoopers and each picked something to eat. “The mill has tools—can openers, utensils, and whatnot.” As they approached, Terah noticed the fire circle. It was behind the mill, and hadn’t been visible from the angle he’d entered yesterday. “That’s where we hold the gathering. Just as it’s getting dark. If there’s business we discuss it. If not we sing or tell stories. What the Celts call a ceilidh.”
“Like Johannes’ wife’s name?”
“They’re pronounced the same, but have different meanings. A ceilidh is a Celtic song style, but evolved into an evening of locally grown entertainment. Back in Scotland I once heard it described as ‘Tell a story, sing a song, show your bum, or out you’re gone.’”
“What’s that mean?”
“Well, if you’re invited to a ceilidh you’re expected to contribute. If you don’t, you can’t stay.”
“And Johannes’ wife’s name?” Terah tried to recapture the magic of the tale.
“It’s Gaelic too. Means ‘from the forest.’ In any case, our gathering is where community happens. If you’re wanting to be part of our little group, that’s the place to do it.”
They stepped into the mill. Window from the upper stories admitted light; those on the ground floor had been shuttered to keep out the chill. A fire burned in a cleared space where the dry wood of the structure wouldn’t catch and the stream ran nearby. “We can heat water for washing up. Every man for himself, but we each share so we all pitch in on the upkeep. By the way, we can arrange for baths here too. Not everybody wants one in the winter, but for those who do we can work it out.”
They warmed their Chef Boyardee at the fire and sat at a rough-hewn table. Terah saw Lindsey across the room, sitting with Hagrid. He thought of Caileigh and the fall of Dickinsheet.
“So, the modern history,” Moby began, scattering Terah’s daydreams. “The mill failed before paved roads made their way out here. It’s far enough from any towns that restless kids don’t bother coming out. Besides, there’s plenty of abandoned buildings where they can escape parents’ eyes without having to come all the way out here over rough, dirt roads.
“The first of us—me and Hagrid—he nodded across the room—found it about a decade ago. A regular George and Lenny we were. We’d met up over in Pithole—you know it?”
Terah’s face betrayed him. “I’m from Titusville.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. We get quite a few guys from out east, but not too many come from out that way. You can tell me more, if you like. Hagrid and I made a rule about no questions about others’ pasts. Voluntary information, though, is welcome.” He winked. “No pressure. Well, for reasons undisclosed we headed east, just like Dickinsheet. It was summer, and if we’d been employed it might’ve been like hiking the Appalachian Trail. We were homeless but we found that two people sharing the effort got along better than one man alone. I guess you’d call us communists now. We avoided the main roads, and after a summer of walking we come upon what was obviously an abandoned dirt road.
“The leaves had begun to turn by then. Talk about magic—this place in the autumn can break a grown man down into tears. The beauty of these woods—transcendent, I suspect, is the word you’d use. And I know Hagrid doesn’t mind me telling this next part, but you’ve got to keep an open mind. When you join a road in the middle, you don’t know which way you should go. No jobs, no appointments, food in our packs, we stood in the glorious sunshine under those October trees, and let me tell you, I was fighting back tears. Still, we didn’t know which way.
“Hagrid saw her first. Most beautiful girl we’d ever seen. I know what this sounds like, but God’s truth, it really happened. Not dressed in period clothes or anything, just a very pretty girl, maybe twenty, out walking in the woods. She’d seen us before Hagrid saw her. It was like she wanted to be noticed. Now Hagrid’s no rapist—I’d been with him for months by this point—but we couldn’t help ourselves. We followed. She kept looking back, encouraging us, but keeping far enough ahead that we couldn’t talk with her. Then she stopped.
“Hagrid and I were fairly running by this point. You know how it is when you see something and your entire focus is on getting it? Nothing else seems to matter. At that moment she’s the only thing you’ll ever want or need. Just as we got within a dozen feet of her she vanished. No, I’m not pulling your leg. We stood there, breathing heavy from our jog when we saw these houses. Weathered, yes, but mostly still functional. We couldn’t believe nobody was using them, or caring for the place. The weeds and wild state of the road showed nobody’d been here for a long time.
“We picked the largest house, of course. In fixing it up we came across the diary. Hagrid didn’t put much credence in it. He’d began to think the girl was just an illusion. Something two men without female companionship would think up. But I knew what we saw.
“We kept waiting for the authorities to show up—we built fires and did repairs the best we could. Then throughout that autumn other guys came. Vince was first. Helped make the place look pleasing. Beethoven came along. Cicero became our law giver. We had enough guys now that we needed some rules. It struck me as strange that we’d all been professionals. Although they won’t admit it now—and I probably shouldn’t say this—they were all led here by a girl.” His voice had dropped to a whisper, and some of the other guys had come and gone. He leaned close. “It’s time for a secret,” he said.
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