Queen of Broken Hearts (55 page)

“Naw, not really. Birds know things. How come they got so quiet when Genghis died? They all knew. I can promise you that, they all knew.” Zoe lowers her head to look at Genghis again. “Poor old thing,” she repeats, and now she's tenderly stroking the great long sweep of tail feathers lying in a train behind him.

“You're really going to miss him.” I slip an arm around her and lean my head to touch hers. “He's been with you forever, hasn't he?”

“Yep, he sure has, since I came out here. I'll miss this old fellow for sure,” she says with a nod. “The place won't be the same without Genghis.” She turns to look at Catherine the Great, who stands frozen in the same place, still as a statue except for the curious movement of her head, side to side. She's staring at Genghis, but she won't come any closer. It's as though she's allowing Zoe her time to say goodbye to him. “We're all gonna miss Genghis, ain't we, old girl?” Zoe says to the peahen.

We're silent as we look down at the body of Genghis. I give Zoe a squeeze and say gently, “What do you need me to do?”

She sighs wearily. For the first time since I've known her, she looks old and tired, and her voice is shaky. “Reckon you can call Cooter for me, if you don't mind. I'd 'preciate it if you'd do that. Ask him if he'll come out here and help me bury this old fellow, okay?”

I get to my feet but keep my hand on her shoulder. “I'll have to go to your house or the retreat center, since I left my cell in the car. But I'll run and make the call, then come back and stay with you till Cooter gets here, okay?”

Zoe looks up at me and shakes her head, her eyes bright and watery. She hasn't cried, and knowing Zoe, she won't. She'll hold her grief inside, as she always does. “No, ma'am,” she says sharply. “You've got a retreat to run, and you've got no business fooling with a silly old woman. Go on to your office to call Cooter, and stay there, you hear me?” When I open my mouth to protest, she wags a finger at me. “Hush up and listen to me,” she says in a firm voice. “You know how Cooter carries on. When he gets here, he's liable to cry like a baby. He loved old Genghis, even though the two of them fought all the time, and Cooter got on Genghis's nerves so bad. You might not think this of Cooter, but he's a lot more sensitive than he acts. So he wouldn't want you to see him grieving over Genghis. You understand what I'm saying, don't you?”

“I do, but I'll be glad to stay with you, or to help you and Cooter bury—”

But Zoe won't let me finish, waving me away furiously. “Go on, now. I mean it!”

It hits me that it's not Cooter's grief she's concerned about. I lean over and kiss the top of her head, then leave her to her silent mourning. When I reach the still-silent aviaries, I pick up my pace, hurrying to call Cooter so she won't be alone. When I turn to look back, Zoe hasn't moved from her pose, kneeling over Genghis and petting his lifeless body. The stillness is shattered by a sound that sends a shiver down my spine: Catherine the Great's unearthly scream, shrill and piercing and, somehow, heartbreaking. This time her cry stirs up the other peafowl, and they join her, the unnatural silence of the morning broken by an unmelodic chorus of raucous bird cries, echoing over and over through the woods and the swamp lands beyond the creek.

Late Saturday afternoon, on the day of the spring equinox, they begin to arrive. After a light, early supper alone, I'm in my office, having turned the program over to a yoga instructor from Gulfport who's leading a session on relaxation techniques. From the window, I see what looks like dozens of cars, more than the meager parking spaces we've provided can possibly hold. I leave the office as quietly as possible to skirt behind the group of women in the main meeting room, trying not to disturb them. They're sitting cross-legged on floor cushions, eyes closed and humming along with the instructor, and they wouldn't notice me if I were an elephant charging through the room. On the porch, I go to Etta, who's setting up a table with the hot cider we normally serve before dinner in lieu of cocktails; we call it the cider-and-sunset hour. This evening it is coming after dinner and following the yoga session, while the women watch the sunset and wait for dusk. Having to alter our orderly schedule for the ceremony at the labyrinth has me in a dither. Everything went so beautifully yesterday that I keep expecting the ax to fall today.

“Etta!” I screech. “Are these people who I think they are?” Evidently the arriving cars belong to the former participants whom Dory talked me into allowing to attend the Asunder Ceremony, and they're arriving in droves.

Etta nods, beaming. “Yep. Told you everybody would want to be here for this.”

“And I told you and Dory it'd be okay for a few of them to return, but we couldn't handle this kind of crowd! What are we going to do?” Fighting a rising panic, I try to keep my voice from sounding so shrill, but not very successfully.

“It's all taken care of.” Etta is calm as a clam. “Look, if you don't believe me.”

Following the direction of her pointing finger, I see that someone is directing traffic, instructing the drivers to park along the road leading into the Landing, since the parking area around our building has filled up. Shading my eyes, I ask, “Who is that?”

She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Put your glasses on, Clare. It's Son Rodgers.”

“Son! But where is Dory?” Yesterday the White Rings spent hours filling hundreds of brown paper sacks with sand and candles, which will be used to line the pathway through the woods leading to the labyrinth. Since all of the White Rings have assigned chores at the retreat, Dory brought in Son for the task of placing the sacks on the path, which has taken him all afternoon. And now she has him directing traffic. Laughing, I told her if she's not careful, she'll turn Son into a decent human being yet.

Again Etta points, and I see a slim figure in the distance whom I assume is Dory. “We have it all worked out,” Etta says serenely. “We figured the former participants would start arriving about this time, and what would we do with them while we were finishing our supper? Well, since Zoe Catherine wasn't able to, Dory's taking them through the nature preserve while we're getting set up here. Then everyone will join us on the porch for the cider. After that, time for the ceremony.”

I nod, recalling that Dory had told me the plan already. She'd finally gotten Zoe involved by agreeing to show the participants around the nature preserve, but since the death of Genghis, Zoe has disappeared. She'll probably stay hidden away in her cabin or on the creek until the retreat is over tomorrow. None of us has seen her, at the nature preserve or anywhere else.

“Okay, okay!” I cry, throwing my hands up. “You women are phenomenal as usual, and I'm properly chastised.” Glancing at my watch to avoid Etta's gloating look, I say, “Let's ring the bell—time for the cider!”

The plan is, I'm to meet Dory at the labyrinth right after the cider-and-sunset hour while Etta and the White Rings are assembling everyone in preparation for the ceremony. I make my way anxiously, barely glancing at the candles burning in their paper sacks and lining the pathway through the woods. Except from a distance, I haven't seen Dory all day; everything has been so hectic. I'm not sure why Dory and the White Rings insisted on having the ceremony at dusk, and I don't dare ask, afraid it might have something to do with the equinox or the goddess or the bird with the frozen wings.

When I arrive at the labyrinth, Dory is placing a little twig chair of Zoe's under one of the oak trees, and I assume it's where she's seating Margo. A classical guitarist, Margo Slaton plays background music for the Asunder Ceremony. Hearing me approach, Dory puts down the chair, then heads my way. Seeing her outfit, I cry, “Dory! What on earth do you have on?”

Holding her arms out, she prances around and models the long white tunic of loosely woven material that she's wearing over her jeans and T-shirt. “It's my equinox ceremonial dress,” she says, eyes glittering. “I made one for each of the White Rings.”

“Oh, no.” I groan. “Please tell me you didn't! You look like an extra in
The Lord of the Rings.
”

Dory throws her arms around me and kisses my cheek, hugging me hard. “And you look like you're going to your execution! I swear, you'll never change, will you? Still the same uptight nerd you've always been.”

“And you're the same weirdo,” I say, “with your crazy magic circles and symbols and crap. Did you see how many folks we have? How are we going to handle this?”

Repeating Etta's speech about having everything under control, Dory takes my arm and drags me to a low twig table that came from Zoe's yard, which she's placed near the opening of the labyrinth. “Okay,” she commands, standing me in place as though I'm a mannequin. “You and I will be here. You stand by the table, and I'm gonna sit on this little stool, see? Sorry you'll have to stand the whole time, but no one will be able to hear you otherwise.”

When I see the arrangement on the table, my hand goes to my throat, and I feel the unexpected sting of tears behind my eyes. “Well, we know where those came from, don't we?” I say, and Dory nods. The wedding candle we use is a huge white pillar, and Dory usually surrounds it with flowers from her gardens. Today, though, she's woven a small strand of ivy around it, which is all it needs because it's centered on a spectacular spray of peacock feathers.

“I've never seen anything so lovely,” she says, “but looks like it will be Zoe's only contribution to the retreat. She'd worked so hard to present something else, but she's hidden herself away grieving for Genghis.”

“This is more than enough.”

“I know, but Zoe had her heart set on the other thing because it was to be her gift to you. Oh, well,” she adds with a shrug. “I told her that Genghis's donation would be more than enough. Now, wait here. I'll go to the porch and tell everyone we're ready, okay?”

I nod, nervous and jumpy again, and Dory gives me an encouraging hug before heading down the pathway to fetch the others. Too fidgety to stand by the table and wait for her, I step to the opening of the labyrinth and bend down to read Dory's sign. In her welcoming remarks, Dory has told the participants that the myth of Theseus, Ariadne, and the Minotaur is so much a part of the labyrinth walk that it's impossible to separate them. Reading it again, I see that she's right.

Startled out of my thoughts by the sound of voices in the woods, I return to take my place by the table as the participants enter. When the hushed whispers of the crowd have died down and the women stand grouped together in front of my table, I hold a hand high to get their attention. Looking over the group of about fifty women, I smile in recognition when I spot the previous attendees Dory invited back. So many stories within this crowd! My eyes linger on Helen Murray, the woman from my Saturday-morning group whom I've worried about for almost a year and never expected to see here. The histories of the participants are as different as they are alike, but all of them share a desperate longing to leave their heartbreak behind them and move toward recovery, and that's why they are here.

“If you're participating in the Asunder Ceremony and have asked someone to walk the labyrinth with you, that's fine,” I say in a loud voice. “We couldn't have made it this far without the support of others, and it's the major idea behind the retreats. But I do ask that you enter the center on your own. Some things we have to do by ourselves, and this is one of them. Is everyone ready?”

After murmurs of assent and much head nodding, a hushed expectancy falls over the group. “Okay!” I begin with what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Let me tell you how this will work. On the table here, Dory and I have placed the Asunder vows, if you want to take a copy with you. In addition, we have the wedding candle and a basket of tapers.” At her cue, Dory lights the giant white candle in the center, a replica of the pillar candles popular at many weddings nowadays, usually sitting on a satin-draped table and used by the bride and groom as part of the ceremony.

I pause when I spot Haley in the crowd but standing at the edge, away from everyone. When her eyes meet mine, she gives me a weak smile and a wave, and I smile back at her. Just being here is an important step for her. When she's ready, I tell myself, then turn my attention back to the participants. Scattered among them are several of the White Rings in their white tunics, with the necklaces Dory made them hanging around their necks. Even Etta is sporting a tunic, and I suppress a smile at the strange sight. How Dory talked her into wearing one, I can only imagine.

I go on, “The wedding candle represents the vows you and your spouse made the day you married. Please take one of the tapers and light it from the wedding candle. You might have done something similar on your wedding day, maybe taking a taper to your parents. But for our purposes, I want you to think of the lit taper as a symbol of the two of you
after
your wedding vows, when you were joined together and became one.” I hold one of the tapers high so everyone can see it.

“With the taper in hand, start your journey into the labyrinth. As you walk the circling paths, take the time to reflect on your married life. Don't think only of the bad times; remember the good ones as well. Sometimes the good ones can be more painful because they make us realize what we've lost. Once you reach the center, please hold on to your candle until you're able to say goodbye to your marriage partner. Do this in whatever way feels right to you; the vows I've provided are only a guide, and some of you have brought farewell letters. Once again, let me remind you that if you're not ready to take this step, please don't force it. Do it only if it feels right for you at this time, okay?