William alexander's Arc

Chapter 4 of 5

William sat on the platform through the night with the linen folded in his pocket. The petal had answered, but a petal was not a sentence. If he sent nothing back, his quiet would start to look like a closed door. She had crossed a hard distance to set that scrap of lotus on the basin rim. He had to cross the same distance now, and he had to do it without crowding her. At first light he climbed down and went to the workbench in the shed. He pulled a small block of pale wood from the shelf and set to work. He carved a hummingbird with its wings open mid-beat, framed by peace lilies that curled around its body. He worked slowly. He wanted the bird to look like it had just paused, not landed. He drilled a hole through the top and threaded a length of gold cord through it. A hummingbird could hover near a closed window without asking it to open. That was the whole message. While the finish dried, he walked the clearing and chose a flat stretch near the basin, just inside the tree line. He carried out a stone bench he had kept under a tarp behind the shed. Moss had already crept across the seat in a soft teal layer, and thin vines hung from the arms. He set it level and laid a handful of cut wildflowers across the seat. The bench faced the forest, not the cottage. If she ever came as far as the basin, she would find a place to sit before she had to decide anything else. He needed a courier. The salamander had carried the first gift. The hedgehog had carried her reply. He wanted something that could go further in if she had moved further in. He set a small dish of honey and berries beside the basin and waited on the lower rung of the ladder. Near midday a young bear cub came out of the ferns, no bigger than a loaf of bread, carved-looking in the flat light, a small bell at its throat. It ate the berries and let him approach. He tied the pendant to a loop of leather around its neck, beside the bell. The bell would tell her something was coming before it arrived. He pointed at the trees. The cub turned and went. He climbed back up to the stand and watched the cub disappear between two trunks. A barn owl with pink and teal feathers dropped from a high branch and followed the cub in, low and silent, as if it had been sent to see the small messenger safely through. William lowered the glasses. He had answered. The bench was set. The signal at the edge still stood. He had given her three open doors and asked her to walk through none of them. Now the waiting belonged to him again.