Magnolia House

Screaming and breaking glass drowned out the sound of the door clicking shut. “You always do this! You break everything you touch,” her mother screeched at her father as Willow escaped through her backyard into the abutting woods. Within moments, the screams were replaced by leaves crunching under her boots as she meandered down the familiar narrow path in the forest. Over the last 28 years, every fight felt the same. The anxiety in the house settling on her shoulders until she escaped into the trees. Time in the woods moved differently, slower. Thick trees towered above, cooling the sticky summer air. Deep breaths of damp earth eased the tightness that settled in her chest. The weight of her home lifted with every step deeper into nature.

Growing up near the forest, her father had taught her how to look for animal paths and maintain her orientation in the dense foliage. When Willow was very small, she was once lost for hours in the woods. Following that incident, her father marked several paths with strips of neon-bright cloth tied around trees. Part of his gesture was to ensure she would never get lost again but a larger part was making sure he didn’t need to watch her as closely. Willow wondered how long it took her parents to stop fighting and realize she was missing that night. Did they realize quickly? Was it twilight before they realized their small daughter hadn’t asked for dinner yet? Was it bedtime when they finally went to tuck her in? She never asked. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

There were many paths that Willow had followed over the years. Some led to a hollow with a small creek cutting a path through the earth. Others led to rocky outcroppings studded with caves and natural lean-tos that animals made their homes. Today, she avoided the creek and the rock wall she knew well, continuing deeper into the woods, past her father’s markers. The older she grew, the more her parents’ arguments settled into her bones, and the longer it took for the weight of them to fade.

The trees grew denser, and the path ahead darkened. Willow struggled to find solid footing. She kept her eyes fixed on the ground, knowing one misstep could prove fatal this deep in the woods. The air cooled around her. The sticky heat of the day left her clothes damp with sweat, and now they clung to her skin, chilling her as the woods darkened around her. Silence fell deafeningly as the thrum of cicadas ceased. A warm breeze beckoned her forward, pulling her to her feet. The sweet smell of magnolias floated through the trees ahead, though no matter how hard she looked, she could not spot a single bloom.

Willow froze. Mere feet in front of her, the forest gave way to a clearing. The evening sun poured warmly on a small cottage. It was so similar to ones she had drawn as a child that she had to pause to catch her breath. Moss clung to a thatched roof. Vines crept thickly across the walls. The shutters stood open. A large tree rose through the center of the cottage, its fragrant white blossoms raining petals that swirled around the clearing. Fluffy ferns bounced in the same breeze that called her out of the forest. Wide swaths of bushes sprawled the length of the house, their dusty pink flowers vivid against the deep green around them.

Willow slowly extended her arm out of the shadowed forest into the sunshine. She could immediately feel the difference. The clearing was warmer. The air smelled sweeter. Beneath her boots, the worn mud and leaves of the forest floor gave way to soft gravel that curved toward the front door and then disappeared around the back of the house. Willow followed the path with her eyes to a small well. Beside it stood a tall, slender man, hauling up a sloshing bucket. He smiled at her, not surprised but expectant.

“I’m so happy to see you again,” he said, his voice warm and low.

Willow stumbled back towards the woods, startled by the stranger. Her heels caught on the gravel and she tripped, falling hard. She scrambled to her feet, breaths coming fast and shallow, panic tightening in her chest. When she turned, the path in the woods was gone. Thick greenery closed in around the clearing, sealing her escape. The forest that she loved had pushed her out. The trees had always been her sanctuary now stood against her.

“No…No. No-no-no-no.” Willow swiped at the sweet grass and the brambles, her movements growing more frantic with each breath. Thorns and branches lashed back, biting into her skin, raising red, angry welts along her arms.

“No – stop! You’re hurting yourself,” the stranger shouted.

The pounding of her heartbeat filled her ears, masking the crunch of the gravel as he ran toward her. Willow clawed at the edge of the clearing, trying to force her way through the dense branches, her breathing ragged. Then, his hands were on her, gently clasping her elbows to her sides, stilling the frenzy. She stiffened under his touch. Her wild eyes snapped up to meet his. He was calm, but not quite able to hide his own concern. Her chest still heaved. His hands felt warm and strong. Despite herself, she found her breaths slowing to match his. He released one of her arms and reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The back of his fingers brushed against her cheek as he let her go.

Déjà vu washed over Willow and pulled her back in time to a much younger version of herself. She couldn’t remember how old she was, only that the doorknob barely reached the top of her head. Her mother’s sobs reverberated throughout the small house. Willow slipped out the kitchen door unnoticed.

She sprinted towards the woods. Her feet felt too big for her small body, and she pitched forward again and again in her frantic escape. Sounds from the creek flowed to her left, guiding Willow forward, desperate to find the water. The forest darkened as she trudged forward, the trees closing in. A coolness swallowed her as she continued. Her dry tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, her breathing heavier, louder, wheezing with each inhale. Without warning, the trees gave way. Willow stumbled into an open clearing. Soft white petals drifted around her as she panted on hands and knees.

A tall, slim man stood at a well across the clearing. Concern flooded his face as he looked upon the small, scared girl bleeding on the ground in front of him. “You must be so thirsty,” he said to her then, holding his hand out to help her to her feet. With his strong hands on her shoulders, the man guided her to the bucket he had just dragged up the well. His hand cradled her chin as she gulped ladle after ladle of water. The taste of dry dirt was replaced by the sweet, clean water. Her tongue moved freely in her mouth. With every drink, Willow swallowed her fear and her panic.

Willow awoke in her bed. Silence filled her house. Moonlight streamed through her small window, falling across her worn quilt. Already, the details of the man and the clearing were fading from her memory. A white magnolia stood in a cup of water at her bedside. Its sweet floral scent filled her room, lulling her back to sleep.

Her focus settled back in the present. “I-I… How? I thought you were a dream.”

He chuckled softly, deep dimples creased his stubbled cheeks as he smiled. The man glanced at the cottage behind him, raking a hand through his brown hair. He turned his gaze back to Willow, his warm eyes full of hope. He held out a hand. “Do you want to come in?”

Wind whipped the tops of the trees, the rustling leaves forming a foreboding song in the rapidly falling twilight. Beyond the clearing’s soft grass, darkness swallowed the trees. Through the wind, she heard snapping twigs. Nocturnal animals called to one another, beginning their day as night settled in. She knew if she fought through the brambles and bushes, she would be spending the night in the dark. Her clothes were meant for a day hike and lacked the warmth needed for night. She had minimal food and no water. She had no one who would wander through the woods looking for her. She wasn’t a little girl anymore.

She quickly considered her options, but the choice felt obvious. Willow took the man’s hand and followed him towards the house. His hand was warm, encasing hers. Calluses scratched against her smooth palm. Calm settled over her as the gentle tug stirred something familiar. The man’s thumb danced across her knuckles as they reached the door.

Crossing the threshold, Willow shivered, goosebumps prickling along her arms. While the day had been hot, the night air was bitter. The warmth of the cabin thawed the chill that had taken over. Glancing around the small room, she eyed a table set for two. Glasses, plates, and forks were neatly placed at each chair. The fire glittered in the hearth, enveloping the room in a warm glow. A few small dishes sat waiting, just enough for two.

“Is there someone else here with you?” Willow asked.

A deep laugh rumbled from his chest. “No,” he said, waving her to sit. “Like I said, I’ve been waiting for you.”

Willow took the seat nearest the fire. “Who are you? Why have you been waiting for me?” she asked. Her stomach grumbled, but she left the fork untouched on the table. She stared at the man, arms folded across her chest. His eyes were brown, but the edges bloomed gold in the firelight.

“I’ve had a lot of names. It really depends on who you ask,” the man replied. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, mimicking her pose. A small smile flickered across his lips.

“You look exactly like you did in my dream,” Willow murmured, reaching for the water.

“It wasn’t a dream, Willow,” he snapped. The playfulness left his face. He leaned forward, both elbows on the table. His knuckles went white as he wrung his hands together. “I need you to realize. It was real. I am real. It wasn’t a dream. Please. Tell me you know I’m not a dream.”

Willow stared at the familiar stranger sitting across the table. She looked for her fear, but there was no prickle in the back of her neck warning her of danger. An unwelcome ease settled over her. Her shoulders loosened. Her jaw relaxed. Sweet grass and magnolias smelled like a home different from hers, but no less like home.

“How do you still look the same? Why aren’t you old, now? It’s been almost 20 years.”

The man settled back into his chair, combing a hand through his hair in an already familiar gesture. “That’s more difficult to explain,” he sighed. His expression was easy, just as it had been when he first saw her at the well. However, his quick, shallow breathing betrayed him.

“But you haven’t explained anything,” she exploded. She slammed her hands on the table, sloshing water out of the cups.

His eyes widened. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

“What is your name? Who are you? Why do I feel like I’ve known you my whole life, but I’ve just met you?”

“We didn’t just meet. I told you. It wasn’t a dream, Willow. It was real. I am real,” he pleaded. He pulled his chair around the table to be at her side. He leaned forward, grabbing her hand as he continued, “Don’t I look real? Do I feel real? Do I smell real? Isn’t this house real?”

“Why do you get to ask all the questions?” Willow pressed. “You still haven’t answered mine!”

Silence settled around them. The man stared at Willow, his gaze lingering too long. She fidgeted, her hands trapped in his. Even the fire seemed to still as he sat unblinking.

“My true name - ” the man said, his voice barely audible. “My true name is Sylvan.”

As the name left his lips, Willow fell into a different time but the same place. Moments ago, inky night filled the windows. Now, sunshine filtered through the sheer curtains over the kitchen sink. The smell of flowers wafted in on a warm breeze. Water flowed across her hands that were covered in sticky dough. On the counter next to her, a bowl of bread dough sat proofing for their dinner. Sylvan was outside the window, the rhythmic thwap of the axe filling the clearing as he chopped wood for the fire. He still looked exactly the same. His brown eyes glowed in the sunshine, dimples standing out as he whistled a song to himself. Willow scraped the rest of the dough off her hands and turned off the faucet.

Turning, she saw a toddler sitting on the braided rug near the tree. The trunk had doubled in size, the room growing around it. The child had Sylvan’s golden brown eyes, but she recognized her own golden-red hair. Toys spilled in front of a small wooden chest at the base of the tree. As Willow stared, wide-eyed, the small girl smiled at her. The girl extended her thumb, index, and pinkie fingers signing a silent “I love you.” Willow collapsed to her knees in front of the child, reaching out for her hand.

“Hi momma!” the girl said, throwing her arms around Willow’s neck. “I sprinkle you with kisses!”

Darkness replaced sunshine in the windows. Sylvan’s gaze bore into her. Tears welled in her eyes. Willow scrambled to remember every detail, as if she could keep the vision from slipping away. She touched her cheek, still wet with kisses. “Do you swear it’s real?”

“I swear,” he promised.

Willow flung her arms around him. She buried her face in his neck, inhaling the woodsy smell. She clung to him, squeezing as if her strength would summon the small girl. The broken glass and screaming of her childhood house felt far away. At last, she felt safe. The girl with Sylvan’s eyes and her hair would never learn that loneliness and fear. She would grow up in a home with two parents who had known each other forever. It was a home her daddy built for her mommy over long, lonely years. Waiting.