We’d had a TV set back in Monlith. I’d seen plenty of murder mystery shows. I could picture twin gutters etched into the dirt by the heels of a corpse being dragged. Or an impression in the ground where a body had been laid, the grass matted down, tender seedlings bent, a mushroom crushed. And then, of course, fresh black dirt covering a new, shallow grave. But the ground of the birch woods was undisturbed as far as I could tell. Everything was as it had been the previous morning, at least in that little area. It would take days, weeks, to cover the entire woods. Poor Magda, wherever she is, I thought, turning around slowly in case I’d missed something poking out—a shoe, a plastic barrette. The note on the path seemed to indicate that she was nearby, didn’t it? Wasn’t the note more of a headstone than a made-up story? Here lies Magda, it seemed to say. What’s the use of such a note, like a tag, a title, if the thing it’s referring to isn’t anywhere near it? Or anywhere at all, for that matter? The land was held in public trust, I knew, so anybody had the right to come through it.
* * *
• • •
Levant wasn’t a particularly beautiful place. There were no covered bridges or colonial manors, no museums or historic municipal buildings. But the nature in Levant was pretty enough to distinguish it from Bethsmane, the neighboring township. We were two hours from the coast. A big river ran through Bethsmane, and people would sail through up from Maconsett in summer, I’d heard. So the area wasn’t completely ignored by the world outside of it. Still, it wasn’t any kind of destination. There were no sights to see in Bethsmane. Main Street was boarded up. It had once been a mill town with brick sidewalks and old warehouses that, if they still existed, would have made for a charming old town. But there were no ghosts or romance left there. Bethsmane now was just a strip mall, a bowling alley and bar with glaring neon, a tiny post office that closed at noon each day, a few fast-food restaurants off the freeway. Out in Levant, we didn’t even have our own post office, not that I sent or received much mail. There was a gas station with a small general store that sold bait and essentials, canned food, candy, cheap beer. I had no idea what the few residents of Levant did for recreation, other than drink and go bowling in Bethsmane. They didn’t strike me as the type of folks to take scenic strolls. So who, then, would have found his way into my beloved birch woods and felt the need to upset things with a note about a dead body?
“Charlie?” I called out, when I had reached the path again.
I walked back to the note, still fluttering gently in the warm wind. For a moment it seemed alive somehow, a strange and fragile creature weighed down by the black rocks, struggling to be free, like a butterfly or a bird with a broken wing. Like Magda must have felt, I imagined, under the hands of the one who killed her. Who could have done such a thing? It wasn’t me, the note insisted. And for the first time that morning, as though it had just occurred to me to be frightened, a chill went through my bones. Her name was Magda. It seemed so sinister all of a sudden. It seemed so real.
Where was that dog? Waiting for Charlie to come bounding back to me through the birches, I got the feeling that I ought not lift my eyes too high, that there might be someone watching me from up in the trees. A madman in the boughs. A ghost. A god. Or Magda herself. A hungry zombie. A purgatoried soul looking for a live body to possess. When I heard Charlie thundering through the trees, I dared myself to look up. There wasn’t anybody there, of course. “Be reasonable,” I told myself, bracing for the head rush that I hoped courage might stave off as I knelt down to collect the little black rocks. I put them in my coat pocket and picked up the note.
If I’d been alone there in the woods, without my dog, would I have been so bold? I may have left the note there on the path and run away, rushed home to drive to the police station in Bethsmane. “There’s been a murder,” I might have said. What nonsense I’d describe. “I found a note in the woods. A woman named Magda. No, I didn’t see her body. Just the note. I left it there, of course. But it says she’s been killed. I didn’t want to disturb the scene. Magda. Yes, Magda. I don’t know her last name. No, I don’t know her. I haven’t met a Magda in all my life. I just found the note, just now. Please, hurry. Oh, please go out there right away.” I would have seemed hysterical. It wasn’t good for my health to get so worked up. Walter had always told me that when I got emotional, it put a great strain on my heart. “Danger zone,” he’d say, and insist on putting me to bed and turning down the lights, drawing the curtains closed if it was daytime. “Best to lie down and rest until the fit passes.” It was true that when I got anxious, it was hard to keep my wits about me. I got clumsy. I got dizzy. Even just walking home to the cabin in my anxiety, I could have tripped and fallen. I could have broken an arm or a hip tumbling down the little hill from the birch woods to the road. Someone could have driven by and seen me, an old lady covered in dirt, trembling with fear over what—a piece of paper? I’d have waved my arms. “Stop! There’s been a murder! Magda is dead!” What a commotion I could have caused. How embarrassing that would have been.
But with Charlie around, I was calm. Nobody could say I hadn’t been calm. I’d been living well the whole year in Levant, peaceful and satisfied, and pleased with my decision to make such a drastic move so many thousands of miles across the country from Monlith. I was proud that I’d had the pluck to sell the house, pack up, and leave. Truth be told, I would still be back there in that old house if it hadn’t been for Charlie. I wouldn’t have had the courage to move. It was comforting to have an animal, so consistently near and needy, to focus on, to nurture. Just to have another heart beating in the room, a live energy, had cheered me. I hadn’t realized how lonely I’d been, and then suddenly I wasn’t alone at all. I had a dog. Never again would I be alone, I thought. What a gift to have such a companion, like a child and protector, both, something wiser than me in so many ways, and yet doting, loyal, and affectionate.
The worst I’d felt since getting Charlie was that day with the dead bird back in Monlith. Charlie had never been off the leash before except at the fenced-in dog park at Lithgate Greens, and watching him run off like that across the freeway, I’d felt I was losing him forever. We’d been together just a few months then, and I was still finding my footing as his master, still a little shy, hesitant—insecure, you’d say. As I stood there, I worried that the bond between us wasn’t strong enough to keep him from chasing a better life, exploring new pastures, being more of a dog than he could be with me. I was only human, after all. Wasn’t I limited? Wasn’t I a bore? But then I thought, what could be better than the life I had to offer him? Really, what? To run free in the hills over Monlith, to chase grouse? He’d be eaten by coyotes. And anyway, he wasn’t that kind of dog. He was bred for service, to fetch, retrieve, and always to return. I’d asked myself, watching him disappear across the freeway, what I could have done to make him more comfortable, feel more important, more loved, more anything. Was he not satisfied? Was he not pampered? I could have cooked for him, I’d thought. The women at the dog park had spoken about “the toxicity of name-brand kibble.” Oh, there was always more one could do to keep a creature happy. I should have made him bones, sappy with marrow, I thought, and I should have let him sleep in my bed with me. It was too cold in the kitchen of that old house in Monlith, even with the dog bed and fuzzy fleece blanket. I’d wrapped him in that blanket and held him like a newborn baby in my arms that first night in the old drafty house. He’d cried and cried, and I’d soothed him and promised him, “Nothing bad will ever happen to you. I won’t let it. I love you too much. I promise, you are safe now, here, with me, forever.”