Page 10 of The Voice of Wild Places
Nina hummed, staring upwards.Not at him, but further.Watt followed her gaze, but there was nothing to see that they hadn't already.Street lamps, enormous brick and steel buildings, vehicles huffing exhaust into the night.The upper atmosphere was framed by buildings of all shapes, sizes, and age.Trees lingered here and there, but lonely and restrained.There were no stars, the sky was nothing but endless bruised black clouds.
“I don’t think Pugsy would’ve sent me all this way for a no,” Nina whispered, never having sounded so old as she did right then.
Watt smiled faintly, not having the heart to rebuke her.The Fawcetts had a strong interest in the infallible and took superstitions to heart.They dealt in prophecies, astrology, and more of the like.He couldn’t count how many times he’d heard the Colonel’s ghost stories, or been pulled into seances by Nina.
He liked to believe he had a fairly open mind, and had experienced his share of the unexplainable, but he found it hard to believe that Colonel Fawcett sent his wife a telepathic message to organize an expedition with specific people, including people he’d never met, to delve into Brazil and find him.
Then again, why else did she seek out Cornelius?The man wasn’t wrong, there were hundreds of men who would jump at the chance to search for the legendary Fawcett, and were likely better suited for it.But none of them were Cornelius.
And by the time they reached the hotel, Watt decided he wouldn’t want anyone else.
Dear Annie,
March 18, 1918
It has been some time since we last saw each other.I hope you and your family have been doing well in Harbor Point.
I’m not a particularly good writer, but I wanted to send you a letter before I went overseas.I’m going to France, you see.If only your French lessons included more than your favorite curses, but then again they may come in handy.
I’m part of the 307th, and let me tell you the men here are like nothing I’ve ever seen before, from every nook and cranny in New York.We’ll be going to a training camp next week, and then to Halifax before making the final voyage to France.
It’s all a bit overwhelming, to be honest.Father doesn’t want me to go, but it’s done.I’ve been drafted, and I won’t fight it like he did.
I’m not sure he’ll be seeing me off, but what can you do?I’m not better than any other man, and it’s my duty to go.This is too big a decision for him to make for me.Again.
I wanted to say that I wish we could’ve said goodbye, before.So I want to say goodbye now, in case I don’t make it back.The others are so full of confidence and grit that it’s hard to believe otherwise, but you know me.Prepare for the worst, and hope for the best.
And this is too big of a thing to leave undone, you and me.Take care of yourself for me, yeah?
Thank you for being my friend, Annie, a real and true one.
I’ll never forget you.
Yours, Watt Johnson
“Neil?”
Cornelius flailed backwards, shouting unintelligible nonsense.After gaining his immediate bearings (on his bedroom floor curled up with Fawcett’s journal) he blinked at Esther kneeling beside him.Unbound black ringlets framed her stubborn jaw, and her hand hovered over his shoulder.He looked between her, the darkness outside his window, and his bedroom.
Fawcett's journal was spread bare, revealing the birds and insects of Bolivia that Fawcett was most enamored by.Butterflies.Ah, yes.Cornelius had fallen asleep to Fawcett waxing poetic about the butterflies.There had been a method to Cornelius’ madness, simultaneously reading and jotting down all pertinent details on a blank sheet of paper, until setting it aside and starting another one.And another one.
Andanotherone.
Cornelius couldn’t help but think everything was important, even the butterflies on a trip that took place seven years prior to his disappearance.But now the formerly neat piles had toppled this way and that, creating a swath of papers arcing out around him, threatening to merge.Cornelius scrubbed at his eyes, then shook off the dustings of sleep and began to straighten up his mess.Most of the work was rewritten and edited by Brian Fawcett’s hand, but some of the pages were original maps or journal entries.He found the dozen year old letter from Watt and discreetly shoved it out of sight.
“What time is it?”He asked, throat raw.Oh God, had he been snoring?He inconspicuously checked the papers for drool, thankfully finding none.It wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep while working, but usually it was in a much more comfortable position.Even in sleep he had been careful of the journal, not daring to roll onto it or wrinkle a single page.
Esther sighed heavily.“Midnight.What’re you doing down here?”
“What’reyoudoing here?”
Esther’s dark eyes narrowed, and her tone flared in that way it did when she thought a person was being condescending.“Giovanni called earlier, he’s worried about you.I wasn’t able to sleep, so I figured I’d come and see what you’re up to.”
His friend looked around his bedroom with a barely veiled grimace.His bed was unmade, the blankets tucked around his back like a makeshift shawl.Cigarette and reefer ashes had long since overfilled the tray on the dresser, and several cups of cold tea sat untouched on the small table beside his bed.Every hour he’d spent here since Mrs.Fawcett’s visit was plainly obvious, the air rank with sweat and old smoke.A sudden desperation to open the window yawned in his gut.The blinders had been removed from his eyes, and he saw his state from Esther’s point of view.From Giovanni’s, too.
Giovanni, who Cornelius had hardly given more than a handful of words to.Giovanni, who had been leaving meals for Cornelius, who in turn hadn’t thanked him or bothered to take care of his dishes, which were stacked haphazardly here and there.
Guilt squeezed Cornelius’ heart and he straightened out the wrinkles on the front of his nightshirt, deciding how much to say.Talking to Esther was like talking to mountains.There was something endless about her soul, and her heart was one of the most steadfast Cornelius had ever known.She wasn’t Sara, no one ever could be, but Esther had patched together the hole that the loss of Cornelius’ mentor had left behind.
