Sisters, Long Ago Page 6

“Well. . .”

  “I thought so,” Gretchen said. “What is it with you and her? You probably won’t ever see her again but you act like she’s the most important person in your whole life. What’s so great about her, anyway?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? Ha! Ever since you met her, you’ve been different. You walk around zombie-eyed, staring into space. Last night, you dashed out of McDonald’s after her with your face lit up as if you had just won the lottery.”

  “I had to tell her something.”

  “It must have been pretty important.”

  Willow knew Gretchen was curious. She wanted Willow to tell her what it was that was so important. But Willow couldn’t tell Gretchen. Not now. There wasn’t time to tell her now. It was almost five o’clock.

  The mantle clock in the living room started to strike. Bong . . . Bong . . .

  “I’ll explain it all to you later,” Willow said. “Right now I have to be alone.”

  She ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs, once again leaving Gretchen to stare after her.

  “I’ll call you tonight,” Willow yelled, as she hurried into her own room.

  “Don’t bother. Believe me, I’ll be much too tired to talk to you.” The front door slammed behind Gretchen as Willow sank down on her bed.

  She took two deep breaths and pushed everything else out of her mind.

  I’m thinking only of you, Helen, she thought. I send my thoughts to you. I am lying on my bed. Sarah is worse today, and I made Gretchen angry because I wanted to be alone at five o’clock. Do you hear me? Are you receiving my thoughts?

  Willow lay still. She stared so hard at the ceiling that her eyes felt like cotton balls.

  She spoke out loud. “I’m waiting to receive your thoughts, Helen. Are you thinking of me?”

  No answer. She closed her eyes and repeated the message. She waited. She heard some children playing tag. She heard Jericho bark. She covered her ears, to blot out the noise. How could she receive a message from Helen if she was thinking about Mrs. Clauson’s dog?

  She tried to concentrate, her thoughts focused only on Helen.

  Helen . . . Helen . . . Helen . . .

  Willow waited for fifteen minutes. Nothing happened. No vision of Helen popped into her mind. No message came magically across the continent. If Helen was sending thoughts to Willow, Willow was not receiving them.

  She rode her bike to Gretchen’s house and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so she knocked again. Finally Ryan opened the door.

  “Gretchen says to tell you she isn’t home,” Ryan said.

  “Tell her I came to explain.”

  “Explain what?”

  “Just tell her. She’ll know what I mean.”

  Moments later, Willow and Gretchen sat crosslegged on Gretchen’s bed and Willow began. “First, you have to swear you won’t tell anyone else what I’m going to tell you.”

  Gretchen’s eyes grew round. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” she asked.

  “Not trouble, exactly. Just a puzzle. It started on my birthday, when I almost drowned.”

  Willow went through everything that had happened, careful to include all the details so that Gretchen would understand why this was so important.

  When she finished, she waited for Gretchen to respond. Gretchen was silent, her fingers picking at the nubs in the bedspread.

  “Well?” Willow said.

  “Are you saying you believe in reincarnation?” Gretchen whispered the question, as if she feared someone’s ear might be pressed to the keyhole.

  Willow nodded. “I saw myself in another life. I’ve met the girl who used to be my sister.”

  Gretchen looked as horrified as if Willow had announced plans to bomb an orphanage. “I think you should forget all of this,” she said. “Pretend it never happened. Never try mental telepathy with Helen again. Don’t write to her or call her, either.”

  “I don’t want to forget it,” Willow said. “I want to understand it. I want to know more about my past life.”

  “No!” Gretchen held up her hand and spoke with such intensity that Willow, startled, leaned away from her. “The things you’re talking about are evil,” Gretchen said.

  “Evil! Why are they evil? You always talk about eternal life as if it’s the most wonderful thing possible. Why is it suddenly evil?”

  “Eternal life is what happens when you turn over your soul to Jesus. That isn’t the same thing as reincarnation.”

  “Kalos and Tiy may have lived before Jesus,” Willow said. “What were they supposed to do with their souls? Or has eternal life only been around for the last two thousand years?”

  “I think The Devil has put bad ideas into your head,” Gretchen said.

  Willow stood up. “I shouldn’t have told you,” she said. “I knew you wouldn’t understand. That’s why I didn’t say anything sooner.”

  “Come with me to talk to Pastor Farriday,” Gretchen said. “He can tell you what to do. He can pray for The Devil’s ideas to leave your mind.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Then I’ll go by myself and ask him to help you.”

  “You can’t! You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “That was before I knew you were in serious trouble.”

  “I’m not in trouble. You talk like I got caught shoplifting or something.”

  “Shoplifting I could handle. I can’t take on The Devil. Pastor Farriday says . . .”

  “Did it ever occur to you to think for yourself,” Willow said, “instead of always parroting your pastor?”

  “I only want to help you,” Gretchen said.

  “It doesn’t help to be told my ideas come from The Devil. And if you breathe one word of this to anyone, including Pastor Farriday, I swear I’ll never speak to you again.”

  Gretchen looked down at her hands. “I have to do what’s right,” she said.

  “What’s right is to keep your promises.”

  Willow stormed out of Gretchen’s room, trying not to cry.

  10

  DEAR HELEN:

  I’ve tried seven times. Every day, at exactly five o’clock, I sit alone and think about you. I send my thoughts to you and I try to hear any message you are sending me.

  Nothing happens. Nothing.

  Are you doing it? Are you thinking of me at five o’clock every day, like we agreed?

  Write and let me know because if you aren’t going to do it, I’ll quit, too.

  The doctors have decided Sarah’s best bet is to have a bone marrow transplant. The trouble is, it isn’t easy to find a donor who matches. My whole family was tested. Not fun. I came the closest but I still wasn’t a perfect match.

  Yesterday the doctor registered Sarah with the National Bone Marrow Program. It’s in Minnesota. He says it’s possible to do a transplant with tissue from a nonrelative if a donor can be found.

  I wish you were here so we could talk. I feel all mixed up. Right now, my parents can’t think of anything except Sarah. When I’m at the hospital, I can’t think of anything else, either, but I don’t stay at the hospital all the time. I get too antsy.

  It’s gone on such a long time. Once yesterday I caught myself wishing she would just die and get it over with. Then I felt like the lowest, scummiest worm in the world, for thinking such a thing.

  I don’t want her to die. I want her to live. I want her to get well and go to school and borrow my sweaters, like she always used to do.

  The worst part is not knowing what’s going to happen.

  My parents are pretty freaked out. They try to act cheerful but they’re scared. I can tell. Dad fidgets a lot and bites his nails, and Mom has an odd, vague look in her eyes, as if she had a nightmare too horrible to talk about. They never laugh.

  When you’re scared all the time, it’s hard to laugh. I think that’s what I miss most right now; nobody in our family laughs anymore.

  This letter is depressing. Sorry about that. I guess I needed to dump
on somebody. I used to be able to tell Gretchen my problems but we aren’t getting along so hot.

  Have you found out anything about ancient Egypt? I haven’t had a chance to go to the library because I spend so much time with Sarah. I did have one neat thing happen, though. Last night, when I took Muttsie outside for his walk, there were hundreds of stars, like twinkling polka dots on a black blanket.

  Then I saw the moon and I remembered that Kalos saw the moon, too, on her way to the temple, and it gave me the funniest feeling. There I was, looking at the very same moon and stars that I had looked at centuries ago, when I was someone else.

  Somehow, it made me feel peaceful to know that the moon has been there for thousands of years. It was there in the lifetime of Kalos, and it’s here for my lifetime now, and it was here for all of the years in between. The same stars will probably still be twinkling a thousand years from now.

  Thinking about that made my problems less important. Even Sarah’s illness doesn’t seem so awful when I look at the moon and the stars.

  Am I making any sense?

  School starts Monday. I’m glad to think about something besides hospitals and bone marrow. But I feel guilty for being glad.

  I’ve decided to tell Sarah about Kalos and Tiy and you. Maybe she wouldn’t be so scared if she knew that this one life isn’t all she gets. Who knows? Maybe she and I will be sisters again some time, or at least friends. If you and I found each other after all those centuries, maybe Sarah and I will find each other in another life, too.

  I’m not scared of dying like I used to be—not for Sarah and not for myself. I still want to live as long as I can, though. No matter how many other lives I might have ahead of me, I don’t want to hurry through this one. There are too many things I want to do. Like learn to water ski and graduate from college and (maybe, some day) get married.

  I’m going to tell Sarah how I saw Grandma and Grandpa when I was drowning. Maybe all of this would be easier for her if she knew she was going to be with them.

  I would have told her sooner except every time I started to tell her I thought, what if I’m wrong? What if all of this is just my imagination? Gretchen thinks it’s sinful to think I lived before. What if she’s right?

  Please write back soon and tell me if the mental telepathy is working for you. I’ll keep trying at five o’clock every day, until I hear from you.

  Love, your sister (long ago),

  Willow

  P.S. Be sure to send me a picture.

  11

  WILLOW TOOK one bite of her grilled cheese sandwich and shoved the plate aside.

  She had to do something to help Sarah. Anything! But what could she do? If the doctors and nurses and technicians couldn’t help Sarah, what was a thirteen-year-old girl supposed to do?

  She wished she had someone to talk to. Her parents were hardly ever home and when they were home, they were too strung out to discuss anything.

  Always before, Willow could count on Gretchen to listen and sympathize and give advice. Now she couldn’t call Gretchen. They had not spoken since their argument. Willow missed Gretchen terribly but she still thought Gretchen was wrong.

  Willow wished her grandparents were still alive. Grandma and Grandpa always had time to listen to her problems. Willow remembered how, when she was drowning, she felt that they were waiting for her.

  She closed her eyes, pictured her grandmother in her mind and whispered, “What should I do, Grandma? How can I help Sarah?”

  There was no answer. Willow opened her eyes, feeling foolish. I’m going bonkers, she thought. First I decide I’ve lived before and now I’m trying to talk to the dead.

  She went to her room and got out her notebook. She would write to Helen one more time, even though Helen had not answered the previous letters.

  As she opened the notebook, a small white card fluttered to the floor. Willow picked it up. It was the card that Mrs. Evans, the speaker at the library, had given her. Mrs. Evans had said to call her if Willow ever needed help.

  The card said Mrs. Evans was a psychotherapist at a mental health clinic. Did that mean she worked with crazy people? Did she think Willow was crazy?

  Maybe I am, Willow thought. Maybe I should call.

  Without giving herself time to change her mind, Willow dialed the number on the card.

  “Come right over,” Mrs. Evans told her.

  Half an hour later, Willow sat in Mrs. Evans’s office, pouring out the whole story of Sarah’s illness. “I want so much to help her,” Willow said, “and I feel helpless because I can’t.”

  “Have you tried sending your healing thoughts to her?” Mrs. Evans asked.

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “When you are alone in a quiet place, close your eyes and think of Sarah. Imagine yourself holding her hands. Picture your strength and energy flowing into her body.”

  “Once when I held Sarah’s hand, I felt a current between us, almost like electricity.”

  “Love. You felt love. When it’s strong enough, it has a physical energy. It’s the one thing you can give your sister,” Mrs. Evans said, “and love is the most potent healing force there is.”

  “If that’s true, shouldn’t I go and really hold her hands, like I did before, rather than just imagining it?”

  “Of course. Be with her whenever you can. But if you can’t be there in person, visualization can still help. You may have heard about athletes who prepare for a race or a game by imagining exactly what they will do. A runner might visualize herself being the first to cross the finish line.”

  “Yes. I’ve heard of that.”

  “This is the same thing. The mind tells the body what to do and the body responds.” Mrs. Evans smiled at her. “Tell me how you came to be interested in past-life regression,” she said.

  Willow explained how she nearly drowned, and about the visions and the dream, and how she found Helen. She also told about her problems with Gretchen. When she finished, she asked, “Do you think I lived before, as Kalos?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think,” Mrs. Evans said. “As long as you believe it, it is true for you. And your friend, Gretchen. She believes certain things, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then for her those things are true, whether you think so or not. Don’t try to change her mind; don’t say that her beliefs aren’t true. Truth has nothing to do with belief.”

  “You’re saying we can disagree and still be friends?”

  “Of course. How boring life would be if we all thought alike.”

  “The trouble is,” Willow said slowly, “Gretchen thinks her beliefs are right and anything else is wrong. She accepts what she is told without questioning it.”

  Mrs. Evans nodded sympathetically. “Many people prefer to do that. You are learning that each person has his own truth; Gretchen doesn’t know that yet.”

  “She sure doesn’t.”

  “It may be harder for Gretchen to accept new ideas than it is for you, because of her upbringing. It isn’t easy to challenge the things you’re taught as a child.”

  “My parents are more flexible than Gretchen’s are,” Willow admitted. “So what should I do—pretend to agree with her?”

  Mrs. Evans shook her head, no. “You can value Gretchen just as she is, even if you don’t accept all her views. You’re friends, not clones. Accept her as she is; don’t try to change her. Ask her to accept you.”

  “I’m not so sure she will do that,” Willow said.

  “Ask her. What do you have to lose by asking? And tell her you’ve missed her.”

  “OK,” Willow said. “I’ll try it. And I’ll send my love and energy to Sarah.”

  “Good. I’ll send my healing thoughts to Sarah, too. Let me know how she gets along.”

  Willow promised that she would. As soon as she got home, she called Gretchen.

  “I miss you,” she said. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

  “Believe me, I miss you, too,” Gretchen sa
id.

  “Can you come over? I want to talk to you.”

  “Be there in half an hour.”

  While she waited, Willow decided to read the Personals. Maybe there would be a good letter, something she and Gretchen could laugh about, the way they used to.

  She turned to the classified section and skimmed the page.

  Jericho. The name caught her attention and Willow looked more closely. It was under Lost and Found:

  LOST: Cocker spaniel. Beloved family pet. Wearing red collar with the name Jericho on it. Generous reward.

  There was also a telephone number.

  Willow read the notice twice. Jericho wasn’t a common name for a dog. And the dog that Mrs. Clauson took out of her car was definitely a cocker spaniel.

  Could Mrs. Clauson have found two lost dogs in such a short period of time? First the poodle and now the cocker? It seemed like too much of a coincidence.

  Willow went outside and looked to see if Jericho was in the yard next door. He was.

  “Here, Jericho,” she said. She put her fingers through the fence. “Good Jericho. Come, boy.”

  The dog galloped toward her, wagging his tail.

  Just then, Mrs. Clauson came out on her porch. “Is there something you want, Willow?” she asked.

  “I was just going to pet the dog.”

  “It’s time for his dinner,” Mrs. Clauson said. “Come, Jericho.”

  The dog stopped. He looked at Mrs. Clauson and then at Willow.

  “Jericho!” Mrs. Clauson snapped. “Come here.”

  Jericho trotted to the door and Mrs. Clauson put him inside. But not before Willow saw that he wore a red collar.

  “How long will Jericho be staying with you?” she asked.

  “His owners should be back any day.” Mrs. Clauson frowned at her. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” Willow said. “I just wondered.”

  Was it possible that Jericho wasn’t being boarded? Was he, perhaps, stolen?

  She didn’t like the way Mrs. Clauson looked at her. Had her suspicions been obvious? She turned and hurried back to her own house. When she was safely inside, she sat on the floor, close to Muttsie. She nuzzled her face in his fur, inhaling his warm doggie smell.