Editor Note: This is the first installment of a trilogy series that follows a Baby Boomer couple who need a little magic in their lives. They attend the estate sale of an elderly widow, purchase a chest and discover--within--an ancient, mgical piece of fabric that holds the key to immortality.
The Prologue provides an historic experience of the fabric’s magic, used for the dying dog in Richmond, Virginia.
Richmond, Virginia, 1928
Birdie wished Wiley could live forever. That jet-black bird dog of Doc’s snatched her heart seventeen years ago and hadn’t let go.
Until finding him under the porch steps as a tiny pup, she’d never heard so much crying and carrying-on. Doc fixed him up, named him Wiley, and ever since his tongue’s been licking at someone’s hand; tail knocking at something.
Now Wiley’s too tired. But Doc has healing hands. After forty-seven years of working in his house, Birdie and her husband, Jess, had seen him fix everybody in town; if he couldn’t, well, Doc would make folks feel better about not feeling good. He’d know what to do. Doc always knew what to do.
She and Jess had been working for Doctor Gaines and his wife, Charlotte, since 1881. They were only teenagers when Doc fixed her up too. Just starting out in his practice, the paint wasn’t yet dry on Doc’s sign outside the day Jess brought her here. She had a bad burn on her arm, and both of them had lost their work situation. Curtains in the old Whitfield place caught fire from the gaslight and burned it to the ground. Birdie hated gaslight. It was one happy day in Doc’s house when she flipped on the switch with the new electric lights. He and Charlotte wired the house just for her when she and Jess got hired on.
Doc sounded older now; lost some lilt after Charlotte passed on a couple of months ago. Only sixty-eight she was; same as Doc. Such a shame. Heart too big. Never was a kinder lady; she had wise eyes like blue crystals. Used to wear her dark hair in a fancy twist with a sparkly comb; didn’t even need to try to look pretty.
The roast for supper rested in the oven; shortbread all done; the gravy bubbled in a pan on the stove, fussing for a stir. Leaning over the sink, Birdie spotted Jess through the kitchen window. She knocked on the pane and whirled her hand in a circle. An impressive man, Jess hadn’t lost his muscles as he aged. Seemed to get taller while she got rounder. And he’d hung on to his heart too. Jess would sulk for days even if he found something dead in the road.
Jess waved back, and so did the flowers. Charlotte’s hyacinths, planted years ago, stretched out of the ground in the late-afternoon glow after he spread the mulch. Those fragrant bells rang out in celebration of spring’s arrival, and along with them came cool mornings and warm twilights. Some things change; some things don’t, but one thing stayed steady: When spring comes to Richmond, Virginia, all is right with the world.
“Law, we need new life in this big, old house,” she muttered, wiping her hands on her wide, white apron, her partner in the kitchen over the years. Birdie stepped to the dining room and pulled a table cloth from the drawer in the breakfront. Snapping open the linen, she broke into a toothy smile. “Why look a there. Charlotte, sometime I think you still around. I tried and tried to get that stain out last night. Stain’s all gone. I’ll be.”
Birdie smoothed and straightened the white linen, and then peered through the doorway to the parlor. She put her hands on her wide hips and shook her head. A dime wouldn’t fit under that old dog’s head these afternoons, owing to how stuck he was on Doc’s lap. That wild, wavy hair of Doc’s peeked over the sofa. All quiet. He dozed. Wiley sound asleep, like he had no bones; breathing heavy too. She didn’t want to wake them, but Doc liked his tea a half hour before supper.
“Doc? You best not let me catch you and Wiley sleepin’. Tea’s ready.”
“I’m awake, Birdie. Resting and thinking, that’s all. Fire’s dying out. Can Jess give the logs a poke?” Doc pulled off his glasses and squeezed his eyes. “Smells like roast; shortbread too. You spoil me.” He patted Wiley’s ribcage. “We might need some time before we eat. I have something important to talk with you and Jess about for our Wiley here.” The dog’s gaze rose to Doc, but his head didn’t move.
“He don’t look so good. I’ll get Jess from outside.” Birdie quickened her heavy steps to the kitchen. Something wasn’t right.
The squeal of the back screen door made her turn when it stretched open. Birdie raised a finger to her lips and pointed down the hall toward the parlor as Jess wiped his work shoes on the sisal doormat.
“Sure smells good in here,” Jess said, and lowered his voice when she pressed her lips together. He paused to decode her expression. “Doc all right?”
“Mmm-mmm. Doc’s fine.”
“Wiley then?”
Their dark eyes locked in silent conversation. She turned to the stove and stirred the gravy. “Fire’s dyin’. Wiley needs some heat on his bones, and Doc’s got somethin’ to tell us.”
As Jess changed his shoes, Birdie sensed his gaze on her back. Could have rearranged the flowers on her print dress with how hard he was looking at her. “It’s Wiley,” she said, without turning. Birdie took a breath to hold back tears and arranged the shortbread in a symmetrical stack on the plate. She picked up the tea tray and nodded toward the parlor. “Better find out what this is all about.”
The floor creaked as she followed Jess’s long steps into the front sitting room. Every step filled her with trepidation. Maybe Wiley would liven up if he got a whiff of the garden on Jess’s clothes.
“Here we go.” Birdie eyed Doc as she set the tray down.
“Still chilly outside, Doc,” Jess said, adjusting the logs in the fireplace. He settled his gaze on Wiley. “Spring’s not got here all the way yet.”
“No more work this afternoon. This is Wiley’s day.” Doc’s soul was magnified when he gazed up at Jess from behind his reading glasses.
The revitalized flames resumed their lick of Wiley’s paws. His eyelids fought their weight until he gave up and lowered them. Eyes disappeared. Doc stroked the patches of thinning fur over Wiley’s brows.
Birdie and Jess exchanged glances as they each took a seat across from Doc. All was quiet, except for the tick of the old farmhouse clock and the crackle of the fire. The faint linger of Charlotte’s sweet, floral fragrance drifted from the upholstery of the sofa cushion. Doc sat in her spot now. Wiley’s nostrils billowed in and out as he picked up the scent. As if reading the dog’s thoughts, Doc whispered, “Yes, that’s her perfume, dear boy. She’s right here with us. I know she is.” His fingers slowed and rested still between Wiley’s ears. “Don’t you worry . . . I’ll never let Birdie clean these cushions.”
“Wouldn’t dare try, Doc.” Birdie watched his deep-brown eyes, kind eyes. The lines around them turned his expression serious.
“Wiley’s starting to breathe heavy. Time is short.”
“What is it, Doc? Bad?” Jess’s deep voice matched the concern on his face.
“I must share something with you both, which will be very important for Wiley. In my bedroom, you’ll need to retrieve a package. Open Charlotte’s chest at the foot of the bed and remove the wedding ring quilt, and then pull up the bottom piece of wood. Bring to me the wrapped bundle, tied in twine, you’ll find inside.” He used that doctor voice, controlled and calm.
“I’ll get it, Doc. Can’t keep still. No, I can’t.” Birdie stood and started her half walk, half run up the stairs. “Oh, Law, we got to talk about this . . .” Unable to get enough air in her lungs, she stopped and held the banister. What’s Doc up to?
The chest groaned as she lifted the lid, the noise announcing her intrusion into Doc’s private space. After she removed the wedding ring quilt and set it on the bed, Birdie smoothed her hand over the pine-wood base. As many times as she’d put away that quilt, she’d never noticed the bottom piece wasn’t attached. Her thick thumbnail did the trick to pry it out. A wrapped bundle waited inside, begging to be touched. She plucked it from the chest and rushed down the stairs, the package balanced as if secrets might spill.
The cushion on the overstuffed chair whooshed as she sat; her heart too heavy to stand. The tissue around the bundle crinkled when she leaned forward, raised her dark hand to her chest, and turned to Jess as though he might save her from bad news.
Doc took a long sip of his tea and rattled the cup back on its saucer. He slipped off his glasses, rocking them as the music of his voice started again. “Before you open this, you must know I can’t explain what you are about to experience. I am a man of science, but our home is filled with heart. I’ve kept this secret for many years. No more. Open that package, Birdie, and marvel at what you’ll see.”
She eyed Doc, and then eyed the twine. She pulled the ends and it fell to the rug. The folds of the paper opened with ease —the room went quiet as the paper, too, drifted to the floor. The fire silenced its crackle. Wiley shifted his gaze to the grate, waiting for the snap and pop to start again.
Images of three birds emerged as she unfolded the fabric across her lap, big birds with glittering plumes and crowns of bright red, iridescent feathers. They seemed to shift their eyes to Wiley—so alive.
“I . . . I never seen nothin’ like this before.”
“Doc—” Jess stopped and stared at the fabric.
“This came from Charlotte’s father, the day he died and went on to live again in 1913.” Doc paused and dipped his head with a sly smile. “Yes—live on again.” He placed his glasses on the tea tray and rested back against the soft cushion. “A wonder—ancient beyond comprehension. I’ve tried to make sense of this myself, but some things are too wondrous to explain. We all have our time—as Charlotte did. Now, magic will be part of your lives after this day.” Doc closed his eyes. “You and Jess each set a hand on one of those magnificent birds, and I’ll put mine on the third. Experience what happens for our Wiley. You both will be keepers of this secret.”
Heavy and smooth; not a frayed thread to be seen. Birdie’s hand trembled as she touched one of the pheasant-like birds on the fabric. A tingle, much like electricity, engulfed her fingers. The reflective surface caught the sunlight and released a shimmer of vivid colors. She grazed her palm over the images on their soft cream background. Brilliant green vines with tiny white flowers wound around the birds in an endless loop. She glanced at Jess, a signal for him to reach out his hand, and nodded to Doc for confirmation. A secret knowledge washed through her; how she understood it, she’d never know. She just knew. Wiley would live forever.
As instructed, she set her hand on one of the birds in the fabric; Jess placed his on the second. Doc reached over, being careful not to jostle Wiley, and lowered his fingers on the third.
Birdie’s chocolate eyes warmed and opened wide, wider than ever before. The birds stirred and began to undulate. Their wings stretched and strained from the fabric’s surface. Her thick, work-worn fingers rolled in waves with awakened energy. She sucked in a breath as all three came alive, and then disappeared from beneath their hands. Jess gasped. She smiled with no hint of fear.
Doc turned his gaze toward the light-filled, arched window across the room. Wiley’s eyes shifted to the destination, his breaths mere shallow puffs. They were there—Doc confirmed it when he smiled. Birdie stared at the bird bath in the garden, framed with velvet curtains the color of rich claret. Its cool, fresh water twinkled through the rippled glass. Perched on the rim were three glorious birds—the very same wondrous creatures under their hands only moments ago. Long, graceful tail feathers brushed the ground; their wings extended to reveal brilliant sprays of electric-blue, deep-turquoise, and luminous gold.
One after the other, the massive birds launched high above the trees and into the intense setting sun. The ripples in the water of the empty bird bath settled. Birdie trailed her gaze back to Doc, Jess . . . and finally to Wiley.
“Don’t you worry, sweet boy” she murmured, handing the heavy cloth to Jess. His ebony eyes welled with shiny tears as he stared at it. His garden companion was leaving him. A single drop tipped and spilled on the vacant fabric. Only the winding vines remained, poised to rope back their wards. Birdie knelt on the floor and inched her way over to Wiley.
Leaning in for one last soft kiss of his head, her lips brushed the velvety flap of Wiley’s ear. “Go see Miss Charlotte.” She rested one hand on his rib cage as it rose for its final descent; Jess placed his on the top of Wiley’s head, next to Doc’s healing fingers.
“Run now. Fast as you can.” Doc’s firm words raced with heated energy. He inhaled, as if his own final breath, and closed his eyes.
~
Wiley melted under the tingle of loving hands. Maybe the family could go on without him. He wasn’t sure yesterday, but today his work in this life was done. He’d be back.
A warm surge of liquid heat coursed through him. Voices, like the ring of flower bells, trailed away. The scent—hyacinths in the garden—became stronger and stronger. He was light as a puppy, bounding toward the scent and into Miss Charlotte’s welcoming arms.