To the two followers of this story. Hey, what's up. Thanks for following me. I was going to give this story up as lost, so that second follower really pushed me into publishing this new chapter. Thanks for the follows, friends!
Chapter Four
They stopped for a moment by a beautiful stream in the clearing of a stand of apple trees, where Margaret settled to suckle her son.
She didn't need to feed him, she supposed. It was a land of death, there was no more suffering beyond it, but she liked the comfort and serenity, the closeness it brought her to her lost child.
"Oh all the money that e'er I had, I spent it in good company," she cooed softly to both her sons, as Teddy lingered at her feet, playing with smooth stream rocks. "And all the harm that e'er I've done, alas, it was to none but me. For all I've done for want of wit, to memory now I can't recall. So fill to me the parting glass, good night and joy be with you all."
Behind her she heard the rustling of leaves as Mr. Rothstein drew near.
He didn't come to close though and she paused singing to glance behind at him.
The man was quick to wave her attention back to her children, looking rather sheepish.
After a moment, she continued softer, trying to conceal her poor vocal skills from the man who was creeping ever closer by the sounds of the leaves beneath his shoes.
"Oh all the comrades that e'er I've had, they are sorry for my going away. And all the sweethearts that e'er I've had, they would wish me one more day to stay. But since it falls unto my lot, that I should rise and you should not. I'll gently rise and I'll softly call, good night and joy be with you all. Goodnight and joy be with you all."
The trees were still, even the stream seemed to draw to a stop as she finished singing.
There wasn't a single sound and then Mr. Rothstein shifted on his feet and inhaled deeply.
"Again," her companion urged quietly after clearing his throat. "Please?"
Margaret flushed pink. "I'm not very good," she said. "I only sing because the children like it."
There was more shifting of his shoes on the leaves, before his footsteps faded.
She glanced over her shoulder, worrying that she offended him.
The man had returned to his spot by the nearest tree and stood quietly.
Focusing her attention back on her boys, she found she couldn't sing, the lyrics wouldn't come to her if she thought she may have offended the man.
She stood up slowly and carefully approached him under his apple tree.
"Have I offended you, Mr. Rothstein, I—"
"Not at all," he said easily. "I intruded on a private moment and I'm hopelessly embarrassed about it."
She frowned, before her face lit up in understanding. "Oh! No, not at all! I didn't mean it like that! It's just that, I'm not very good at singing, I don't do it for people often. I suppose children are less critical, so I sing mostly to them." Looking to where she left Teddy playing in the leaves, she glanced back at her companion almost suggestively, before heading back to her perch on the banks of the stream.
Walking slowly, she hoped he would follow her, she wouldn't mind if he wanted to listen. She certainly hadn't meant to chase him off.
Crunching in the leaves told her that he was falling in behind her and she smiled a little, easing onto her stream bank.
Mr. Rothstein took up lounging against a boulder nearby, regally like a King as leisure, because of course that would be the pose the man took as he listened to her sing.
She began to sing again to her sons, this time a little louder for the man who had become her afterlife travelling companion.
They were walking once more.
She really didn't understand this urge in them to move, to journey across the land, but they were moving, heading towards the ongoing road. Eternity, she would say if she were poetic.
Beside her Mr. Rothstein walked, still in his heavy looking camel hair coat, looking layered and far too removed from the world around him, as though he were protecting himself from everything.
She glanced down at her bare feet and light, white lacy day dress and smiled.
"You're over dressed," she teased a little.
"Hm?"
She motioned to the differences in their dress.
"Well," he said. "We are outdoors, it's simply proper to overdress outdoors."
Margaret stopped suddenly as a flood of images crashed over her and she staggered back a little, Mr. Rothstein catching her politely, holding her up.
Time slipped past her rapidly, changes in style, fashion, dresses became shorter and women began to wear trousers, music, food, traditions, and manners.
She sagged heavily against her companion, then felt a suddenly tearing as though something was removed from her as the memories stopped and she found herself struggling to level her gaze at the road before them.
That which was taken from her with the rush of memories was her infant son and she would have wailed at the loss, had she not found the boy standing there before her, about two, just old enough to move on his own.
"Oh," she sighed.
"Are you well?" Mr. Rothstein asked.
"1985," she whispered. "I died in 1985. Things changed, fashions, everything. Television," she huffed.
"Television?" He repeated.
"There was…a man walked on the moon."
Mr. Rothstein chuckled, his exhale of air equivalent at least. "Walked on the moon?"
"Oh," she sighed and struggled back to her feet properly. Teddy ran towards her, he too looked a little older.
"You saw your death?" Mr. Rothstein asked, guiding her to a nearby log and easing her down on it.
"I saw my gravestone."
"Ah."
"So much changed," she whispered, eyeing her unnamed son quietly. After a long while of staring at the boy, she frowned and asked, "he needs a name, doesn't he?"
Mr. Rothstein was quiet, still stooped over her, hands on hers in her lap.
"What's a good boy's name?"
"I'd like to talk more about this man on the moon," her companion said with a sly grin.
Margaret smiled bashfully, very much aware of the soft brown gloved handed that covered hers. There was strength in them, but he didn't use any of it on her. Raising her eyes to meet his, she found him watching her with an amused expression and she dropped her gaze once more.
"I never had a name picked out for him," she said. "That I can remember. Maybe I'll name him Arnold," she added.
"Oh, I wouldn't. It's a dingy name for a very uninteresting sort of fellow."
She tsked at him.
"You should name him Harry," he suggested after a moment. "It's a good name for a man to have."
"Harry?" She repeated, eyeing the brown haired boy. "Yes. I like that."
Mr. Rothstein stood and stepped back, offering her his hand.
"Does the name mean something to you?" Margaret asked as she rose. Something in his eyes gave her the feeling it did.
"It was what we called my brother." He said.
"You loved him greatly?" She asked as they started walking again, her toddler son grasping for her skirt with one chubby pink hand, the other flailing out for Mr. Rothstein's pant leg.
The man beamed down at the child, amused by the small boy's efforts to steady himself between the two adults.
"He was a good boy," the man said finally. "Well-mannered and proper."
Margaret smiled. "You don't mind then?"
"Not at all," the man returned jovially. "I'm sure if he were here, he'd be quite honoured."
They walked on for a ways, before Mr. Rothstein declared.
"So, a man walked on the moon?"
Margaret laughed softly. "Well, he hopped on the moon."
"Hopped?" Her travelling companion fell into a thoughtful silence, before asking, "what else happened?"
"There was another war, a big one and after you died the economy collapsed, a lot of people were out of work, out of luck."
"And you?"
Margaret shook her head. "I can't remember…I think, we must have struggled for a bit. I remember a small, dirty home in upstate New York…working as a cook."
"Our business went bust, then?" He asked.
"I don't know, I still can't remember what sort of business we had together," she replied.
"I can tell you," a rough voice said from their left.
Margaret jumped a little as two men emerged from the tall cornfield, one was smoking a cigarette and looked quite stern with flat, sombre brows lowered over sharp, intense eyes, the other looked less threatening, but still mildly dangerous.
"For a fee, of course," the man finished with a small, charming grin.
"Charlie," Mr. Rothstein said then and beamed. "Meyer."
The two men smiled.
"Are you…really here?" Mr. Rothstein asked then.
"Sure we are," Charlie said. "Meyer and I got nowhere better to be. This place is bust though, ain't a good belt of whiskey or a slick cooze in sight."
Margaret hurried to cover Teddy's ears. Harry would forget, but Teddy would repeat and repeat.
Her son smiled anyways and looked up at her with a devilsh gleam in his eye.
She gave him a warning look that clearly stated he was not to repeat that word.
"Mrs. Thompson, isn't it?" Meyer asked.
Margaret frowned. "Yes, I believe so, at least, I remember being her at one time. I think?"
"Poor memories," Charlie said to the man. "But, hey, we can help."
"If there's no booze or women, Charlie, what do we pay you with for memories?" Mr. Rothstein inquired. "I'm assuming there's no money."
"Your souls," Charlie stated.
Margaret's spine straightened and she glanced over at Mr. Rothstein in a panic.
Was he serious?
"I'm just kidding you," Charlie finished with a grin, taking a deep drag from his cigarette.
"You remember everything?" Mr. Rothstein asked the man.
"Sure, Meyer and I walked to the end, figured big deal, so what? And now we just sort of…screw around in the woods."
"You've been to the end? There's an end?" Margaret asked.
It was Meyer who spoke. "The road eventually comes to an end, yes."
"What's at the end?"
"More roads," Charlie stated.
"Then how do you know it's the end?" Mr. Rothstein asked.
"Because it just is," Charlie began to get aggravated, shifting on his feet. "Look, I don't know anything about this pile of leaves and rocks, all I know is you walk with a partner or something to the end, there's a fork and…you take it?"
"We got the feeling at the end," Meyer broke in. "That we're not supposed to go together anymore, that it's just you after you take the fork."
"Yeah, then after that…who knows?" Charlie said. "You kiss the Holy Mother's feet you get into heaven, you slip her the tip and she drops you in hell. Meyer and I said to hell with it all and started back the way we came. This place is better than whatever they got planned for us down those roads. At least here we know what we're dealing with."
"We haven't figured out if there's actually a beginning," Meyer interjected. "There probably isn't."
"Well, there is, there has to be, but we ain't found it yet," Charlie said.
"So, you boys just wander around together?" Mr. Rothstein inquired.
Margaret looked from her travelling companion to Meyer and Charlie.
"So what?" Charlie shrugged. "Me and Meyer go way back. Old times."
"Meyer and I," Mr. Rothstein corrected.
"Meyer and you, what?" Charlie demanded.
Mr. Rothstein waved his hand as though erasing the topic. "Are you two meant to join us?"
Charlie's lips turned downwards. "Nah, we'll see you around though."
"Unless you go on," Meyer added.
"Unless you go on," Charlie repeated.
"Then good luck," Meyer said.
"What he said," Charlie grunted, sticking his cigarette in between his lips and pocketing his hands. "Unless you want to sell me your souls?"
"Charlie," Meyer scolded lightly.
The man beamed roguishly and winked at Margaret.