Melia in Foreverland

By Thomas Milhorat

Tragedy is part of the human condition and there are no facts, only opinions, for why there is so much misery in the world. These realities are addressed by a teenage girl when her beloved cousin renounces God following the shocking death of a family dog. One night, while searching for answers in her father's library, she dreams a dream that is

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Vine Press
• Release date: Dec 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781959450900

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Copyright © 2022 by Thomas Milhorat.

Literary and Public Relations Manager, Kylie R. Milhorat

ISBN 978-1-959450-89-4 (softcover)

ISBN 978-1-959450-90-0 (ebook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022922286

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual locales, events, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America.

Book Vine Press

2516 Highland Dr.

Palatine, IL 60067

Dedicated to my wife Edith, our children Robert and John, and their children Kylie, Melia, Joy, Rylee and Bryce, another generation

Contents

Kansas

Crossings

Polaris

Antares

Sirius

Betelguese

Kansas

Life is a mystery and in the search for eternal truths it helps to have faith because there are no facts, only opinions, to inform us of life’s journey, how it ends, and what comes next. In this world, second thoughts and dreams, it seems, are best.

CHAPTER 1

Kansas

On an unremarkable Saturday morning in July, a young girl dressed in an attic apartment and tiptoed down two flights of creaky stairs past bedrooms on the second floor, the doors of which were invariably left ajar, and made her way to the kitchen. Her practiced footsteps had successfully avoided awakening her family and its newest member, a dachshund puppy, who slept peacefully in a basket at the foot of the staircase.

The kitchen was large and airy, typical of old farmhouses, and was dominated by the presence of a heavy oak dining table that served as the centerpiece of family society. The young girl made a cup of tea and sat down. Looking out of the window, she could see her world: the familiar countryside, the rolling fields of wheat and corn, the distant steeple tops, and the high oversized sky that stretched all the way to the horizon. In the foreground, extending from a pole on the porch, was an American flag, weathered and worn, hanging limply in the motionless air. A year had passed since the end of the war and the time was right to replace the faded bunting with a new one.

In the summer, corn grows tall on the central plains of America, but never taller than in the remote farming community of Orion, Kansas where the young girl was born in the early days of the Great Depression. The town was so inconspicuous, in fact, that it wasn’t on a map and strangers would drive right by it without knowing they had been there. If that bothered the inhabitants, it didn’t show. They were a proud lot, hardworking and continuous with the land, survivors of blackouts and rationing and discomforts, whose men had gone to war while the women worked second jobs and their children tended to victory gardens and dragged little red wagons around town collecting old newspapers and scrap iron and the aluminum foil from cigarette packs for wartime recycling. They made it a point not to complain. Memorialized on a plaque in the Town Hall were the words of Cato which read, ‘The agricultural population produces the bravest men, the most valiant soldiers, and a class of citizens least given of all to evil designs.’

Perhaps the greatest pride of these ordinary people, what united them most even in the worst of times, was the magnificence of their journey-work: the planting of seeds with one’s own hand, the birthing of livestock, the nurturing of crops, the fermenting of wine from a backyard vineyard, and the harvest of food enough to last a family a whole year. These are things that would be difficult to appreciate if you weren’t there to see them for yourself. The town elders liked to say that Orion, Kansas was as close to heaven on earth as anyone was likely to get.

As the reader might imagine, there are individuals in every community who stand out, who interest us, whom we want to know. Yet, in the very same community there may be others, no less outstanding, whose fine qualities are concealed by varying degrees of modesty or shyness or design. By all accounts, the young girl belonged to the latter group. She was a good student with a keen and eager mind. She liked to read, favoring books on adventure and travel, and kept a journal. From an early age, she had demonstrated an aptitude for helping others and assisted her teachers in the remediation of backward students, a task for which her understated manner was well suited. When praise was due, she deflected it on the students in order to encourage their efforts. She had the same interests as any sixteen year old farm girl and pursued them quietly with intensity and joy. Her circle of friends was small but devoted. She was, by the way, exceptionally beautiful, tall and slim, with a fine straight girlish figure, marvelous sky-blue eyes, fair complexion, and long blond hair, worn up or down, which framed her delicate, ingénue-like features. Over her cheeks, a few faint freckles of childhood could still be seen.

On a farm, life is difficult and problems are problems in their own way. The eldest child is always the first to be tested and it is in this tradition that the young girl acquired duties rivaling those of her parents. In addition to her daily chores, she assisted in the management of the household and became a mentor to her nine year old sister and six year old brother. Her mother was a gentle, self-educated, overworked woman who was given to recurring episodes of melancholy. At such times, she kept her feelings to herself. Her father was a respected country doctor whose devoted patients were for the most part needy and he was obliged to work his land to make ends meet. He had strong calloused hands like the rest of his neighbors.

As the young girl sipped her tea, a flash of brilliant red color streaked by the window and disappeared into a hedge beneath the sill. She turned her head for a better look.

Seconds later, there was a second flash, more subdued than the first, which disappeared into the same hedge. ‘A pair of cardinals!’ she exclaimed to herself, excitedly. ‘First the male and then the female, always together, only moments apart. That’s the way cardinals are. I hope they like it here. Perhaps they might even come back in the spring and build a nest in the hedge. Wouldn’t that be nice. Why then we could watch their eggs hatch from the kitchen window!’ The thought pleased her and a smile came across her pretty face.

She got up and walked across the hall to her father’s study. The room was comfortable, neither large nor small, and was furnished with a writing desk, a reading chair upholstered in fine dark English leather, several side chairs with floor lamps, and a pumpkin-sized globe of the earth on a stand in one corner. There were built-in bookcases on three walls.

The young girl sat down at the desk and began writing out a list of her chores for the morning. When she was finished she added a line, written in large block letters and underlined twice, to remind herself that she would be going fishing later in the day with Emma. Emma was her maternal cousin, one year older, who lived on a farm less than two miles away and attended the same school she did. The two had been best friends since they were old enough to walk and talk. ‘Good heavens,’ she thought, ‘what a perfect day to go fishing. Poor Emma, she loves fishing but never seems to catch anything. Well, I’ve got the solution for that! We’ll try the pond. She can’t miss there. Why this should be her lucky day!’

By now, the sun had crested the steeple tops and a beam of dusty yellow light filtered into the study. The young girl could hear the sound of shuffling feet and muffled voices on the floor above, announcing that her family would soon be down for breakfast. As she was reviewing the written list of chores, her attention was diverted by the sound of wheels coming up the driveway to the front of the house. ‘Why that’s strange,’ she thought, ‘it’s much too early for a pickup or delivery. Who could it be?’

She listened carefully as the sound came closer and stopped abruptly with a loud crunch of gravel, followed by five insistent rings of a high-pitched tinny bell. ‘Why bike bells sound like that,’ she decided, ‘and five rings is Emma’s signal! What in the world is she doing here now? She’s not expected until the afternoon.’

The young girl rushed to the front door and threw it open before waiting for a knock. Coming up the stairs to the porch, stooped and forlorn, with a look of profoundest anguish on her face, was her cousin Emma. Her eyes were puffy and she was crying. Her whole body was trembling.

‘Good God, Emma! What’s wrong? Come in and sit down. What’s the matter’?

There was no response except for sobbing. She took Emma’s hand and led her to the study, closing the door behind them. Emma slumped helplessly into the English-leather reading chair, crying softly. Patches of red came out on her neck and cheeks.

‘What is it Emma? Tell me what’s wrong,’ she asked again, after a brief silence.

‘Oh, no, no, no,’ was the only reply, which Emma muttered over and over, gripping the arms of the chair fiercely.

The young girl took her gently by the shoulders. ‘Try to relax, Emma, things are never as bad as they seem,’ she allowed, her own face unconsciously betraying a growing sense of alarm. ‘Tell me what happened.’

The sobbing and muttering continued. Minutes passed. Finally, the young girl folded her arms across her chest and looked straight into Emma’s eyes. ‘You must tell me what happened,’ she said, emphatically, but in a soft voice, not at all sure she really wanted to know.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Emma’s face wore a dazed expression and her eyes started darting here and there, as though her thoughts were galloping in different directions at the same time. ‘Oh, Melia,’ she replied in a shaky, barely audible voice, ‘it’s the most horrible thing I ever could have imagined. I’m sick to death about it. Please don’t make me say anything more right now. I only came over here to let the shock wear off.’

‘No, go ahead, tell me what’s wrong.’

‘Melia, don’t be cross with me. If I talk about it now, I’m afraid you’ll get sick too just hearing about it. Promise me you won’t. I can stop talking anytime.’

‘Don’t worry about all that. Now go ahead.’

Emma did her best to compose herself. She looked away and searched the room for something comforting to focus her eyes on. There was nothing. Tears started. After another pause, she took a deep breath and blurted it out: ‘Fanny is dead!’

The words were stunning. Fanny was Emma’s dog, her constant companion, the unofficial mascot of the high school soccer team, and the mother of Schnapsie, Melia’s dachshund puppy. She studied Emma’s face in disbelief, looking for some sign of uncertainty or playful gambol, but found none. ‘Oh dear God,’ she begged silently, ‘not Fanny. Please not Fanny. There must be a mistake. Why I saw her only a few days ago and she was fine. How could she be dead?’

‘Did you say Fanny is dead?’ she repeated, crying out in horrified amazement, unable to believe her ears, hoping she had not heard rightly. She was positively alarmed.

Emma leaned forward in her chair, dropping her head, and nodded gravely, though her voice was still. Her whole face had assumed an expression of anguish and defeat, almost of awe, and she seemed petrified by the futility of her predicament. After awhile, she dried her tears and a faint blush of color came back to her pale face. ‘It’s fate’, she mumbled. ‘There’s no help for it.’

‘So it’s true. It’s true, isn’t it? Isn’t it’? Melia answered back, almost speechless, realizing at last what was wrong.

‘Yes, it happened yesterday in the late afternoon,’ Emma began, slowly, in a halting, mechanical tone of voice. ‘The family was outdoors finishing up chores. I was in the garden doing some weeding, Mama was at the clothesline taking in the wash, and Papa was leaving for town to drop off some letters at the post office. Fanny was running around the yard chasing butterflies the way she always does. As Papa backed his truck out of the garage, I heard what sounded like a thump and then a high-pitched howl…more like a scream really…coming from the direction of the driveway. Papa got out of the truck and I ran over to join him.

‘We got down on our hands and knees and could see right away that Fanny was pinned under a wheel-well of the truck. Papa struggled a little bit but was able to pull her free and lay her down on the lawn. There was a trickle of blood coming out of her mouth and her legs were twitching wildly, but our worst fears were relieved when we saw she was starting to breathe and run in place. Her eyes were open, I can recall that distinctly, and I’m almost certain she knew we were there. While we were waiting for her to recover, I remember thinking what a beautiful day it was, so clear and bright, with the sun nearing the horizon and a new moon rising just above it. Nothing bad could happen on a day like this I told myself.

‘But that’s when everything changed. Fanny’s breathing became irregular. Then it came to a stop and returned in little gasps that got bigger and bigger and deeper and deeper, until they suddenly stopped again. The cycle repeated itself for several minutes. Then her eyes closed and she stopped moving. Oh, Melia it was such a helpless feeling! There was nothing we could do. We watched until her breathing stopped completely. That’s when I fainted.

‘Papa took me in his arms and told me everything would be alright. He said that over and over again. Mama covered Fanny with a blanket and we stayed with her until dark when Papa sent us into the house. Then he took Fanny out to the back and buried her under the cherry tree…you know, the one we like to climb. It was just so heartbreaking! Papa had tears in his eyes when he came back into the house. Nobody had any appetite for dinner and we all went to bed early. No one slept well last night. That’s my story. Every word of it is true.’

Emma sighed and sank back into the chair, clutching a handkerchief to her chest. Her face was expressionless as though overwhelmed by the hopelessness of it all. Melia paced the room aimlessly. Several more minutes passed. At last she broke the awkward silence.

‘May God forgive me, Emma. I can’t find the right words. How do I say how very sorry I am? Words cannot bring Fanny back. Words cannot erase the terrible tragedy or the suffering it has caused. All that words can do is let you know you’re not alone and that love and faith will sustain you. God will get you through this. And don’t forget that time is a healer, it’s always on our side, and leaves only the fondest memories of the loved and lost. That is what your father meant. After awhile, things get better. Everything will be alright.’

‘Fine,’ Emma mumbled, absentmindedly.

‘You were right to warn me, Emma,’ Melia went on, not expecting such a flat and taciturn response. ‘Fanny’s accident was hideous and watching her die like that is enough to make anyone sick. I’m worried about you. You don’t look well at all. Do you want to see a doctor?’

‘No. There’s nothing a doctor can do. He can’t bring Fanny back.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that. You’re so upset. Perhaps some medicine would help.’

‘No. I don’t want medicine. I’m upset because I’ve lost something I love and can never be replaced. How can medicine help that?’

‘I meant medicine for your nerves. You’d probably feel better in a few days. Remember Emma, you’ve lost Fanny but not your love for Fanny. True love never dies. Isn’t that what you told me when my rabbit died?’

‘Yes,’ said Emma, ‘but in my case there’s more to it than that.’

‘What are you saying? I don’t understand. Can you tell me what’s so different about your case?’

‘No, I don’t think I should say anything more. It’s a personal matter.’

‘A personal matter? Did I hear you correctly? But you and I are the best of friends! Why we’re as close as two cousins can be. We look alike and we think alike. Strangers mistake us for sisters. You know you can trust me with a secret.’

‘Yes of course I do,’ Melia. ‘That’s not the reason. I’m concerned about telling you because of the seriousness of the second matter. You see, I’m worried it will cause problems between us. We might even pull apart. I don’t want that to happen.’

‘We’ll never pull apart, Emma,’ Melia responded, saucily. ‘There shouldn’t be any problem that stands between us. We’ve always helped each other before, haven’t we? Well, we’ll just try again. Even if the problem is as serious as you say, we’re sure to come up with a good solution. I promise you my lips will be sealed. I’ll never tell another living soul.’

There was no reply. Emma slouched in her chair, looking pensive, all the muscles of her face tight, and directed her eyes to the books on the shelves. She searched the titles, as though looking for something that might speak to her dilemma, all the while squirming in her seat and twisting her handkerchief into a tight little ball. There was prolonged silence. Finally, she sat up straight and responded with a determined look on her face. ‘Alright, Melia. I’ve given this some thought. It might help to get my problem out into the open. Sometimes that’s a good thing, I’m told. But be prepared, we’ll being playing with fire.’

‘I have a suggestion,’ said Melia diplomatically. ‘We shouldn’t talk here. The house will soon be as busy as a beehive and everyone will be asking our business. Let’s go out to the clubhouse where we can talk in privacy. No one will miss us. All I need to do is to tell Mama the terrible news about Fanny and that we’re going to the barn for a few hours to be alone. Later, of course, I won’t say anything about the second matter to anyone, whatever it is. Do you like the plan?’

Emma agreed, maintaining her distracted demeanor, and Melia went to the kitchen where her mother was preparing breakfast at the stove. The two huddled for a few minutes and spoke in a whisper, while her brother and sister, already seated at the table, squabbled over some nonsensical matter. In their self-absorption, they failed to notice the brief look of shock on their mother’s face or her subsequent understanding nod to Melia. Upon returning to the study, she took Emma by the hand and led her out through a side door to the back of the property.

The walk to the barn was a distance of some hundred meters along a dirt road which once had been wide enough to accommodate tractors and horse carts, but now was reduced to a narrow footpath by overgrown bushes of honeysuckle and bramble. When Melia’s grandfather was a boy, the barn had been a grand building, the finest in the county some said, but it now stood quiet and gray, dilapidated, empty of livestock, with its doors left open to provide shelter for the farm’s cats and chickens and an old goat. On the first floor, the stalls for horses and cows were filled with rusted farm equipment and there was nothing to recall the livestock except for wooden signs above some of the compartments which bore the names of unremembered former occupants.

The clubhouse was located on the second floor of the barn. To get there, it was necessary to climb a sturdy twelve foot ladder up to a voluminous loft where the sweet musty smell of hay was still heavy in the air, years after the last delivery. The clubhouse occupied the entire second floor and had been furnished with donated and throwaway furniture. A folding table and chairs stood in the center of the room. Scattered haphazardly along two of the walls were unmatched upholstered chairs, a cushioned sofa with extruding stuffing, an empty bureau with camphored drawers, and metal cabinets filled with miscellaneous items including glasses and plates, eating utensils, rusty tools, a boy-scout pocket knife, an army surplus binocular telescope, several flashlights, piles of old comic books, and a paperback copy of Forever Amber. Folding cots for sleeping parties were stacked neatly in one corner. At far end of the loft, there was a locked storage chest, the contents of which were known only to the club members.

The girls sat down at the table. Melia thought Emma looked frantic and less sure of herself than when they left the study. Her eyes had started to dart again and she had trouble keeping her legs quiet.

‘Are you feeling any better,’ Melia asked her. ‘No. Different, not better.’

‘You seem distracted. Does it have to do with the second matter?’

‘Yes, I’m deciding how to tell you. There’s no easy way. That’s why I haven’t told my parents yet. It’s difficult to explain from my side.’

‘Would you rather not tell me now?’ ‘No, I promised you I would.’

‘That’s the spirit! Take all the time you need. I want to know everything about the second matter.’

‘Alright. But please don’t interrupt me.’

Emma wriggled uncomfortably and clutched the arms of her chair. ‘Oh, Melia, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,’ she began, her words coming forth in a slow sorrowful monotone. ‘The accident was hideous, of course, far worse than anything I could have imagined, but I needn’t go into that again. The second matter came up a little later. It started when Papa came back into the house with tears in his eyes. I’d never seen him like that before and it was almost more than I could bear. I excused myself, saying I was sick, and went to my room. After I got into bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about the accident. I went over it again and again, every step of it, lying there in the dark. My suspicions grew that something evil had happened to our family. I wanted to understand the reason for the accident, the whys and hows of it, but no answers came to me. Oh, how sick I made myself by bringing it all up! I tried to cry myself to sleep but that didn’t work so I tried the usual tricks… You know, counting sheep, taking deep breaths, focusing on happy memories…but none of that worked either. My mind kept going back to the accident, tormenting me, holding off any chance of falling asleep. That’s when I decided to visit Fanny. I got a flashlight and went downstairs.

‘It was after midnight and the house was quiet except for a purring sound coming from the direction of the kitchen. I followed the sound with my flashlight and found Cleo curled up with her kittens in the pantry. Now that was strange because as everyone knows Cleo spends her nights outdoors. When she has kittens, she simply drops them off in Fanny’s basket where they are safe until morning. The kittens don’t seem to mind and some of them even try to suckle Fanny. You saw that for yourself when you came over for one of our pajama parties.

‘Now isn’t it likely that Cleo knew something was different last night? Cats are smart that way. Well, after I was certain that my parents were asleep, I went out to the cherry tree and looked for Fanny’s grave with my flashlight. It was easy to find, just a small mound of freshly turned earth. I knelt down and touched it with my hand. The soil was still moist. I spoke to Fanny for several minutes…it’s not necessary to go into that. Oh, Melia, how final it all was! I went back to my room and sat in a chair with the lights out. I closed my eyes for awhile, wanting to forget everything, hoping for a new beginning, but my mind wouldn’t give me peace. Suspicions kept returning and before long my thoughts turned in a new direction. I started to look for something or someone to blame. At first, I assumed this was a normal response, that I was just feeling sorry for myself, but the negative thoughts kept coming, digging deeper and deeper into my soul. I argued each doubt and suspicion with myself. But the more I considered them, the more I came to the same conclusion. And that’s when I got really angry.’

Melia’s curiosity got the better of her. ‘Angry?’ she repeated. ‘Who are you angry with? You aren’t angry with your father are you?’

‘I thought you weren’t going to interrupt me,’ Emma shot back.

‘I’m sorry. Please forgive me. But I need to know.

Are you angry with your father?’

‘Of course not. I could never be angry with Papa.

Besides, as I told you, Fanny’s death was an accident.’

‘Yes, I agree, there’s no question about that. Then with whom are you angry? ‘

There was no response. Emma got up and walked to the far end of the clubhouse in an agitated state. She stopped by a window, breathing on the pane and cleaning it with her handkerchief. She looked out on the countryside for several minutes in silence. When she returned to the table, Melia could see that her face was flushed and she was trembling. All her movements were shaky. She positively shuddered. Emma broke the silence.

‘So Melia,’ she said, looking straight at her through narrowed eyes, ‘you asked with whom I am angry? Is that what you really want to know?’ She paused briefly, raising her eyes toward the ceiling, and with a burst of fury pounded the table with both fists. ‘Why the answer is simple. I’m angry with God!’

The words were shocking and lingered in the air like a cloud of stale cigarette smoke. ‘I don’t understand,’ Melia cried out, suddenly horrified and growing dreadfully uneasy. ‘Why are you angry with God?’

Emma’s muscles tensed. She frowned and assumed a