After his wife abandons the family, Nick is left to raise his daughter alone. Will young Lacey remain in her closed-off world, or will the magical world Nick longs to reveal to her forge a father-daughter bond strong enough to overcome the impossible?
Awarded an Honorable Mention from Writers of the Future, Beyond the Birches pulls at the heart strings and tickles the imagination…
Nick pulled into the lot, the brakes squealing through the June midnight, straining to slow the pickup and its haul. The headlights fell over the gravel, much thinner and void in spots since he’d been here last with old Norman. He reached for his ball cap on the dashboard and rubbed his head. The gravel and his hair had much in common. These things were worrisome—both his failing follicles and the state of the secluded parking area miles off the main highway and tucked down an equally shabby lane.
The Society must be dying off more rapidly than Nick had realized. The overseers of decades past were usually meticulous regarding the care of the lane, this tiny lot, and the path leading into the woods. Nick was likely next in line, but given the infrequent visits here and the family turmoil of the last few years, he’d lost track of the main guy or gal looking over the property. At any rate, Nick was sure all members of the Society were thinning out like the pebbles.
The moonbeams danced beyond the treetops. This was his third trek here with a dying horse. A mare marked for greatness beyond her human connections. He rolled down his window just an inch. The night was clear, no humidity. A few crickets and tree frogs chimed together in natural rhythm. He breathed in deep, willing the magic of the night to take away the swelling pain in his chest. Lacey stirred next to him, but only slightly, as a faint breeze slid into the cab. In a few more moments, the moon would be so high in the sky that he and Lacey wouldn’t need their flashlights once they reached the clearing.
If he could even get Lacey to follow him onto the path.
Was he doing the right thing, bringing Lacey with him tonight? How would she respond when she saw? Rigid and expressionless, like always—or with a fiery spark of wonder that Nick had always hoped to see in his daughter’s green eyes?
Had the magic gone out of the clearing beyond the line of pines and birches circling the lot?
He didn’t know. Doubt suffocated him in a straitjacket fit for the most tormented of souls.
When he got like this, when the panic set in deep and threatened to root out all that he knew, Nick went back to the basics. Usually it was family matters. Nick was Lacey’s father. Nothing would change that. He loved his little girl with a fierceness that often scared him. Nothing would change that, either. And he’d breathe. And, usually, the back-to-the-basics reset would orient his thinking and clear his head to help Lacey through whatever new challenge ailed her.
And now, Nick went back to the beginning. The first time he was here with his beloved Norman. Grandfather leading the limping mustang by the reins. Everyone stressed and little boy Nick not understanding until they’d stepped onto that path, then Norman knew. His back straightened. His legs twitched. Ears perked back. Then…well.
Nick remembered how he felt that first night beyond the birches. The strict directions Granddad ordered, hurried, but kind. The explanations afterward, right down to the horizontal markings on the satiny birch bark. Marks he’d never noticed, not really. Marks that meant something…
Nick returned to the basics now as he watched Lacey’s chest rise and fall in peaceful slumber. Granddad’s gruff voice pierced tiny holes into the doubt, allowing the light back in. “Yes, Nick. There is such a thing as magic.”
“You’ve seen it with your own eyes.”
“Relax and remember what I taught you. Now, son, teach it to Lacey.”
He left the headlights on, casting round rays onto the trunks of the pine trees. He strained his eyes but couldn’t make out the birches from the lot. A dozen moths and nighttime insects danced in the rays, beckoning him out of the cab. “Come dance with us. Like before.” That request, odd as it felt, was not in Granddad’s gruff growl.
His feet found the ground, grumping after the long drive. He left the door closed just enough to ward off the breeze and slightly ajar to prevent waking his kid. Lacey had conked out in the passenger’s seat after three hours of straining her neck on the highway to look behind them at the horse trailer. The dashboard camera with its live feed should have reassured her that Lilith was fine, curled up on the scattered straw bales. Covered in the saddle blanket.
But ignore the camera and sacrifice her neck she did until finally sleep overtook her.
Nick went to the back of the trailer and unlocked the gate door. Lilith barely lifted her head in greeting. The gentlest quarter horse on the planet, Lilith had done wonders for his Lacey. The gentle grace of this horse won’t soon be matched no matter how hard Nick worked to find a replacement for his daughter. To see her suffering now turned his stomach. Maybe he’d waited too long. He should’ve loaded her up weeks ago, but Lacey’s understanding of the situation had given him pause.
It would’ve been nice to have a partner in this decision. Someone to lean on. To tell him he was doing the right thing—or an altogether wrong one. He didn’t know.
Since Becky fled, Nick had taken to not knowing lots of things.
He knew about the magical clearing beyond the birches.
He did not know how to braid hair. Not that Lacey would allow him in that proximity long enough to place braids in her hair. Ponytails had to do.
He knew about the equestrian laws regulating equine therapy. And insurance claims. And therapeutic guidelines.
He did not know about preadolescent girls’ mood swings and changes in a “normal” female, let alone a kid like Lacey.
Nick had thought he knew what God was doing when Becky and Nick were blessed with Lacey, their beautiful, black-haired doll that completed them. About three years in, though, is when the questions started.
By five years, the doctors confirmed the diagnosis and Becky bolted.
Nick had inherited the therapy business from his father. Loved working with the kiddos and the program for the returning soldiers did wonders for morale in those families. There’s something magical about riding a horse—any horse, not just ones marked for the clearing. The rhythm. The mutual respect between man and animal. And, more than once, the clients had shared their gratefulness with Nick that horses don’t ask questions and don’t judge motives.
So he’d naturally thought the magic of the universe had given them Lacey, this precious little one with so many needs and hurdles in front of her. She’d have a leg up and a real chance given the access to the equestrian resources and therapeutic training that Becky and he had.
Becky had thought differently. Said so in her note. Wasn’t cut out for this.
Nick had been torn up. She’d been excellent with other people’s children. Standing by the twins with Down Syndrome, they'd stand and brush Glory’s mane for hours on end. Becky would work straight through lunch breaks to help Alice learn proper saddling technique, the child’s disability requiring massive amounts of repetition. His wife would hunch over her desk through the midnight hours, detailing out therapy plans and writing letters to insurance companies and doctors’ offices for permissions and clearances.
But when it came to Lacey, her own flesh and blood, Becky just bolted.
He’d stopped willing the tears to stay locked behind his lids years ago. Then, soon after that, divorce papers signed and custody hearing behind them, there were no more tears, only the hard work in front of him.
And Lacey had never cried over her mother. She’d not even asked about her. Not once.
He tried to shake off the negativity. This was a place of magic, and, soon, he’d see if Lacey, rigid black-and-white thinker that she is, could muster the tiniest spark of wonder in her hazel eyes.
Nick crawled into the trailer with Lilith. Not a name he’d chosen for this steel gray beauty, But Lacey’s pick. At the ripe old age of four, everything in Lacey’s world—male or female—had been named Lilith. Stuffed animals rarely played with—all Lilith’s. The goldfish from the county fair that, much to everyone’s surprise, lived three years—also Lilith. The stray cats strolling through on their vagrant journeys along with the resident barn felines that graced the stables and outbuildings of their property all came running, tails high in the air, when Lacey cried “Lilith!”
Becky said it was part of the illness and should be discouraged. Refuse to go along with such ridiculousness. Nick found it endearing though, so Lilith stuck to whatever Lacey threw it at. Becky grew more and more frustrated with Lacey. Her little girl wouldn’t speak to her unless spoken to. But with Lilith—the horse, not the cats or the goldfish—she’d jabber on in long sentences, standing on a step stool or the rungs of a gate to whisper into the mare’s twitching ear.
“You ready for this, old girl?” Lilith shuffled her legs at Nick’s gentle question. He rubbed his hands through her mane and down her neck. He massaged her shoulders and moved around to rub warmth and a little life into her back. She snorted and tried to stand, her hindquarters failing at the first attempt.
“That’s okay. We’ll take our time.” He continued his deep tissue massage of her muscles. She allowed this kindness, soaking in the connection. Nick thought Lilith may have some understanding of what was coming. That this was the end of her allotted time. She was a marked one, after all.
He checked her back-right leg, running his hand down the length. The furrier had shod her with a new set of kicks a few months ago. The metal was still in shiny, crisp condition as Lilith had felt poorly and Lacey refused to ride—which Nick took as a huge stride of growth on Lacey’s part. Nick shone his flashlight onto Lilith’s ankle, as the trailer lights wouldn’t do this bit justice. He wanted to see one more time in good light the large white freckle with its horizontal black striations. Like birch bark. As he ran his thumb over it, Lilith’s labored breathing from the first attempt at standing settled.
He rounded back to her head and looked in her right ear. A matching mark. Birch bark white with dark striations. He gave it a kiss. “Time to go.”
The mare, taking her cue more from her own understanding than from Nick’s gentle tug on her halter, tried once more to stand, but gave up halfway off the trailer floor. “It’s okay.” He patted her down again. “Let me get your girl.”
He hopped from the trailer and went to Lacey’s door. She’d woken and was stirring. She popped open her door and slid out, no questions asked. Nick handed her a flashlight. For Lacey, new experiences could go just like the ride here: uneventful and silent.
Or such events could go very badly. Like the ride home from the horse auction a few months ago. She’d seemed to attach to one of the foals. Nick bought him and sent him with the barn hands. She’d had a hard time pulling away from him. Called him Luke.
Nick saw that as progress. A boy name for a boy horse. A name not Lilith. Lacey had been tired, but silent, on the way home. It had rained for several days in a row, leaving massive puddles on the side of the country road. As the drops padded on the windshield and the wipers tick-tocked across the glass, Nick had remembered how his Granddad would steer the vehicle’s passenger tires into the edge of the puddle, sending waves of brown murk into the air like a reverse waterfall. Nick had loved that as a kid. He’d tried it that day with Lacey, wanting to share. Wanting to connect. Wanting to celebrate her small step forward with “Luke” by sharing a memory.
He’d steered his truck into the edge of the puddle just like his Granddad, but when the muddy water washed over the windshield, temporarily obstructing their view, Lacey went into a panicked rage, requiring Nick to pull off the road and wait for the tantrum to pass. That’s the only time Lacey shed tears. During one of her fits. Nick had shed plenty in the aftermath.
Lacey rounded the back toward Lilith. Before Nick could reach the trailer’s entrance, Lacey had coaxed the mare to her feet. Lilith nuzzled her head into Lacey’s armpit. Lacey whispered into the mare’s ear.
“Lacey, I need you to keep this a secret. This place. What you’re about to see.” Lacey didn’t look away from Lilith. Didn’t stop rubbing her hands over the horse, whispering in her ear. She adjusted the wool blanket and brushed a couple stray bits of straw from Lilith’s sides. “Lacey, did you hear me?”
“Yes, Daddy. It’s a secret.”
Nick wondered if she understood the meaning of a secret. Lacey didn’t speak to people unless directly spoken to. And the likelihood of anyone directly asking her about the clearing and the road trip was slim, since no one knew they were here. “Do you know what a secret is?”
Lacey’s head pointed toward Nick’s face, but her eyes landed on the pines beyond him. Eye contact could be a scary thing for kids like Lacey. “Like what I say to Lilith. Those are secrets.”
Nick nodded. “Okay.” In all the time Lacey and Lilith had spent in the stables, in the pasture, out on rides, Nick never knew what his daughter told this mare. He shuffled to the opposite side of the horse and the pair started for the path. “Let’s go, then.”
Hold it together, Nick.
They escorted Lilith out of the trailer on her shaky legs and toward the path. Lacey didn’t ask where they were going or why they took the old horse with them. Their flashlight beams skipped from the pines to the bumpy dirt path. Lilith’s soft thuds joined in time with the song of the crickets and frogs. A few steps in, and the pine was so strong that Nick wondered if Lacey would react to it. Scents. Sounds. Sights. He never knew when the next panic would come.
A few more yards and the thick pine clusters gave way to thin birch lines. A few here and there at first, then all birch. Satiny white bark glowing in the starlight. The horizontal markings matching the midnight sky.
Lacey stopped. Lilith stopped. Her beam had found the grove of tack. She stared at it, in silence, letting her light trace the leads and harnesses hanging from low branches and knobs in the tree trunks. Bits and bridles would catch her light and twinkle back, the breeze causing the equipment to slow dance against the trunks. The Society had taken to paying homage to their beloved equine by leaving harnesses hanging from knobs of tree trunks or low hanging branches. Some day he’d explain this to Lacey, if she didn’t already comprehend.
Lilith moaned and gave a slight stumble toward Nick. “Lace, we’ve got to move, sweetheart.”
She aimed her beam back toward the path. They were close now. The birches thinned, the forest floor giving over to grassy meadow. Knee-high grass blades, soft as a baby’s brush, caressed their pant legs and Lilith’s shaky limbs. The moonlight and twinkles from above bathed the clearing in a soft, blue glow. The breeze paused, the air stilled, still fresh and warm. Crickets and frogs ceased, giving reverence to the moment. They seemed to know…
Nick clicked off his flashlight. Lacey mimicked him. Their footsteps and Lilith’s heavy breathing were the only sounds. Lilith pulled away, gently tugging against the harness. Nick dropped the end and removed the blanket, tucking it under his arm.
The mare took a few more wobbly steps then looked back over her shoulder at Lacey. Lacey followed and, as if the pair had done this ritual a thousand times before, Lacey helped Lilith to the ground in the middle of the clearing and whispered one last secret into her friend’s ear. The gray quarter horse glowed against the dark grass. She flicked her ear, and Nick caught a glimpse of that gorgeous freckle.
Lilith closed her eyes and bowed her forehead to the ground, buried in fern fronds and grass blades. Lacey stepped away toward the line of birches and stood next to Nick’s elbow, not touching. Silent.
Lilith’s breathing became shallow. Then silent.
Nick watched his daughter. Longing for her to ask. To shed a tear. To even have one of her panic rages. Anything that would hint at connection. Nick stepped between Lacey and her line of sight to the still horse, forcing her eyes to fall on his chest. “Lace. Talk to me.” Her eyes sparkled, but only from the reflection of the moonlight, not from anything inside. Not from wonder or curiosity.
Or love.
Nick felt hollow. This had been a mistake. “Lacey.”
She sidestepped him and focused back on the horse. Took a step toward her. “Lacey, no. Not yet. Don’t touch her.” Nick reached for Lacey, but she sped up, running to Lilith, stopping short just before the horse raised her head from the foliage and bolted upright on all fours. Lacey startled and stumbled backward, falling into the grass.
But she didn’t cry. She didn’t panic.
In silence, Lacey watched as Lilith picked up each hoof, and, one by one, her sparking new shoes gave one last soft thud as they fell to the grass. Lilith give a mighty shake, her harness and reins falling from their proper positions along her head and muzzle, but the headdress hung, stuck on a mighty, shimmering twirl of a horn. A horn right in the center of her head.
The mare looked toward the far end of the clearing. Toward more birch trees, young and glowing in the starlight, their wispy branches rustling gently. The frogs and crickets softly crescendoed, picking up where they’d left off before the great event.
Lilith looked back to her little girl, still kneeling in the grass. Lilith took a bow, dipped her new horn toward the earth, and allowed Lacey another whisper into her ear. The unicorn rose.
Lacey did the same.
Lilith turned, her new horn catching the moon’s rays before she stepped into the clearing’s edge. Lilith brushed a nearby young birch with each side of her horn, leaving faint, horizontal markings embedded in the satin bark. Then, with one last nod to Nick and Lacey, and with a joyous snort and a flick of her gray tail, Lilith disappeared into the trees, joining the ranks of thousands before her that have gone beyond the birches to fulfill magic’s mysterious calling.
Lacey stared, expressionless and still.
Nick tried and failed to squelch the sobs coming from his throat. Lacey’s eyes remained dry, and she didn’t ask questions. When Granddad had brought young Nick and old Norman to this clearing, Granddad had to slip a rough and wrinkled hand over Nick’s mouth to stop the torrent of “what now’s?” and “where’d he go’s?” and “are all horses really unicorns?” Nick had sobbed over Norman then as he sobbed for Lilith now.
Lacey just seemed… at peace. When Lilith was out of sight and the rustling into the birches had settled, Lacey retrieved the horseshoes and tack. Nick thought he’d have to tell her to gather the items.
Nick had thought a lot about what he’d have to do tonight to manage Lacey, but he’d been wrong for most of it.
“You have to keep this place a secret, right kid?” Nick managed when he gathered himself. Nick used two fingers on Lacey’s shoulder to turn her toward him. To try to make eye contact. She didn’t. “Lace. A secret?”
“Right, Daddy.”
They flicked on their flashlights and found their way back to the path. When they reached the small grove of hanging tack, Lacey stepped off the path—on her own without direction from Nick—and found a low-hanging vacant branch. His daughter carefully wound Lilith’s used gear around the branch and gave it a loving—loving?—brush with her hand.
Did he see that right?
Lacey shown her light around on the ground and began kicking at the forest debris with her boot. She bent and came up with another set of reins that had fallen. She replaced them on the tree nearest where she’d found them, gently brushing each leather strap and glinting metal bit from end to end with her hands. Nick stood in awe. More in awe of his kid than anything he’d ever seen in the clearing beyond.
Lacey continued this. Kicking up leaves. Bending. Searching. Finding.
Replacing.
Loving each one in her own way.
How proud the Society would be of such a gesture. He’d never know just how much Lacey understood, but, sure as he stood there watching her, he was absolutely sure he was watching the birth of the next generation of Society protectors.
And what a magnificent steward his daughter had become. He’d missed it dealing with the daily toils of her care. She’d done the same around the stables with the gear after her and others’ therapy lessons. She’d kept her room neat as a pin, never a sock or barrette out of place. The stalls were pristine, not a straw bale out of place, when Lacey was around to help. Pride crept into his chest where the hollow had been, filling it ever so slightly with—dare he think it?—hope.
When she seemed satisfied that she’d located and rehung each fallen piece, she rejoined Nick on the path. They walked in silence to the truck, their beams dancing and crisscrossing as they went. Nick folded the blanket neatly, placed it in the straw, and secured the empty trailer. Lacey slid into her passenger’s seat, and Nick got behind the wheel and turned the engine on. His cracked window had allowed the breeze to carry in fresh pine and more than a couple of confused moths.
Lacey clicked on her flashlight and shown it on her outstretched hand. A moth, frail and white, lit on her glowing finger and pumped its wings a few times.
“Lacey, would you like to help me take care of this place? This lot and the lane? The memorial?”
“Yes, Daddy. When we bring Luke here we can.” She didn’t take her eyes off the moth.
Luke. The new foal from the auction. “Well, sweetheart, Luke isn’t marked, and not all horses—”
“He will be. He’ll get his tree-trunk freckles.”
Nick studied his daughter as she studied the moth. “How do you know that?”
A faint, ever-so-tiny flicker toyed at the edge of Lacey’s mouth. Almost a smile. Or a smirk. Fleeting. And if Nick hadn’t been staring, he’d have missed it.
She rolled down the window and let the moth fly from her finger. She shooed out the others. Whispering to them so softly that Nick couldn’t hear.
“How do you know Luke will get freckles?”
Another flicker around her lips as she rolled up the window and faced forward. She whispered her reply.
“Daddy, that’s a secret.”
