MEADOW LAKE
Dawn Miller
When my bother, Andy, went away to college, he left me his fishing pole, a well read copy of THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS and a stack of Playboys. As a burgeoning adolescent, you would think I would be drawn to the centerfolds, but not me. It was the worn out novel which lured me and caused the most trouble in return, so much for being literate. For you see, it was amongst those battered pages that I learned my beloved sibling was a murderer.
***
I guess deep down I’ve always known ever since the night Sarah Joe Johnson disappeared but I was afraid to let my suspicions come to the forefront of my mind. Now they could not be denied. A confession, written in Andy’s own hand was staring me right in the face. It had tumbled out from between the pages when I picked up the book. Its precious contents must have slipped Andy’s mind in the excitement of preparing for school and the upcoming football season.
I stuffed the dog eared paper into the pocket of my jeans, grabbed the fishing pole and headed out to Meadow Lake. Summer’s green luster was slowly fading. The cool September nights were replacing the emerald glow with a smoldering red orange. From the distance the leaves danced back and forth like flames. Silently, they beckoned me toward the soft rippling water. I obeyed, hoping to cool off the fire which had begun burning in my belly after reading the letter. The ground leading to the peaceful oasis had been pounded down over the years into a smooth path. I paused halfway down the hill. At the bottom was the lake. Its dark waters had held the secret all these months and never told. This was my favorite spot in all of Boone County and I would never look at it the same way again. Meadow Lake would no longer be my sanctuary from teenage angst for now I knew it was the unmarked grave of Sarah Joe Johnson.
***
Andy had been the first born and that heralded place of honor hadn’t stopped there. For as long as I could remember, he was first in everything, first in Mama’ and Papa’s hearts, first in his graduating class and the first from this small backwoods town to receive a football scholarship to a big time university up north. Andy had it all, brains, looks and a god given talent with any piece of sporting equipment he laid his hands on. The trophy cases at home and school were filled with awards bearing his name. Everyone, including me, worshipped the ground he walked on. It was tough following behind in his shadow but I did it gladly with love in my heart.
So it really wasn’t a surprise given his penchant for success, when two summers ago Andy came home with the prettiest and the most sought after girl in town on his arm. Long golden curls surrounded Sarah Joe’s delicate face. She had a personality that could brighten up the darkest day and a figure that could stop traffic. At least that’s what Papa said after they’d left for the movies that first night. I didn’t really know what that meant at the time. I was only twelve. Sarah was sweet and she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen in my short life and my brother killed her.
I settled on the rotted platform we used as a diving board. Dangling my feet over the edge, I stared across the lake at the over grown wildflowers behind the towering oak Andy had described perfectly in his letter. A quiet wind had snuck up and began making music in the trees. I tried hard to listen to its rhythmic beat but all I heard were the desperate cries of Sarah Joe’s mother echoing in my head.
I’ll never forget that night, not as long as I live. The grandfather clock in the living room had just struck two when she began pounding on the front door. Her animal like squeals had made Papa grab the shotgun before he headed down the stairs to answer it. Between waves of tears and cries, she held onto Papa’s nightshirt asking if Andy was with Sarah Joe.
No, Mama had explained patiently from the top of the stairs. Andy had come straight home after dropping Sarah Joe off at her house at ten o’clock. Mama knew because she always waited up to tuck her precious baby boy into bed. Andy was sound asleep when she went to bed at eleven.
Mrs. Johnson was shaking her head and pointing at Andy with pleading eyes. Papa led her away into the kitchen to calm her down. I glanced at Andy. He sat silently at my side, staring straight ahead, his hair and skin still fresh from the shower.
“You boys get on back to bed,” Mama had said. “Sarah Joe probably slipped out for a late night walk. She’ll be back.”
Andy rose and returned to our room. I wondered what Mama would say if she knew her precious baby boy had snuck out the moment he’d heard soft snores escaping from her bedroom, snuck out to meet Sarah Joe at the lake for a midnight rendezvous.
***
I’d sat on that damp rotting wood for a long time wondering what to do with the letter in my pocket. Andy had addressed it to God. Perhaps I should give it to him or at least someone close to him. On my way into town to speak with Father O’Neill, I passed Sarah Joe Johnson’s house. I didn’t have to. It’s not like it was on the way to the church. I wanted to.
I wasn’t the only one that fateful night who noticed Andy’s damp hair. The next day when the town organized a search for Sarah Joe, Mrs. Johnson was pointing the finger straight at my big brother. Andy insisted he had dropped Sarah Joe off at ten and returned home right after just like Mama said. No one questioned his integrity. He was Andy Geiger. No one asked me either. I was just the little brother. Even though I knew it was a lie, I began to believe it too after a while. Andy spoke the words with such conviction. It was hard not to.
For a moment, I stood outside the Johnson’s well kept Colonial. The big old house was empty except for Mrs. Johnson and the family mutt. Sarah was her only daughter. Mr. Johnson had been killed in Operation Desert Storm when Sarah was in kindergarten. The sun rose and set around Sarah Joe much like it does in our house for Andy. I often wondered why my parents had had me since they obviously got it right the first time. Andy used to call me the accident and up until now I used to think he was right.
The note felt like a weight in my pocket. I took a couple of steps toward the mailbox. I even slid my hand inside and felt the soft paper. The little voice in my head was pushing me to take it out. In the end, I didn’t listen. Instead I kept right on walking, walking past the church and eventually back to my house. I was going to put the paper back where it had spent the last two years but I left it in the pocket of my favorite jeans. I pushed them into the darkness of the closet floor and left them there as if that would solve the problem. That winter I became reacquainted with Edgar Allen Poe. THE TELL TALE HEART became my mantra. I thought about sending a copy to Andy. Perhaps he would get the hint.
***
The winter was a long cold one outside and in. Its icy grasp held tightly and refused to let go. Eventually spring won the war. It would not be denied. With the April thaw came an answer to my prayers. Meadow Lake finally told her tale so I didn’t have to. She left out a few of the major details in her version. The decaying body of Sarah Joe Johnson was discovered under the big oak by a couple of duck hunters. It was right where Andy said it was in his confession though I was still the only other person alive who knew that.
The elements had washed away any evidence linking him to the crime. Our police chief reasoned that Sarah Joe had encountered a drifter on her midnight stroll, a faceless individual who had taken her out to the lake and stolen her most precious gift. Trouble was I knew the face. It haunted me every night before I closed my eyes to go to sleep and it would until the day I died.
***
With the daffodils in full bloom on the hillside, Mrs. Johnson buried her little girl in the family plot. It was a private ceremony. I watched from the distance wearing my favorite jeans and holding an envelope tightly in my hand. I waited until the last person left and then went to pay my respects. I knelt down. The dirt felt moist and cold in my trembling hands. I dug a small hole in the soft soil, folded the envelope and placed it in. I closed my eyes to keep the tears from spilling. Sarah Joe had loved Andy too so maybe she understood. Silently, I prayed Mrs. Johnson would find some peace. In my heart, I knew I never would and Andy? Well, I suppose he had made amends with his demons long ago. That must have been why he wrote the letter.
He was on the Dean’s List at school and there was talk of a Heisman Trophy this season. As always everything in Andy’s universe was perfect except for one tiny ripple. A girl in his dorm had disappeared without a trace just like the wind in the willows.
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