Jeremiah and Sarah would be married forty years in the fall. Theirs was Jeremiah's second marriage. His first wife had died in childbirth, along with the baby, only a year after they were married. It had taken Jeremiah six months to decide that Sarah would be his second wife, but it took him five years to court her to the satisfaction of her father. Sarah was seventeen when they married; Jeremiah was thirty-two.
He and Sarah had raised four children of their own, three sons and one daughter. All of their children were grown and the three boys had married girls from neighboring communities and settled nearby on the mountain. Their daughter had moved off the mountain when she was sixteen and was a school teacher in a town more than a hundred miles away. Sarah missed her terribly, but she kept busy spoiling the grandchildren that her sons brought to visit her at least once a month.
The homestead on which they lived was located at the top of the mountain. The clearing was rather large and their cabin sat square in the middle of it. To the left was the plot of land that Jeremiah kept tilled and planted with the crops that kept them self-sufficient. At the far side of the field, at the edge of the woods, was a creek that flowed down the mountain at such a pace that even in the coldest winter its waters were not stopped by ice. To the right of the house was an open meadow full of sweet, green grasses that fed their milk cow in the spring and summer. Beautiful wild flowers grew here and it was a wonderful playground for the children. Behind the cabin was a small area that Sarah used as an herb garden and just beyond that was the barn and hen house. In front of the cabin was a large open area that sloped down to the woods and a line of tall, sturdy oaks. Jeremiah had one rule for her when he brought her here as his bride. She was never to venture "beyond the trees." Sarah had once made the mistake of asking why he had this rule. Jeremiah had back-handed her across the jaw, sending her flying into the wall by the stove. Sarah had been sure to never question him again.
Now Sarah often found herself on the homestead alone. Jeremiah often roamed the woods, hunting and trapping, or collecting the sing (ginseng) that would bring them the coin they needed for items they could not produce on their farm. Sarah could only keep herself so busy tending the gardens and cleaning house. Lately she found herself sitting on the front porch, staring off into the distance at the line of oak trees. Sitting on the porch, her imagination often played tricks on her, causing her to see movement in the stand of oak trees or creating elaborate images in her mind of what existed beyond them.
Occasionally Jeremiah would return home to find his wife still sitting on the porch, stars in her eyes, and supper not yet started in the kitchen. He would grumble and complain as she placed a cold meal of bread, cheese, fruit and raw vegetables before him, but his worry for her health caused him to curtail his anger before it carried him too far. He had heard of other people who began to lose their minds as they advanced in age. Jeremiah hoped that Sarah was not succumbing to such an ailment.
In truth, Sarah was considering all the regrets of her life. She had never been anywhere except the mountain homesteads of her parents and her husband. She had often asked to go into town with Jeremiah on his twice a year trips, but he always refused her. Curiosity of what might lie "beyond the trees" consumed the elderly woman day and night. When she was not staring into the distance, trying to see that which was invisible to her, she was dreaming about what she might find there is she were brave enough to venture past the clearing.
She awoke early one morning, just days before their wedding anniversary, and knew it was time for her to satisfy her curiosity. Jeremiah was heading out early to check his traps and would not return until sunset. After fixing Jeremiah's breakfast and packing his knapsack, Sarah would have no responsibilities for the rest of the day. She walked Jeremiah out onto the porch, kissed him on the cheek, and watched as he disappeared into the woods. Not wanting to press her luck, Sarah worked diligently for an hour until she was convinced that Jeremiah would not be returning to claim anything forgotten. Then she grabbed a shawl from the hook beside the door, and headed out to the porch.
Standing at the top of the steps, she stared off into the distance at the stand of trees. Finally she stepped off the porch and hesitated again before striding purposefully towards the stand of oaks of which she had been forewarned. Her step slowed as she drew closer, a sense of dread filling her heart. Why had Jeremiah always insisted that she never go beyond the trees? What secret or what danger lay beyond? All of her married life she had yearned for the answers to these questions.
Sarah's mother had always told her that, "Curiosity killed the cat." But her aunt had always whispered behind her mother's back that, "Satisfaction brought him back." Sarah swallowed her fear and stepped through the stand of trees.
On the other side was a pathway leading into the woods. Sarah could only imagine that it was the pathway that led down the mountain and eventually to town. Why would Jeremiah hide this from her? There had to be more to his warning. Sarah could not turn back without knowing, so she continued down the pathway. The woods grew dense and the closeness of the trees shut out the sun. Sometimes it was hard to see stones or roots on the pathway and Sarah would stumble. Once she actually fell and it took her a few moments to regain her breath and continue on. Often she heard unfamiliar noises and wondered what types of animals were watching her. She tried to block out her fear, but still the hair on the back of her neck stood on end and the sweat that trickled down her back was cold.
After a time, Sarah noticed what appeared to be a break in the trees. It was not long before she came up on a small clearing. In this clearing stood a small cottage with an even smaller yard. There was no room for a garden or even a hen house. A few hens roamed the yard and a goat was tied to a post off to the left of the cottage. Sarah noticed a small stream that ran behind the cottage, but the water there was shallow and ran quite slowly. She pitied the person who lived here.
As Sarah approached the front door, which stood open to allow in the breeze, an elderly woman stepped out of the cottage. Her shoulders were stooped from work and her face was lined from worry. Her gray hair was pulled up into a bun, but strands escaped here and there. When the woman smiled at Sarah, there were teeth missing and her eyes were dull and tired. Sarah wished that she had brought along a basket from home for she wanted to share with this woman some of the vegetables and eggs that she always took for granted.
"Are ye lost?" the woman asked. "No," Sara replied. "I was curious as to what was beyond the stand of trees at the edge of our property. When I followed the pathway, I came upon your house."
"The stand of oaks?" the woman replied. Her face took on a haunted look and it was clear that she had also heard something unpleasant about that stand of trees.
"What have you been told about the oak trees?" Sarah asked. "My husband always cautioned me not to go beyond the stand of oaks, but he never explained why. What do you know about them?"
"Only that I, too, have been cautioned never to go beyond those trees. I was not told why, either, but it was said to me with such urgency, I felt sure it was for my own safety."
The elderly woman welcomed Sarah into the cottage and offered her a cup of tea. While the tea was brewing, Sarah noticed another woman sitting in a chair by the fireplace. She was only slightly older than her own children, but it was clear that this woman was in a world all her own. The elderly woman noticed Sarah's gaze.
"She don't talk. She was born with something not quite right in her head. She is a sweet girl, but she never could talk and sometimes, she goes off to someplace in her own mind that the rest of us can't go. I worry about what will come of her when I die. I hope there will be someone good to care for her. My husband says not to worry, but he is gone so much of the time."
"He leaves you here alone? For periods of time?" Sarah was appalled. "I can tell you that there is nothing bad on the other side of that stand of oak trees. It is just our property our farm, garden, house. You are welcome there any time. Your daughter, too." Sarah was anxious for these women, living in less than desirable conditions, definitely not cared for as well as her Jeremiah took care of her.
"Oh, my man would not like that! He is determined that we not leave here, that we not go past the trees. He speaks of "beyond the trees" with such a fear and a reverence. Whatever he dreads must be past your farm, for it definitely strikes a chord in his heart."
"There is nothing beyond our farm! We are at the top of the mountain. I don't understand. My husband tells me not to go beyond the trees. Your husband tells you not to go beyond the trees. Yet all I have found is you and your daughterand I assure you there is nothing on the other side that would be harmful to you."
The elderly woman smiled her snaggle-toothed smile at Sarah. "Yes, honey, I know what you say. But my Jeremiah, he would only want the best for me. He's only keeping us safe."
As the color drained from Sarah's face, she finally understood her husband's words of caution. Her newfound knowledge would never allow her life to be the same.