Under the Kissing Tree
by Mary-Lynn Allard

Author's note:

Excerpt from “Flora Collins: Behind her Novels” written by T. Eliot Stokes and Elizabeth Collins Stoddard, Blair Press, 1972.

“According to her journals, Flora Collins ideas for her novels often came from her own life. “The Trysting Place” came from the Legend of the Trysting Tree, a family legend, that was passed down from generation to generation. The legend is centered on a tree in the northern part of the woods surrounding Collinwood that is said to have magical powers. In the early records, it's solely referred to as the Trysting Tree, although by the later part of the 18th century it also became known as the Kissing Tree. The origins of the legend are lost and only two mentions of it can be found before 1700.

“It is said that Cupid shot an arrow in anger at one of the gods, and missing its mark, it fell into the glade in the center of the Collins' Woods, piercing the very heart of Earth itself. There, the arrow took root and grew, and became a tree. It is widely know that anyone who kisses his or her true love beneath the branches of the Trysting Tree will find great happiness, and if their initials are carved together into the tree, their love will be eternal. -- Prudence Collins 1663

“The trouble with eternal love is that eternity can be a very long time to remain with the same person. Courting couples should beware that the legend of the Trysting Tree not only promises a happy life, but also warns that a false heart or a poorly carved initial could result in unhappiness in the one case, or of the binding of ones self to the wrong person in the other, causing no end of grief. - Abel Collins Goode 1699

“By 1762, there seemed to be many versions of the legend, several contending that only a first kiss could bring luck, while others mentioned that it was considered a good sign when the moon or the sun would shine down during a proposal given beneath it. For her novel, Flora combined both of these. From the mention in many family letters and diaries from the late 1600's on, in summer the glade where the Trysting Tree grew was a popular place for courting couples to picnic.”

~*~

February 12, 1971

Spiderwebs quivered as Barnabas climbed the attic stairs, moving aside like shadowy curtains, their edges clinging softly to his chestnut hair and the rough wool of his jacket. It had been too long since this part of the house had been cleaned. He opened the attic door, brushing away the gray threads, ready to tell Willie to grab a broom and see to the webs, when he saw him sitting down on one of the chests and rummaging through another. Didn't the man know by now how much he hated people prying into his personal life? "Willie!"

Willie jumped up. "I…I was only taking a break, honest. I…I didn't mean to…" He stammered to a stop. "I'm sorry. I'll get back to work right now."

Barnabas took in the soot stains on the front of Willie's apron, and the smear of dust across his forehead, and a look around the room showed large areas cleared and cleaned, and this after Willie had packed up Julia's equipment, emptying the lab in the basement. "I sometimes forget how hard you work. My mother had a full staff to maintain this house.”

He looked at the chest that Willie had been looking at. “I haven't see this in many years, and it wasn't so filled the last time I saw it.”

Willie gave a stretch, and put a hand to his back as though it ached. And Barnabas taking the hint, motioned for his man of work to sit down. He leaned over the chest and looked inside. "I'm surprised that my father kept these things for me. My small treasures. They would have meant nothing to him."

He took out a stickpin, and felt tightness in his throat. He was barely ten, when he had fallen off his horse. Even now, he couldn't remember having done it, only waking several days later. His mother, Naomi, was openly crying, and his father, Joshua, had to keep clearing his throat. For several more weeks, he had had to remain in bed, and quiet, and each night his father would read to him or tell him stories. His favorite one on how his father had gotten the stickpin. “It'll be yours someday, Barnabas. Of course, not until I am dead…” His dear Father. If only they could have known how life would turn out, surely, they would have lived it differently.

He pulled out a shell that might have been from a beach in Martinique. Angelique. Only weeks ago, he had held her in his arms in the past, had felt the life ebb out of her body. He waited for the wave of sorrow that he expected, but it didn't come. It never came when he thought of her. As though she had truly died to him more than one hundred and fifty years ago, and the sharp edges of memory had been nearly ground away by time. He hated that Julia could have been right, and that his love for Angelique might not have been true.

“Barnabas?”

Willie's voice broke his reverie. He put the shell away, and his sad thoughts with it. "Well, Willie. Did you find anything interesting?"

With a worried glance to make sure Barnabas wasn't angry, Willie put his hand down and took out a book of poetry. "I normally don't think much of poetry, but with Sunday being Valentine's Day and all…" He reddened. "The girls seem to like that kind a thing."

Barnabas took the book from Willie. "That they do. Or, at least they used to.” He opened the small leather-bound volume. “Did you see this?” he asked.

Willie nodded as he looked over Barnabas' shoulder at the piece of paper that rested between the pages. It was delicately decorated in watercolor hearts and carefully drawn birds and flowers and in the center was a faded poem. Barnabas took it carefully and even then the paper was so fragile that the edges crumbled away to dust. "A Valentine."

"I thought so. From Josette?"

Barnabas shook his head. "I made this. For a young lady…her name was Lucy...I had every intention of giving this to her."

Willie's grin grew wider. "You made this?"

Barnabas carefully put it back in between the pages of the book of poetry. "As now, it was the custom to exchange Valentines on Valentine's Day, but in my time there were no card shops where one could buy them. If I wanted to send a Valentine, I had to make it myself. Drawing the hearts, flowers, adding a poem…some of my friends copied verses from the poets, or had others write them for them." He pointed to the center. "I wrote that poem, myself."

Willie stared at Barnabas whose smile turned to a chuckle, an event so alien to Willie's idea of Barnabas that his mouth gaped open. "I was even going to invite her to the Kissing Tree to give it to her."

"Kissing tree? You're pulling my leg."

Barnabas raised his eyebrows. "No, I'm not…pulling on your leg. I'm not sure it's still there after all these years, but it's an old white oak tree near the clearing. There's something different about the tree, which I suspect gave birth to the legend. It's supposed to bring you happiness to kiss a sweetheart there."

"You still have it," Willie said, pointing toward the Valentine. "So what happened? Did you change your mind about giving it to her?"

Barnabas gently placed the book back into the chest and closed it. "When I went to give her my card, I found the lady had already visited the tree with someone else. She showed me her betrothal ring."

Willie stood too and asked as he reached for the broom, “Did the legend work? Was she happy?”

“I suppose she was.”

As Willie started to sweep, Barnabas stopped him. "Never mind that. We've done enough here for the day. You're going to Collinsport aren't you?"

At Willie's nod, he continued, "While you are there, I have an errand for you. There's something I need you to buy for me."

~*~

Soré Dipuc set up his display table in the corner of the small bookstore. His loss of the...normal...tools of his trade would not be able to render him powerless. How silly of the witch to think so. He looked over the selection of Valentine cards that he artfully displayed. Some with almost every inch covered with lace, others quite plain, some extolling the beloved's virtues, even one that was slightly insulting, but each one touched with his essence. It wasn't long before a young woman approached him.

"I'd like to buy a card," she said. “Everyone else in this town is sold out, or is so picked over there's little to choose from. And don't tell me that I've left it a bit late,” she blushed, “because I've only just met him.”

She reached out a hand toward a card, covered with lace and ribbon bows, but Dipuc stopped her. "I will choose a card for you, Annette."

The woman frowned and opened her mouth to remind him that she was the customer, and then realized that he had called her by name. With a touch of fear that melted quickly away in the warmth of his chocolate gaze, she blushed again and asked, “How did you know my name?”

Dipuc reached over the cards, and chose with just a touch of ribbon and lace and a verse that asked a simple question, "Will you be mine?"

“You told me your name, don't you remember?”

Annette thought back and finally remembered. “Yes, I met you, didn't I? I was walking on the beach and I wished on the evening star…But I was alone, wasn't I?”

Dipuc smiled. “Were you?”

Annette shook her head to clear it, and then looked around the room as though trying to remember why she was there. “I'm sorry, you were going to chose a card for me?”

Dipuc handed her the card. "He'll love this one. And he will be, yours."

The woman smiled broadly. "I think I believe you." She eagerly paid for her treasure and hurried away.

Dipuc sensed someone looking at him from across the room. His eyes caught and then lost those of a sandy-haired young man hesitating near the door. Ah, Willie Loomis. Why not? The sale of one card to him could practically guarantee that he would fill his quota of successes and win back his possessions, and without spending the next two days until Valentine's day standing in a bookshop selling cards. With a smile and a welcoming wave that would have drawn the most timid of shoppers, he brought the young man to him. "I…I'm looking for a card..."

"And I have just the one for you." Dipuc chose the plainest of cards, two hearts, one pink and one red, linked together by a small piece of ribbon, not a word or verse marring their pristine surfaces. "You'll have to write your own verse."

Willie nodded and reached for his wallet. "Your sign says that the card is guaranteed. Guaranteed to do what?”

“Why have the card’s receiver fall in love of course.”

Willie snorted. “How can you guarantee love?"

Dipuc gave Willie his change and shrugged. "If you don’t believe it, then you don’t have to buy the card…"

Willie looked at the card again. "I’ll take the card, Mr…"

"Dipuc."

"Dipuc. What nationality is that?"

"Roman,” Dipuc looked like he was laughing at a joke that only he heard. “It's an old Roman name."

Thinking nothing more of the man or the card, Willie crossed to the gum chewing, romance reading young woman at the counter. "Hey, Monique. Do you have a Countrywide Inquisitive?"

Monique reached a lazy hand out and took the tabloid from the rack. "Page four. A woman with two heads made herself a poison cocktail. The insurance company won't pay because they say it was suicide. Her heirs are suing because they claim it was murder. She never did like herself."

She slipped it into a plain brown bag and held it out. Willie dropped the exact change on the counter, and grabbing the bag, hurried out of the store.

~*~

Willie silently urged the back door open, and with the instinct of the thief he had once been, crept into the house. The exhilarated unease that had once been common when he was in a house and not wanting to be seen made his heart quicken and softened his footstep. It didn't matter that this was the Old House, and that he had every right to be here, he didn't want to be seen, not by Barnabas, not by anyone.

A note on the kitchen table told him that Barnabas was out and wouldn't be back for some time, but even then he remained careful, waiting until he was in his room before he took the card out of the brown bag. He looked toward the window. He had the oddest feeling that someone was watching him, but if there was, this high up he’d have to be up in a tree to see in.

For inspiration, he propped the Valentine up in front of him, and began to compose a poem as he had in his high school English classes. To his surprise, it was far easier than he remembered it. Several crumpled sheets of paper later, Willie decided he knew why Barnabas had not only not been ashamed of his own sissy Valentine, but had been proud of it, for he felt almost protective of the poem that he had written. With his best penmanship, he copied onto the heart.

Please say it's yes, my love divine,
And meet me there at a quarter to nine.

As he reread what he had written the letters seemed to glow. But it had only been a trick of light, for a second look showed only black ink on red paper. He slipped his Valentine into the envelope it came with. Now he only had two more things to do, find out where the Kissing Tree was, and deliver the Valentine.

Donning his coat, and taking the Valentine with him, Willie hurried toward the front door, to drop Barnabas's magazine off in the drawing room.

He was almost down the stairs when he heard his name called.

“Willie, there you are.”

Seeing Barnabas and Julia in the drawing room, Willie hid the envelope in the pages of the magazine. Barnabas might not laugh at his Valentine, but he wouldn't bet that Julia wouldn't look at him a little funny. Or worse yet, she'd be too understanding, and would want to try and help him.

"Willie, there you are," Barnabas reached out his hand for the magazine, and Willie reluctantly gave it to him. "Take some of the boxes from the basement and put them in Julia's trunk."

Willie hesitated, looking at the magazine in Barnabas' hand and then at the front door until Barnabas said, "Now."

As he walked out the door, he heard Julia telling Barnabas, "I should be getting back to Collinwood. I'll see you later?"

And Barnabas' reply, "It will take Willie a few minutes, why don't you come sit by the fire.”

Then there was silence. Things had been strained between his two friends, and although Willie would give the world to set it straight, he wouldn't interfere. As he carried the last of the boxes out, he heard Barnabas tell Julia goodbye and then add, “I have something for you."

In the woods, near the Old House, Dipuc sat on a tree stump. It really was quite easy this way. Not like the old days. As Julia drove away, he got up and headed toward Collinwood.

~*~

Julia curled up her legs under her as she sat before the fire in the Collinwood drawing room. Usually there were others around at this time of day, and she would sit more circumspectly, but with the Valentine's parties and the charity gala claiming all if not most of Collinwood, she was alone and likely to remain that way, so she made herself comfortable, kicking off her snow damp shoes and tucking her cold feet under her.

She was glad to be alone, and almost regretted not going on to Wyndcliffe as she had implied to Barnabas that she was going to do. Not that it mattered to him whether she stayed or not. Barnabas had been distant with her since their return from the past. No doubt he blamed her for bringing him back to this time.

She picked up the magazine that Barnabas pressed on her and laughed, for the headlines read, "Woman Gives Birth to Were-coyote." Willie had told her that Barnabas was reading some strange things, but tabloids? She looked at the picture on the cover of the small hairy infant, looking for signs of glue or faked photography and then curious, opened the magazine. As she looked for the article that he no doubt wanted her to read, an envelope fell into her lap.

"There's something in here that might interest you," Barnabas had told her as he handed the magazine to her. Curious as to what Barnabas thought she might be interested in, she quickly opened it. The letters seemed to glow as she read it, no doubt colored by her happiness, for Barnabas had reached out to her in a way he had never reached out before.

A Valentine.

A poem.

An assignation.

She sat up, her fingers touching her trembling lips; while her heart pounded so hard she could scarcely breathe. Leave it to Barnabas to fall in love again all at once, no heartache, no regrets, no hints… and with her.

"Liz, have you seen my pen." Roger's voice echoed in the foyer, breaking Julia's train of thought. She quickly put the Valentine back into its envelope, and hid the envelope under the magazine as she put her shoes on.

Elizabeth went to the desk and got Roger's pen, sending him away with it. "Julia, I didn't know you were here. Is that the evening paper?"

Julia folded the tabloid, hiding its name. “No, a medical journal.”

As Elizabeth started to leave, Julia stopped her. "Liz, have you ever heard of a…a…Kissing Tree?"

Elizabeth Stoddard, matron of the Collins family, blushed and smiled. "The Kissing Tree." She walked over the couch and sat down, motioning Julia to sit down next to her. "I haven't thought of it in years, let alone been there. I'm not even sure if it still stands. How did you find out about it?"

"I think it was mentioned in one of the family histories."

"Flora's journals." Elizabeth supplied her with a source. "Her marriage was short, but one of the very few happy ones. Perhaps the legend was true. At least for her."

"A legend? I've taken that you've tried it out?"

Liz laughed, her eyes twinkling. "That would be telling. There is a legend about the tree. It's supposed to be good luck to kiss under the tree. Or bad luck if you kiss unwisely. It was only recently with Flora's journals that I knew the whole of it."

"And what is the whole of it?"

"You should read Flora's account. I couldn't do it justice. Eliot has most of her diaries," Elizabeth's cheeks turned pink, "except for that one. Come upstairs and I'll loan it to you."

As Julia stood, the envelope fell unnoticed to the floor and slipped just under the sofa. Dipuc stood outside of the drawing room window looking in. The room was much more inviting than it was in the past. It had been years since he had last been here. And even his presence had done little good. This time he would be successful, and it would be several years before he'd need to be back. He watched with satisfaction, the women leaving the Drawing room. It was about time that they became re-acquainted with him. And then he smiled at the young woman entering. Yes, his presence at Collinwood had been sorely lacking.

~*~

Part two