The God of the Woods

by Liz Moore

come into Shattuck and greet everyone by name. He was different from his offspring. More like a Hewitt than a Van Laar, if you ask me. Because the rest of his family always saw Camp Emerson as a folly. They wanted nothing to do with it. Still don’t.”

“The problems between the Hewitts and the Van Laars began when Peter I died. I hate to gossip, and I’m telling you honestly that I have no way to know, but the rumor is that Peter I left Camp Emerson and its operations entirely to Vic Hewitt. Divided the Preserve in half. The main house and the farm would go to the Van Laars; the camp to the Hewitts. In theory, it was a plan that might have worked. But,” he says. “But?”

“He made a mistake. He made his own son, Peter II, the trustee of his will—thus granting him the power to distribute funds for the camp as he saw fit, until his death.” “And after he dies?” says Judy. “Then the camp’ll go to Vic,” says Mr. Alcott. “Or more likely to his daughter, Tessie Jo.”

“He lived above the slaughterhouse,” says Mr. Alcott. “In a little apartment up there.

But when he reached the rowboat, and dove under, he was met with a terrible sight: his grandson, lifeless.

To have their name in the papers for anything other than success was anathema to the Peters. And a scandal like this one—Bear’s mother, drunk, taking her son out boating in a storm—something that would affect their business, shake the confidence of their clients in the entire enterprise—well, they wouldn’t let it happen.

But he wasn’t deciding only for himself: there was Tessie Jo to think of, too. His daughter, who loved the land as much as he did. Whose unusual demeanor and appearance and comportment had already drawn stares in town. With the camp, her future was secure: she would never be required to marry, not if she didn’t want to. She could live, without restriction, what he thought of as an unconventional life.

“We need your help,” they would say. “Earlier, Bear went for a walk with his grandfather. Now it seems as if he might be lost.”

Now, with Bear safely inside the ground, Vic bade him farewell and began the work of filling in the hole. When he was finished, he began to walk away—and then thought better of it. He gathered a cache of stones. He built a cairn.

He’d visit the boy from time to time. He’d bring Tessie Jo, too, when she was old enough. For now, she would not have to know the truth.

“Tessie Jo,” he said, when they were alone. “What is it?” She’d seen the overturned rowboat. Her curiosity had brought her to the south side of the boathouse. From there, she overheard her father speaking with the Peters; had overheard what the Peters wanted to do. From there, she saw her own father row the red canoe to the other side of the lake, and she saw him return from it, too. She knew what they had done.

When Mrs. Van Laar was finally permitted to be conscious—whenever the Peters deemed it safe—she would be broken beyond repair to learn the truth of what had transpired that afternoon.

What she had done.

Where’s Bear? This was the question she would ask for the rest of her life, seeking her son without end. In keeping the truth from her, Victor thought—the truth that they told him she could not abide, that they insisted would send her to an early grave—the Peters were simply taking away the grief of loss and replacing it with the grief of uncertainty.

“I think she was afraid the Van Laars were right on the cusp of framing an innocent person again. Just like they did with Carl Stoddard.”

Within a week, she suspects, Carl Stoddard’s name will be publicly cleared; and his wife, Maryanne, can at long last retire from haunting the grounds of the Van Laar Preserve, looking for any evidence that might restore her husband’s innocence. The Van Laars, on the other hand, will finally suffer the consequences of their actions.

Annabel Southworth—Louise’s CIT—has come forward with a confession. She was with John Paul McLellan the night of Barbara Van Laar’s disappearance: once at ten p.m., during the community dance; and again in the early hours of the morning. She has provided him with an alibi; her parents, Katherine and Howard, have verified her story as well.

The only other charges they had against John Paul—driving while intoxicated, and felony possession of a controlled substance—have been resolved.

Although they may never be able to charge John Paul McLellan with anything related to the disappearance of Barbara Van Laar, they will be able to charge him with something else: second-degree aggravated assault. The victim: Louise Donnadieu. After some discussion with Judy, Louise has agreed to come forward with a complaint.

witnesses who were there in John Paul’s shared house near Union College, the night of the attack: his roommate, Steven, along with three girls Steven named as guests of theirs on that occasion.

“I think she’s all right, actually,” said Judy. Leonard furrowed his brow. “How do you know?” “I don’t know. I just have a feeling,” said Judy.

“A lot of people think T.J.’s strange,” said Louise, “but she’s harmless. She’s better than harmless. She’s a good person. All she wants to do is hunt and fish and be alone. Her family’s got a place on an island up north.

“The island. The house.” “Oh, I don’t know the name of it,” said Louise. “But she’s got a map of it on the wall of the Director’s Cabin. Last time I looked, there was a pin where the cabin is.”

And then, slowly, she looked up at Judy. Realizing.

If Barbara Van Laar has chosen to hide in the woods, of her own volition—if she is safe, and protected, and fed, and self-reliant—who is Judy to drag her back into the world she abandoned?

Tonight’s the last night of the party up the hill. It’s tonight—while the guests are on the grounds—or never. And never means being sent away to Élan in the fall. Never means not seeing T.J. or Vic—her true family—for years.

T.J. nods. “Clothes’re in the trunk now,” she says. “He won’t see them. But the police will, when they search it.” “Why will they search it?” T.J. grins. “That’s not all I planted in the car,” she says. “When he’s apprehended—they’ll have probable cause to perform a search.”

woods—not forever.

Just until she turns eighteen—at which point she’ll be legally allowed to make her own decisions. Then, she can do as she pleases, without fear of her parents imposing their rules. Or their punishments. If at any point she changes her mind: all she has to do is emerge. It’s Barbara’s decision, completely, T.J. says.

With two simple actions—revealing the truth about Bear, and helping Barbara to hide—the Hewitts have redeemed themselves. They’ve retraced their steps to their last wrong turn, and taken a different path instead.

There she is: Barbara Van Laar, standing straight and strong. At home in her body, at home in the woods. Something about her looks immortal, thinks Judy: a spirit, an apparition, more god than child. Judy keeps swimming until, at last, she reaches the opposite shore. When she looks back to the island she sees only the pines, drawn closed like a curtain around the girl.