than repair and repent.
—Ezra Taft Benson
The Barrens
Lily and I met in her sophomore year—I was pursuing graduate studies in Victorian Literature, and she was studying the modern novel so our paths didn’t cross academically—and there was no conflict of interest, except in our personal life.
We were planning to be married that June and her father was vehemently opposed. Mind you, her father was both vocal and vehement about anything he opposed.
Frank Warner was a true extremist—most would view him as an eccentric. As far as I could make sense of his worldview, I’d categorize him as a Prepper. He wanted to retreat from the contamination of the world and survive what he believed to be the coming Apocalypse.
The majority of Frank's beliefs would identify him as a Luddite.
He mistrusted technology and preferred the simple life living off the land. But I could tolerate Frank and suppress my anger toward him if he were less strident and intrusive in the affairs of his daughter.
Lily ran away to university to escape his overbearing manner, but he constantly shadowed her and made her life miserable.
“Why don’t we elope and move to England?”
My jaw dropped in surprise.
“You can’t be serious,” I replied nervously, but she was. I could see the panic in her huge dark eyes.
“Think about it, Martin—you could study at Oxford or Cambridge—what better place to pursue your studies of Hardy?”
She was right. It would idyllic and a dream worth pursuing—except for one thing. I had just been offered a position teaching Literature at Victoria College in the University of Toronto.
It was the opportunity of a lifetime and I’d be a fool to pass it up. Lily agreed, and put on a cheerful face but the disappointment lurking behind her dark eyes was palpable.
Over the next few days I struggled with my decision, waiting to see if the prospect of being married and living apart from her father would mollify her fears, but it did not. If anything, Lily seemed to grow more resigned to a lifetime of being harassed.
I couldn’t bear to look at her sad face any longer. I resolved to decline the College’s offer and to apply to Cambridge.
But then it happened.
Lily had gone home to the family farm that weekend to retrieve a few of her belongings, and apparently disappeared. Her father showed up next day at my apartment demanding to talk to her, but of course, I assumed she was with him.
Neither of us believed the other and it was quite tense until I suggested we contact the police—that seemed to have a sobering effect on her father.
“You really don’t know where she is, do you?”
I shook my head, desolate, a stream of images running through my mind and a sickening feeling in my gut.
I decided put aside my anger and try to work with the man.
“Look, Frank, we don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things but when it comes to Lily, we both want what’s best for her. Maybe we can put our heads together and try to figure out where she could have gone.”
Frank reluctantly agreed. “I suppose you’re right. I don’t like police. Hopefully, we can settle this without outsiders sticking their noses in where they don’t belong.”
I suggested we drive back to Frank’s farmhouse in the Caledon Hills and scour the property for clues. As he had no other ideas, it seemed the most likely plan.
I followed Frank’s muddy pick up in my ten-year old BMW Z4 coupe, hoping the rutted back roads to the farm wouldn’t damage my car’s suspension.
By the time we arrived at the farm, the sky was darkening and I realized a heavy rain would obliterate any traces of footprints outside. I suggested Frank make a thorough search inside the house while I searched the grounds.
I looked around the farm and found it was in a reasonable state of repair—the farmhouse was neatly landscaped and sheltered by several oak trees and a short distance away was a huge barn with several outbuildings—all built from grey weathered wood, but as far as I could tell, well maintained.
Lily’s small red Honda Civic was still parked in front of barn so I decided to check that out first.
As I approached the car I noted footprints in the sandy soil around the car—concentric ridge patterns that I recognized as belonging to Lily’s running shoes.
Lily had recently purchased a pair of Nike Women's Dunk Sky Hi sneakers on-line from E-bay and we researched to make sure they were genuine. Among other things, I recalled the distinctive tread pattern of the soles.
The tracks led off in the direction of a footpath so I decided to follow as best I could. The path wound through knee-high feather grass. A wind sprung up and rolled in waves through the long grass toward the darkening horizon.
I could see endless pines and hill upon hill in the distance. Suddenly, I was overcome with the enormity of the task and the futility of searching hundreds of acres of dense tree-lined territory.
I felt I had lost her forever and my dreams of being a university lecturer seemed trivial compared to having to face a future devoid of her.
I knew then that I must find her or my life would be over before it began