Chapter 16A Forest Walk

Hester Prynne was set on telling Mr. Dimmesdale, no matter how much it hurt or what might happen later, about the real character of the guy who’s been hanging around him. For days, she tried to catch him during his usual walks along the shore or up in the woods, but no luck.

It wouldn’t have been a big deal, or damaged his reputation, if she’d just gone to see him at his study. Lots of people confessed their sins there - some pretty heavy ones, even, compared to what the scarlet letter hinted at.

But she worried old Roger Chillingworth would mess with them, and she felt like they needed tons of space to talk. So, she never thought of meeting him anywhere private. The open sky was the only option.

Finally, while helping out at a sick person's house - Mr. Dimmesdale had been called in to pray - she heard he's gone to visit the Apostle Eliot with his Native American followers the day before. He’d probably be back sometime in the afternoon the next day.

So, bright and early, Hester grabbed little Pearl - she always had to come along, no matter how annoying - and headed out.

The road, after the two travelers crossed from the peninsula to the mainland, was just a footpath. It wound into the deep, old forest.

The trees were so close on either side, so dark and thick, and only let little bits of the sky show through, that to Hester, it felt like the wild, confusing life she’s been living for so long. The day was cold and gloomy. Gray clouds hung overhead, moving a little with the breeze.

Sometimes, a flash of sunlight would peek out, dancing along the path. But this little bit of cheerfulness was always far away, at the end of a long stretch through the woods.

The sunlight - barely playful, really - would disappear as they got closer, leaving the spots where it had danced even sadder, because they’d hoped to find them bright. Mom, little Pearl said, the sunshine doesn’t like you. It runs away and hides, ‘cause it’s scared of something on your chest.

"Look! There it is, playing, way over there. Stand here, and let me run and get it. I’m just a kid. It won’t run from me; I don’t wear anything on my chest yet! "I hope you never will, my child," Hester said. "And why not, Mom? Pearl asked, stopping just before her race.

"Will it come on its own, when I’m a grown-up? "Go on, run and catch the sunshine!" her mother answered. "It’s gonna be gone soon. Pearl took off, super fast, and Hester smiled to see that she actually caught the sunshine and stood laughing in it, all brightened and sparkling from moving so fast.

The light stuck around the lonely kid, like it was happy to have someone to play with, until Hester was close enough to step into the circle too.

"It’s gone now," Pearl said, shaking her head. "See!" Hester answered, smiling. "Now I can reach out and grab some of it." As she tried, the sunshine just disappeared.

Or, looking at Pearl’s face, Hester could’ve sworn the kid had soaked it all up and would let it out later, lighting their way as they walked into a darker spot. Nothing really showed how full of life Pearl was more than this.

She didn't have that sadness that so many kids these days seem to get, passed down from their parents’ problems. Maybe this was a sickness too, just a leftover from all the wild energy Hester had used fighting her own sorrows before Pearl was born.

It was definitely a tricky kind of energy, giving Pearl’s character a hard, shiny edge. She needed - what some people need their whole lives - a deep sadness to really touch her, to make her more human and able to feel for others. But there was still time for little Pearl.

"Come on, sweetie! Hester said, looking around from where Pearl had been standing in the sunshine. "Let’s sit down a bit further into the woods and rest. "I’m not tired, Mom," the little girl replied. "But you can sit down if you’ll tell me a story while we do. "A story, kid? Hester asked.

"And about what?"

"Oh, a story about the Black Man," Pearl said, grabbing her mom’s dress and looking up at her, kind of serious, kind of playful. "How he hangs out in this forest, and carries a book with him - a huge, heavy book, with metal clasps."

"And how this creepy Black Man offers his book and a metal pen to everyone he sees here among the trees. And they have to write their names with their own blood. And then he puts his mark on their chests! Have you ever met the Black Man, Mom?"

"And who told you this story, Pearl?" her mom asked, recognizing a common old wives' tale. "It was the old lady in the chimney corner, at the house where you watched last night," the child said. "But she thought I was asleep while she was talking about it."

She said a ton of people have met him here, and have written in his book, and have his mark on them. And that mean old lady, Mistress Hibbins, was one.

"And, Mom, the old lady said this scarlet letter is the Black Man’s mark on you, and it glows like a red flame when you see him at midnight, here in the dark woods. Is it true, Mom? Do you go meet him at night? "Have you ever woken up and found your mom gone? Hester asked.

"Not that I remember," the child said. "If you’re scared to leave me in our cottage, you could just take me with you. I’m totally up for it! But, Mom, tell me now! Is there a Black Man? And did you ever meet him? And is this his mark? "Will you let me chill out if I tell you?" her mom asked.

"Yeah, if you tell me everything," Pearl answered. "Once in my life, I met the Black Man!" her mom said. "This scarlet letter is his mark!"

"Seriously," they said, heading deep into the woods so no one could see them. They plopped down on a seriously comfy pile of moss - it used to be a giant pine, like, way back when, with its roots and trunk all hidden in the shadows and its top reaching way up high.

It was a little dip in the ground, with banks covered in leaves rising up on both sides, and a brook running through it, over a bed of fallen leaves. The trees hanging over it dropped branches now and then, blocking the water and making it swirl and create dark spots.

But in the faster parts, you could see a channel of pebbles and sparkly brown sand. If you followed the stream, you could see the sunlight reflecting off the water a bit further into the forest, but then it disappeared into all the trees and bushes, and the huge rocks covered in gray lichen.

Everything - the giant trees and boulders - felt like they were trying to hide where the little brook was going. Maybe they were worried it would spill secrets from the heart of the old forest, or show what was hidden in a pool of water.

The stream was constantly babbling, quiet, calming, but kinda sad - like a little kid spending their whole childhood without any fun, surrounded by gloomy people and bad things. Ugh, brook! Pearl said after listening for a while. Why are you so bummed?

"Cheer up a little, stop sighing and complaining all the time!"

The brook, after its whole life hanging out in the forest, had seen some serious stuff, so it couldn't stop talking about it. It was all it had to say. Pearl was a lot like the brook - her life burst from a mystery, just like the brook’s source, and flowed through some pretty dark places.

But unlike the little stream, she was bouncy, sparkly, and chattered along happily. What’s this sad little brook saying, Mom? she asked. If you had your own sadness, the brook could tell you about it, her mom replied, just like it’s telling me about mine!

"But now, Pearl, I hear someone coming down the path, pushing aside branches. Go play and leave me to talk to the person coming over there . " "Is it the Black Man? Pearl asked. "Go play, sweetie ?" her mom repeated. "But don’t wander too far into the woods. And come back when I call you."

"Okay, Mom," Pearl answered. "But if it’s the Black Man, will you let me stay a sec and look at him, with his big book under his arm? "Go on, silly!" her mom said, sounding annoyed. "It’s not the Black Man! You can see him now, through the trees. It’s the minister!"

"Oh, yeah, it is!" the child said. "And Mom, he’s got his hand over his heart! Is it because when the minister wrote his name in the book, the Black Man put his mark there? But why doesn’t he wear it on the outside of his chest, like you do, Mom?"

"Go now, sweetie, and you can bug me later," cried Hester Prynne. "But don’t wander far. Stay where you can hear the brook babbling."

The kid skipped off, following the stream, trying to make it sound a little brighter than it did. But the stream was still bummed out, like it was spilling some super sad secret - or maybe warning about something bad coming from the spooky woods.

Pearl, who’d seen her fair share of shadows, just ditched the gloomy stream. She started picking violets, wood-anemones, and some bright red columbines growing in a rock crevice. When Pearl was gone, Hester Prynne took a couple steps toward the path through the forest, but stayed in the deep shade.

She saw the minister coming along, totally by himself, leaning on a stick he’d chopped off a tree. He looked rough and weak, like he’s given up. It was way more obvious than when he walked around town, or anywhere else people might notice him.

It was really hitting him hard, being so alone in the woods. He just seemed to not care about going anywhere, like he’s ready to just drop at the base of a tree and stay there forever. Leaves could pile on him, and dirt could cover him up, it didn’t even matter.

Death wasn’t something he wanted, or didn’t want. To Hester, the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale didn’t seem to be dealing with anything intense, except for what Pearl had noticed - he kept his hand over his heart.