1. |
Prelude
01:52
|
|||
2. |
Scene 1: The Woodcutter
02:43
|
|||
(A police station. A woodcutter delivers his testimony.)
THE WOODCUTTER
I found the body in the grove,
where I go every day to cut wood.
On the mountain,
not far off the Foundry Post Road.
Through the fog, I saw a flash of blue.
I made my way
past splintered saplings, over trampled ground—
Until I came upon a body
lying in a bed of broken fireweed,
leaves stained red,
chest, struck through.
The blood had dried,
trapping
a single fly,
straining to be free.
There was no blade, no sign of a horse.
I found only a rope
coiled in the roots of a hemlock—
and a brooch.
|
||||
3. |
Scene 2: The Priest
02:35
|
|||
(The interrogation room. A priest delivers his testimony.)
THE PRIEST
On the Foundry Post Road
I passed a man leading a woman on a horse.
He tipped his hat.
I assumed she was his wife.
The sun was high.
The brim of her cloche shadowed her face.
I remember—
The violet of her clothes.
But more than this I do not—
How tall was she?
What color was her hair?
I don’t recall.
I am but a priest.
It is not my way to notice the details
of a lady—
I remember—
Her figure,
a violet satin sheen,
the mare’s mane cut short,
the rich, deep chestnut of its coat.
The settler’s gun—
a rifle.
The fine leather detail of its scabbard.
I never thought—
That today he would be—
Life is fleeting.
My deepest—
|
||||
4. |
||||
(THE POLICEMAN and an older woman, THE MOTHER, each in a separate space, deliver their testimonies.)
THE POLICEMAN
I caught the bandit
on the Ragged Creek Bridge
last night at dusk.
Luther Harlow.
Hobbled by a fall from his horse.
The vigilante’s evaded me countless times,
but I put an end to that last night.
THE MOTHER
I have gazed upon the corpse
and I can tell you that’s him.
Dead, he’s dead—
Her husband is dead—
And my daughter, Leona—
She’s gone, disappeared, vanished.
Please— You must tell me—
Where is she?
What has happened to her?
THE POLICEMAN
I arrested the suspect
as the mountainside smoked
and the mare looked on,
grazing by the side of the road.
Luther Harlow,
wearing green,
armed with this:
(He offers up a rifle in a tooled leather scabbard.)
Leather, finely tooled.
The mare? Her mane was cropped.
THE MOTHER
The dead man?
He has a name.
Ambrose Raines.
School teacher.
They were on their way
from his people to hers,
newly wed.
They had known each other
just a couple of months.
To my eye, he looked a little . . . sickly.
Dreamy, she used to say.
I wasn’t at all sure,
but she seemed so— Taken.
THE POLICEMAN
If the victim owned an Enfield
then Harlow’s your man.
He’s feared around here, reviled.
THE MOTHER
Describe my child?
Nineteen.
Bright. Headstrong
Obsessed with the names
of plants, trees, stones.
She wants to study botany,
evergreens, heartwood.
But knowing that won’t help you find her.
THE POLICEMAN
Some say Harlow’s to blame
for the string of women gone missing
on the mountain.
THE MOTHER
Her eyes?
They change color depending on the day.
They change color depending on the light.
Her skin is clear.
A mark. Here.
But you must tell me.
Where is she?
What has happened to her?
THE POLICEMAN
What color was the mare, did you say?
Chestnut.
|
||||
5. |
Interlude
01:48
|
|||
6. |
Scene 5: The Outlaw
10:18
|
|||
7. |
Interlude
02:00
|
|||
8. |
||||
(A mountainside chapel or convent.)
LEONA
I have come to this place—
I have come to this place seeking refuge.
From what happened on the mountain.
From the truth.
I want nothing more
than to cover it up, block it out.
But you would have me remember, recount.
(LEONA’s memory of her journey with AMBROSE.
In the distance a man appears.)
Crossing Burnt Rock Pass
a man appears—
threadbare clothes, coiled rope.
Ambrose, always buried in his books,
doesn’t seem to see the stranger’s
ragged grin,
his rusted eyes cutting straight through me.
THE OUTLAW
“Greetings.
Just past the entrance to the mine
stands a grove of hemlocks—
buried there lies a cache of treasure,
left behind by some settler on the run.”
LEONA
And that’s all it takes.
My husband is entranced.
THE OUTLAW
“Moonstones, opals, silver filigree.”
AMBROSE
“Opals, like your eyes.”
LUTHER
He says.
LEONA
“Ambrose—
It’ll be dark soon. ”
AMBROSE
“I’ll be quick, I promise—”
LUTHER
He replies, with that look of his,
so I can’t help but give in, give over—
when the stranger’s sneer stops me cold.
“We don’t want anything to do with him,”
I whisper.
But Ambrose keeps on:
AMBROSE
“A windfall we could use—”
LEONA
“But why—?”
AMBROSE
“So I can keep you in finery—”
LEONA
“I don’t need to be kept.”
AMBROSE
“So I can provide— Protect against—”
LEONA
“Protect? Ambrose. Stay with me. Please.”
But my husband,
suddenly a stranger himself,
turns and goes—
(AMBROSE follows the man into the grove, leaving LEONA by herself, waiting.)
—disappears into the shadows.
He follows the drifter into the grove.
(Alone, LEONA sings a ditty to keep fear at bay.)
Smoke, ash,
smoldering ghosts—
AMBROSE
“No! Please, I—”
LEONA
—of looming trees,
once stands of aspen, juniper.
(We see THE OUTLAW making his way towards her.)
The man, emerging from the grove, alone
strides towards me.
Ugly, rough, he comes too close.
THE OUTLAW
“Hurry, come! Your husband, he’s—”
I follow, keeping my distance,
calling on the cedar relics for protection.
(Upon entering the grove, LEONA sees her husband bound and gagged.)
“Ambrose!”
(LEONA moves towards AMBROSE.)
The stranger cuts me off,
throws me,
holds me down.
His stench—
sweat, tobacco, metal, flint—
does not smother me,
I do not cry out.
I do not feel the hot damp of his breath
blasting in my face.
I hear nothing but
the sound of my own name.
Leona.
Leona.
Leona.
I twist out from under him,
hide behind a tree.
(A shift. The tension of quiet. LEONA, hiding behind a tree, grabs the knife from where it’s fallen on the ground. She picks up a stone and flings it at the OUTLAW.)
I hurl the stone.
It hits its mark.
(The rock cracks against his skull, the man staggers, crashing to the ground.)
I grab my knife from where it fell.
My husband’s wrists are bound,
mouth, crammed full of leaves—
I undo the blindfold, cut his ties.
“Ambrose,” I plead.
“Let’s leave this place. Come on. Let’s go.”
But Ambrose just spits the last leaves from his mouth,
he says nothing
as the man stirs—
“Ambrose, before it’s too late—
Take my knife.”
(LEONA presses the knife into his hand. AMBROSE takes it, but doesn’t move.)
But Ambrose just murmurs.
AMBROSE
“My heart.”
LEONA
“What did you say?”
AMBROSE
“My heart. I can’t—”
LEONA
“I don’t understand—”
AMBROSE
“My heart. It won’t—”
LEONA
“Ambrose! You brought us here,”
I lash,
as the man staggers to his feet.
“Go on! Go on!”
But Ambrose, still as a tree,
doesn’t move.
He just looks through me—
(AMBROSE spins around, entering into combat with the OUTLAW. As they fight LEONA grabs the rifle, aiming it at them both.)
Two smudges, slashing at the smoke—
I aim the rifle at their rabid strokes,
Ambrose, gaining now,
with a mettle I’d missed.
As his strength begins to wane,
I point the muzzle
towards the smoke-glutted sky—
(A gunshot. The echoing silence of its aftermath. The OUTLAW stumbles, flailing, thrusting the blade into his opponent’s side.)
“Ambrose—!”
(LEONA runs towards AMBROSE, dropping the gun.)
Agrimony, yarrow, goldenrod
to stop the spilling blood.
I forage nettle, dock, pyrola
to staunch the wound—
I look up. The man is gone.
“Agrimony, yarrow, goldenrod—
I know these things.
I can help him—
Crocus to blunt the pain.”
(With AMBROSE now, tending to him.)
“Ambrose. Look at me.”
AMBROSE
“I can’t.
How could you?
I heard, I saw.”
LEONA
“Nothing. You saw nothing.”
AMBROSE
“Moonstones, opals, eyes on fire—
Burning.
For him.”
LEONA
“Him?”
And in that moment I’m like a tree,
heartwood cracked.
What we had is gone.
All the good done in—
AMBROSE
“Erased.”
(AMBROSE breathes in, a strange sound.)
LEONA
“Ambrose. Ambrose. No.”
A hollow rattle,
and he’s dead.
Agrimony, yarrow, goldenrod,
nettle, pyrola, dock.
Stunned by his scorn,
his sudden, stony hate,
I faltered—
I failed to apply pressure to the wound,
to staunch his bleeding,
to keep death at bay.
I failed.
It was me. I failed.
I killed him.
It was me. Leona.
I ram myself against a rock.
I carve a crevice in my skin.
I turn back.
Sun streaming through the blackened grove,
lighting up the body—
Its pallor shines, it shone.
I run blindly through the woods,
hurtling down the steep,
flinging myself over ledge and precipice,
plunging into a black, bottomless pool,
weighed down with rocks.
I do not drown—
Stepping before a stampeding cart,
I endure,
bruised but breathing still.
I stand before you, a murderer—
Destroyed.
What am I to—?
What am I to—?
What am I—?
|
||||
9. |
Faux Interlude
00:38
|
|||
10. |
||||
(We are in a new reality. The vastness of empty space.)
THE MEDIUM
Silence
is the sound
of a heart
growing cold.
As the mountain
throws its shadow
across the grove.
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
Cold heart, cold bones,
weak heart, my heart was weak.
Rheumatic fever
when I was three.
Sentenced to half a life.
Weak heart. I was weak.
I couldn’t bear for her to know.
THE OUTLAW
Greetings, good day.
LEONA
Darkness falling.
Ambrose. We need to go.
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
So I kept it from her. My heart.
Kept it from me.
Pushed it down,
under the skin
of who I was,
how I wanted to be seen.
THE OUTLAW
Greetings, good day.
I’m on my way to dig up
a haul of shining gold
you’ve never set your eyes on.
Care to join me?
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
And so,
needing to prove
I was invincible,
wanting to give her the moon,
I fell for his ruse.
LEONA
Moonstones? Opals?
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
Her glow so bright.
LEONA
Moonstones? Opals?
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
I could hardly believe—
Was she mine?
LEONA
But I don’t care about—
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
Needing to prove—
I walked into his net,
left her waiting,
alone.
(Jumping forward in time.)
Blindfolded, bound,
my mind’s eye—
Sounds too terrible to—
THE OUTLAW
I will take her
from you,
I will break her into bits.
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
As he lured her and he took her,
as he used her,
as he broke her,
as, my back turned, bound,
I could do nothing.
LEONA
Ambrose!
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
She stops him with a stone.
THE OUTLAW
Sky spinning, lights flashing—
LEONA
Look at me!
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
But I don’t.
Fearing the weakness she sees
inscribed in me—
LEONA
I don’t understand.
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
Afraid to face my own frailty
reflected in her gaze—
My heart—
LEONA
Your heart?
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
My heart.
I try to speak—
I fail.
I should have told her then.
LEONA
Your heart?
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
I should have told her then,
but I hated her
like I’d loved her—
swept up in a storm
of love and hate—
hated myself more than anything—
I was in too deep,
LEONA
Ambrose! You brought us here.
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
I’d obscured who I was.
LEONA
Do something!
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
My feebleness an afterthought,
I gave in to the fate—
LEONA
Don’t just—
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
—written on my leaky valves.
LEONA
Ambrose!
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
Less than half a life.
THE OUTLAW
I pull myself up, unsteady—
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
I had no choice but to fight.
I faded soon enough.
(Reprise echo of decayed gunshot. As he’s dying.)
Hating her for stepping in,
hating myself more than anything—
THE OUTLAW
I grab the gun and go.
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
I hold it close—
My heart’s atrophy—
LEONA
Agrimony, yarrow, goldenrod—
Ambrose, why won’t you look at me?
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
I heard, I saw—
I cut as she tends to me:
LEONA
Nothing. You saw nothing.
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
I heard, I saw, I know—
LEONA
Nettle, dock, pyrola.
I can help you—
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
You’re nothing to me.
I leave her.
I slide towards unknowingness,
letting her believe—
LEONA
I failed to apply pressure to the wound—
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
And so I broke her.
LEONA
It was me. I killed him.
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
And now—
There’s no turning back.
I can’t absolve her.
No matter how far she travels
from this blackened grove—
LEONA
Heartwood cracked.
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
—every time she shuts her eyes
she’ll see what she believes
she did to me.
LEONA
I stand before you, a murderer—
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
So I stay—
here,
in between,
splintered saplings,
trampled ground.
LEONA
Smoke, ash, smoldering ghosts—
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
A bed of broken fireweed.
THE OUTLAW
The grove, as quiet as the grave.
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
Lost, lurching through the emptiness.
LEONA
Looming trees—
THE MEDIUM & AMBROSE
Haunted by her opal eyes,
even in this dim.
Blockaded
by venom, dolor, remorse.
Silence is the sound of a heart
growing cold.
As the mountain
throws its shadow
across the grove.
Hemlock fading,
birdsong flown,
shrouding
the silence of the sky’s
dissolving
as I fall into the arms
of unending dark—
|
||||
11. |
Postlude
01:17
|
Christopher Cerrone Brooklyn, New York
Christopher Cerrone (b. 1984) has been commissioned by Los Angeles Philharmonic, Detroit Symphony, and the Cincinnati Symphony, among others and his opera Invisible Cities was a finalist for the 2014 Pulitzer Prize. He was nominated for 2020 and 2022 Grammy Awards. He lives and works in Brooklyn, NY. ... more
Streaming and Download help
Christopher Cerrone recommends:
If you like In a Grove (ICR028), you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp