Trouble in Action

by Susan Y. Tanner

  The sign at the front was dignified rather than ostentatious. College of the Carolinas, Albrecht Creek Campus. Plain black lettering on plain white background, but that background appeared to be a natural white stone of some sort, embedded into a huge slab of rock that had neither appeared by miracle nor transported itself to that precise curve in the drive. Money had been spent. Quantities of it.

  Kylah parked and held the door open as the black cat exited the truck with her. She hadn’t bothered to change from denim and boots. She’d stepped down from a horse and into her truck, ignoring Jake’s lifted brow. If Dean Edmunds didn’t care for her attire, that was his discomfort not hers. She had at least one or two more horses to ride after this meeting. Jake would let her know who needed settling with exercise and who needed a rest.

  An impeccably dressed woman waited near the door as Kylah walked through the main entrance. The woman didn’t bat an eye at her casual garb but stared at the cat who trotted along behind her. “Oh, I don’t think – “

  Kylah scooped Trouble up in her arms. “He’s with me. Where does Dean Edmunds want to meet?”

  She sighed and pointed to a hallway on her left. “There is a small auditorium there. The first set of double-doors.”

  “Thank you.” Kylah turned and followed the woman’s directions, stepping into a room that held more people than she’d expected to see. When she’d been contacted about performing in this event, she had studied up on reenactments and reenactors and decided it had a lot in common with a movie set. The major difference was that most reenactors, other than those commanding the units and some few who participated in more intricately staged scenes, weren’t paid. She and Jake had come a week ahead of the actual event to give her horses time to acclimate and her time to scout over the places she would be expected to ride them. Their safety was her primary concern.

  Glancing around, she decided she was in some kind of lecture hall and took a seat at one of the tables. So far, Trouble seemed content to sit in her lap but who knew how long that would last. He was a cat with a mind of his own.

  She recognized Dean Edmunds standing at the front of the room talking with an older gentleman. A woman stood at his side. Her hair and eyes were as dark as his were light but where his skin was florid, hers was the peaches and cream variety of fair. She was, however, every bit as tall as he.

  At one o-clock sharp – Kylah checked her phone – the dean started speaking. He had a voice that carried well through the room. Even seated near the back, she could hear him without straining.

  “Thank you for coming and I’ll take as little of your time as possible. I’m sure you’re all as busy as I and my staff. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Dean Edmunds.” His expression made clear he considered the introduction a nicety more than a necessity. “I’m head of the history program on this campus. My wife,” he gestured toward the dark-haired woman beside him,” is director of our theatrical department.” Kylah wondered if she imagined the slight sneer when he said the word theatrical. “We’re both avid reenactors and are excited to be a part of this event, which has, in fact, been placed under our leadership.”

  He nodded and beamed at the scattering of applause. Kylah continued petting Trouble.

  “I’ll give you a bit of history. For those who are unaware, the College of the Carolinas is a private, multi-campus college, one of the most prestigious in the country. This campus was recently gifted acreage near the Qualla Boundary.”

  No, she hadn’t imagined the sneer. There it was again and stronger upon mention of the adjacent land held by the Eastern Band of Cherokee. She’d done her homework there, as well.

  “The endowment includes the site of a Civil War battlefield. An unexpected but welcome discovery.”

  Another scattering of applause. Another self-satisfied smile from Grant.

  “Our college board, with the full support of the town’s historical society,” he gestured toward a table at the front of the room, “opted to host the First Annual Reenactment of the Battle of Albrecht Creek. Our purpose, of course, is the enlightenment of the students whose education has been entrusted to our care. War is a terrible, terrible evil and there are lessons to be learned, more so in a war where brother bore arms against brother. To that end, aspects of the reenactment, essays as well as active participation, have been included in this and future history and theatrical courses.”

  Halfway through that speech, Kylah transferred her attention to his wife who remained at his side, quiet and without expression. Kylah didn’t know many people, other than skilled actresses and actors, who could accomplish that appearance of not thinking and not feeling anything at all. But, then, it could be she excelled at it since she was at the head of the college’s theatrical program.

  Grant Edmunds, on the other hand, was not much of an actor. He just thought he was. Kylah saw when he changed expression from proud academic to concerned citizen so she was prepared for his shift in subject.

  “Some of you, by now, perhaps even all of you, are aware of the death of one of our reenactors. Law enforcement is fully engaged in the investigation and we have no reason to feel there is a threat to any participant of this event. We do ask that you keep your discussions of the incident minimal and discreet.” Kylah wondered if he meant himself and his wife or if that was a royal we, as in all of the college and law enforcement combined. It wouldn’t matter, of course, and it wouldn’t be heeded. Gossip was gossip and murder was big gossip indeed, though Grant had neither called it murder nor acknowledged a death. It was nothing more than an incident to him or, perhaps, he hoped that was all it would be to his audience.

  A movement near the double-doored entrance which had been left open on one side caught Kylah’s attention. Several young people filed into the room. Their clothing was casual but neat. Though their expressions were solemn, she caught a spark of excitement or nerves in some of the glances that swept the room. Students, she surmised, suspecting things were about to get interesting. The murmurs around her grew louder in tacit agreement with her suspicion.

  Grant’s wife touched his arm and whispered something to him. He turned and his face darkened at the disruption.

  The girl who stepped forward looked of Asian descent to Kylah. She had beautiful dark eyes and arresting features. “Good morning, Dean Edmunds. The student body would like a voice at this meeting.”

  “Ms. Farraday, the student body was given full voice at several of the joint discussions between the college and the historical society.”

  “Our concerns were not heeded and now the violence that we feared has occurred.”

  “That investigation is in the hands of our very capable law enforcement.”

  “It’s not the investigation I wish to address.”

  Kylah had to hand it to the girl who stood without fidgeting or any other hint of nerves despite the fact that Grant was doing his best to intimidate with drawn brows and piercing glare. The small group of students with her tensed and shuffled their feet when he turned that look on each of them in turn. Not well-versed in identifying nationalities, Kylah nonetheless appreciated the diversity of the group in their appearances and demeanors.

  Ms. Farraday outwitted Grant by the simple ploy of remaining silent after her brief response, forcing him to make the next move. After an awkward moment, he nodded. “Speak your piece.”

  The girl took two steps forward and focused her attention toward the table where the historical society had been seated.

  “Good morning,” she said again. “The student council here with me today represents the interests of the student body. Not each member agrees with the majority but they stand for that majority nonetheless. We are opposed to violence. We are opposed to war. We are opposed to this reenactment which glorifies the violence of war. And now it has brought that violence to us as feared. We feel unsafe. We ask that the society and the college terminate the reenactment that we opposed from the beginning.”

  Not one member of the historical societ
y responded to her speech by so much as the blink of an eye. Several sat with crossed arms. Others leaned back against the hard seats of their chairs. One or two propped elbows on the table in front of them as if bored. After a quick glance at her husband, whose features registered complete fury, Mrs. Edmunds spoke to him in another quiet aside before addressing the young woman. Her well-modulated tones carried well throughout the room.

  “With respect to your position and representation of the student body, Ms. Farraday, the college does not agree that the reenactment glorifies war. Under the guidance of our very knowledgeable historical society,” she gave a nod in their direction, “we’ve orchestrated the event so that it depicts the truth. There were no winners in the battle of Albrecht Creek, only losers. War has been an unpleasant reality throughout our history, the history of this nation. To ignore that fact is to live in ignorance. To live in ignorance is to invite repetition of the mistakes of our past. The loss of life of one of the reenactors is as regretted as it was unexpected, but we have no reason – at this point – to believe it bears a direct relationship to the event itself. Thank you for voicing your concerns. Please return to your classrooms at this time.”

  Kylah wasn’t sure if it was a testament to their respect for the woman who headed the drama department or to their acceptance that this last-ditch protest had been an exercise in futility, but Ms. Farraday nodded and signaled to the student council to follow her from the room. A young man with dark hair and thin, defined features stood closest to the door. He stepped back to let the others pass through the opening ahead of him. But Kylah realized that what she had taken for a polite gesture toward his classmates was something different when he took a step forward to glare at Grant.

  “This is wrong, Dean Edmunds. You’re vainglorious and you’re pompous. Your pride comes at the expense of safety for the entire student body!”

  “Mr. McDaniel!” The dean’s tone was curt. “Wait for me in my office. I’ll meet you there when this meeting is adjourned.”

  Personally, Kylah thought Mr. McDaniel had nailed the vainglory and pomposity. On the other hand, the student appeared to have enjoyed his moment of drama far too much for her to credit it with any kind of sincerity. She wondered if he were part of the theatrical group. His height and build seemed well suited for the football field but, more often than not in her experience, appearances were deceiving.

  The young man spun on his heels and marched from the room with shoulders back and head held high. Kylah wouldn’t have been that age again for any amount of money. Too much angst, too little autonomy.

  Grant straightened his tie and jacket as if he’d been in actual fisticuffs. A little drama there, too, she thought.

  When he resumed speaking, it was as if he’d never been interrupted.

  “I’d like for you all to take the time to get to know one another and my … ah, our,” he smiled at his wife, “four assistants who are seated at the table next to the door. Your interaction and cooperation with each other and with them will be crucial in the coming days and we have little time to be ready. I know all of you – in particular you unit commanders and officers – know your jobs and know them well. Your knowledge is key to our success. Our target audience, students from campuses around the country as well as your everyday history buffs, will be descending upon us in a few days. We’re excited and hope you are as well. Tomorrow we’ll have a dress rehearsal so be sure you and your teams are in costume and know your places. We’ll be doing some staging, making last minute adjustments if needed. No actual acting. Don’t overburden yourself with props because there will be a good bit of moving about, but be certain what you have with you is authentic.”

  Kylah made her exit when the mingling began. She’d find who she needed to talk to when she needed to talk with them and she wouldn’t fight a crowd to do that.

  Trouble trotted right along behind her. He seemed no more impressed with the speech they’d endured than she was.

  Chapter Eight

  Kylah ignored the slight lift of her spirit at the sight of Wolf’s truck parked across from her trailer when she returned to the fairgrounds. She couldn’t afford that kind of distraction. She didn’t want it and wouldn’t risk it.

  She’d called Jake to let him know she was on her way back and would be ready for another horse. Seeing Wolf’s truck at least prepared her to see him walk out of the barn beside Jake, who brought her next mount.

  Taking the reins from Jake with a smile and thanks, she turned to Wolf, battling her own emotions. The smile she’d given Jake faded. “I would’ve thought you’d be on the job by now.”

  “I’m headed that way,” he said without inflection but his glance held a question.

  Kylah led the horse away from them, feeling unsettled. It wasn’t Wolf, but her reaction to him, that had rattled her. She paused to take a deep, cleansing breath before she mounted. This was the youngest and greenest of her horses, rescued from a kill pen by Avery Hanna who’d recognized something special in her but not the kind of something that lent itself to any of the Summer Valley Ranch therapeutic riding programs. The young mare was playful and oh, so smart. Her progress had been steady but she still needed lots of time and patience so Kylah gave her slow, quiet work they could both enjoy before she moved her on to the actual lesson.

  When she heard Wolf’s truck start, she knew her mind hadn’t been as focused on the task at hand as it should have been. She told herself the quick jab of disappointment was only because she knew she should have been less distant toward him, all things considered. She made sure she gave the mare the focus she deserved for the remainder of the work-out. She’d think about Wolf and how he made her feel later.

  * * *

  “I sure didn’t make Wolf feel welcome,” she admitted to Jake as she brought the mare back to the barn. She didn’t offer up the reins so he fell into step beside her. She could feel him searching her face but he didn’t say anything until they reached the mare’s stall.

  “You should cut yourself some slack, K.T.”

  She eased the bit from the mare’s mouth and slipped her halter on. “I’m trying.” She hesitated. “He’s one of the good guys.”

  “So are you.” He finished loosening the saddle and lifted it from the mare’s back. “You’re thinking he won’t come back around because you can’t sort your feelings?”

  She picked up a brush, embarrassed with the whole conversation. This was Jake for crying out loud. “Why would I care what he does and doesn’t do?” Then, because this was Jake, “I don’t know what I think.”

  “Seems to me you should stop thinking so much and start accepting how you feel.”

  “It’s too soon for what I feel. It takes time to know someone.”

  Jake placed his calloused hand on top of hers to still the movement of the brush across the muscular flank. “How long did you know Marty before you married him.”

  “Two years.” Her throat still ached when she thought of their fun and funny courtship.

  “How well did you know him after those two years?” Jake lifted his hand from hers.

  “I didn’t know him at all,” she whispered to herself. Jake already knew the answer to his question.

  By the time she had finished brushing the mare out, she realized she was on her own in the barn with the horses. Jake had given her his bit of wisdom and left her alone with it. The words she muttered as she fastened the stall door were not words of appreciation even though she suspected he was more right than wrong.

  She tapped on the door to the living quarters to let Jake know she was headed out. The black cat was not in evidence. On the drive back to the hotel, she considered dinner options. She knew better than to skip meals but she couldn’t think of anything she wanted delivered or any place she wanted to go.

  Her room was pretty much as she left it, neat because she couldn’t stand chaos, with clothes folded and stacked for easy access each morning. But the bed was made and the bath linen had been replaced.

&
nbsp; Jake would be feeding horses in another hour. She could suggest he drive into town and they could toss a coin over picking a restaurant. It wouldn’t be the first time. She dug deep in her purse and found her phone. After staring at the blank screen, she typed a one-word text she had no intention of sending. Then she hit send. Tossing the phone to the bed, she turned on the shower and stripped, letting steam fill the room as hot water sluiced over her head and shoulders.

  As she stepped out of the bathroom, one towel wrapped around her body and another wrapped around her wet hair, the screen on her phone lit up. Right below her ‘Hungry?’ was ‘Yep.’ Smiling, she combed out her hair and used the hotel hairdryer to get it halfway there. Clean jeans and a loose-fitting top and she was done.

  * * *

  Wolf watched as Kylah walked toward his truck. She’d surprised him. He glanced at the cat who occupied the passenger seat. “You gonna let her have that spot?”

  Trouble stretched as she opened the door and shifted his fur and muscles to the console before making a light leap to the back seat.

  “Hi.” The word was soft. Sexy.

  “Hi, yourself.” He watched as she slid into the space the cat had vacated. “Where do you want to eat?”

  She pulled her seatbelt and clicked it into place, then gave him a smile. “You pick. Jake says I need to quit thinking so much so there’s no telling where we’d end up if I have to decide.”

  “You always listen to Jake?”

  Her smile turned to a grin. “I don’t do anything always, but when I’m being wise, yeah, I listen to Jake.”

  He returned the grin and pulled out of the parking spot. He could feel the difference in her as he headed toward one of his favorite places on the outskirts of town, a little bar and grill with good country music and steak cooked right no matter how you liked it. He wasn’t sure what the difference was but it was there. A lightness he hadn’t sensed the previous evening.