I nodded, unable to speak.
“Ready?”
I nodded again, my lips pressed together, almost afraid to let go. To do so would mean more than just releasing the strength I felt from him. Stepping away meant allowing him to see my face.
And, perhaps, my vulnerability.
26
I rested on the boulder, keeping my right leg extended, while Will returned to the cottage to get the truck.
His or his grandfather’s, he didn’t say.
How could it be, I pondered in the interim, that in one week William Decker had done this to me? Made me so angry I wanted to slug him one minute, so crazy I wanted to kiss him the next.
Or have him kiss me.
I buried my face in my hands. “Falling for William Decker is not the objective,” I groaned into them, just as the engine of the old Dodge rambled toward me. I frowned. The whole thing was kept together by rust and good wishes. A hillbilly hotrod. I could hardly believe he expected me to drive it . . . not that I’d be able to anyway. Not now. Not with this foot.
Will brought the truck to a stop but didn’t kill the engine. He opened the driver’s-side door. It creaked and moaned in protest.
“I’m surprised it doesn’t just fall off,” I hollered.
“It has a time or two,” he said back.
That figured. He stood over me, smiling, daring me to say something in return. He wore sunglasses, probably in an effort to block the still-bright light of the sun in the western sky. I couldn’t read his eyes, but I took the dare. “And you wanted me to drive it?”
“Thought you might be able to handle it.”
“Oh, I could handle it.”
He squatted. Pulled his sunglasses to the tip of his nose and peered at me over the lenses. “Could ya now?”
I switched my attention down the length of my right leg. “Looks like I won’t be driving anything. For a while.”
His gaze followed mine. Back up again. Slowly. As though he enjoyed the view.
“Are you going to help me to the truck, or are we going to sit here the rest of the night?”
He shifted. “Keep up the sass, and you will sit here all night. I can walk and I can drive.”
My mouth gaped open, but he only chuckled.
“Don’t get your dander up, girl. Put your arms around my neck.”
“Why?”
His eyes narrowed. “Just do it . . .”
I didn’t want to.
Who was I kidding? Oh, yes I did. I complied, feeling his muscles flex again as one arm slid under my knees and the other wrapped itself around my back. He lifted me, puffing as he stood. I kept my right leg straight and my chin tilted over my right shoulder, watching the truck as we neared it.
Then again, I would have looked at anything to keep my eyes from the five o’clock shadow along the angular jaw of his face. From the cleft in the middle of his chin. From the amber flecks I knew were hidden behind those sunglass lenses.
“I’m going to bring you down, rest your back against the cab,” he told me, bringing me back to the moment.
And he did. Then he opened the door.
“Hold on to my arm and try to hop over.”
Even through the throbbing pain, we managed to get my backside near the old vinyl seat, which was stained in places. Torn in others. The smell of dirt and age met me fully. “I’m going to have to pull myself in,” I told him, my eyes searching for something to hold on to.
His hands splayed across both sides of my waist and he lifted me onto the seat, doubling me over, forcing me against him.
I gasped in pain. Stars formed behind my eyelids.
“You all right?”
“I will be,” I said, struggling through the agony.
“I’m sorry.” He gently drew my knees up and slid my legs forward. “Easy does it.”
He found the stained seat belt and brought it around me, buckling it into place before I had a chance to tell him that my arms and hands weren’t harmed in the fall. Our faces came a breath apart and we both inhaled quickly. Me through my mouth. Him through his nostrils.
“You ready?” he asked, stepping back. He stumbled. Caught himself.
“Be careful,” I said too quickly. “We can’t have both of us hurt.”
He didn’t respond. He closed my door, walked around the front of the truck and got in. “I’m taking you to the hospital,” he said, his breath ragged.
He gripped the steering wheel with one hand, forced the gearshift into reverse with the other.
“The hospital?”
“Gram and Big Guy went out tonight. Of all nights. I’m sure she’d insist I take you. So I am.” He shifted to drive and turned the wheel forcefully to the left. The truck bounced along the rugged terrain. Pain shot up my leg. I wrapped my hands around my knee and squeezed. He caught the movement. “Sorry,” he said, and slowed the truck.
“I’m sure some ice and a little Aleve will make it all better,” I said. “I probably don’t need to go to the hospital. You can just take me back to the cottage.”
“Don’t argue with me. I’m not in the mood.”
“You’re not in the mood?”
“Just sit tight,” he said. “And Great-granny, girl, quit arguing with me.”
Several hours later my ankle had been poked, pulled, and x-rayed, then wrapped so tightly I worried it might fall off. Sometime after eleven o’clock, Will drove his grandfather’s old relic through a sleeping downtown. Between us, a pair of crutches rattled from the relentless rumbling of the truck.
“I’ve been thinking,” I said, breaking the silence of voices.
“About?”
“The Revolutionary War road.”
Outside of the city limits, darkness wrapped itself around the old truck as it sputtered toward Decker Ranch.
“What about it?”
“Where you left me . . . the level from where I fell . . . is that part of the Confederate road?”
“Yeah.”
“The graves on Rob’s property, they’re closer to the Confederate road than the Revolutionary.”
“Right.”
“It seems to me that it’s more likely the graves are from that era than the earlier one.”
William nodded, his movement nearly imperceptible in the pale moonlight. “I got a call from the historical society.”
“What? When?”
“Late Friday.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“Calm down . . . they left a voice message and I just didn’t get it until this afternoon.”
I bit the inside of my cheek as I pulled my hair up in a make-shift ponytail and then let it fall. “Sorry. All right. And? What did they say?”
He glanced at me with a grimace. “Sorry, kiddo. They have nothing on those graves.”
I sighed. “Are we sure people are buried there?”
“No. But the graves are eight feet in length, so I’m assuming.”
I looked out the dirt-cluttered window at the familiar landscape, then through the windshield where the mountains made a dark, jagged impression against a paler sky. “Here’s what I was thinking—the Civil War was a hundred and fifty years ago and no one here is old enough to remember it.”
He chuckled. “Not even Miss Helen.”
“But,” I said, bringing my finger up to make a point. “Miss Helen may actually remember stories.”
He looked my way again. “Say what?”
“Think about it, Will, and keep your eyes on the road.” He looked forward. “She’s ninety and she’s sharp as a tack.”
He grinned. “She is that.”
“There’s not that big of a stretch between the 1860s and the 1920s when Miss Helen was born. What if she remembers hearing stories? You and Rob had stories about her.”
“Okay. It’s possible.”
“Possible? Will, in the days before radio, television, computers, and texting, people communicated with each other by talking face-to-face. They told stories.”
/> “So what are you thinking?” he asked, turning the truck into the Decker Ranch driveway. “Hold on. This could get rough.”
“I know.” The truck rocked back and forth. I lifted my foot as though it might help. “I’m thinking,” I said through gritted teeth, “that perhaps if I go talk to Miss Helen, she may remember a story or two. Oww. Maybe something that connects to the graves.”
The truck’s engine revved as we moved up the driveway. Will didn’t comment. He seemed focused on getting around the house and to the cottage. I remained silent as well, waiting for the outline of the cottage to greet me from the top of the hill. I’d left only a single light on in the living room. Remarkably, it seemed to smile in spite of the night’s shadows, happy to know I had returned home.
“I find myself coming to like this place very much,” I said.
“The cottage or Testament?”
I smiled slowly in answer.
Will brought the truck to a stop. “I think your idea about Miss Helen is a good one.”
I nearly gasped. “You do?”
He turned the key in the ignition to OFF, and shifted toward me. “You find that so impossible to believe?”
“I admit. I do.” I wrapped my left hand around the metal of the crutches.
“I’ve given you a hard time so far, haven’t I.” It wasn’t a question.
I dared to bring my eyes to his. “You have.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re forgiven.” Just that easy.
His eyes bore into mine. The air in the truck’s cab turned thick. Warm. Outside, lightning bugs glowed in their ritual evening dance. I watched them only briefly, then returned my gaze to Will. To his face. His eyes.
“How did your visit with Brianna go today?” he asked, as though seeking a change of subject.
“Good.”
“Did you doll her up?” he asked with a grin.
“A little. She’s a natural, she doesn’t need much.” I pulled the crutches closer to me. “I—uh—I ordered her some things when I returned home. Had them overnighted, so she should get them tomorrow afternoon.”
His eyes narrowed as though he were trying to figure out my reasoning. I waited for him to say something—anything—but he only nodded.
Then: “I should help you inside.”
I pulled the door handle. It groaned. “Amazing it doesn’t just come off in my hand,” I mumbled. I looked over my shoulder to see if Will had heard me. He had. He couldn’t keep himself from grinning.
“It has a couple of times.”
I laughed as I slid my good foot to the ground, bringing the crutches with me.
The driver’s door opened and the cab shifted under the movement. “Let me help you.”
“I’ve got it.” I pulled the door key from my pocket.
“Let me . . . ,” he said, then his voice faded until he came face-to-face with me. “Here.” He extended his arms as though he wanted to do something but didn’t know what.
“Take my key,” I said, handing it him.
He took it. “Is there anything? Anything else? Something you need now?”
I shook my head. “Seriously, unless you’re going to move in with me—which you clearly are not—I think you’d best let me handle the rest.” I swung forward. The crutches caught on the river rock and I stumbled, then caught myself. “I need to keep to the stepping-stones,” I muttered.
“I can carry you if necessary,” he said.
“No. Enough of that humiliation for one day.”
“Stubborn woman. At least let me get the door for you.” He strode beside me, half jogging the last few steps. He swung the storm door open, inserted the key, entered the code to the house, and pushed the main door open for me. “Here you go. Home again, home again.”
I swung up to the front stoop. “Jiggidy-jig.”
I made my way into the living room.
“I’ll call you in the morning. Make sure you’re okay.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, turning. “But there is something you can do for me . . .”
“What’s that?”
“Bring me as many copies of Partying Grounds as you can. I’m going to use these next few days to get started on that.”
Will snickered. “Think you’ll ever learn the name of the magazine?”
My ankle throbbed, stealing any rebuke I might have.
“Question,” he said.
“Another one?”
He glanced toward the stairs. “How are you going to make it upstairs?”
I looked at them. Sighed. I could sleep in the downstairs bedroom, but everything I needed for bed was upstairs. Nothing downstairs. Not a single thing. “Well, sir,” I said, “I imagine one step at a time.”
The following morning I somehow managed to hobble my way back down the stairs without falling and breaking my neck. I made tea, got my morning devotional, and eased my way outside. After I’d lowered myself into my favorite seat, and after Buddy and Sis had come to commiserate with me over my upset, I opened the book to the first page and reread Take Long Walks. As I propped my foot on one of the wooden footrests, a funny notion occurred to me.
The first time I’d read the words, I’d thought to ask Will where I might do such a thing and had joked with myself that I hoped he didn’t suggest a high cliff. “Careful what you ask for,” I told Buddy. “Or think about,” I said to Sis.
I flipped a few of the pages until I came to that morning’s devotion. Grow, it said. The picture showed three daisies, their petals stretching left, right, up, and down. The Scripture verses read: You plant them, and they take root; they flourish and bear fruit.—Jeremiah 12:2; and It’s the smallest of all seeds. But when it’s grown, it’s the largest of all vegetable plants. It becomes a tree so that the birds in the sky come and nest in its branches.—Matthew 13:32.
At the bottom of the right-hand page, the words: grow in christ.
Growing in Christ had been something I’d aspired to my whole life. How well I had done was yet to be seen. But, that morning, as I reflected, I knew my growth during week one had been along the lines of what Gram and Dad had hoped for. And, perhaps, the Lord.
I read the second verse again, the one about the birds, then looked up into the trees where leafy branches had become the home to so many songbirds I couldn’t keep count. Not only of their number, but also of their melodies. In one week I’d done more with people who couldn’t have been more unlike me than I’d ever imagined I would. I had . . . grown. By the time I returned to Winter Park, when I returned to the magazine and my new position, I would have grown even more. Just like I’d told Dad the previous afternoon.
“Yoo-hoo!”
Bobbie Decker’s hoot from down the drive caused the dogs to rise from where they’d lain at my feet.
“Hey, Miss Bobbie,” I called back.
I spied her coming from behind the red-tipped bushes. “I just talked to William,” she shouted.
I didn’t say anything in return. I simply watched her march upward.
“ . . . and he said you didn’t get back to the cottage until well after eleven o’clock.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She passed through the red-tips and into the rock garden. “My goodness, look at that foot all bandaged up.”
“It doesn’t feel as bad as it looks,” I lied.
“Enjoying the book?” she asked, pointing toward my lap.
“Very much so.”
Bobbie sat in one of the chairs. Her elbows went to her knees and she leaned forward. “So, tell me. What did the doctor say?”
“I sprained it. He said to rest today and tomorrow, but by Wednesday I should be able to do a few things. I can’t drive, but if I can get to the newspaper, I can still work.”
Bobbie waved as though driving away an insect. “Between Shel, William, and me, we’ll get you to work.” A frown clouded her face. “Oh no. You won’t be able to dance Friday night.”
Oh no was right. “No,” I said. “I�
�m afraid not.”
“But,” she said, brightening. “Thursday is the Movie in the Park. You can still do that, I ’spect.”
“The what?”
“The Movie . . . hasn’t William told you about it?”
I sighed with a smile. “Your grandson has a way of telling me things about ten minutes before they happen.”
Bobbie slid back in the chair. “I need to talk to that boy.”
I held up a hand. “No. We’re fine. Tell me more about the movie.”
“Every quarter we hold a ‘Movie in the Park.’ Always family- friendly. Townspeople come out, bring their blankets, something to snack on, and then we kick back and show a movie on the side of one of the local stores that butts up against the park.”
“I haven’t seen a park . . .”
“Oh it’s lovely. Near the courthouse. Sort of around it and down a ways. Anyway, it’s a lot of fun for everyone and, of course, the newspaper covers it.”
“I look forward to it,” I said. And I did.
Bobbie clapped her hands together. “I spoke with your grandmother yesterday. Did she tell you?”
“No . . .”
“I told her you were getting along just fine and she had nothing to worry about. ’Course that was before William sent you tumbling down the ditch.”
I tried not to laugh, but failed. “He didn’t exactly push me. He just startled me.”
Bobbie pushed herself out of the chair. “He should have been more careful. At least that’s what I told Shelton.” She looked down the hill to her house. “Gracious goodness, I have a lot to do today so I’ll leave you to it.” She took a few steps before looking down at her dogs. “I see you have found new loyalty,” she said to them. “I guess I should be annoyed, but I’m not.” Then, to me, “William says he’ll see you later. Says he’ll bring the magazines when he heads out to get lunch. Mondays are busy days, you know.”
“So I’ve heard.”
I watched the older woman until she stepped into her house using a back door visible to the cottage. “She’s something else, isn’t she?” I asked the dogs.
Buddy panted in response and Sis sighed.
I turned the pages of the book open to where I’d been reading when Bobbie had called out to me.
The Road to Testament Page 23