From there, it was a simple matter to go home. The road was in solid shadow, too, and it was none too early to be getting out of the woods. But for a minute she stood looking up the trail, thinking of the rocky view that had eluded her all evening. And suddenly she was hiking up the twisting footpath as fast as she could.
At first glimpse of Joel’s cabin, she withdrew into the trees to take her coveted look at the mountains undetected. And to her way of thinking, it was a scene that more than justified her impulsive presence there. The sun had set even on the highest crests by then, but the snow on the blue-gray planes of rock seemed to shine with a light its own against the dusky sky.
However the fact that it was twilight, albeit an unhurried, lingering one, made her stay only a minute before she slipped back to the path to hurry home. But stealing one furtive glance toward the cabin between the trees, she saw the front door standing open and Joel sitting at a desk just inside it. Something seemed wrong, though, for his head lay limply between his stretched-out arms, perfectly still—as one who had abandoned all hope in life…or life itself. An unarguable fear made her give up her desired concealment and run to him with a churning, queasy stomach.
CHAPTER 6
At Sevana’s unannounced entrance, Joel started up—and she saw his eyes were wet, with a look that did not resemble the contented shepherd of yesterday.
Immediately she realized how rude she’d been to violate his privacy, but she still felt shaken. “I’m sorry, Joel,” she said breathlessly. “I thought you were fainted—or—”
“Dead?” He passed a hand across his eyes. “I wish I was,” he said with a groan, rising to his feet. He was a big man, she realized the more, seeing him within the confines of the cabin rather than the open spaces of the outdoors. He covered his eyes again and drew a breath, composing himself. Then he took the hand away and peered down at her. “What are you doing here?” It wasn’t accusatory, just a request for information.
“I’m so sorry,” she said again, thinking she always seemed to be apologizing for blundering into his property. She stepped back to the threshold, poised for escape. “I just wanted one sight of the high peaks. I wasn’t going to come up to your cabin at all—until I saw you—”
“And thought I was a candidate for a grassy knoll,” he finished for her. “But now that you find me alive—at least physically—” the dark emotion was back in his face, “sit on the porch and take your fill of the mountains.”
“Oh, no—I already did. I’ve got to get home before it gets any later.”
“Sit down,” he commanded. “The moon is about to rise and you shouldn’t miss it. I’ll take you home myself.”
Sevana meekly sat.
After a minute he joined her on the edge of the low front porch. Glancing at him sideways, Sevana saw he had splashed water on his face, so that tendrils of hair hung wet around it. She wanted to ask why he didn’t wish to live, but now that he had collected himself, she had no temptation to bring back the look of torment to that cleanly defined face. For she knew she was looking at a man who, though whole and strong in body, was for some reason devastated to his inmost soul.
Instinctively she began talking, to divert him from his trouble. “I’ve been exploring,” she told him. “I saw the river from a point above the homestead.”
“Down at those three pines?”
“Yes. It seems everywhere I go, I discover something new! I wish I could explore everything—even those mountains over there—and see what else I would find.”
“You’d like that, would you?” He saw her look of intrigue as she gazed toward the peaks—and it seemed to impress him in some way, for he went on thoughtfully, as if he wished to show regard for her expressed desire: “You would find many things, Sevana. Just in that one mountain range alone, are ridges and valleys and lakes and creeks that would take more than one lifetime to explore.”
Now her eyes were focused on him, in wonder. “You sound as if you know it well. Have you ever been in those mountains, yourself?”
“Many times—though not many enough. Every summer I go up to the high country to pasture the sheep.”
“I didn’t know you’d been there!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t know anyone could. Those cliffs look so inaccessible, like a fortress that can’t be gotten into.”
“They look so,” he agreed. “But looks are deceiving in the mountains. Just as you can see no peaks from down at your place—in that same way, those rockfields are hiding a whole great wilderness you can’t see from here.”
“Tell me what it’s like,” she begged, thoroughly distracted, forgetting it was she who had introduced the topic as a means of distracting him.
He smiled, if faintly, at her lively interest. “It’s a different land up there, Sevana, a land all its own. The ridges are rocky and open, rising close to a sun whose fire burns cooler and brighter in the thinner air. And the climate is harsh, and the soil so shallow the trees and plants spend more energy surviving than growing—and yet the most prolific wildflowers you’ll find anywhere grow there in clumps, and patches, and whole gardens on the hillsides.”
He took interest as he talked, warmth creeping into the darkened eyes. “The wind is different, too—it blows almost continually, and it has a wilder sound. It’s the most desolate land you will ever know, but you won’t find a place equal to it anywhere else. There’s something that binds you with it, makes you forget anything else you’ve ever known.” He was looking far away, seeing in his mind the places he described, and he spoke as if in his heart he was already there.
A flame of fascination had lit behind Sevana’s blue-shadowed gaze, as she imagined such an exotic land as he’d described. “Will you go again this summer?”
“Soon as the snow melts.” Just to talk about it had substantially increased his impatience to return. It seemed to him, suddenly, that it had been a very long winter.
“I’d like to see it.” Sevana was already wondering how she could accomplish such a feat. “Is it very far?”
“It’s ten miles to Stormy Pass where I take the sheep. It’s a three-day trip with the flock, stopping for pasture along the way.”
“Is there a trail?”
“Yes, it begins at the Spruce Creek pack-bridge upriver.”
“Oh, so you do have bridges out here!” she said, bobbing her head happily. Just that single fact made everything seem so much more reassuring.
“What?—oh, you’re talking about the low-water crossings.” His mouth quirked at the revelation. “Yes, we may be a little rough around the edges, but we’re not totally primitive.” But he was staring at the skyline. “See that glow? The moon’s about to rise.”
Scarcely had he spoken when a sliver of light appeared on the far side of Graystone. It grew wider as they watched, its curved top rounding the sharp edge of the rock so rapidly they could see it moving. Butter-yellow and big as a picturebook moon, the oversize ball lifted free of the jagged cliffs and sailed weightlessly into the dusky-blue atmosphere.
Sevana could have sat there indefinitely in the spell of that hypnotic globe as it climbed higher and brighter, stealing the attention from everything else. But the scratchy spruce branches whispering a night song around them made her think of darkening trails with bears on them. “Do you see bears very often?” she asked, wanting to find out if the one she’d encountered was an exception.
“Not that often. They usually stay out of your way. But in these woods you can’t take anything for granted.”
“Fenn gave me a shooting lesson with his gun this afternoon, and I failed dreadfully.” For some reason she felt like confessing her dereliction to him. “It knocked me off my feet.” And then she gave a chuckle, for all of a sudden it seemed funny to her.
But Joel didn’t even smile. “What kind of gun was it?”
“Some kind of handgun. It was big and heavy.”
“It was probably a .357, or even a .44.” He picked up a spruce cone from the step and gave it a hard toss. �
��He should have started you with a .22 and let you work up to a bigger gun; then you would have been prepared to handle it. He did it on purpose just to scare you.” He didn’t hide his displeasure at Fenn’s irresponsible behavior. “I don’t see any harm in you learning to shoot. I carry a sidearm when I’m out with the sheep. I’ve never had to use it, but once in a while I catch a glimpse of a cougar slinking by.”
“Cougar?” Sevana shuddered, finding her list of dangers increasingly incomplete.
“Their population is on the rise. They’re commonly known to shadow people—follow them through the woods without letting themselves be seen.” He was on his feet. “On that subject, that’s why I don’t want you walking home alone this time of night. I’ll take you down on Flint.”
Sevana had no objection.
Disappearing back of the house, Joel returned astride the workhorse. “Step up,” he said, stopping alongside the porch. The horse was so high that Sevana felt a bit light-headed as Joel pulled her up behind him. “Better hold on to me,” he said, as if he sensed her insecurity—so she timidly locked her hands around his waist. It was taut in every muscle, so she knew that while he had relaxed outwardly somewhat, a tension still lay within him like a tightly coiled spring.
Flint whickered his enthusiasm at getting to go someplace that unexpected time of night, and pointed his ears forward in a show of interest as he started down the trail with a sure-footed gait. The moon was hanging before them as a celestial lantern to light their way, but before they reached the turnaround it was snuffed out by the towering ridgeline, and the trail sank into shadow. “Say goodbye to the moon,” Joel said over his shoulder. “You won’t see it from your place tonight.”
“I saw it last night,” she told him.
“It’s lower tonight. When it’s full, it rises too far south to shine into the river canyon this time of year. It’ll be September before you see the full moon again from down there.”
As they approached the homestead the moon was nowhere in sight, as Joel had predicted—but Sevana was noticing light of another kind shining from the front window, for it was past the time Fenn usually went to bed. Remembering she hadn’t told him where she was going, she jumped down with a hurried thank-you and ran to the house, leaving horse and rider to take their own departure of the yard. “I’m back!” she announced, throwing open the door.
Fenn was reading at the table in a circle of light that illumined him, but left the corners of the room in shadow. A bottle of Old Crow stood in front of him. “Didn’t know you were gone,” he said, looking up at her entrance. His eyes were unnaturally bright.
“Y-you’re—not waiting up for me?” she faltered.
“’Course not.”
Suddenly she realized how unrealistic she’d been to think he was worried about her. “I just thought…you’re up later than usual…”
“Tomorrow’s my day off. Even Hawk hasn’t figured a way to make us work seven days a week without paying us yet.” He spoke thickly, and she realized with a little shock he was drunk. She stood speechless until he spoke to her again, roughly. “Go on, let me be.”
She made herself obey him, crossing the floor to the washbasin. But on her way past him again, she hesitated. He looked so alienated that it stabbed at her. “Fenn,” she said, wanting to help him, “don’t you know it’s not good to drink by yourself? My health teacher said it’s a psychological trap that can make you end up becoming an alcoholic.”
“So have a swig.” He stood to his full height—impressive even in his stocking feet—and shoved the bottle toward her.
“No, that’s not what I—”
For one heart-stopping second she thought he was going to force the bottle down her throat. But then he set it on the table and sank back into his chair. “Sevana, I thought I made it clear,” he said, in a voice barely restrained by effort. “What I do is none of your concern. While you’re in this house—whatever goes on under this roof—it’s not your affair.”
“What are you saying?” She was staggered he could be so deluded. “How can it not concern me? I’m not just a summer boarder. You’re my own brother, and I care about you.”
“Family means nothing to me,” he retorted coldly. “I give you leave to sleep under my roof as occasion demands, but don’t ask anything more of me.”
“No family, nor friends either, if I recall,” Sevana recounted for his benefit. “That’s a fine choice! I bet if you were all alone on God’s earth, you might rethink your position in a hurry.”
Fenn laughed shortly. “If I was alone on God’s earth—or anyone else’s earth, for that matter—I would be happier than I can presently imagine.”
“Why?” She was frustrated in the face of his imperturbable defense. “Have the years on this lonely mountain made you forget what companionship is? I would think its effect would be just the opposite—”
“Sevana,” he cut her off in a tone of steel, rising to his feet again, “spare me your speculations, and respect the distance I require.”
“All right.” All at once she relinquished the last fragile hope he might yet appreciate her company. “You want distance—I’ll give you all the distance you want. But I’ll always be your sister, Fenn—you can’t change that. You can shut people out by choice, but there’s nothing you can do if they choose to love you anyway.” There was a little note of triumph in her unsteady voice.
“Let them do as they please,” he mocked, not at all touched by her speech.
She gave him a furious look in peculiar contrast to her last statement, and fled upstairs.
Sitting on the bed, she stared at the yellow glow behind the ridgeline where the invisible moon lay as if weighted, unable to muster the height to show its face those days of early summer. Such a turmoil of emotions conflicted her—disillusionment, hurt, and the loneliness of which it seemed she would never be free; but one thing stood clear above it. If Fenn didn’t want anything to do with her, she would abide by his wishes: she would leave altogether. She had supposed she had no option but to stay there, but she would make her own options. She would catch a ride to Cragmont with someone traveling the road, and stay in a motel until she made other plans. It would be starting out on her own a little sooner than expected, that was all. Her father would understand when she explained the situation. Anything was better than tormenting Fenn with her unwanted presence. Yes, in the morning she would go, and leave him to his desired peace.
Resolutely she packed her belongings, an ache in her heart despite her bold determinings. Peering a last time into the night still lit by that bodiless glow, and feeling so far-removed on that forsaken mountain she hoped it not unrealistic to think she could find a ride to town, she fell into an unsettled sleep.
In the night a storm descended from the heights, hitting the house with a fury that caused Sevana to wake with a start of fright. Wind was shrieking at the window, demanding to be let in. The moonglow was gone, the night so dark she could see no more with her eyes open than closed. She fumbled to light the candle, and felt some relief when by its wavering flame she could see the rough logs of her room again. She hadn’t known darkness could be so purely, solidly dark. There had always been streetlights in the city.
Sitting up in bed, every muscle tensed beneath her flannel nightshirt, she listened to the storm. There were other sounds in it besides the wind howling in the trees: an eerie scraping of branches against the roof, the growl of thunder in the distance, and a dull banging noise not too far away. A light shone under her door, and she knew the storm had wakened Fenn as well. She was nervously wondering if the violent wind could send the enormous fir behind the house toppling through the roof, when there came a blinding flash of light and a tremendous, splintering crash that jarred the bed—indeed, the entire house—and sent her running for Fenn instinctively, like a frightened animal to shelter.
She nearly collided with him on the landing as he came out of his room dressed in day clothes. “Oh Fenn, what’s happening?” she cried, c
lutching his arm as she looked up to him in the murky light between the two candlelit rooms.
“It’s just a night storm passing through.” He shook himself free of her clinging grasp. “What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever heard thunder before?”
“Not like that!” she declared with conviction. “Nor such wind! Where did it come from? The sky was clear not many hours ago.”
“It comes down from the mountains, and with little warning,” he replied. “You’d better get used to it—we have many such storms.” He brushed by her for the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“The barn door’s come unlatched. Go back to bed, Sevana. What do you want me to do—make it stop for you?” He sounded groggy and disgruntled, as if he hadn’t had time to sleep off the effects of the Old Crow.
Sevana went back to bed. But when more time had elapsed and the storm was as intense as ever, with rain now heard on the roof, she started to wonder why Fenn was taking so long. Maybe he was not functioning in full capacity after his night of drinking. What if he had stumbled and fallen—or even passed out? She had never been around anyone who drank, so she wasn’t sure how impaired he might be. When she could stand the uncertainty no longer, she went downstairs. Out on the back porch she called his name into the windy darkness, but another flash of lightning and an explosive clap of thunder was the only response.
She began picking her way up the rain-dampened path aided by occasional flickers of lightning, trying to tell if there was a light at the barn. “Fenn?” she called.
Reaching the barn, she was feeling along the wall to find the door—when it flew open with sudden force, striking her backwards to the ground.
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