Stony River

by Ciarra Montanna

  It was too dark in the woods to go any further without a light for the walk home. She halted in the road. “I’d better get back.”

  He stopped with her. “How much longer are you here for?”

  “A few weeks more.” She said it with a kind of luxury, thinking of the extra time she’d been granted with him.

  “So we still have a little while.” He sounded satisfied. “I’ve got to get busy chopping my winter’s wood, but tomorrow I’m going to Cragmont for supplies. If you came with me, it’d be a good chance for us to catch up on the past few months.”

  “I’d like to go.”

  “All right, Sevana, see you in the morning.” Joel gave her a smile which she felt more than saw, and went on up the mountain—while she returned to her water pail, sorry he still had a long walk ahead of him.

  Fenn had screws and bolts scattered over the table when she went in. He had heard the sheep go by. “So the shepherd has returned, has he?”

  “Yes.” She was still in a rapture as she filled the teakettle. “I’m going to town with him tomorrow.”

  “I was just thinking about tomorrow,” he responded in kind. “Hawk called around and found a place in Cranbrook that has the radiator for the loader. Think you could come with me?”

  “Come with you?” She sloshed the bucket, and it spilled hissing on the stovetop.

  “Yes, to Lethbridge. What the deuce, Sevana—” he was on his feet, lifting the teakettle out of the pooled water. “You can crack the stove metal pouring water on it like that.”

  “You mean leave—tomorrow—for good?” She set down the pail and dried her hands carefully on the dishtowel. “I just made plans with Joel.”

  “You can leave him a note, can’t you? Cranbrook’s half the distance there. It’ll save me another long trip week after next.” When the water had evaporated, he set the kettle back on the stove. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “But—it seems so impersonal…just a note, when he thought—” Her face was deathly pale.

  “I didn’t know you liked him so well,” he accused her. “Maybe I should have guessed—all the time you spent with him. A couple of nights, too, wasn’t it?”

  She was too distraught to do more than merely wonder how he knew of any but the one night at Stormy Pass. Maybe he didn’t, and was just exaggerating. Or maybe his super-intelligent mind did know everything, even her deepest secrets. “I just wish I could say goodbye.” She realized she was still clutching the dishtowel with both hands, and hung it fastidiously back on the nail.

  “So write him a letter.” Fenn didn’t think it worth her time to worry about. “And anyway, isn’t he thick with that dame who used to be on lookout?—at least that’s the story at camp—so it’s not like you and he…” He didn’t finish the obvious implication.

  She looked at him wordlessly. Not much escaped notice in the almost infinite boredom of a logging camp located at the back of beyond. Chantal must have been spotted driving the road in her rented coupe. But even the loggers in their meddlesome interest, and Fenn with his near-telepathic discernment, didn’t know that Joel and Chantal had broken it off. Not that it was anyone’s business, and she didn’t bother to correct him. Her mind was occupied with a myriad of present objections. But as she met his expectant eyes, she knew she couldn’t refuse. She couldn’t even argue with his logic. It would save him an extra trip, and she knew he was glad. There was a jarred feeling in her stomach as she turned to the dishpan and said with forced evenness, “If that’s what you want to do, I’ll be ready.”

  “Better get your packing done tonight,” he advised. “I have to leave at a breakneck hour to get this starter up to the unit before the crew starts in the morning.”

  CHAPTER 29

  The log-walled kitchen was quiet as Sevana washed dishes at the edge of the lantern’s reach, but her thoughts were in turmoil. It was late, and the notion seemed a little desperate even to her—but she couldn’t just leave Joel a note on the front door listing the reasons why she was already gone. It was a half-hour walk up the trail and another one back, all in the unfriendly dark…but she had to see him one more time.

  Donning her coat, she tucked the gun in one of the pockets and went to the barn where Fenn had returned to work. Through the open door she saw him kneeling over the greasy hide on the floor, scraping the fat from it with his hunting knife. She lost courage at the thought of telling him what she was about to do, and decided he didn’t need to know. Stopping at the truck to borrow the logging lamp, she headed for the road.

  She was almost terrified as she walked up the tree-crowded lane very fast, trying to concentrate on her goal, and not the fact that she was walking alone through pitch-dark woods and had felt some unknown animal’s eyes on her last night. But by the time she started up the trail she didn’t need the flashlight anymore, for the waning oval moon had risen above the trees to light the slope.

  Then her misgivings all but vanished to be on that airy mountainside, with the moon-painted shadows lying stark across the trail and the treetops dancing against the luminous stars. Even if she had no reason to be outside tonight, she would still have to be out on a night such as that!

  Higher on the mountain, a wind met her with unexpected force, and so cold it went through her coat as if she wasn’t wearing one. She pictured how astonished Joel would be to find her at his door on that blustery night, and smiled at the thought. But just as quickly she sobered, for this was goodbye: this was her last walk up the mountain. Tomorrow she was leaving for a completely different life. The thought didn’t seem real—she couldn’t believe it was true.

  Finally above her, she saw the cabin lonely on the mountain, its lighted windows shining out into the darkness as the only refuge in the uninhabited regions beyond. For the first time in her climb she halted, suddenly thoughtful at the sight of that solitary dwelling beneath the tossing trees. As the wind clashed against her she stood in a kind of dream, in which was jumbled together Joel’s life on the mountain and the wind and the night—and she only an observer of it all, one who did not belong there as part of it.

  And through the voices of the wind there came the strains of a violin, rising and falling and being borne away on the swirling air. Crossing the porch she hesitated once again, listening to the impassioned music, before she slowly raised her hand to the door and knocked.

  The music broke off in the middle of a run with an odd squawk. The door swung open and Joel stood in the doorway, blocking out most of the lighted room behind him. “Sevana!” he exclaimed in surprise. “Is anything wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” She tried to keep her voice nonchalant. “I was just out on a walk, and thought I’d drop by.” She couldn’t well see his face, but she thought he was smiling.

  “Is that so? Come in! The wind is something, isn’t it?” He closed the door behind her. “Sit down, and I’ll crank up the fire.”

  Still in her coat, Sevana perched on the chair he pulled over to the woodstove for her. A blanket and tarp hung airing on a rope strung between two support poles, and several boxes sat open on the table.

  Joel set the damper wide and added more wood to a stove that seemed to be putting out very little heat into the room. Then again, she realized, he was still wearing the heavy wool pants and buffalo shirt of his trek—nor was he acclimated to warm houses. “Did you have dinner?” she asked.

  “Camp style—jerky and dried fruit. I did make tea.” He lifted the lid from the dented tin coffee pot and steam rose from it, along with a peculiar vinegary smell. “Still hot. Would you like some?”

  “Yes, please.” She was chilled to the bone.

  He filled a cup for her, then sat on one end of the bench at the table. Sevana ventured a sip. She didn’t like it, but it warmed her all through. “How are the sheep?” she asked.

  “Glad to be home. They bedded down pretty fast after their hay and grain.”

  “Will you take them up to the pasture again this fall?”

  “Ye
s—until the snow gets too deep.”

  “The grass has started to green up again with the rain,” she told him. “But the spring is running awfully low.”

  “Always does, this time of year. I put the cup under the drip in the morning and collect it at lunchtime. I’ve never seen it dry up completely.”

  Silence fell between them. Oh, the wind—if only it would stop! It was tearing at her willed reserve, intensifying emotions already too unreliable and too near the surface. She took another sip of tea, and little prickles ran over her skin from its bitterness.

  Joel tried the tea himself and remarked bluntly, “That’s one combination I won’t repeat. I was only half-thinking when I made this batch tonight.”

  “It isn’t easy to think at all with the wind howling so,” Sevana said fervently. “It’s strange—it’s calm down below.”

  “It’s a ridgetop wind blowing backwards from the east. When it does this, it’ll blow hard all night.” He spared her the technical explanation of the air masses that created those easterly zephyrs, nor did he elaborate on the folklore associated with them—how they were said to create unstable conditions in susceptible people, and were even known to have an adverse effect on strong, sane ones. He believed it to an extent; he knew he didn’t like them, felt uneasy during those episodes that could last up to three nights running. His look darkened. “I started to unpack, but found myself listening to the storm instead. I gave up and turned to the fiddle.”

  “I heard you when I was outside—it was in the wind. In fact,” she cocked her head as the gusts continued to wail around the corners of the cabin, “it was like the wind. Listen!” she said queerly, “I can hear it yet—the song of your violin!”

  “It goes on without me just as well,” he said, smiling a little. “The song was one I found on an evening last winter, when I let my bow follow the notes of a night blizzard.”

  Sevana thought of him there in his cabin during the long winter nights, so high and so far from anyone, hearing in the crying of the wind the music of his violin—and she wondered what his feelings were, as he played his music to no audience but himself. She started as the door blew open in a sudden gust.

  Joel got up to relatch it. “Quite a night. Tell me, Sevana, why you hiked all the way up here in it.”

  She wished the subject didn’t have to come up. Reluctantly, she said: “Fenn’s taking me to Lethbridge tomorrow, so I can’t go to Cragmont with you—and I came to say goodbye.”

  He turned from the door with a question in his face. “So you’re off to the city tomorrow,” he mused. “I almost didn’t get home in time to see you, after all, did I?”

  He paced beyond the desk, where he stood with his hands in the pockets of his baggy over-trousers, looking out the dark windowpanes. “Sevana,” he said, turning to her at last, “when I went up to the wilderness, it was to a land I wait all year to return to. And yet while I was there—”

  But without warning he stopped, leaving his thought unspoken. “Forgive me,” he said obscurely, walking back to take his seat again. “You’ve come to tell me that you’re off to your dreams, and I should be wishing you well. And I do.” He summoned a smile which his eyes did not share, and which stabbed her to the core. “Are you looking forward to it?”

  Sevana wondered how she could explain all the longings and restlessness that filled her heart. “I am.” She was gripping the tin handle of the cup as if it was her only contact with anything real and solid. “Maybe it sounds funny to say, but I feel I’m meant to go to Lethbridge…as if I won’t find what I’m looking for until I do. But still it’s hard to leave, when the larch and aspen are so bright in the forests, and all the colors are so deep and rich.” The words touched only the surface of the things she was feeling—but she couldn’t speak of the other.

  “It wouldn’t be an easy place to leave, no matter what the season,” he observed.

  “I suppose that’s true,” she agreed with a touch of sadness. “I’ve only seen the summer and the fall, and each I thought could not be better.”

  “In many ways—though you wouldn’t think it—winter is the best of all.”

  “I’m still planning to come back to see the frozen river.” It made her feel better to think of being able to return.

  It seemed to appeal to him also, as he said with a hint of a smile, “I’ll go walking on it with you.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and appeared to be contemplating the workmanship of his floor.

  Silently Sevana studied him for the separation to come—his deep eyes she had only to look into, to be drawn inescapably into his soul; his face so finely sculpted she had often wanted to ask permission to sketch its strong lines; his dark hair untamed, tousled even now as if by wind. It was harder to think of leaving him than anything else. The voices that called her to other pursuits—she could not hear any of them tonight.

  Joel looked up, and his eyes were full of many things. “It’s hard to see you go, Sevana,” he confessed. “I have a selfish wish you would always be as you are now, and I’m afraid you will change. It’s different when you’re on your own, and in the city. There is so much that seems good but is not, and you are so young—like a spring lamb.”

  She wasn’t young, she thought indignantly—she was seventeen! It was as if he didn’t think she could take care of herself, and she knew she could. “I’ll be all right, Joel,” she said.

  “Will you promise to take care?” he persisted, searching her face for the assurance he wanted.

  “Yes, I promise.”

  He didn’t look convinced. “Over in Lethbridge, if you need anything, look up David Lindford. He’s the friend I said I had over there.”

  Sevana merely nodded, not paying him serious attention—and as if he knew that, and felt the need to convince her more thoroughly, he went on: “He’ll do anything he can to help somebody out. I met him while he was pastoring the church in Cragmont. I liked him from the start, but it was when I did some woodworking in the new church building with him that I really got to know him. I developed a real respect for his intelligence and humor, and counsel in a bad time—it was shortly after I had broken things off with Chantal. He’s someone you can trust without exception. Just tell him you’re a neighbor of mine.”

  She noticed he didn’t put it in the past tense, even though this was the last night she would have that special status. “Maybe I will.” She said it for his sake, even though she was quite sure she would never look up a total stranger, uninvited and unannounced. Still, it was somehow reassuring to know there was a person over there Joel knew and trusted.

  “He’s got a little church on the outskirts of Lethbridge, which is his wife Krysta’s hometown,” Joel went on. “If you could meet them, I would feel better knowing you had friends already there.” Now that he had brought it up, he seemed to be counting on the fact that she would meet David and Krysta, and they would take her under their wing.

  But she could not promise him that. “Oh Joel,” she said earnestly, setting down her half-drunk tea on the arm of the chair, “I don’t know what’s ahead for me, but I do know I will never forget these days in the mountains. They have been so good! All the places you were so kind to show me—Snowshoe Meadow, and Landmark Lookout, and Fairy—I mean Frog Lake, and the wilderness—”

  “I can’t claim that one,” he said softly, yet teasing a little. “You undertook that one on your own. I won’t forget them either, Sevana. I didn’t know this summer I would find a friend.”

  She tried to smile, but the anguish in her heart made it impossible. The house was too close, Joel too near, his eyes too kind and too troubled for her to bear. “I’d better go,” she said. “I still have to pack tonight.”

  “I’ll take you down on Flint.” He was on his feet at the same time.

  “No,” she objected, “I don’t mind the walk. I even brought the gun.” She patted her coat pocket. “I didn’t come up here to make you go out in the cold again tonight.”

  “Seva
na, it’s not a question of the cold or anything else,” he said, reaching for his coat. “Not even the fresh cougar tracks I saw on the road below your house. If I can’t see you tomorrow, at least I can see you home.”

  He shut down the stove while Sevana stood staring at him without reply, knocked into an unnatural silence by his last remark. Maybe she had been followed last night, and some instinct had let her know. More often than not, she forgot how wild the place was. But you couldn’t afford to forget—you had to adapt to the place, because it would never adapt to you.

  “You know, Sevana,” Joel remarked irrelevantly as he turned out the light, “your hair is the same golden color as the grass on the ridgetops when I left the pass—” and in the lantern’s dying glow, he held open the door for her.

  The three-quarter moon was glaring on the rocks above timberline as they walked to the barn. While Joel got Flint from the stall, Sevana went among the sheep and found Goldthread by the moonlight from the small-paned windows. “Goodbye, little Goldthread,” she whispered as she knelt beside him, stroking his back. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I’ll miss you so much.” She held him a long moment, then reached for Hawthorn. “Goodbye, Hawthorn, you little goofball. You and Gyrfalcon stay out of trouble now. Bye, Blaze—I hope your leg is all better.” She found Thistle. “Bye, Thistle. Keep track of Joel for me, won’t you? See you, Brook—you stay close to home, you hear?”

  Hawthorn, awake and liking the attention he’d received, pressed in for more—and she threw her arms around his neck, holding his woolly head against her cheek. But looking up to see Joel at the door watching her with an enigmatic expression, she scrambled to her feet, dashing away an unbidden tear.

  As they rode across the yard, Sevana kept her eyes on the peaks until the trees swallowed up their black-and-silver etchings. “Goodbye, Old Stormy—goodbye, Bearclaw and Graystone,” she called to them silently. Year after year, the mountains would not change. Whenever she came back, they would still be there, exactly the same. She found some consolation in that.