Stony River

by Ciarra Montanna

  In the upheaval that his life had become, it was welcome to have someone to come home to. Someone to share his turmoil. The memory of Sevana in her sable-black dress and pearls with that high-fashion painter friend of hers, had robbed him of his fledgling hope. He had been imagining her as he’d known her, but of course she had gone on with her life. And someone like Sevana would not be alone for long in the real world.

  Yes, the real world. Funny how even though he knew better, he had kept the image of her living down the hill in this far-off valley where nothing ever moved forward. But out in society, life moved ahead, went places. And Sevana had gone with it, away from him.

  And how perfectly suited she was for that life! It was everything she wanted. Even if she was free, it wouldn’t be fair to ask her to leave what she had found there, to come back to this static place, this lonely, standing-still mountain.

  And Chantal was here, she wanted him, she had been his entire obsession for years. And in his tiredness and emotional upheaval, he told himself ideals be confounded, she had already left the Mountie so he wouldn’t be blamed for tearing the two apart, and told her in a rush that if she would wait for him to come back, he would marry her. And she said she would wait—would wait her entire life for the chance to be with him. It was one of those rare, earth-shaking moments when something consequential occurs, something pivotal is decided that changes the course of a lifetime.

  He took out the ring he’d bought for her and hadn’t had the heart to sell, and she put it on, overwhelmed with emotion. To think, he had saved it for her all those years. It seemed so right. It marked the end to five years of unhappiness—and the continuation of something that should never have been interrupted all those years ago.

  But there was little time to savor the fact or plan the future, there was so much to do. The windows had to be boarded up, the valuable tools and violins hidden in the attic, the foodstuffs sealed and stored. They moved in an air of unreality, Chantal holding the light while he bolted the snow-shutters, both of them a bit giddy in the status of their new relationship—after all this time, the denial and the questions, the debate back and forth, to say they were engaged.

  In snatches they discussed it. Chantal had a big house on the Bay with a view of the mountains she was sure Joel would love; but she would give it up, along with her career, to come and freelance on his homestead. She would only live in Vancouver until he came to get her, to start their new life together in that very cabin. And Joel looked meditative and said she wouldn’t necessarily have to give anything up. He told her about his longstanding job offer. She said in her wildest dreams she’d never thought she could have both—but she didn’t want him to be unhappy. He said he would take great pleasure in seeing her happy. It was something they could consider, even if he didn’t take the job right away. It would be there to fall back on, if at any time they felt their life in the wilds was lacking.

  Almost at dawn, the cabin finally in readiness, too tired even to talk any more, they fell across the Hudson’s Bay blanket in their dusty clothes and slept for a few hours, Chantal in the crook of his arm. It was a consolation to have her at his side. He found her hand in the darkness and traced his finger over the ring. But as he fell into an exhausted sleep, the picture of Sevana with her hand on the pearls at her throat as she watched him walk away, her eyes dark with an unrevealed depth of feeling, was the image that filled his head.

  Sevana was more absent than present at work the next day, longing for closing time when she could take a walk and be alone with her thoughts. Willy, on the other hand, astutely guessing the reason for her preoccupation and wanting the attention for himself, talked non-stop for most of the day, and just before quitting time deliberately drew her into a critique of Jillian’s most recent innovation, an eye-twisting rendition of a Model-T that had caught her eye in a car magazine. But when he saw the conversation could not hold her, he played his ultimate card—offering to drive her home to get the book she wanted. Sevana, about to slip out the door, hesitated. If she was going to paint David and Krysta a picture, she did need the book. It shouldn’t take more than an hour to run over to his house and back. She accepted the invitation.

  Arriving at his house, Willy presented Sevana with an oversized photo book of the Canadian Rockies from the massive cherry-wood bookcase in the living room, and flicked on an ornate table lamp. “Here you go,” he said. “It’s in here somewhere. I’m going to mix up a little hot buttered rum. You do drink hot rum, don’t you? It’s good for you, you know.”

  Sevana didn’t know, but she said gamely, “I’ll try a little.”

  While Willy was busy in the kitchen, Sevana sat on the couch and turned the glossy pages. There were mountains in that book to her heart’s content, and rivers and trees and flowers… She was lost in them when Willy came in and set two frothy mugs on the end table. “Finding anything?” he asked, sitting close so he could see the book.

  “Yes!” She looked up raptly. “Ever so many things. Now the problem is not finding a subject, but deciding between so many.”

  He chuckled. “An interesting dilemma. Show me what has taken your fancy.”

  She turned back to show him all the pictures she had been considering. The beauty of the scenery had filled her with fervor, and she was enjoying herself immensely. Willy, on the other hand, was more intrigued by the dancing that had come into her eyes than anything he found in the book. Then Sevana gave a little cry as she turned to a new scene of wildflowers backguarded by stormy purple peaks. “Here it is! It’s perfect, don’t you think?”

  “That’s the one,” he confirmed. “Detailing that whole meadow would take some time, of course—but it’s rich in color and lively in contrast. You know,” he was still considering it with his professional eye, “I think I would exaggerate the size of the foreground flowers. I painted a picture similar to it once, and that’s what I did—came out nice.” He took the book out of her hands and closed it, setting it on the other side of him. “Don’t forget to take it with you when you go home,” he said, as if that event was still a long way in the future. Just then the doorbell chimed.

  “Drat,” said Willy, getting up to answer it. Sevana heard familiar voices, and followed him into the kitchen to see Ralf and Len. Willy turned to her. “Sevana, these jokers are headed out to the Roadhouse, and they want us to come with.”

  “Come on.” Ralf flashed her a grin. “Jill’s out in the car.” They were all looking at her.

  “All right.” She didn’t want to disappoint everyone. And she did like being with Willy and his friends. As long as she kept away from any mystery drinks and didn’t stray from their table, surely Joel could not object.

  Willy looked pleased, if surprised. “Then we’re off!” he cried gaily. “We’ll follow in the Jag.” They tailed Ralf’s low-riding car through the streets.

  That evening Sevana did as she resolved, drinking nothing but a ginger-ale. She was quiet, introspective, thinking of the person she had seen in that same room only last night—caught herself checking the perimeters of the room for a lone man sitting apart from the din. She wished she knew how much time they would have together when he came back. But regardless, she would plan a special dinner just in case she had the chance to cook it for him. She pulled herself from her thoughts to smile as the others laughed at a joke which Len had told, and she had not heard.

  It was a long night while her friends grew loud playing a witless game involving quarter dollars and shots of whisky. Fortunately Jillian wasn’t as much of a drinker as the others and dropped out after a while, moving her chair over by Sevana’s. But the place was too loud for any connected conversation, so they merely chatted about possible colors for Jillian’s roadster (which Sevana had yet to set sight on), and split an order of hors d’oeuvres and later a sandwich. Sevana was not entirely easy for being there; she half-expected to see Ryder appear as punishment. She should be home getting ready for Joel’s visit, or starting the Lindfords’ picture, or working on her
class assignment or—oh, a dozen things, instead of sitting in this noisy, smoke-filled den. She had always fancied herself an independent person, but she wasn’t. Otherwise she would have asked Willy to drop her off on his way out here. She rubbed her hand discontentedly back and forth along the edge of the table. More backbone was what she needed.

  She nearly made up her mind to walk home, mentally tracing the route to judge its plausibility in the dark—but when she went to the door plotting the tentative escape, she was shocked to see a cold autumn rain streaming through the bare branches of the maples. She hadn’t even brought a coat. Disgruntled, she gave up the idea and returned to her chair.

  When she remarked that she wished the evening was over, Jillian yawned and said she was thinking the same thing—it was almost midnight her time. She thought she could round up the men by telling Ralf she was ready to go. By then the game was over anyway, and the party broke up at Jillian’s request. Willy’s eyes were bright and he was talking louder than normal, but he could tolerate a great deal of liquor without being fully intoxicated. Outside, the others were also surprised to see the rain and remarked on it as unexpected, especially after another day of exceptionally nice weather. Willy hurried Sevana to the car and drove her home with water pooling over the foggy windshield. “Hey,” he said as he pulled over to the curb, “we forgot the book.”

  It was true. The whole evening had been ill-spent, wasted. “I’ll get it another time.” The last thing she wanted to do was go back to his house so late, with him still affected by his drinking. He acted on the edge of being unpredictable, and she had no desire to deal with him any further that night.

  “All right, I’ll walk you upstairs.”

  “Don’t bother, it’s wet out here,” she said—but he was already coming around the car.

  “Thanks for going tonight, Sevana.” He draped his arm heavily around her shoulders as he escorted her up the stairs. “It means a lot for me to be with all my friends. Looking at you tonight—you were the prettiest girl in the whole room, do you know that? With your attention-stealing eyes, and the way your face lights up when you smile, and your hair that looks like it’s touched by sunshine even in a dark room…you’d stand out in any crowd. I’ve never known anyone like you, Sevana.” He rambled on in his flattery as they reached the balcony, where Sevana saw, unmistakably, that muddy lug-soled boots had crossed the wet decking. “Someone’s been here,” she said quickly, a bit breathlessly. Joel and Fenn wore boots like that. Not many people in town did. Maybe a rancher from church… She couldn’t think who might be visiting her that late, rainy night.

  “Maybe Ryder found out where you lived,” Willy offered supportively.

  She was annoyed with him for suggesting it, but at the same time gripped with unease, wondering whom she had missed—or if, as Willy so readily suggested, it was someone she would rather not know about. She had been thinking about Ryder just that evening. Was it only a coincidence? But she put on a calm front as she turned and thanked her escort for the ride home.

  But Willy said if Ryder was stalking her, maybe he should make sure he wasn’t waiting for her inside. And in the starless night, with the deserted town-buildings around them and the mist floating through the dead street, Sevana was nervous enough to agree.

  Entering the apartment, Willy strode assertively through the rooms looking for Ryder in every shadowy corner. When no such intruder was located, Sevana offered hot chocolate to her gallant defender, and while he drank it, he came up with several inspired suggestions of what they could do with the rest of the night. But though he was of no mind to go, she finally persuaded him she was too tired for further company. As the only gentlemanly option left him, Willy took his leave—but not without a parting comment in the doorway, his eyes guarding her like a jealous possession as he said, “Thanks again for our night out together, Sevana. We’ll do it again soon,”—and kissed her full on the lips before he went down the stairway and into the heavy rain.

  Sevana locked the door behind him and sank onto the couch. For as late as it was, she wasn’t tired—that had been a ruse to get rid of Willy. Really, she was keyed up over that patience-trying evening, and worried—no longer about Ryder, but Willy. Willy was getting too fond of her—he was becoming more aggressive. She should have objected when he kissed her that way. She had told him she wanted to keep their friendship where it was, and instead he acted as if he considered them in an established relationship. Of course, he was also half-drunk.

  She wondered the reason for the deluge outside. There were even erratic gusts of wind as though some major change was blowing in. Then there was a different sound in the dripping rain—it came from the stairs. Alerted, she leaned forward to listen. Willy was coming back to tell her he wasn’t taking no for an answer, or Ryder had seen Willy drive away and knew she was alone. At least the door was locked. Someone was on the balcony—they were rapping at the entry. On her feet with a pounding heart, she about to steal into the bedroom and lock herself in—when recognizing the voice calling her name, she reversed course with lightning speed and ran to yank the door wide open. Her erstwhile neighbor stood there illumined by the porch light, drops of water glistening on his hair and running down his overcoat.

  CHAPTER 41

  “Joel!” Despite the bewilderment of seeing him there, a feeling of goodness swept her, a surge of singular, unsummoned joy, to be looking into those dark, smiling eyes again. “I didn’t think I’d see you so soon.” She hastened to bring him in out of the rain.

  “I’m sorry it’s so late,” he said as he stepped inside. “But do you have a few minutes we could talk? I stopped by earlier, but you weren’t home.”

  “You were here?” Remorse pierced her as with a knifepoint. “I’m sorry, Joel,” she said, very sorry indeed. “I just went over to Willy’s for a book, but he wanted to go to the Roadhouse.” Oh, why had she been squandering her time so foolishly, when she could have been with him?

  “That’s all right. It gave me a chance to visit David, which I wouldn’t have taken time for otherwise. But you still weren’t home when I came back, so I waited in my truck. Then I saw you come back with Willy, so I waited him out, too.” He didn’t mention he’d had an unblocked view of her door when Willy said goodnight.

  “I’m so sorry,” she apologized again. “If I’d known you were coming tonight, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere.” Then it occurred to her they were still standing in the middle of the room, and he was quite wet. “Let me take your coat.”

  “I can’t stay long.” But he perfunctorily unbuttoned his overcoat and handed it to her. He had on a familiar hickory workshirt with the sleeves rolled up, and the same workboots he always wore. His hair was curling in damp strands. “I’ve been working with the sheep,” he said, apologizing for the way he was dressed.

  “You look just the way I remember you,” she said happily. As she hung the coat on the back of the door, she caught a whiff of woodsmoke and pine and soap that was crushingly dear and familiar. But while he did look the same, there was a difference in him she could detect. Nothing much—a few traces of weariness in his face, perhaps, as if he hadn’t slept well the night before. But something had changed in his bearing toward her, some subtle thing she could not identify.

  Joel had stepped into the room with the weight of an uncertain journey upon him, and all its accompanying demands and urgency; but the sight of the slender girl standing before him in a skirt and embroidered sweater, the soft luster of her hair a harmony of tones darker now from the winter, and her skin as creamy as the petals of the wakerobin flowering in the deep woods in springtime, mysteriously stole away that burden. As last night, it struck him how much older she seemed now, so much more sure of herself. She was even prettier, if that was possible—and her eyes! They were of a vibrant depth one did not often see, perhaps because they mirrored the ability to create beauty that she harbored in her soul. In a single instant, he discovered within himself a great dissatisfaction that he could spend
only a few minutes observing those mystical, candlelit eyes, instead of day after day in the meadow as he used to. He purposely directed his gaze around the room. “Pretty nice place.”

  “It’s just right for work.” Suddenly she realized the flowers he’d given her were in plain sight on the table—and afraid he would recognize them and think her overly nostalgic for keeping them, she hastened him toward the couch. “Did you have dinner?”

  “Yes, an all-out feast at the sheep ranch. The rancher’s wife insisted. I think she misses cooking for her grown children.”

  “Can I get you anything now?”

  “No, thanks, I’m good.” He stretched out his long legs in front of him.

  She perched beside him tentatively, sensing something portentous in this late-night visit—and in the certain knowledge she was about to learn what it was, felt her poise beginning to slip. “Just a minute,” she said, jumping up again. She brought a candle to the coffee table and turned off the overhead light, so they sat in the glow of the single flame. “I bought it so you would feel at home when you came to visit,” she explained unaffectedly.

  Joel laughed, liking the fact that she’d thought of him; and didn’t tell her that he regarded his method of illumination not as a matter of atmosphere but only necessity—had even wished for electric lights when the lanternshine was too dull for the finer details of his craft in the long dark of early winter evenings. “I appreciate the thought. And I wish I could stay for a real visit, but I’ve only got a few minutes. You see, Sevana, I’m headed north. I just stopped to say goodbye.”

  “North?” She repeated it stupidly, as if she didn’t know what direction that was. “Why?”

  “I’m going up to help out my father.”

  “To the Yukon?” She was still bewildered by the news. It was the wrong time of year to be heading toward the arctic.