Aspen in Moonlight

by Kelly Wacker

  “I’m sure you could,” Sula said in a low voice, her body instantly responding to Melissa’s voice. A suggestive comment, a look, a touch…that was all it took for Sula to be consumed with desire. No woman ever had this kind of drawing power over her. Sula dropped the clothes with a wet thud by her feet, and just as she reached out to take Melissa into her arms, the teakettle downstairs began to whistle—a terrible, shrill sound, one designed not to be ignored. She grunted in frustration.

  Melissa laughed and tucked the corner of the towel back in against her damp skin. “I’ll take Earl Grey, if you have it.”

  “I do.” Sula picked the clothes up off the floor again and moved toward the door, the shrieking kettle compelling her to rush downstairs. She nodded toward the bed. “I put some clothes out for you. I think they’ll fit well enough.”

  “Thanks,” Melissa said. “I’ll be down in a flash. I have something you need to see.”

  “I can bring the tea up here.” Sula paused in the doorway with a salacious grin. “You could show me here.”

  “I need to show you something about a painting,” Melissa said with a laugh. “I’ll show you more of me later. I promise.”

  “I’ll hold you to it,” Sula said and strode down the hall.

  When Melissa came into the kitchen, Sula couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Melissa had folded up the legs of the baggy jeans two turns, and the mossy-green flannel shirt could have been belted and worn as a dress. “That’s a good color on you.”

  “At least the color fits.” Melissa smiled as she finished rolling up the sleeves. “The rest of it, not so much. You won’t have to worry about me ever borrowing your clothes.”

  “Aw, but you look so cute,” Sula said.

  “You think I’m cute?”

  “Yes. Quite cute, in fact.”

  “You know, you’ve never told me that you find me attractive.” Melissa raised her eyebrows.

  “Oh…I figured it went without saying.”

  “Well, I’ve surmised that you do.” Melissa’s expression was serious. “It’s important to express things with words, too, you know. It feels good to hear them. Don’t you like to be complimented?”

  The thought made Sula uncomfortable. “I guess so.”

  “You don’t sound very convincing.”

  “Well…I don’t like it when too much attention is on me.”

  “You’re funny, Sula.” Melissa lifted the teabag out of her cup, squeezed it, and placed it on a shallow dish on the counter. “You’re the director of a significant organization. You meet people all the time, pitch your programs, give presentations, yet you say you don’t like to be in the spotlight.”

  “That’s different. It’s my job. It’s the role I play.”

  “I get that. It’s like teaching. I perform my role of professor, three shows a day.”

  “Yeah, something like that.” Sula opened the refrigerator, pulled out a carton of milk, and set it on the counter.

  “I think maybe you’re an extroverted introvert.”

  “You’re probably right.” Sula opened a cabinet and heard Melissa inhale sharply behind her. She turned around. “What’s wrong?”

  Melissa pointed at the contents of the cabinet. “I have never seen so many jars of honey outside of a grocery store. How many do you have?”

  “I don’t know, exactly…a lot?”

  Melissa laughed and read the labels out loud. “Orange blossom, wildflower, alfalfa, clover, buckwheat, dandelion, lavender, acacia, hawthorn, sunflower…I’m guessing the unlabeled jar is from Betty’s hives?”

  Sula nodded.

  “That makes ten varieties.”

  “Eleven.” Sula reached forward and picked up a jar from the back of a shelf with a label describing it as manuka honey. “I haven’t tried this one yet.”

  “I’ve never heard of manuka. Is it a flower?”

  “Yeah. It’s in the myrtle family. Native to New Zealand. My parents sent it.”

  “With all this honey I’m surprised you don’t have a bear breaking into this house.” Melissa pantomimed a bear clawing at the cupboard.

  Sula chuckled at Melissa’s imitation and couldn’t resist a private joke. “She doesn’t need to break in…she has a key.”

  Melissa laughed. “On top of everything else, you’re a connoisseur of honey.”

  “I like honey the way people like wine. You can taste the terroir, as they say. The bees make the honey, but honey is a distillation of the nectar they gather from the flowers they visit, from plants that have been soaking up the sun and nutrients in the soil where they grow.” Sula reached for the lavender honey.

  Melissa cocked her head and smiled. “You’re a bee philosopher, too.”

  “A philosophy of bees.” Sula pondered that possibility for a moment. “Sounds like the title of an interesting book.” She poured some of the viscous amber liquid into her tea and offered the jar to Melissa. “You want some?”

  “No, thanks. I prefer Earl Grey without anything in it.”

  Sula prepared her tea and raised her cup. “So what did you want to show me? I’m curious.”

  “Follow me.” Melissa led her into the dining room, where a painting lay facedown on the blanket-covered table, the paper backing removed and set aside.

  “This is the painting that hangs above your bed.”

  “I figured as much. I noticed it was missing.” Sula sipped her tea and watched Melissa as she walked to the far side of the table.

  Melissa pointed to a bundle of old envelopes. “I found these inside the painting.”

  “What?” Sula looked at them more closely. “Letters?”

  “Yep.”

  Sula put her cup down, careful to keep it away from the painting and the envelopes in front of her. She picked up the letters, inspecting them. The envelope on top was addressed to Evelyn Llewellyn in Lyons, Colorado, postmarked 1939.

  “Evelyn Llewellyn was my grandmother, Sula.”

  “Really?” Sula glanced at Melissa, her eyes wide. “And you didn’t open them?”

  “No. I didn’t think it was right to do that without you present. I mean, technically, they’re your letters. I was afraid I’d give in before you got home, so I decided to remove myself from the temptation and go for a walk.”

  “Oh, so that’s why you went out. I couldn’t figure out why you’d go walking in an electrical storm.”

  “It wasn’t raining when I left, silly. It blew in so fast, I got caught in it.”

  “Yeah. Mountain storms do that.” Sula’s words trailed off as her attention shifted back to the envelopes in her hand. Absorbing the information, she stated the obvious. “These were in a painting I own, but they’re addressed to your great-grandmother.”

  “Hence my temptation and decision to walk away. Even so, they don’t belong to me.”

  “You’re very ethical, Doc.”

  Melissa smiled, looking pleased, and bumped her shoulder against Sula’s “Thanks for noticing.”

  “You’re welcome,” Sula said and untied the string. All the envelopes were written in the same hand and addressed to Evelyn. The same sender’s name and city was written on the back of the envelopes, without a street address, just Ursula Bergen, Buckhorn, Colo.

  Melissa gasped. “Your great-grandmother was writing to my great-grandmother.”

  “So it would seem.” Sula touched the writing on the envelope lightly with her fingertips. “The handwriting is beautiful. No one writes like this anymore.”

  “It’s very elegant but also easy to read. It makes sense when you think about it in the context of the time. Typewriters existed, but they were used more for business, and lots of things still got written out by hand, from letters to ledger books. You had to have good penmanship, or people couldn’t read what you wrote.”

  Sula nodded and offered the letters to Melissa. “You found them, you should do the honors.”

  “I think we should read them together and in chronological order.” Melissa sat in th
e nearest dining chair and selected an envelope. “This one is the oldest.”

  Sula moved a chair close to Melissa as she carefully removed the letter from the envelope. Sitting silently, one shoulder and thigh barely touching Sula’s, Melissa read aloud the first of the letters.

  August 11, 1938

  My Dearest Evy,

  I miss you terribly. You left the ranch two weeks ago, but it seems like you have been gone for months. I find myself turning around to tell you something, only to discover that you are not there. It makes my heart heavy, yet I feel your presence all around me. In fact, right now I have your lovely scarf that you gave to me as a reminder of you wrapped around my neck as I write. Your perfume clings to it, and if I close my eyes it is almost as if you are nearby. It is also quite useful in keeping the chill at bay. The nights are growing colder, and before long I will be skimming ice off the horses’ water tank in the mornings. I put your scarf on to go outside and gaze at the full moon a little while ago. It is exquisite tonight, crystal clear and bright. I imagined that you, down there on the edge of the flatland, were looking up at it at the same time. It is a wondrous thing to believe that we could be looking at the same object at the same time and thinking of one another. It comforted me momentarily…

  Melissa stopped reading abruptly, lowering the letter with an expression of shock. Sula, one hand grasping her chin pensively, met Melissa’s gaze, and she suspected the look on her own face mirrored Melissa’s.

  “Sula, this is a love letter!”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Two cups of tea later, Melissa and Sula had taken turns reading through the letters and now stared at each other in quiet disbelief. It was a lot to take in. The letters, all from Ursula to Evelyn, made it clear that they had been secret lovers, and Ursula had commented more than once about Evelyn’s parents’ disapproval of their “friendship.” Knowing Ursula had a young daughter but was unmarried, Melissa wondered if they were critical about that or if they suspected that their daughter’s relationship to the mountain rancher woman went beyond friendly. The more she learned, the more questions she had. At the moment, she marveled at the discovery that their ancestors not only knew each other but might have loved each other.

  Melissa broke the silence. “Does it seem at all incestuous to you that our great-grandmothers were lovers?”

  Sula’s eyebrows shot upward. “Not at all! We’re not related.”

  “Good. I feel the same way, but I wanted to check.” Melissa studied Sula’s face, her expression difficult to read. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m not sure…I mean, I don’t know how to put it into words exactly, but…” Sula pointed to the letters on the table. “Somehow this all seems significant where we’re concerned.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Sula stared at the ceiling as if she might find the words she was looking for floating around in the rafters. “This might sound crazy, but it’s like we have a genetic predisposition for one another.”

  “That sounds so clinical. I’d like to think you were attracted to my intelligence and good looks.”

  “Oh, I was! I mean, I am. Don’t get me wrong,” Sula said, the sudden intensity of her gaze unexpected. Her eyes flashed like glowing embers in a fire, reminding Melissa of the first time she saw her. Sula continued. “Your intelligence and good looks are only part of what I find so very attractive about you. You teach me things, and you make me think. You make me laugh, too. A lot. And I love that we have shared interests. You’re fascinated by so many of the things that are important to me. Nothing’s been the same since we met, Melissa. And I just keep thinking about how Ursula’s paintings brought you here and that our great-grandmothers knew each other—”

  “Were lovers,” Melissa said gently.

  “Yes, lovers…” Sula shifted her gaze to the letters. “It feels like we were supposed to meet.” Sula turned her head, and when their eyes locked, Melissa’s insides quivered, an achingly sweet sensation.

  “It sounds like you’re talking about fate.”

  “I suppose I might be.”

  “Do you believe in it?” Melissa asked, narrowing her eyes at Sula, surprised at the unexpected shift to metaphysics in their conversation.

  “I didn’t use to. But I might be reconsidering. How about you?”

  “I do.” Melissa answered without giving it a second thought, then paused to reflect on the words that had just come out of her mouth. They surprised her…but fate, or something like it, seemed to be at play. She considered the time she’d spent in her childhood staring at the paintings in her grandmother’s dining room and wondering about the places they depicted, imagining herself there. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been following a circuitous path leading to this summer and this place, where there had suddenly become here. “I know you shouldn’t cross the Fates. My study of art, mythology, and literature has informed me very clearly on this fact. Doing that makes for compelling subject matter—very dramatic…and messy. They don’t like it when you deviate from their plans.”

  “Well, then, we probably shouldn’t do anything stupid to anger the Fates.” Sula spoke in a conspiratorial tone while sliding her hand up Melissa’s arm, under the rolled-up sleeve of her borrowed shirt. Her hand was wonderfully warm.

  “Mmm…” Melissa hummed, closing her eyes as she relaxed into the gentle pressure of Sula’s touch. Just as she began to consider how good it would feel to have Sula’s hands on other parts of her body, the patter of feline feet running through the adjacent kitchen distracted her. She opened her eyes just in time to see two wide-eyed tabbies midair, about to land on the table. She leaned forward, putting her hands out, to protect the letters.

  “I think they’re telling me it’s past their dinnertime,” Sula said, shooing them away. “And speaking of dinner, are you hungry?”

  “Starving, actually,” Melissa said, gathering the letters. She’d been hungry for a while but didn’t want to break away from the letters.

  “How about dinner out? Yours clothe should be dry by now. We haven’t been to the Buckaroo.”

  Melissa wanted more of Sula’s caresses and kisses, but dinner instead was probably a good idea. It would fortify her for later. “I’ve read about that restaurant and would love to go. But it’s nice, isn’t it? I’m not sure I’ve got the right attire here.”

  “It’s a little upscale, but it’s mountain casual—no flip-flops, no shorts, no holes in your clothes. Otherwise, a shirt with a collar and jeans or khakis are fine. Those pants and that shirt you were wearing yesterday are in the dryer, and they’ll be perfect. Dress up any more than that, and people will look at you funny.”

  Melissa laughed, understanding exactly what Sula meant. In the South, “casual” meant something different: dress pants or a skirt for women and a button-up shirt and sport jacket if you were a man. Jeans would not qualify. While Sula fed the cats, Melissa changed into her freshly laundered olive denim pants and pale-coral blouse. Sula traded her T-shirt for a tailored light-blue button-up shirt, and within a half hour they were on the road to Buckhorn.

  Melissa was content to let Sula drive, leaving her to happily observe the passing landscape. The sky had cleared hours ago, and the sun was low, the last warm light of the day falling through the trees at a raking angle, dramatically illuminating the cracked reddish bark of the pines. Approaching the outskirts of town, Sula commented that the truck was running low on gas and apologized for the delay as she turned in to a station.

  While Sula pumped gas, a big pickup truck pulling up to the other row of pumps caught Melissa’s attention. She glanced over at the shiny red Dodge Ram blazoned with chrome trim. With a start, she recognized the driver—it was difficult not to mistake the long, lean figure of the Buckhorn Creek Ranch’s former stable manager sliding out of the tall truck. The sound of the gas cover snapping into place startled her, and she twisted around to see Sula tearing the receipt from the pump. Her gaze followed Sula as she walked alongside t
he truck, head down, looking at the strip of paper, oblivious to Melissa’s failed attempt to quietly draw her attention to Kerry’s presence on the other side of the truck.

  When Sula finally lifted her head, she stopped abruptly when she saw Kerry staring at her with a sideways grin. Straightening her posture in response, Sula seemed suddenly more imposing. Without breaking eye contact, she tucked the receipt into her pocket.

  Kerry sauntered closer to Sula, talking as she walked. Sula replied and they exchanged words, although from the insulated cab of the truck, Melissa couldn’t hear anything. However, their body language spoke loud and clear. Thumbs hooked into the pockets of her jeans, Kerry seemed comfortably at ease. Conversely, Sula stood stiffly and glanced sideways several times toward Melissa. If Sula had hackles, they’d have been raised. Kerry turned to face Melissa and, with a wolfish grin, waggled her fingers at her. Melissa smiled half-heartedly and raised her hand in return.

  Sula tilted her head and leaned forward quickly. Melissa could have sworn she saw Sula’s nostrils flare. The action prompted Kerry to turn her attention back to Sula, who said something and then walked past Kerry brusquely. When Sula got into the truck she was frowning, a deep crease forming between her eyebrows. Melissa glanced through the windshield at Kerry. Still wearing that cocksure grin, she nodded to both of them, turned, and swaggered over to the gas pump nearest her truck.

  Sula made a guttural sound, like a growl, but not the sexy kind that made Melissa weak in the knees. This one conveyed simmering anger.

  “So, what were you two talking about?” Melissa asked as Sula started the engine and put the truck in gear.

  “Not much,” Sula said as she navigated back to the highway. “I asked her what she was doing now that she wasn’t working for Betty, and she didn’t answer. She seemed more interested in talking about you.”

  “Huh. Are you a jealous bear? I swear I saw your hackles rise out there.”

  “Oh, you saw my hackles, did you? I thought I did a better job of hiding them.” Sula let out a dry laugh, and the crease between her eyes eased as a smile reappeared on her lips. “I’m not the jealous type, if you’re worried about that, and I’m certainly not concerned about Kerry in that way.” Sula sighed. “Something about her’s bothering me, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. And it’s odd that she didn’t want to talk about what she’s doing now. She’s usually one to brag.”