Victoria brushed the matter aside with the graceful wave of one hand. “No rush on that. We can discuss it later.”
“I’m paying rent, Victoria. If you don’t let me, the deal’s off.”
“I agreed that you could pay rent, sweetheart. It’s just that I have no idea how much to charge. Why don’t you see what shape things are in when you get there? Then you can pay me whatever you think the place merits.”
“I’d rather pay you in advance.”
“And I’d rather wait.”
“You’re being pertinacious.”
Victoria wasn’t sure what “pertinacious” meant, but she could guess. “That’s right.”
“Fine. I’ll wait as you’ve asked, but so help me, Victoria, if you return my check—”
“I won’t,” Victoria said, fully confident that it wouldn’t come to that. “Have faith, Leah. Have faith.”
* * *
LEAH HAD FAITH. It grew day by day, along with her enthusiasm. She surprised herself at times, because she truly was a died-in-the-wool urbanite. Yet something about an abrupt change in life-style appealed to her for the very first time. She wondered if it had something to do with her age; perhaps the thirties brought boldness. Or desperation. No, she didn’t want to think that. Perhaps she was simply staging a belated rebellion against the way of life she’d known from birth.
It had been years since she’d taken a vacation, much less one to a remote spot. She remembered short jaunts to Cape Cod with her parents, when she’d been a child and remote had consisted of isolated sand dunes and sunrise sails. The trips she’d taken with her husband had never been remote in any sense. Inevitably they’d been tied to his work, and she’d found them far from relaxing. Richard had been constantly on, which wouldn’t have bothered her if he hadn’t been so fussy about how she looked and behaved when she was by his side. Not that she’d given him cause for complaint; she’d been born and bred in the urban arena and knew how to play its games when necessary. Unfortunately Richard’s games had incorporated rules she hadn’t anticipated.
But Leah wasn’t thinking about Richard on the day in late March when she left Manhattan. She was thinking of the gut instinct that told her she was doing the right thing. And she was thinking of the farewell dinner Victoria had insisted on treating her to the night before.
They’d spent the better part of the meal chatting about incidentals. Only when they’d reached dessert did they get around to the nitty-gritty. “You’re all set to go, then?”
“You bet.”
Victoria had had many a qualm in the three weeks since she’d suggested the plan, and in truth, she was feeling a little like a weasel. It was fine and dandy, she knew, to say that she had Leah’s best interests at heart. She was still being manipulative, and Leah was bound to be angry when she discovered the fact. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
“Uh-huh.”
“There isn’t any air-conditioning.”
“In the mountains? I should hope not.”
“Or phone.”
“So you’ve told me,” Leah said with a smile. “Twice. I’ll give you a call from town once I’m settled.”
Victoria wasn’t sure whether to look forward to that or not. “Did the storage people get all your furniture?”
“This morning.”
“My Lord, that means the bed, too! Where will you sleep tonight?”
“On the floor. And no, I don’t want the green room. I’ve about had it with packing. Everything’s ready to go from my place. All I’ll have to do in the morning is load up the car and take off.”
A night on the bare floor. Victoria felt guiltier than ever, but she knew a stubborn expression when she saw one. “Is the car okay?”
It was a demo Volkswagen Golf that Leah had bought from a dealer three days before. “The car is fine.”
“Can you drive it?”
“Sure can.”
“You haven’t driven in years, Leah.”
“It’s like riding a bike—you never forget how. Isn’t that what you told me two weeks ago? Come on, Victoria. It’s not like you to be a worrywart.”
She was right. Still, Victoria felt uncomfortable. With Deirdre and Neil, there had been a single phone call from each and they’d been on their way. With Leah it had meant three weeks of deception, which seemed to make the crime that much greater.
But what was done was done. Leah’s mind was set. Her arrangements were made. She was going.
Taking a deep breath, Victoria produced first a reassuring smile, then two envelopes from her purse. “Directions to the cabin,” she said, handing over the top one. “I had my secretary type them up, and they’re quite detailed.” Cautiously she watched Leah remove the paper and scan it. She knew the exact moment Leah reached the instructions on the bottom, and responded to her frown by explaining, “Garrick Rodenhiser is a trapper. His cabin is several miles from mine by car, but there’s an old logging trail through the woods that will get you there on foot in no time. In case of emergency you’re to contact him. He’s a good man. He’ll help you in any way he can.”
“Goodness,” Leah murmured distractedly as she reread the directions, “you sound as though you expect trouble.”
“Nonsense. But I do trust Garrick. When I’m up there alone myself, it’s a comfort knowing he’s around.”
“Well—” Leah folded the paper and returned it to the envelope “—I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“So you will be,” Victoria declared, holding out the second envelope. “For Garrick. Deliver it for me?”
Leah took it, then turned it over and over. It was sealed and opaque, with the trapper’s name written on the front in Victoria’s elegant script. “A love letter?” she teased, tapping the tip of the envelope against her nose. “Somehow I can’t imagine you with a craggy old trapper.”
“Craggy old trappers can be very nice.”
“Are there lots of them up there?”
“A few.”
“Don’t they smell?”
Victoria laughed. “That’s precious, Leah.”
“They don’t?”
“Not badly.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, that’s good. Y’know, this trip could well be educational.”
That was, in many ways, how Leah thought of it as she worked her way through the midtown traffic. The car was packed to the hilt with clothing and other essentials, boxes of books, a tape deck and three cases of cassettes, plus sundry supplies. She had dozens of plans, projects to keep her busy over and above the crossword puzzles she intended to create.
Filling her mind with these prospects was in part a defense mechanism, she knew, and it was successful only to a point. There remained a certain wistfulness in leaving the loft where she’d been independent for the first time in her life, saying goodbye to the little man at the corner kiosk from whom she’d bought the Times each day, bidding a silent farewell to the theaters and restaurants and museums she wouldn’t be visiting for a while.
The exhaust fumes that surrounded her were as familiar as the traffic. Not so the sense of nostalgia that assailed her as she navigated the Golf through the streets. She’d loved New York from the time she’d been old enough to appreciate it as a city. Her parents’ apartment had been modest by New York standards, but Central Park had been free to all, as had Fifth Avenue, Rockefeller Center and Washington Square.
Memories. A few close friends. The kind of anonymity she liked. Such was New York. But they’d all be there when she returned. Determinedly squaring her shoulders, she thrust off sentimentality in favor of practicality, which at the moment meant avoiding swerving taxis and swarming pedestrians as she headed toward the East River.
Traffic was surprisingly heavy for ten in the morning, and Leah was the kind of driver others either loved or hated. When in doubt she yielded the road, which meant grins on the faces of those who cut her off and impatient honks from those behind her. She was relieved to leave the concrete jungle behind and star
t north on the thruway.
It was a sunny day, mild for March, a good omen, she decided. Though she’d brought heavier clothes with her, she was glad she’d worn a pair of lightweight knit pants and a loose cashmere sweater for the drive. She was comfortable and increasingly relaxed as she coasted in the limbo between city and country.
By the time she reached the outskirts of Boston, it was two o’clock and she was famished. As eager to stretch as to eat, she pulled into a Burger King on the turnpike and climbed from the car, pausing only to grab for her jacket before heading for the restaurant. The sun was lost behind cloud cover that had gathered since she’d reached the Massachusetts border, and the air had grown chilly. Knowing that she had another three hours of driving before her, and desperately wanting to reach the cabin before dark, she gulped down a burger and a Coke, used the rest rooms, then was quickly on her way again.
The sky darkened progressively. With the New Hampshire border came a light drizzle. So much for good omens, she mused silently as she turned one switch after another until at last she hit paydirt with the windshield wipers. Within half an hour she set them to swishing double time.
It was pouring. Dark, gloomy, cold and wet. Leah thanked her lucky stars that she’d read the directions so many times before she’d left, because she loathed the idea of pulling over to the side of the road even for the briefest of moments. With the typed words neatly etched in her brain, she was able to devote her full concentration to driving.
And driving demanded it. She eased up on the gas, but even then had to struggle to see the road through the torrent. Lane markers were sadly blurred. The back spray from passing cars made the already poor visibility worse. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found her turnoff, then tensed up again when the sudden sparcity of other cars meant the absence of taillights as guides.
But she drove on. She passed a restaurant and briefly considered taking shelter until the storm was spent, but decided that it would be far worse to have to negotiate strange roads—and a lonesome cabin—in the dark later. She passed a dingy motel and toyed with the idea of taking a room for the night, but decided that she really did want to be in the cabin. Having left behind the life she’d always known, she was feeling unsettled; spending the night in a fleabag motel wouldn’t help.
What would help, she decided grimly, would be an end to the rain. And a little sun peaking through the clouds. And several extra hours of daylight.
None of those happened. The rain did lessen to a steady downpour, but the sky grew darker and darker as daylight began to wane. The fiddling she’d done earlier in search of the wipers paid off; she knew just what to press to turn on the headlights.
When she passed through the small town Victoria had mentioned, she was elated. Elation faded in an instant, though, when she took the prescribed turn past the post office and saw what lay ahead.
A narrow, twisting road, barely wide enough for two cars. No streetlamps. No center line. No directional signs.
Leah sat ramrod straight at the wheel. Her knuckles were white, her eyes straining to delineate the rain-spattered landscape ahead. Too late she realized that she hadn’t checked the odometer when she’d passed the post office. One-point-nine miles to the turnoff, her instructions said. How far had she gone? All but creeping along the uphill grade, she searched for the triangular boulder backed by a stand of twisted birch that would mark the start of Victoria’s road.
It was just another puzzle, Leah told herself. She loved puzzles.
She hated this one. If she missed the road … But she didn’t want to miss the road. One-point-nine miles at fifteen miles an hour … eight minutes … How long had she been driving since she’d left the town?
Just when she was about to stop and return to the post office to take an odometer reading, she saw a triangular boulder backed by a stand of twisted birch. And a road. Vaguely.
It was with mixed feelings that she made the turn, for not only was she suddenly on rutted dirt, but forested growth closed in on her, slapping the sides of the car. In her anxious state it sounded clearly hostile.
She began to speak to herself, albeit silently. This is God’s land, Leah. The wild and woolly outdoors. Picture it in the bright sunshine. You’ll love it.
The car bumped and jerked along, jolting her up and down and from side to side. One of the tires began to spin and she caught her breath, barely releasing it when the car surged onward and upward. The words she spoke to herself grew more beseechful. Just a little farther, Leah. You’re almost there. Come on, Golf, don’t fade on me now.
Her progress was agonizingly slow, made all the more so by the steepening pitch as the road climbed the hill. The Golf didn’t falter, but when it wasn’t jouncing, it slid pitifully from one side to the other, even back when she took her foot from the gas to better weather the ruts. She wished she’d had the foresight to rent a jeep, if not a Sherman tank. It was all she could do to hold the steering wheel steady. It was all she could do to see the road.
Leah was frightened. Darkness was closing in from every angle, leaving her high beams as a beacon to nowhere. When they picked up an expanse of water directly in her path, she slammed on the brakes. The car fishtailed in the mud, then came to a stop, its sudden stillness compensated for by the racing of her pulse.
A little voice inside her screamed, turn back! Turn back! But she couldn’t turn. She was hemmed in on both sides by the woods.
She stared at the water before her. Beneath the pelting rain, it undulated as a living thing. But it was only a puddle, she told herself. Victoria would have mentioned a stream, and there was no sign of a bridge, washed out or otherwise.
Cautiously she stepped on the gas. Yard by yard, the car stole forward. She tried not to think about how high the water might be on the hubcaps. She tried not to think about the prospect of brake damage or stalling. She tried not to think about what creatures of the wild might be lurking beneath the rain-swollen depths. She kept as steady a foot on the gas pedal as possible and released a short sigh of relief when she reached high ground once again.
There were other puddles and ruts and thick beds of mud, but then the road widened. Heart pounding, she squinted through the windshield as she pushed on the accelerator. The cabin had to be ahead. Please, God, let it be ahead.
All at once, with terrifying abruptness, the road seemed to disappear. She’d barely had time to jerk her foot to the brake, when the car careened over a rise and began a downward slide. After a harrowing aeon, it came to rest in a deep pocket of sludge.
Shaking all over, Leah closed her eyes for a minute. She took one tremulous breath, then another, then opened her eyes and looked ahead. What she saw took her breath away completely.
For three weeks she’d been picturing a compact and charming log cabin. A chimney would rise from one side; windows would flank the front door. Nestled in the woods, the cabin would be the epitome of a snug country haven.
Instead it was the epitome of ruin. She blinked, convinced that she was hallucinating. Before her lay the charred remains of what might indeed have once been a snug and charming cabin. Now only the chimney was standing.
“Oh, Lord,” she wailed, her cry nearly drowned out by the thunder of rain on the roof of the car, “what happened?”
Unfortunately what had happened was obvious. There had been a fire. But when? And why hadn’t Victoria been notified?
The moan that followed bore equal parts disappointment, fatigue and anxiety. In the confines of the car it had such an eerie edge that Leah knew she had to get back to civilization and fast. At that moment even the thought of spending the night in a fleabag motel held appeal.
She stepped on the gas and the front wheels spun. She shifted into reverse and hit the gas again, but the car didn’t budge. Into drive … into reverse … she repeated the cycle a dozen times, uselessly. Not only was she not getting back to civilization she wasn’t getting anywhere, at least, not in the Golf.
Dropping her head to the steering w
heel, she took several shuddering breaths. Leah Gates didn’t panic. She hadn’t done so when her parents had died. She hadn’t done so when her babies had died. She hadn’t done so when her husband had pronounced her unfit as a wife and left her.
What she had done in each of those situations was cry until her grief was spent, then pick herself up and restructure her dreams. In essence, that was what she had to do now. There wasn’t time to give vent to tears, but a definite restructuring of plans was in order.
She couldn’t spend the night in the car. She couldn’t get back to town. Help wasn’t about to come to her, so …
Fishing the paper with the typed directions from her purse, she turned on the overhead light and read at the bottom of the page the lines that she’d merely skimmed before. True, she’d promised Victoria that she’d deliver the letter to the trapper, Garrick Rodenhiser, but she’d assumed she’d do it at her leisure. Certainly not in the dark of night—or in the midst of a storm.
But seeking out the trapper seemed her only hope of rescue. It was pouring and very dark. She had neither flashlight, umbrella nor rain poncho handy. She’d just have to make a dash for it. Hadn’t she done the same often enough in New York when a sudden downpour soaked the streets?
Diligently she reread the directions to the trapper’s cabin. Peering through the windshield, she located the break in the woods behind and to the left of the chimney. Without dwelling on the darkness ahead, she tucked the paper back in her purse, dropped the purse to the floor, turned off the lights, then the engine. After pocketing the keys, she took a deep breath, swung open the door and stepped out into the rain.
Her feet promptly sank six inches into mud. Dumbly she stared down at where her ankles should have been. Equally as dumbly, she tugged at one foot, which emerged minus its shoe. She stuck her foot back into the muck, rooted around until she’d located the shoe and squished her foot inside, then drew the whole thing up toe first.
Crossed Hearts (Matchmaker Trilogy) Page 2